She started muttering curses under her breath. She was burning to have her magic back. The manacles around her wrists grew hot as she seethed over her impotence, kneeling over him, trying to guess what had been done. She ran her fingers along his arms and hands and felt the rigid knots and tearing caused by cruciatus. She could feel his heart racing in his chest.
“Bobbin!” she called sharply.
The elf popped into the room and gave a squeak of horror when her eyes landed on Draco.
“Who's Draco's healer?” Hermione asked. The elf stared blankly at Hermione. “Who does he call when he comes back hurt?”
Bobbin looked down at her hands. “Bobbin is not knowing. Bobbin is mostly being in the kitchens and cleaning. The Master is not calling Bobbin when he is being hurt. Only Topsy or Kreacher.”
Hermione looked down in frustration and drew a deep breath before looking back up. “Do you know where he keeps his medical supplies? Healing potions and things like that?”
Bobbin brightened and nodded eagerly.
“Good,” Hermione said in a tight voice. “Bring me pain relief potions then. Every variety you have. And any other medical supplies you have access to. Bring them all here so I know what I have to work with.”
Bobbin vanished with a loud pop, and Draco twitched.
Hermione looked down at him.
He was dazedly staring up towards her, his eyes were unfocused, without any signs of recognition.
“Draco?”
He blinked. “Granger?”
He looked entirely bewildered.
“Draco—” she touched him gently on the cheek and held her voice steady. Calming. “What did he do to you? How long were you crucio'd?”
He furrowed his eyebrows and squinted. “Where are we?”
He kept blinking as though he were trying to see in the dark.
Hermione's throat tightened. “We're — we're in my room. I think you must have apparated and passed out just outside my door.”
His expression twisted. His pupils were blown wide. He shook his head, and a low groan escaped him. “I didn't mean to come here.”
Hermione's eyes started burning, and she brushed his forehead lightly with her fingertips.
“I know—” Her throat caught slightly.
Draco twitched at the sound, and his eyebrows knitted together. “Are you alright? I can't — Are you breathing?”
He reached up blindly in the direction of her voice, and his hand grazed her cheek.
Hermione caught his hand in hers and pressed her face into his palm, kissing it. “I'm fine. I'm a healer, remember? It's not the first time you've collapsed into my arms.”
She cleared her throat and forced herself to speak firmly. “Now, I need you to answer my questions. Draco, what did he do? Tell me, what did he do to you?”
Draco was silent for a moment and then sighed. “He says I'm at fault me for the spreading insurgency — if I were more competent, I'd be containing it. He decided I was due to offer proof of loyalty. A few hours of legilimency, then — it occurred to him that I'm an occlumens.” He snorted. “He had — someone crucio me while he checked again.”
He swallowed. “Fortunately he was tired by then. It didn't last so long the second time.” A twisted smile ghosted across his lips. “As a reward for proving my continued loyalty, I've been given the rest of the week off, so — at least there's that.”
His attempt to sound reassuring and sarcastic made it worse.
Hermione's hands began shaking as she fought off a sense of hysteria. Just breathe. Just breathe. You can't panic right now, he'll hurt himself more if he thinks you're going to have a seizure.
Draco squinted and turned his head, as though he were trying to glance around her room. “It's not night yet, is it? I don't think I can see.” He pressed the back of his hand against his eyes. “That's new.”
Hermione started going through Draco's robes, burning her fingertips as she kept pulling out weapons concealed in the dozens pockets lining his robes. Finally her hand closed around a familiar leather case, and she pulled it out.
She flipped open the healing kit and jerked out the vial of Calming Draught. She bit the cork out with her teeth, tilting Draco's head up onto her lap as she held the vial to his lips.
“Draught of Peace. It will slow your heart rate and ease the way your muscles are spasming.”
She waited, running her fingers through his hair and talking to him so he'd stay calm and lucid. She felt the potion take effect as his body relaxed onto her lap.
She picked up his right arm and pulled his wand out, slipping its handle into his left hand, and holding it in place so that his spasming fingers wouldn't drop it.
“Draco,” she kept her voice carefully steady. “I need you to cast a diagnostic for me. Can you try? I'll help with the wand motion, but it has to be your magic.”
It was a diagnostic targeted at his brain and nervous system, and it took six tries before the spell would hold.