Unspoken

Grass squashed underneath her trainers as Malfoy Apparated the pair of them behind a small cove of trees on the northern edge of a large pond. The grounds of Hampstead Heath opened up along a worn path, the hazy morning sky reflecting in the water.

Hermione promptly bent over and retched.

Strong arms were holding her up by the arm and the waist, and she was glad for it. Hermione stared blearly downward as the fluids - which had, until moments ago, occupied the space in her stomach - seeped between the blades of grass. 

“Sorry.” she mumbled, wiping her mouth with the back of a shaking hand.

“Granger, I’m rethinking keeping you overnight.”

She could not see his face but she could hear the concern in his tone. 

“No, please, just… get me home and I promise to rest.”

She could practically hear Malfoy grinding his teeth next to her as he helped her to stand a little straighter. 

“How much further to this flat of yours?” he asked.

They hadn’t been able to apparate any closer than this because she had chosen to live in muggle London. The eye roll when she had explained they couldn’t just appear out of midair in front of her door had been irritating, but he chose to keep any comments to himself at the least.

She wasn’t even sure why she had trusted him to bring her home, alone, and show him where she lived, but they were here now. 

“There is some green with some shops and restaurants down the road and then just a little past the muggle hospital. I can make it.”

She couldn’t.

By the time they had navigated their way through the lobby doors of her building, Hermione could feel her knees shaking. Her vision was starting to ebb at the corners. 

“Steady on, Granger!” he said as she staggered a little on the first step of the stairs. “We can take the lift.”

“Lift is out of order. It’s just three floors. I can make it.” she stubbornly insisted. 

“I take back what I said about keeping you at the hospital. You would have been a nightmare for the other Healers to deal with.”

Hermione waved off his hand hovering at her back and strengthened her grip on the barrister. Just as she went to take another step upwards, she felt her legs being swept up from behind. Her whole body shifted swiftly backwards and then she found herself inches away from Malfoy’s face, ensconced in his arms bridal style. 

“Wha, what, what are you doing?” she gasped as she grabbed the lapel of Malfoy’s shirt in a panic as he started up the stairs without even a word.

“What number is your flat again?”

“Malfoy!”

“I didn’t ask you for my name.”

“Put me down this instant!”

His answer was a low chuckle that she could feel rumble in his chest. They made the third floor landing and he squeezed them both into the narrow hallway. She felt her face color as he held Hermione closer to his person. No muggle neighbors in sight, thank Merlin.

“Can you reach your wand?” Malfoy asked her as he stopped them in front of her door. 

“You can put me down and I’ll reach it.”

“I will put you down in your bed, thank you very much. Just undo the wards and let us in.”

Hermione gave up and, after some extremely embarrassing fumbling for her wand, the door swung open and Malfoy walked them both over her threshold. The scene of her flat, her home, invoked a relieving warmth in her.

“Your beasty had better not attack me while I’m carrying you.” he said loudly, as though announcing his arrival for any furry fiends who might have had ideas.

Hermione huffed, blowing one of her curls off her face as she did so. “His name is Crookshanks.”

“I’m not staying long enough to learn his name, Grang- what in the name of the River Styx is this mess?!

“My healing kit, or the remains of it.” she said apologetically as she heard the crunch of glass just below them.

“Do you know how much these shoes cost, Granger?”

“Send me an invoice.”

“Oh, I will. Billable hours for Healing home calls come at a premium these days.”

“Mmm.” she said, resting her head against his collar - just a for a moment, she told herself - as she closed her eyes against an oncoming rush of exhaustion now that she was home.

There was a gentle rub of his chin against the top of her head. That or it was just a happenstance brush, a bump of movement, as he carried her faithfully through the living room and into her bedroom. With practiced ease, Malfoy laid Hermione down onto the pillow and set about with his wand, floating her blankets up and over her, magically shutting the curtains of her window to minimize the light in the room. She watched him through the ends of her eyelashes, wondering how often he worked with laid up patients at the hospital.

“Thank you for getting me home.”

At her whispered words, Malfoy paused momentarily, nodded, and then went back to finishing his setup. He conjured up a bag, the same one he had had on him when he had healed her shoulder back in the Department of Mysteries, and pulled out a number of vials. Those he lined up next to the picture of Hermione, Harry, and Ron in their school uniforms. 

“These are in order of when you need to take them next. Since you were sick, you probably didn’t have time to metabolize all of the pain or blood replenishing potions, but it’s best not to…” 

Malfoy’s voice faded as Hermione drifted to sleep.

-------

Hermione stirred, but only just. Her body felt heavy, weighed down. 

The first thought she had, when she was lucid enough to wool one together from the threads of her bruised and battered mind, was that Crookshanks had settled himself on her chest. But the purring ball on the adjacent bed pillow disabused that notion.

Her room was dark. She remembered Malfoy pulling the curtain closed before she had fallen asleep. It was soothing. 

