A/N: This is my first Dramione fic, so I would really appreciate any feedback. It will take a bit of time to get there, but I promise that there will be romance. It's very important to me that I remain true to the characters, and given that Malfoy is a Healer, it's going to take some background and explanation... Not to mention time for him and Hermione to begin to stand one another in any capacity.
This will not be fluffy and will have some dark themes. If you want PWP, you may want to search elsewhere.
PS, as the description suggests, Hermione will be quarantined at St. Mungo's. It will happen soon, I promise. But I also want to note that Hermione will be Hermione throughout most of the story - intellectual, impassioned, grating, etc. She won't be sitting in a bed, unresponsive. I like Hermione's fiery personality and I intend to have it shown. So there's that.
Warnings: Copious swearing, sexual themes, mentions of torture and violence.
I don't own Harry Potter and I make no profit from this story, it's purely for fun.
Onward.
CHAPTER ONE: STUBBORN
"I want out, Malfoy," she demanded, panic taking hold of her voice. "Let me out of here now!"
He stared at her, the same impassive stare that he always gave her. He stood, biting the inside of his cheek and cocking his head back slightly. "No can do, Granger."
Two Months Earlier
Hermione closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply.
There is a Basilisk in my brain. His fangs are sinking in; I can feel them, right behind my eyes. His venom is like a liquid Cruciatus, pulsing… pulsing…
"Miss Granger?"
Her eyes snapped open, forcing her to look at her ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor who was clad in distinctly un-pink prisoner's robes. Umbridge's mouth was drawn into a tight line, but her nose was sloped upward in an ever present indignation, despite her stark silence.
Hermione took a calming breath and compelled herself to give off a look of poised defiance. "Yes, counselor. My apologies. Could you repeat the question?"
"You are willing to testify that the defendant, Dolores Umbridge, willfully inflicted harm upon the students of Hogwarts and was an active distributer of supremacy propaganda prior to the Second Wizarding War?"
Focus. Just a few more minutes, then you can lie down...
"Yes," Hermione replied. She couldn't help the crack in her voice—another wave of pain was rocking through her skull, threatening to bring her to her knees.
"And you will swear to this, knowing that this statement will result in a lengthened sentence for the defendant and any untruths on your part are subject to trial before the Wizengamot?"
"Yes," Hermione said clearly, more firmly than before. Umbridge's eyes narrowed at this and she looked as though she would speak, but she chose instead to tilt her head upward again, ensuring that the only way she could see anyone was to look down her nose at them.
There is no known cure for Basilisk venom aside from the tears of a Phoenix. Death by Basilisk venom is slow, excruciating, and certain.
"That will be all," the prosecutor from the Wizengamot announced. "Miss Granger, you may step down."
Though she had intended to stay to see Umbridge's sentencing—more for Harry's sake than her own—Hermione clambered down from the witness stand and stumbled as swiftly as she could out of the courtroom and towards her own office.
Shakily, she jammed her key into the lock and barely made it to her chair before collapsing.
Pain, pain, pain.
She reached into the bottom drawer of her desk and retrieved a thick black potion, unstoppering it with her teeth and pouring the precious liquid down her throat.
She coughed, having swallowed it far too quickly, but the relief was life-saving. The hurt remained, but it was more of a rolling wave than a pickaxe being lodged squarely in her brain. She let a hoarse exhale of relief escape from her as she leaned forward on her palms, massaging her temples with her fingertips.
She couldn't pinpoint exactly when the migraines had begun, but she had started to observe herself meticulously and had determined that they must be stress related. After the War, it was always there. Having to recount the horrors to the courtroom, scouring the country for the Death Eaters that had scattered themselves, trying to pick up the pieces of everything that had been broken; the headaches came, the headaches stayed.
That was almost seven years ago now.
Hermione had struggled and quickly decided that she could not cope with the Auror work that Harry and Ron had taken up with fervor after the War. Though she had received the training and went on for two weeks, it was too much for the witch. She had instead opted for more behind-the-scenes employment with the Ministry, becoming a legal advocate for underserved witches and wizards. She helped the homeless, the sick, the muggle borns displaced by the War.
