Draco breathed a sigh of relief. As the wounded were laid down one by one, he heard the girl behind him also let out a sigh of relief, and then gently rest her head on his shoulder.
She must be exhausted, holding that levitation spell for so long.
He gently set her down on a chair and, in the candlelight from the wall lamp, carefully examined her.
"Thank you." Hermione listlessly put away her wand, her eyes lowered, feeling a little bereft as she stepped away from his warm back.
It was then Draco noticed the grazes and scratches on her face and arms, which made his heart clench.
"You are hurt," he told her.
Hermione looked up at him in confusion, only to find him expertly opening the medical kit Madam Pomfrey had left to one side, taking out some simple tools for cleaning wounds, and walking over to her.
She looked at her arm and said softly, "It is nothing. Just a minor scrape."
"You need treatment." He cleaned his hands, tilted her face upward with an air that brooked no argument, and gently adjusted her position so she could tip her head back towards the candlelight, examining her wound.
His warm fingers touched her chin. The warmth made her feel as if she were in a dream.
Then, he carefully picked up a damp cotton pad and gently wiped away the tiny bits of grit from the graze on her cheek.
She was dazed by the dim candlelight, letting him fuss over her face. She had nothing to say, only staring blankly at him, noticing how beautiful his eyes were.
Grey, gentle, comforting eyes. No coldness, no indifference, no distance.
He gazed intently at her, as though she were the only one in his sight.
She thought sadly, realising she was indulging in wishful thinking once again.
Draco's eyes truly were fixed on her. He noticed her eyes were a little swollen, and her expression was like that of a frightened creature caught in the wild, as though she might cry again at any moment.
It was clear the werewolf had terrified her. He disliked that pitiful glint in her eyes, and hated even more the scratches and grazes... they cried out softly in his heart.
Frowning, he applied some ointment to her face and then began to clean the small scratches on her arm.
These scratches seemed to distress him even more. For a moment, Hermione thought she saw a flash of pain in his eyes, as if the scratches were on him, not her.
This is quite impossible. Perhaps it is only her imagination. She must be seeing things; or it is the deceptive effect of the flickering candlelight.
He should not care about her to this extent. No one should care about her scrapes and scratches to this extent.
Even parents do not show such distress over such minor injuries.
They would simply tend to her wounds, then smile and tell her to be brave.
While she was lost in thought, Hermione hissed as the ointment touched her elbow.
"I am sorry, I am sorry..." His face turned pale instantly, his fingers trembled slightly, and he dropped the cotton pad on the ground.
"I am sorry," he said softly, his voice trembling slightly, with a tone of fear and unease, "I... I shall be gentler."
He gently soothed her, took another clean cotton pad, dipped it in the ointment, and touched the wound with great care.
"Mmm," she replied, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of grievance welling up inside her.
His gentle movements suggested he cherished her dearly. His remarkably soft tone suggested she was held somewhere in his heart.
This boy, usually so aloof, arrogant, and composed, seemed like a completely different person.
How could he care about her so much?
How could he be so gentle with her, more so than ever before?
At this moment, she seemed to like him more than ever... yet he did not like her... This was the worst thing in the world.
Hermione stole a glance at his profile, which seemed inexplicably sorrowful, and felt her throat tighten.
She felt like a lemon picked too early in the season, her whole being aching with the bitterness of a hopeless, unspoken love.
Thankfully, thankfully, neither of them had died. He was still tending her wounds.
She looked at him, trying to comfort herself with what little clear thought she had left that night.
Tsk, just look at that young master of the Malfoy family, look how careful he is! Madam Pomfrey secretly glanced at their movements out of the corner of her eye, thinking to herself that if one did not know better, one would think it was that girl who had been seriously injured tonight, not Sirius Black.
"They are just minor scratches, is it really necessary? If we do not treat them, they will be practically healed on their own!"
Still, she went on deftly examining, treating, and bandaging the wounded.
"There, that is all done." After a while, Madam Pomfrey said easily, looking at Hermione, whose wounds had been so carefully tended by Draco. "I think Miss Granger's injuries probably no longer need my attention, do they?"
Hermione blushed slightly as she looked down at her arm, now treated with ointment.
To deflect Madam Pomfrey's teasing gaze, Draco coughed, concealing his complicated feelings, and asked, "How are they?"
"Sirius Black is the most seriously hurt. He has several cuts, some of them quite deep... and a number of broken ribs." Madam Pomfrey looked at the dark-haired man, making a pained hiss through her teeth that echoed round the ward. "How did he manage to get himself into this state in just a few days?"
"Oh, by the way, Madam Pomfrey, how are Harry and Ron?" Hermione asked anxiously.
"Mr Potter has a few scratches, but nothing serious. Did you encounter Dementors? The mental strain he is under might be worse than the physical pain."
Madam Pomfrey shook her head and placed a large bar of chocolate on his bedside table. "Let him have some when he wakes."
"As for Mr Weasley, he needs to take some Skele-Gro and stay in the Hospital Wing for a couple of days."
Madam Pomfrey shook her head, took out a bottle of an unpleasant-looking potion, and placed it on the bedside table beside Ron's head. "This medicine is not exactly pleasant, is it, Mr Malfoy?"
Draco grinned in agreement.
He had taken this stuff last year, so of course he knew the tangy, numbing sensation Skele-Gro could bring. That unlucky Ron had probably broken a bone in his leg while running down the slope in his haste.
It seems he is not going to have a comfortable night, Draco thought.
"Where is Professor Snape?" His gaze slid to the bed next to Ron's, and he asked hastily.
"He twisted his ankle and hurt his leg. It is a fairly nasty wound. He will need to rest for a few days," Madam Pomfrey said regretfully.
"How did Professor Snape get this wound? Was it the werewolf?" Draco frowned slightly and asked Hermione in a low voice.
He felt uneasy, unsure whether he ought to mention this to Madam Pomfrey.
"He was not scratched by the werewolf's claws, I think. He was hurt when the werewolf threw him and he struck a tree, if I remember rightly." Hermione looked up, tugged at his robe, and whispered to him.
So that was how it was. At least it was not the werewolf that had hurt him, Draco thought, relieved.