Call Me Psyche - Dramione

12

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Madam Fleur Weasley uncorked a vial of wolfsbane balm, warming it between her fingers, making ready to dab it on the angry, all-but-deadly wound Bellatrix Lestrange's blade had left in Hermione Granger's throat.

She had read about this potion but never handled it in real life. It was precious and rare, and Fleur had known when she sent Bill to the Order in London to look for some that they would never find it in time. But they had to be able to tell Ron they had tried everything. Ron, who had carried Hermione from the beach, his eyes red with tears, his voice hoarse with calling for help. Fleur hadn't known the wound was cursed when she assured Ron that Hermione would be alright and reminded him that Harry was, at that moment, weeping on the beach, honoring the remains of the brave little elf. Anyway, treating Hermione meant taking off her dirty, glass-filled clothing, and Ron agreed he had better not see her undressed today unless it couldn't be helped. And it could be.

Fleur wasn't thinking about Ron now. She was completely absorbed in Hermione and the strange young man she was clinging to as if he was a healing charm himself. Fleur knew he was one of THE Malfoys, but she had forgotten his first name already. She did, however, remember what he'd said about pain and the life-saving potion he'd brought.

"Your lover is right," Fleur crooned to Hermione as she leaned closer to better see the injury. "This potion will hurt you quite a lot. Hold him tightly, and cry your tears into him."

Hermione couldn't look any more terrified as she buried her face in Draco Malfoy's shoulder, one hand in his, the other clamped to the nape of his neck.

Draco was kneeling beside the bed, sighing as he folded his free arm around her waist. He was holding her again after two months of separation. The circumstances were horrible but he savoured the feel of her in his arms all the same. She was thinner than when he used to bring her good things to eat every night, but it was nothing they couldn't reverse if he started taking care of her again. And he was desperate to be caring for her again, beginning now.

Pressed into the crook of his neck, her face was cold and damp, her body in shock. He both heard and felt a rush of air past his skin, her shallow breaths deepening for a moment as she breathed in his scent. He was struck by this sweetness, and also moved with relief. Hermione still felt something for him in spite of his absence and the attention Weasley had no doubt been paying her all this time. Draco took heart and gathered her closer, her side held flush to his chest, her trembling shaking through him.

Fleur smoothed Hermione's hair away from the wound, her clear blue eyes meeting Draco's over the crown of Hermione's head. He answered with a silent nod, his impatience to begin the countercurse growing. They were ready to get on with it.

Breath held, Fleur eased the slick, clear balm to the broken skin.

Hermione convulsed in Draco's arms, both of them shocked as a sickening hiss steamed from the wound. Fleur flinched away. The balm burned as its magic worked, silvery light shooting through the nerves beneath Hermione's flesh, forking away from the cursed cut like bolts of lightning. Each hiss and flash and pang neutralized the curse, but at an awful physical price.

The wound was still sparking as Fleur stood up from the bed. She was frowning, carefully wiping the rest of the potent balm from her fingertip and vanishing the tissue. Draco gave her a scared, questioning look. Was this right?

Against his collar bone, Hermione began to whimper, flagging in her fight to keep back a sob.

"Cry, cherie," Fleur said, patting her knee through the blanket. "I said for you to cry."