Covered in Crimson

The hours of darkness had been brutally cold. Draco had awakened twice during the night as a result of the noise from heavy sleet, snow, and wind buffeting the rickety windows. Hermione had not stirred during his brief waking interludes, and he had not tried to rouse her, concluding that the rest was necessary for her to continue healing. He’d stopped worrying, for now, about her imminent death when he’d noted that her breathing seemed less labored and more regular; he’d take that as a positive sign.

His interrupted rest had left Draco fatigued and groggy, and he’d fallen back into a deep sleep just an hour or so before sunrise. The thick cloud cover, remnants of last night’s late winter storm, prevented bright sunlight from invading their sleeping chamber. He snuggled deeply into the sheets and linens that had been warmed by their combined body heat, hoping for another hour or two of continuous oblivion.

Just forty minutes later, it became abundantly clear that he had fallen deeply into slumber again when the quiet was disturbed by a shattering shriek very near his left ear. He was so disoriented that his response was sluggish. He opened one eye, and found that – as expected – Granger had awakened to their joint sleeping arrangement unhappily. What was probably upsetting her more, he thought vaguely, was that she found his arm draped around her waist. He observed this phenomenon curiously, almost as though he had never seen an arm before, and certainly not one flung casually around the middle of a Mudblood.

“Relax, Granger,” Draco drawled, a noisy yawn escaping immediately thereafter. “Haven’t you ever moved around in your sleep? I promise it wasn’t an attempt to harass you.” He glanced at the arm that he was just now removing from her torso.

“Relax?! Are you crazy? What are you doing in bed with me in the first place?” she squealed, her breath coming fast and shallow in her renewed state of agitation.

“Oh, that,” he dismissed. “You passed out before you could tell me how to get the fireplace going, and if you recall, we had no luck with the furnace. I made an executive decision to prevent us both from freezing to death. We had a big snow storm last night, you know.”

“Who appointed you executive, anyway?” she grumbled.

“Hey, you’re talking much better, Granger. Maybe we can get something accomplished this morning. I’m going to get up and use the facilities, and then we’ll see to your needs before we proceed to other issues.” He rose from the bed, replacing the linens so that she’d stay as warm as possible. “I won’t be but a few minutes.”

With that, he left the room to tend to his needs in the loo, leaving her stunned and agape in the bed. She growled in annoyance, and then as she had no real choice in the matter, settled back into the pillows to wait for Draco’s return.

She closed her eyes once again, glad to have the option rather than simply through losing consciousness. Hermione reluctantly admitted to herself that it was a reasonable decision, to have them share the bed. She just would have liked to have had some say in the matter, considering everything that had happened in the last thirty-six hours, and in the two days before that. She shook her head, still desperately confused over all the contradictory and confusing things she had experienced since she had been captured in the raid three days earlier. Horrible circumstances, unexpected allies, bare survival, abandonment, a desperate fight for life, and the oddest partnership she’d likely ever experience – all deeply connected to the man who’d raped and nearly killed her. Her head was still spinning with all of it when Draco re-entered the room.

He met her eyes briefly when she shifted to her right in search of a slightly more comfortable position. “Do you need to use the loo, Granger?” he asked. “This bathroom is bigger than the other one, so it should be easier to get you in and out.”

“No thanks, Maffoy. I’m okay for now.”

“Still having a little trouble with your ‘ells?’” he teased lightly.

“Yeah, hurts some.”

“Well I would bet that ice I tried to make last night is truly ready now. Would you like me to get it for you?” he offered.

“That would be good,” she acknowledged.

“Okay, be right back.” He paused for a moment to retrieve the boots he’d removed the night before and with the pair in hand, departed with what might have been interpreted as a wave, but was probably just brushing away some dust.

Draco made his way to the sitting room and dropped to the sofa to don the boots before braving the elements, even given the shelter of the covered porch. He opened the front door to find a snow layer of nearly ten centimeters. There were slightly higher drifts along the front steps, a testament to the wind he’d heard howling for most of the night. The covered porch had small patches of snow scattered about, almost as though someone had tossed handfuls of the stuff haphazardly at the cottage’s entrance. The two plates he’d set near the door were still there, the contained water now frozen solid. He picked them up and brought them both to the bedroom where Granger was waiting for him.