With a concerted effort, she wriggled herself upwards until she was in more of a propped up position than a prone one. She felt about for her wand and eventually found it on the side table, her hand brushing up against the line of potion bottles as she grabbed it.

With her wand now in hand, she collapsed back into the pillows and closed her eyes again as she thought about what she needed to do next. Hermione hoped Malfoy had left the discharge papers from the hospital somewhere in the room so she didn’t need to drag herself out of bed to know which potions to take now and which to take later. 

She wondered if she could manage to take a shower, and whether or not she needed to think about food before that. Her fridge was devoid of the little food that had been left for her. She had relied on the canteen at the Ministry for most of the week. Maybe she could call out for delivery? If any of the potions needed to be taken alongside a meal, then that probably needed to be her first action once she got herself out of bed.

Brightness blossomed against the back of her eyelids and Hermione squinted her eyes open to see the light emanating from the doorway to her living area. It had opened slightly, just enough for a beam of light to hit her bed, and the face of Draco Malfoy was peering around the corner at her.

“You.” was all Hermione could manage with her dry lips and parched mouth.

At her singular, raspy word, the door opened further and he came into the bedroom. He had a glass of water which he settled in her hand before stepping back. Hermione watched Malfoy as she sipped preciously at the water. He was doing a bit of wand work that she hadn’t seen before. A diagram of lines that pulsed and wavered up and down, a series of runes flashing along the bottom. It occurred to her that he was checking her vital signs.

“Once you feel capable, take the brown bottle, followed by the blue one. Then I’ll bring you some soup.” he told her.

Whatever he was doing he must have finished because Malfoy waved his hand through the image and it dissolved into yellow mist. He tapped the brown bottle with his wand, a silent reminder, and then walked back out of the room before Hermione could ask any questions. 

Like why he was still here. She had definitely fallen asleep some time ago. There was a little antique clock next to the photo and the bent iron hour hand indicated it was well into early evening. Had Malfoy stayed this entire time? He would have had to. If he had left, she hadn’t set the wards to reallow him entry. 

Thinking about it exhausted her and even with a long, deep sleep, Hermione was worn. 

Crookshanks shifted and mrowred drowsily into her ear, stretching and nuzzling her again, moving closer to her side until he was curled up against her ribs. She balanced her water glass in her hand as she pet him and then turned her attention to her medication.

The brown bottle was filled with the familiar peppermint potion that Malfoy had given her for her shoulder. It soothed the ache of her head and her joints and made it easier for her to take the next one, another blood replenisher, though a smaller dose than she had taken before. 

As if on queue, the door opened again and Malfoy reentered, his wand fixed on a floating breakfast tray that carried a large bowl and some accompanying tableware.

“You may want to sit up a little more to eat.”

Hermione scooted obligingly; the light in the room was turned on so that she could see better and the tray was settled across her lap. 

A bowl full of egg drop soup steamed lightly in front of her. The scent of the chicken broth was simple but divine. Something about the soup, the way the bowl wasn’t too full and the liquid was just at the right temperature to sip at it, touched her. There was even a linen napkin tucked under the soup spoon.

She looked up from the soup to her caretaker.

“Did you make this?” Hermione asked.

“Do I look like someone who cooks my own meals, Granger?”

“Then… where did you get it?” 

She was struggling to figure Malfoy out. There were so many little pieces to the puzzle that was her life, and the Malfoy pieces kept not quite clicking into the right place. They had gone to school together. They worked together. He cared about Healing and taking care of those who had been affected by the war. But he also had a massive ego, a quick temper, and dressed himself in a luxurious magical fashion which spoke to him being a pureblood.

Right, he had to be a Pureblood. He was - or had been - a Deatheater.

“I called out for it. You had some takeaway menus in your kitchen.”

His words pulled her out of her head. 

“Youcalled out for it? On a muggle telephone?” she said, incredulously.

“I know how to use a telephone. And apologies, but I had to dig out the muggle money from your purse. Impressive extension charm.”

She could only stare at him.

“The soup is going to get cold.”

Hermione slowly ate the soup, self conscious of the way that Malfoy watched her as she ate. He said nothing and she was equally silent, caught up in her many questions while trying to concentrate on getting the food into her mouth rather than onto her lap. It settled easily into her empty stomach and she felt more invigorated with the support of her potions and a good meal. 

“Would you like more?”

She wiped her mouth with the edge of the linen napkin and then placed it next to her empty bowl before looking up at him.

“Why are you here?”

She hadn’t meant to sound so accusatory, but his eyes narrowed and his posture changed. He was leaning against the wall; now he crossed his arms and contemplated her question.

“Why do you think I’m here?” asked Malfoy.

Exasperated, she said, “I asked because I don’t know, Malfoy.”

He continued to study her for a while and she could feel her ire rising. Was it such a hard question to answer? He was in her home. It wasn’t as though she was intruding on his life. He had made the choice to stay. She hadn’t asked him to. 

