The first thing Hermione noticed when she came home was the silence. It was a deafening silence, one that pressed down on her and made her feel like maybe she had lost her sense of hearing. Her sour mood over her dream melted away completely to accomodate space for her concern.

The fact that Carson had gone through several bottles of firewhiskey was consciously avoided from conversation. On some days, he'd be glum. He'd turn to her as though to say something, then snap his mouth shut and turn away. She caught him staring at her on multiple occasions, and on all of those he looked away when she looked at him. His expression would be intense, conflicted. On other days, he'd be his usual arrogant self, mocking her and making her want to hex him into the Jurassic age. She always retaliated with equally snarky remarks, of course. Maybe today was one of his glum days.

Hermione walked through the silent house. He wasn't in the kitchen, but there was a smashed bottle of firewhiskey in it. Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. Her worry escalated. She quickened her steps to his bedroom, the door to which was ajar, so he wasn't in it. The shower was silent. She checked out in the hallways just in case. When she turned back to face the apartment, she noticed that the bathroom door wasn't completely closed. 

"Carson?" Hermione drew her wand out and cautiously walked to the door. She pushed it open with her free hand.

Her hand flew to her mouth.

The most visible thing in the bathroom was the blood. A trail of blood seeped from his arm and across the floor, and a huge gash could be seen on his abdomen. Blood pooled in the deep cut. His left arm was lined with long cuts that bled steadily onto the floor. The - now red - white full sleeve button up shirt had its sleeves rolled up. A silver knife which was hauntingly familiar to Hermione lay on the floor, inches away from his fingers. His eyes were closed, and the platinum blond tresses were dishevelled. There were pieces of glass in his hair, and his shirt was torn at places.

Draco Malfoy.

In her bathroom.

Draco Malfoy in her bathroom, with his shirt soaked in his own blood.

Hermione acted fast. She levitated his body off the bloody floor and moved him to the living room. She laid him down on the carpet, and immediately bent down to check his pulse.

He was alive. She hadn't been too late.

Thank Merlin.

Looking at the kind of cut, he had Sectumsempraed himself.

"Vulnera sanentur," Hermione trailed her wand tip along his split knuckles and the cuts on his arm, before moving on to the larger one on his torso. Her wand lingered over his arm. The arm with the Dark Mark. It was scarred, she could see the silvery scar tissue. He'd been doing this for a while now. Hermione accidentally jabbed one of the cuts too hard, and Malfoy's fingers twitched. She repeated the incantation several times, before restoring his consciousness with another muttered incantation.

Malfoy coughed and pulled in huge amounts of air. Hermione sagged back in relief. Her racing heart slowed down by a scruple. As Malfoy coughed and spluttered, Hermione put an arm under his shoulders and lifted him up to prevent him from overstraining his lungs. She watched in horror as Draco Malfoy, ever the cold, emotionless Slytherin, broke down while she held him up. His sobs reverberated through the walls, and his entire body shook and shuddered as he continued sobbing. The blood on Hermione's hands rubbed off on his hair. He had gripped Hermione's wrist with such force that it hurt. 

"It's okay, it's okay," Hermione whispered in an attempt to calm him and herself down, "you're okay now, you're fine."

Hermione summoned a glass of water to her and lifted it to his lips. He pushed her hand away.

"Please, stop," Hermione could feel her own tears starting to form. Damn her and her sensitivity to literally everything.

Malfoy eventually, slowly, calmed down. The sobs came with larger intervals, until they stopped completely. He straightened himself up and Hermione let him go.

"Get off," Draco spat at her, trying to shake her off when she moved to help him stand, "I said get off, Granger!"

"Stop it, you'll hurt yourself!" She didn't care who he was, what he had done. All she knew was that he was hurt, and she had learnt healing.

When Malfoy showed no signs of listening to her, she stunned him. His head hit the couch and he fell to the floor unconscious. She had made sure to keep the force of the stunning spell as gentle as possible, only enough to knock him out. 

Hermione released a shaky breath. 

Relax.

She levitated him into Carson's bedroom, and placed him on the bed. Surely, Carson wouldn't mind it after she would explain everything. Malfoy lay motionless over the sheets. Hermione scourgified the blood from his shirt and hair, and then conjured up a roll of bandages to wrap around his injured arm and abdomen. When the shirt got in the way, she ripped it down the center. The scars she had healed still looked pink and raw. Once she finished wrapping his arm up, she tucked a pillow under his head and went to the bathroom. The blood vanished with a wave of her wand. Now, she noticed that the mirror was smashed as well. That explained his knuckles. She fixed the mirror with reparo. 

