She could feel Draco's eyes on her although he didn't move. She blinked hard as she studied it.
She swallowed slowly.
The scarring was quite minor considering the injury. She was hardly disfigured. It wouldn't have any lifelong consequences. With time, it would fade. She knew she could treat it so that it would fade.
She was very lucky. A few scars were nothing compared to the injuries other people in the Resistance would carry for life.
It was fine. She would just wear shirts with a high neckline.
She swallowed again and looked up at Draco, who was still watching her carefully. She forced a smile. “How — how many vials of Dittany did you use on me to manage this?” She dropped the sheet and pressed her hands against it.
Draco rolled his eyes. “Still not as many as you've used on me.”
She gave a wry smile. “Your scars are prettier than mine.”
He snorted audibly. “I had a better healer.”
Hermione gave a low laugh, but it caught in her lungs. She tried to breathe but instead coughed violently until she spat several blood clots into her hand.
Draco was immediately beside her. He slid his hand behind her head, and there was a vial at her lips. “This is to clear your lungs.”
Hermione's instinctive reaction was to pull away and inspect the potion in order to verify it, but she trusted Draco was paranoid enough for both of them. She parted her lips and swallowed it. The smothering, catching sensation in her lungs vanished.
Draco muttered a spell, and she felt the blood on her hand disappear.
Draco summoned several other potions. Hermione eyed them and mentally catalogued each one. Pain relief. Strengtheners. Potions for lung tissue. Potions to help the tendons and ligaments bond with the new bones. Some were somewhat redundant. Draco was exhaustively, obsessively thorough.
She swallowed every potion without a murmur, gagging down several.
He kissed the top of her head. “Are you hungry?”
She snorted. “Not after eight potions. Although water would be appreciated. Do you have my wand? I think — I was holding it when I was apparated, wasn't I? I can't — entirely recall.”
Draco pulled her wand from his robes and slipped it into her hand. She could feel the hesitation in his fingers.
“I'm sorry. I didn't realise that disapparation would cause your bones to shatter.”
Hermione flinched at the memory. She looked down and forced herself to shrug. “Pressure. That's why I told you that you can't use displacement transport with brain or eye injuries. It can be similar with damaged bones.”
“I'm sorry.”
Hermione glanced up and gave him a small smile. “It's not your fault. It was a lot of bad luck.”
He stiffened, and his expression froze before he scoffed under his breath. “It wasn't just bad luck. Does the Order realise how predictable they've become? The losses yesterday were almost entirely one-sided. It was a stunning success. It will be repeated.”
There was a bitter rage in his voice.
Hermione stilled and then pressed her lips together, hesitating for a moment. “It was yours, wasn't it? The attack. You planned it.”
Draco tensed, and there was a pause. He looked away from her, and she saw his jaw ripple.
“I have to maintain my position in order to do everything required. The Dark Lord knows there are spies in the army now. He's well aware that the Order has infiltrated somehow. Shacklebolt overplayed. Sussex and the various branches of the army are becoming sequestered. There are dozens of counter-espionage measures in place; maintaining rank is the only way to remain informed of them.”
She slid a hand against his leg. “I'm not faulting you. I just hadn't realised it.”
There was a long silence.
“I had no choice but to kill Shacklebolt,” Draco finally said. “He was cursed, as you were aware. Weasley went on a rampage because some girl died. Shacklebolt got Potter and Weasley out, but he was finished.” There was a beat. “Capture and interrogation would have been worse.”
Hermione gave a slow nod without looking up.
The Death Eaters would have known the value of Kingsley Shacklebolt. They would have done everything in their power to tear out every piece of intelligence he possessed.
It would have been a slow and horrific death.
It would have risked the Order. It would have risked the entire Resistance.
It would have risked Draco.
“Was it quick?”
“It was quick.”
There was nothing else to say.
She ignored the weight in her chest and flicked her wand, casting a diagnostic on herself.
The bones had regrown well, but her lung tissue, tendons and ligaments were still delicate and resetting. Apparition would not be advisable for several more hours.
She looked up at Draco. “Do you need to work? I can help you research inheritance law.”
“I've found what I need.”
Hermione glanced around the room. It was sterile. Almost bare. The bed, a towering wardrobe, a desk, and a chair.
“Is this a guest room?”
Draco's mouth twisted in a brief grimace. “No. It's mine. I don't come here often.”
Hermione looked around more carefully.