Malfoy finally stood upright and began ticking off items, his right hand tapping his wand against his trousers in irritation as he spoke. 

“I can’t tell if you are being willfully obtuse as to the state of your health, Granger, but you are in appalling condition. In addition to your concussion, the lesion on your shoulder from Spliching yourself, and the minor sprain in your ankle you failed to hide on the walk from the Heath, you are grossly underweight, you are deficient in both iron and vitamin D, and your blood pressure is higher than a fifth-year-student secretly burning Alihotsy in their dormitory.” 

“Why on earth would anyone burn Alihotsy to get high? There are much more efficient muggle options that-”

“Granger.”

The tone of his voice, clipped and angry, cut her short and she stared at Malfoy, jaw clenched. 

When she didn’t say anything further, he asked, “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“You are a walking - pardon me - hobbling case of someone on the brink of a massive breakdown! I am no longer surprised you didn't ask for Potter at the hospital because if he knew your true condition, he would have refused to take you home.”

“That’s not why I didn’t-” 

Hermione shut her mouth before she could say anything further. Her brow furrowed deeply, upset with the almost slip of her situation and also because she hadn’t known how poor her condition was. Now that she thought about it, the clothes that were in her closet were all loose and poorly fitting. Like someone who had quickly lost too much weight and hadn’t bothered updating their wardrobe. She was tired every day despite trying to get at least six to seven hours of sleep. Her hair didn’t have the same luster as the wizard in front of her but she has assumed it was the lack of expensive hair products.

She should have noticed.

“Someone half as smart as you are supposed to be would have sought help months ago. It is fucking pathetic.”

She glared at Malfoy, who challenged her back with the unblinking stare of someone who knew he had her in a corner. 

“Why have you been neglecting your health?”

“I… I just…”

Hermione moved her eyes down and gnawed her lip. She could feel her heart beating heavily in her chest and it felt almost rushing in her ears. It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t been the one neglecting this body. To be accused so harshly without being able to retort shook her emotionally. Her breathing was shallow and fast and she began to half-sob, half-hyperventilate before she could get herself under control. 

“Oh, for fucks sake, witch,” Malfoy stated, rushing to the side of the bed and moving the tray out of the way so he could steady her. “Breathe. Breathe, so help me, I will take you back to St. Mungo’s. Look at my eyes, breathe with me on my count.”

He held her gaze unflinchingly, as though he could force her breathing to match his rhythm with the force of will. It almost felt like a trust fall. She sucked in air through her teeth, trying to shut down any and all thoughts other than flow of oxygen in and then out again.

As her hysterical crying slowed, she was aware that she had gripped one of his hands with both of her. She had clung onto him like a lifeline and her nails were digging into the flesh of his palm.

“Sorry…” she hiccuped, freeing him to wipe at the tears that still clung to her eyelashes. All the crying had not helped with the head injury. She felt so raw that she almost wanted to weep again in frustration. 

“The only apology you need to make is to yourself.” 

Hermione gave Malfoy a non-committal gurgle. 

“I’m serious, Granger. You have to slow down. You have to sleep. You have to eat.”

“I will.” she mumbled.

Malfoy sneered at her answer and got up from the bed to stand above her again. It felt intimidating and she didn’t like it. 

“What, like you rested earlier this week? Don’t lie. I know what time you come in and out of that office. You aren’t going to rest until someone forces you to.” 

“Why do you care?” she shot up at him.

Everything sucked. Her life was in danger, her body was apparently breaking down or there already, and Hermione just wanted to pull the covers of her bed over her head and stay there.

Very mature, she told herself before pooling her courage.

“Why are you here?” she asked again, brown eyes blazing and daring Malfoy to avoid this question this time. “Are you some would-be saint who helps others just for the sake of it?”

“No, that’s Potter’s job. Apparently I just have a predilection for lost causes,” he retorted.

Her jaw dropped at the same time his expression did..

“Granger, I didn’t mean-”

“Get out.”

“I’m not leaving you like-”

“I said get out, Malfoy. Go home, send me your damn bill, and leave me the fuck alone.”

“Make me.”

Sparks flew out of the end of her wand; she hadn’t even realized she had grabbed it. Crookshanks hissed at the wizard, tail full on bottle-brush as he arched his back.

“You don’t scare me, Granger, and neither does he. I doubt you could even make it to the loo in your condition. I’m sorry I was a right arse just now but unless you want me to call Saint Potter, I plan on keeping an eye on you until tomorrow evening.”

He scowled at her, silver eyes not backing down.

She was furious. How dare he threaten her with Harry. She wanted to scream at Malfoy in rage but that would wipe any of her remaining strength at this point.

“Get out of my room,” she whispered hoarsely.

He nodded stiffly and marched out, closing the door with a soft snap. 

Hermione patted her kneazle as he yowled angrily at the door, glad for his defense of her as she was emotionally spent. She closed her eyes and collapsed back into her pile of pillows. 

This had literally been the longest week of her life.