It was a good career for her. Magical law had made good use of her tenaciousness and thirst for knowledge. She could happily bury herself in a book researching ancient wards and policies for hours on end. The migraines hadn't disappeared, but their stays had become more of that of a distant relative than a full-time roommate. It seemed only when the particularly nasty cases came through—a pureblooded witch being kidnapped and beaten nearly to death by her father for marrying a muggle-born stuck out in her mind—did her mind threaten to explode with agony. That, and when her personal life began to crumble…
"Mione, don't you walk out on me!"
Ronald's red ears, a photo of a curly-haired girl that hadn't looked so different from herself, burying her face shyly but affectionately into Ron's chest, his grin against her forehead.
"Merlin's beard, will you just stop and let me explain?"
Yes, the pain had been particularly bad then. She remembered less than fondly how she had arrived at Harry and Ginny's and almost instantly emptied the contents of her stomach into the bin, nearly missing it because the pain had almost blinded her.
Not exactly her finest hour.
It was after that she invested in strong pain potions. They didn't solve the problem, but they masked it well enough. She knew that she was being stubborn, but she wanted to figure out her headaches on her own. She was a competent witch and she didn't want to be draining the health system with an issue she could easily quash on her own.
And she had quashed it… Mostly.
Hermione sat up straight and pushed her wild hair from her face, shaking her head slightly. There's work to be done.
She pulled out her quill and began writing furiously. Dots were swimming in her vision and her arms felt leaden, but she persisted.
Knock knock, Hermione…
Pound, pound pound. She steadfastly ignored it, refusing to give into the pain, although it hadn't been this intense for years.
Knock knock knock knock knock
She almost screamed in frustration at her own body's betrayal of her when a magicked note flew to her desk.
Hermione, justice has been served—Umbridge was given a life sentence.
Everything ok? Meet me at the café in fifteen.
Harry
She smiled to herself at this; indeed, justice had been served, and she had been able to help ensure it. She felt a bit of a swell of pride and decided to spruce herself a bit before leaving the office to meet with Harry—no doubt her hair was reaching critical mass from her tugging at it.
Hermione stood and the pain struck her like lightning, stealing her vision in wisps. She absently felt her shoulder collide with the stone floor, yet she didn't find herself caring.
There was a popping noise. It was repetitive, almost rhythmic, and it didn't occur to Hermione to open her eyes. The sudden pungent smell under her nostrils quickly changed that.
She gagged as her eyes flew open, instinctively swatting the source away.
"Bloody hell, Hermione," Harry said tensely, setting the awakening potion onto the corner of her desk. "Are you alright?"
It took her a moment to get her bearings and realize where she was. She looked up at her scar-headed friend and smiled dismissively.
"Oh, yes, just must've gotten a bit dizzy," she said quickly, standing and brushing off her clothes calmly. She smiled dismissively at Harry. "I'm fine now."
"I waited for half an hour before I came up here," Harry replied skeptically.
Gods, when will this pain let up?
"I'm fine," she said pleasantly, waving him off and plucking her coat from the stand. "Did you get some food? I'd still like to sit down for lunch with you—"
"We're not going to lunch, Hermione," he sighed tiredly. "I'm taking you to a Healer!"
Hermione frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. It's a migraine, Harry, not a brain tumour."
"I don't care if they're just migraines!" Harry snapped. "You've skirted around it for long enough. They don't need to be causing all this grief. There's a Healer specializing in chronic pain, I've called ahead and told them you'll be in this afternoon."
"Harry!" Hermione protested, annoyed that he had gone ahead without even consulting her. "I'm not wasting a Healer's time with a stupid—"
"Just go," Harry interrupted. "This has been going on for years now, hasn't it? Remember the time at mine and Ginny's flat?"
Her cheeks flared red. "Of course I remember," she grumbled, then sighed. "Fine. But let me just go on my own, I'd rather not be accompanied like some invalid. I'm not dying, you know."
"I can live with that," Harry replied, visibly relieved. He pulled out a scrap of parchment from his robe. "This is their floo address. The Healer's name is Pundari."