“Ice coming up,” Draco announced. He went into the bathroom to get one of the smaller towels he’d left there and wrapped it around the plate. He then lightly tapped on the top, using enough pressure to crack the ice from its container. He removed the towel and offered the uncovered plate to Hermione, who selected a few smaller pieces to place in her mouth.

She whimpered against the extreme cold at first, but quieted as the ice numbed the pain and reduced the swelling in her tongue. She leaned back against the pillow and closed her eyes while allowing the frozen element to work its natural magic. A few moments later she realized that Malfoy hadn’t moved from his position on the bed.

“Was there something you wanted?” she prompted.

“Um, not really.”

“That’s hardly a denial; out with it,” she ordered, her speech already improving as the ice soothed her pain.

“I was just wondering how you’re feeling, uh, otherwise,” Draco hedged.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, just ask if you want to know. And why would you want to know anyway, after everything you did?” she spat back at him, feeling confused and resentful that he had put her in this position to begin with.

“We’ve been through this already, Granger. I don’t remember what happened, and I feel like I need to take care of you now. I don’t know why, but I just do. So unless you can answer any of those questions for me, just accept that I’m trying to help,” he retorted, just a touch of peevishness creeping into his tone.

“That’s what you said, Malfoy. But how can I believe you? This is really fucked up, and I don’t know what to think,” she argued. “I think I remember more than you do, probably a significant amount more, but there are some things that just don’t make any sense. We’re going to have to deal with this at some point, as you said yesterday, but we do have more immediate problems that need to be solved.”

“I’m guessing the ice really helped,” Draco snorted.

“What?”

“Now you won’t stop talking. I think I might have liked it better the way things were.”

At her sniff of effrontery, he raised his hands. “Hey, I’m kidding – mostly.”

If she’d been armed with her wand, that would have earned him a stinging hex, at the very least. As things were, she had no recourse but to look offended and sound annoyed. “Jackass.”

“At your service. Now, how’s everything else. Seriously, do you know if the bleeding has stopped?” he queried, his gaze darting subconsciously to her crotch.

“I don’t know either, because the damp towel you re-placed makes it impossible to tell. I’m still really sore everywhere and it’s possible that I have some kind of rib injury because it hurts to take deep breaths. I feel a little less lightheaded than I did last night, and that’s probably good, but I haven’t moved at all either. Hunger will probably make that worse soon, though. Blood loss is always at the top of the list for life-threatening problems, so that’s the thing I need to be worried about most. There really is only one way to check on the bleeding right now, and that’s to look.”

He nodded in acknowledgement of her conclusion. “Maybe we should do this in the bathroom. I’ll carry you there just to be on the safe side.”

“That’s probably not the worst idea you’ve ever had. I don’t think I can walk yet.”

He lifted her easily, cradling her against his chest as he moved across the room to the adjoining bath. She had wrapped her arms around his neck lightly; it just felt like a more natural position. He carefully deposited her right at the toilet, continuing to hold on to her arms at the elbow for stability.

“Do you want my help to tug your sweats down?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I have a choice,” she paused before continuing. “By the way, Malfoy, how did you manage to get the gauze in place?” she asked, trying to meet his eyes.

He flushed crimson and turned his face away from her. “You really don’t want to know, Granger. Trust me on this. Just leave it be.”

She eyed him suspiciously but decided it was probably better to follow his advice, for the moment. She huffed impatiently but acquiesced, “Fine – for now.” She balanced against him while he bent to tug her sweatpants down over her hips, thighs, and knees to drop finally to her ankles.

“Moment of truth, Granger,” he said quietly, looking up to gain her permission to remove the towel.

“Okay, I’m ready,” she replied.

He gently tugged on the towel as she released the tension in her quadriceps, allowing the damp terry cloth to fall away. Both of them hesitated just a moment before inspecting for the results of Draco’s attempt at healing. A great sigh of relief escaped from each of them when they saw that there was only a small amount of blood on the towel, and it was dark and dry, indicating that it had been there for some hours. The gauze packing seemed to be doing its job.

