He could honestly say that he considered turning around and leaving her for dead; shutting himself away in his room until the infuriating little Mudblood had choked on her last heartbeat. Maybe it would all stop then; her slow onslaught on his senses and that breakdown of his mind. Perhaps if she was eradicated and cut out of his existence, he could regain a sense of his self, or maybe he would just go insane that little bit quicker.
He moved before he could stop himself, hurling his body forward to land on his knees and sweeping his hands across her littered things. His eyes darted around for the illustrated tube, finally finding it tucked between the pages of a book. Swivelling on his kneecaps, he turned to face the fading witch and held the shot up to her.
"Granger," Draco snapped harshly. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do." He got no response; not even a flash of recognition in that golden gaze of hers. "Fuck."
Fumbling with the cylinder, he examined the small set of images and tried to quash his alarm in an effort to understand them. After the fourth inspection and a gargled gasp from his female companion, he gathered his nerves and shuffled closer to Hermione. He hesitated for a second before he leaned over her and parted her robes, his fingers slightly quivering as he started to tear away her buttons. He bunched the material up around her ribs and checked the shot one final time before he stabbed it into her side, just above the hip, and pressed his thumb against the tip.
His reluctantly, panicked pulse thundered in his skull as he waited to see if his attempt had worked. With his other hand braced against her bare waist, he instantly felt her breathing pattern start to change. He kept his fist gripped around the syringe and his palm flat against her satin skin, his eyes intently roaming across her dazed features.
Draco noted every detail of her fascinating face as the dubious seconds and minutes ticked away; from the rosy tint returning to her cheeks and the awareness seeping back into her eyes. He was close enough that his elevated breaths flicked at the loose hairs framing her face, and he couldn't halt the sigh when a throaty whimper escaped her lips and pushed into his mouth.
It tasted like sugar and sun.
He swallowed it down as she blinked a few times, and he half-expected her to shove him away and scold him for being too close. But he should have known better than to predict anything Granger did, and instead he found her gentle palms either side of his face, her thumbs absently brushing his cheekbones. She looked up at him with exquisite, glazed eyes, and he didn't dare move to break the contact.
"Thank you," she whispered tiredly, and he got another mouthful of her against his tongue.
He had no idea if it was true, but he would swear on Salazar's grave that she leaned in first.
.
.
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