Hermione looked at Harry warily, tugged the slip from between his fingers and stared at it.
"Okay, okay, fine," she said impatiently, sitting back down behind her desk.
"Do it now, Hermione," he said warningly.
"Yes, alright!" She glared at him, marched to the fireplace and threw the floo into the flame, disappearing into the smoke.
Gods, she hated medical clinics. She felt like a specimen under a microscope—no voice, no control. She sat in the examining room, tapping her foot anxiously. The bobbing of her foot rhythmically clashed with the pulsing of her brain.
"You must be Hermione," a tall woman with a milky-coffee complexion greeted warmly, entering the room casually. She had long, thick black hair that fell in a beautiful swoop over her shoulder, and her smile was bright white and dazzling. Though she was wearing a white Healer's coat, Hermione could see the soft curve of her breast dipping into a slim waist. Even her fingers were beautiful—delicate and long, with nails so clean and shiny that they looked manicured, though Hermione knew that they weren't.
The woman was gorgeous incarnate, and Hermione's hair was sticking up on one side as if she'd been electrocuted from being on the floor.
Fan-bloody-tastic.
"Yes," Hermione said quickly, subconsciously straightening her spine upon seeing the Healer—perhaps she would look a little more put together that way. "You're Healer Pundari?"
She smiled and nodded, pulling out a chart and placing softly it on her lap, conjuring a quill. For every bit Pundari was intimidating in looks, she was gentle in demeanour. "How can I help you today, Hermione?"
"Oh, it's really nothing," she replied hastily, laughing nervously. "Just little headaches now and then and a worry-wart of a friend, really…"
"Okay," Pundari said impassively, writing carefully on the chart. Hermione wished she could see what she was jotting down without having to crane her neck. "Headaches can be a nuisance, though, can't they? Perhaps I can fix you up with a potion, just in case."
Hermione smiled awkwardly. Pundari obviously saw right through her, but had the graciousness to give Hermione some relief without having to admit that she had sought help.
"Um, I suppose—yes. Just in case," she answered, hoping that her eyes were communicating her thankfulness. She hadn't realized how much she was dreading a confession of how she was suffering and needed someone else to help her because she was too incompetent on her own.
"Of course," Pundari replied kindly, replacing the chart to her desk and standing. "Would you mind lying back so I can examine you?"
She nodded uncomfortably and shifted down onto the examining bench, letting her back settle on the plastic cushion. It felt clean without being institutional, and she forced herself to breathe out as Pundari's gloved hand came to her forehead and pressed slow circles into her temple with her fingers, following it with her wand.
Hermione winced involuntarily and barely concealed a gasp of pain.
"How long have you been getting these headaches, Hermione?"
"Erm…" Hermione squirmed a bit, squinting in concentration, trying to block the hurt. "Several years, I suppose."
Pundari nodded, apparently deciding that Hermione didn't need lecturing about delaying treatment. "And have you tried any generic pain potions?"
"Yes, of course," Hermione answered quietly. "They haven't been very effective, though."
Pundari was now frowning in concentration, her fingers moving with their gentle pressure down to her neck. "The pain's quite unbearable, isn't it?"
It hadn't been a question; more of a statement. It startled Hermione a bit and she could only manage to nod. Pundari sighed and sat back into her chair, grabbing the chart again and scribbling, her arched eyebrows pulled together and her mouth set in a straight line.
Hermione sat up and waited for Pundari to finish writing; she couldn't help but drum her finger on her knee.
"Okay," Pundari sighed again, though it was an exhale of concentration. "Which potions have you been taking, and which have been the most effective?
Hermione rambled off nearly a dozen different potions, only two of which had made any difference whatsoever.
Pundari nodded and watched Hermione carefully as she spoke, muttering an incantation and allowing her quill to jot down Hermione's words for her.
"Has the pain been limited to your head?"
She paused for a moment to think. "Well, when it gets bad…" She trailed off, not wanting to divulge everything to this stranger, no matter how kind she seemed.