“Alright, this is good, I’d say,” Draco offered. “Do you need to use the facilities while you’re here?” At her answering nod, he helped her to sit then turned to leave her alone.

“Malfoy,” she whispered. “Thank you, uh, for helping me.”

Without turning back, he nodded his head once in acknowledgement then continued out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

A few minutes later, he heard her call out for him and he opened the door to check on her. “Ready to go back to bed?” he asked.

“I’m done here, if you wouldn’t mind helping me to balance so I can get the sweats back up.”

“Sure, I’ll do that for you.” He knelt again at her feet and pulled the black fleece material up and over her hips, securing it with the drawstring. “Back to bed?”

“Uh, didn’t you say something about a fireplace that needed to be started up?” she asked.

“Yes, it would certainly help some, especially if we can’t figure out what’s wrong with the furnace.”

“Why don’t you carry me into the sitting room and put me on the sofa for a while. That way I can walk you through what you’re doing more easily than trying to shout at you from the bedroom.”

“Well that’s eminently sensible, Granger. Let me just get my arm under your knees so I can lift you properly.” He encouraged her to wrap her arm around his shoulders so that he could get a good grip and picked her up easily. “It’s a darn good thing that you’re such a lightweight, Granger, with all this lifting and carrying. If you were Millicent Bulstrode, I’d have had to drag you around,” he ribbed.

“If I were Millicent Bulstrode, I don’t think we’d be in this situation to begin with,” she retorted, shutting him up quite effectively.

“Touché,” he mumbled under his breath.

He carried her around the corner into the sitting room and deposited her gently on the sofa, legs outstretched. “Comfortable?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t mind a couple of pillows from the bed. It might help to keep my hips and legs elevated for a while. So if you wouldn’t mind, I would appreciate it,” she answered.

Draco nodded and went back to the bedroom to get the items she’d requested. He returned with three, one that he helped her position under her head, one under her hips and the last under her knees. “How’s that?”

“Good for now, thanks. Let’s get that fire started, though. It’s awfully cold in here.”

“How about I get you my cloak or one of the blankets until it warms up some?”

“Thanks, Malfoy. That would be great.”

He went to find the cloak, which was the warmest single item that they had available, and draped it over her. “Okay. Now what do I do to get this thing going?”

“First you have to make sure the flue is open.”

“The Floo? What are you talking about? This is a Muggle house; it’s not connected to the Floo.” The look on his face was one of absolute puzzlement.

“No, Malfoy. The f-l-u-e. It’s what allows the smoke to travel up the chimney and not into the house,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “You really are helpless here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he grumbled. “So how do I do that? Think of this as a potions project – step by step.”

“Stick your hand in the fireplace up near the top of the box. You should feel a handle made of heavy metal, cast iron most likely.”

He did as she requested and indeed found the handle. “Okay, I have it.”

“Push it up and back toward the rear wall of the fireplace,” she instructed.

“Oh! I feel a draft coming through now!” he smiled at his success.

“Great. Now we won’t suffocate from smoke,” she teased.

“Lovely. What’s next?”

“You’ll need wood, kindling, and matches.”

“There’s wood in here,” he confirmed, pointing to the cabinet to the left of the hearth, “and more on the porch. I haven’t explored further than that, but it’s possible that there’s more somewhere outside the house.”

“Good. Now you’ll need kindling and matches.”

“Here are the matches. I found them in the kitchen. What would you use for kindling, though?”

“Well, you usually use either small twigs or newspaper.”

“We don’t have either of those in any supply here, Granger. Any other ideas?”

“Any kind of non-glossy paper would work. Did you see any books in your exploration?”

“Granger would burn a book? Are you sure you’re Hermione Granger?” he mocked.

“Very funny, Malfoy. I’d burn dozens if it meant the difference between life and death,” she replied indignantly.

They both sat quietly for a few moments, her on the sofa and him on the hearth, thinking about alternatives.