The dagger caught her eye.

As if on cue, the image of Bellatrix Lestrange bent over her invaded her mind. She pushed the memory away. Not now. Maybe she would allow that particular memory to haunt her later. But now she needed to be in a good state of mind.

"Diminuendo," she watched as the dagger shrunk. It shrunk until it reached the size of a large thumb tack. Hermione picked it up and flushed it down the toilet. The satisfaction was immense.

Hermione walked briskly to her bedroom. She wrenched open the lowest drawer of the chest beside her bed. She moved vials and bottles around feverishly until she found what she needed. The drawer was pushed closed and she proceeded to make her way to the kitchen. She summoned a glass and poured the contents of the bottle into it until it was half full. After casting a few extra spells on the liquid, Hermione returned to Carson's bedroom with the glass in her hand.

Malfoy was conscious again. Thankfully, he hadn't tried to move. He stared blankly at the ceiling, his arms lay limp beside him. If he knew that she had walked in, he didn't have any reaction.

"Drink this," Hermione held the glass out to him. Malfoy sat up with a pained expression on his face, and downed the blood replenishing potion in two gulps.

"It tastes disgusting," he grimaced and lay back down on the sheets. 

"I know," Hermione replied calmly. She placed the glass on the bedside table with a little unnecessary force. Malfoy winced at the loud sound. So, maybe she wasn't actually as calm as her exterior. 

What in the name of the sweet children of Gryffindor was Draco Malfoy doing here?

Unless it wasn't.

Hermione's head began spinning.

She had thought herself mad when she had caught a glimpse of the very recognisable platinum blond hair at the grocery store. Then she had met Carson. Carson Bones, who she had never heard of or seen at Hogwarts. Who claimed to be in Slytherin. Who showed a strange interest in the well being of Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione had assumed that he asked about her and Narcissa's tea to be polite, but she was wrong, of course. Carson also loathed Lucius Malfoy with such a personal passion Hermione sometimes felt tempted to ask if Lucius had ever done him any harm. Carson, who's way of saying 'Granger' seemed so familiar.

There was no Carson Bones.

It had been Malfoy all along. Only she had been too daft to see it. She let out a humourless laugh at the irony: Brightest Witch of Her Age, daft.

"Figured it out, have you?" Malfoy drawled. Even injured he tried to be sarcastic and sassy.

"Since when have you been hurting yourself?" Hermione ignored his question.

"Piss off, Granger," Malfoy pulled on a mask of indifference and laid back down on the pillow, "I'm not having a heart to heart with you."

"I'm not asking you to feed me a sob story," Hermione snapped, "I'm asking you to tell me how long you've been hurting yourself so that I can give you the necessary potions and medication."

"I don't need medication," Maloy glared at her.

"Is it so hard to accept someone's help?" Hermione glared back at him, "Or is your huge ego blocking your mind from receiving a supply common sense?"

"Atleast it's not huger than that ridiculous mane you call hair," Malfoy retorted instantly.

"Atleast I'm no bleached blond!" Hermione felt furious. He had lied to her for nearly three months. Almost four now. And she had been so absorbed in her anxiety and fears that she hadn't noticed that something may be off.

"Please, you're just jealous of my beautiful locks," Malfoy lifted his chin high and rolled his eyes.

"You're lucky I'm not hexing you right now," Hermione breathed in and exhaled harshly, "stay in bed. If you move, I will stun you and this time will be stronger. I'll get your dinner here."

"You don't have to, I'm perfectly capable of walking," Malfoy said defiantly.

"Fine, have it your way," Hermione shrugged and stalked out of the room, not turning back to see his reaction. She put together some salad and potatoes, then dished it out onto two plates. After contemplating for a while, she added thin apple slices on the side of his plate. She turned when she heard a grunt from the door of the bedroom. 

Malfoy walked out through the door, his face scrunched up. He winced with every step, and he swore several times. He stopped to take a few steadying breaths, while glaring at Hermione.

"Change your mind yet?" Hermione asked sweetly, as she looked up from her plate of salad and blinked innocently at him.

Malfoy looked as though he was struggling to find a relevant comeback. After opening and closing his mouth a few times, he muttered, "Fine."