"It's okay, Hermione," Pundari said encouragingly, easily transitioning from her mode of concentration back to the role of the kind, gentle healer. "There's no sense in suffering when there's something to be done about it, right?"
"Um, well, when it gets bad, it's really my whole body, and I get a bit disoriented… Sometimes I pass out," she said quickly, humiliated by the confession. She knew anyone would tell her otherwise, but she was admitting weakness. Why couldn't she just figure out this damn thing on her own?
On the other hand, it felt like someone was jamming a nail into her eye socket, so perhaps she needed to acknowledge that she could be at a slight intellectual disadvantage.
"Alright, Hermione," Pundari began, "from what you've told me, the standard pain potions haven't worked for you. The ones you've been relying on—"
"Promote disconnect between bodily perception and conscious feeling, yes," Hermione interrupted. "Not generally used because they make your body feel like it's all pins and needles, and you have a delayed reaction to stimuli."
"Very good," Pundari mused, an impressed smirk forming on her lips. "I'm going to try something if it's alright with you. At best, it'll calm the pain, and at worst it will do nothing. Is that okay?"
Hermione nodded and tried to ignore the nervous kick in her stomach.
"Okay, I'll just need you lie back again," she instructed, and Hermione obliged, though somewhat hesitantly. "I'm going to perform a few spells and I just need you to tell me if you feel anything—tingles, pain relief, that sort of thing. I'm going to start now."
Pundari began murmuring incantations that Hermione didn't recognize, then she stepped back and watched.
"I need you to tell me everything that you're feeling, Hermione."
At first she felt nothing, but a sort of haze crept upon her.
"I feel—foggy," she said, confused. "Disoriented, maybe."
The quill scratched away independently as Healer Pundari observed Hermione carefully, her eyes sharply focused and her wand held up, apparently enforcing the spell.
"Has the pain changed at all?"
"No," Hermione replied quietly. Suddenly, her muscles began to tighten and she could not control it. "It's—it's making my body tense."
Pundari's eyes narrowed. "Tense?" She repeated, but before Hermione could answer, she jerked forward involuntarily, her legs seizing upward, sort of curling into a ball.
Upon the movement, Pundari immediately released the spell and Hermione fell back, exhausted.
"I apologize... That's not a regular reaction to the spell. Are you alright?" She asked. Her expression was once again one of calmness, but Hermione didn't like the confusion in Pundari's eyes.
She nodded, having gained back control over her body. Her heart was hammering away now, but at least the pain hadn't worsened any.
"I'm sorry if I've alarmed you," Pundari assured her quickly. "It doesn't mean that you're in any danger. All that your reaction tells us is that your pain is not due to a biological issue or a typical magic imbalance, which can also cause migraines."
"Oh—oh, okay," she stammered, forcing a smile. "Well, what do we do next, then?"
"'We' don't do anything," Pundari replied. "What you're experiencing doesn't meet the criteria of any of the known chronic pain disorders, which suggests that it's more complex than just magical imbalance or biological predisposition. I would suspect that it's an interaction between those things and something that you were exposed to earlier in life—an errant curse, botched potion, maybe a cursed object—especially given your involvement in the War. However, I don't have the expertise or training to treat you, or even diagnose you properly."
Upon seeing the alarm on Hermione's face, Pundari laughed kindly and squeezed her arm reassuringly. "Don't worry. I wouldn't be a good Healer if I just sent you on your way, would I? There's another Healer in the clinic who specializes in complex conditions and curses. He's quite brilliant—I promise you'll be in good hands."
Hermione smiled weakly, all of the blood in her face draining away. She mentally cursed Harry for forcing her here—the pain was manageable, she would have been fine without all of this poking and prodding and uncertainty.
Pundari stood, telling her that she'd fetch this other 'brilliant' Healer. She knew that it really wasn't that bad, but she had liked Pundari, and it was hard to find a Healer that didn't put her on edge... Even if Pundari was treating her a bit like a child.
The new Healer came into the room facing away from Hermione.
"I'll let you know, Seema, thank you," he called to Dr. Pundari in a voice…
That voice!
The Healer turned and Hermione didn't bother trying to hide her shock.