“Oh! I think we might have something!” Draco suddenly exclaimed as he jumped up from his position on the floor. He opened the drawer in the table on the left of the sofa and reached in to pull out the large book he’d found the previous day. He lifted it triumphantly and displayed it to her. “How about this?”

“A phonebook! Let me see,” she demanded, reaching out for the thick tome.

“What’s so interesting about this? It’s just a collection of names and numbers,” he protested.

Sitting up and stretching, she grabbed it out of his hands and flipped rapidly to the back of the book. “Because phonebooks have tons of information in them, and I’ll bet I can figure out where we are and a whole lot more in just a few minutes, that’s what.”

“Well, the front of the book says ‘Surrey’ and that’s about it,” he argued, just for the sake of it.

“Good. That’s good. Surrey isn’t all that far from London. Usually there are maps in the back of phonebooks, and information about all kinds of other resources in the area.”

“Oh joy, Granger. But we don’t have a phone, near as I can tell, so how is any of that going to be helpful to us?” he challenged.

“With the maps we can find out where resources are located so that when we can travel, we can go there. Or something. I don’t really know for sure, but it has to be helpful.”

“It’s the only paper in the house, Granger. It’s more important to get the fire started, or we’ll never be healthy enough to travel,” he countered.

“That’s not a problem, Malfoy. It’s a big book. We’ll just take pages from the middle to start the fire, and leave the important maps and whatnot in the back.” She rolled her eyes at his obtuse thinking.

“Oh. Okay.”

She handed the book back to him, and he opened it to the middle, grasping a thick handful of pages and ripping them out of the book.

“There. We have the kindling, the wood and the matches. Now what?”

Take some of the paper and crumple it up, then put it in the bottom of the fireplace under the andirons.”

He complied with her instruction, and waited for the next step.

“Now stack the wood across the andirons, leaving some space between them, almost like a vertical triangle. You need air to flow through the logs.” She inspected his work from her spot on the sofa. “That’s good. No more – you can always add more wood later once it gets going. Put some more crumpled paper in between the logs wherever you can.”

“Now what?”

“Matches. Strike one and light the paper.”

“Uh, Granger, I’m afraid I don’t know how.”

“You don’t know how? How to what?”

“Strike a match. I’ve never done it before. Never had to. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a wizard. We use wands,” he complained defensively.

Hermione had the good grace to withhold her laughter, but couldn’t help cracking the tiniest smile. “Okay, Malfoy. Bring the box here and I’ll show you how to do it.”

He handed the small cardboard box to her and she called his attention to the side of the box. “See this? It’s rough, like sand paper. You quickly rub the head of the match against this and it lights.”

“What’s ‘sand paper?’”

“Of course you’d focus on the one unimportant thing that I said,” she muttered. “It doesn’t matter. You won’t be using any other than what’s on the side of this box, probably ever in your entire life, so don’t worry about it.”

He shrugged, “Okay. Whatever,” and took the box back from her. He slid the cover open and removed a wooden match, and followed her directions. He only flinched a tiny bit when the match head burst into flames. “Oh. That’s all there is to it?”

He turned to light the paper which ignited quickly, and they waited. They were fortunate that the wood in the house was quite dry; it caught afire quickly and it wasn’t more than about ten minutes before the warmth from the hearth began to radiate throughout the room. Draco had rarely felt more proud of himself.

“That feels good,” he said aloud.

“Hmmm, yes. It’s nice to be warm again,” Hermione agreed.

Draco looked at his feet. “That’s true, but it’s not what I meant.”

“Huh?”

“I meant that it felt good to accomplish something that I didn’t think I could do,” he replied quietly.

Hermione watched him intently, searching for a clue about who this new Draco Malfoy might be. He was so at odds with the young man she had known, the one who’d raped and beaten her so brutally, who’d probably even planned the raid where she’d been captured. The dichotomy between that man and the one who sat on the floor just two meters from her now was shocking and irreconcilable. She didn’t really know how to reply to his statement, but it seemed that he was waiting for some kind of response from her; he’d been looking at her with expectation written all over his own face.

“I’d imagine so. You did well, Malfoy. You’ve always been intelligent and you did well in most of your subjects at Hogwarts, until…,” she trailed off, having second thoughts about where her comments might lead them.

“Until what, Granger?” he prompted.

“Nothing, Malfoy. Just forget it.”

“No. You were going to say something. What was it?” he insisted.

“It really doesn’t matter, Malfoy. Drop it.”

“NO!” he roared, his anger flaring suddenly. He rose from his position near the hearth and advanced on her, reaching out to grab her upper arm. “What were you going to say?”

She winced as he put more pressure on her bicep, squeezing the muscle hard. “Malfoy, please let go,” she whispered.

“Not until you tell me what you were going to say,” he uttered through clenched teeth, gaining an even tighter grip on her arm.

“You’re scaring me, Draco. Why are you doing this?” she spoke softly, trying not to anger or incite him further. She was, after all, quite defenseless. She turned her eyes to meet his, keeping her expression soft and submissive.

As his eyes met hers, he blinked. His entire visage shifted, and he dropped her arm from his grasp. He stumbled backwards, fell against the wall and sank to the floor, his eyes never leaving hers, and his mouth open in shock.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. What did I do? I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he was rocking back and forth, repeating the phrases over and over again in a voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay, Draco. You didn’t hurt me. Everything is going to be fine,” she soothed in a calm and quiet voice. She’d never seen anyone have such a rapid and dramatic shift in demeanor. It was frightening; that had been no lie.

“I didn’t mean to do it. I swear I didn’t. I’m so, so sorry,” he mumbled over and over again, and Hermione was stunned once more when he began to cry. “I don’t want to be this way. I don’t know why I am. Please don’t let me be this way.” His voice was so quiet that she had to strain to make out what he was saying.

It quickly occurred to Hermione that the words he was uttering were relatively unimportant. What mattered here were the context and the message. He was crying for help, both literally and figuratively, and she was the only one here who might be able to provide it.

“Draco,” she started, “please come here. Come sit by me. Please.”

He looked at her warily, but didn’t argue with her directive. He crawled over, somehow unable or unwilling to take to his feet. He stopped just centimeters away, uncertain about what she wanted or just how close she would allow him to get after his outburst.

“It’s alright. You can lean against the sofa right here. Take my hand, Draco,” she encouraged, holding hers out in invitation. She clasped his hand tightly and tugged it close to her chest. “I want to say something to you, and I don’t want you to be upset. It may help us figure out what’s going on here, and it may help me to understand more about what’s happened in the last few days. Is that okay?”

He nodded, unable to find his voice.

“When we started fifth year, you were a really great student, second in our class only to me. A couple of months in, your, uh, behavior started to change quite noticeably. I’m sure you remember well that you never liked me, called me a Mudblood, taunted me mercilessly for our entire first four years, but sometime in fifth year, it got worse – a lot worse. I tried to never let it show, but you terrified me. I thought you’d try to hurt me or my friends. We used to have conversations speculating about what had happened to make you change from being an annoying git to being someone we thought of as actually dangerous.”

Hermione paused for a moment and watched the expression on Draco’s face shift from fear to confusion. “We knew that the professors were watching you closely and keeping a tight rein on what you could get away with, but we all knew that you wouldn’t hesitate to get violent if you thought you could manage to avoid detection. You were caustic to everyone, even people who had been your friends since before Hogwarts, and no one could understand why. I still don’t.”

Draco sat quietly, now watching Hermione as intently as she had watched him. “I remember being angry and resentful all the time,” he acknowledged, his tone still remorseful. “I honestly don’t have a lot of strong memories of my last two years in school,” he admitted.

“Why do you think that is, Draco?” she prompted.

“I have no idea. I’ve never given it any thought, to be honest. It feels like I’m just moving through life day by day. How can that be, Granger? What have I been doing with my life?”

“Do you remember how we came to be together three days ago?” she asked, peering closely at his clouded gray eyes.

“No, I have no idea, Granger. I swear on my magic,” he confessed.

Hermione released his hand and sighed deeply, closing her eyes as terrifying memories assaulted her. “We have a lot to talk about, Malfoy.”