AN: Hi guys. Welcome to the plot bunny that I've been resisting for a really long time. I hope you enjoy your stay. This is mostly me wanting to have a story where people aren't so serious all the time. But you know, they'll probably end up being all srs business anyway. :/
Warnings: This story is slash.
Disclaimer: I'm not making any money off of this. I don't own the characters, etc. etc.
Summary: When Draco is hit with a mysterious curse, he must look to none other than Cursebreaker Potter to find the cure. And then it gets all slashy and fun. You know, Harry is all trying to find out whodunnit and how and Draco's curse is getting way worse and meanwhile they both realize that they might have something that ought to be explored and perhaps pervy nasty naughtiness may ensue. It's a mystery! An adventure! Slightly romantic! I don't feel like writing a summary, can you tell?
"I can't feel my hands," Draco said suddenly, rubbing his fingers together with a confused expression.
"Have you been sitting on them, or something?" Pansy asked, absently flipping through the newest issue of Witch Weekly.
"No, I have not been sitting on them. Why would I be sitting on them?" Draco snapped, now wringing his wrists in an attempt to get his blood moving to his fingers. When had his blood decided to stop moving there in the first place?
"Well, I dunno, give yourself a stranger and whatnot…"
"Pansy!" Draco said between his teeth, "Really. Here, in front of you? What do you think I am, some kind of animal?"
Pansy merely waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. "Keep your pervy naughty nastiness to yourself, please," he huffed, now flopping his hands uselessly against the sofa.
Pansy grabbed his wrist, holding it down against the couch. "Draco, cut it out with the crazy or I'm going to have to hit you. I'm trying to read."
Draco stared at her hand on his wrist, going a little pale. "I can't feel that…" he said, just as the mediwizard opened the door to the waiting room and ushered Pansy in for her appointment.
"Well, this is my stop," Pansy said, heaving her very pregnant self off the couch. "You just take the crazy train back down the hall and set up your own appointment, or quit freaking out. My kid can hear you, you know," she said, rubbing her belly tenderly. "thanks for waiting with me, anyway. Blaise can be such a prick."
"Language, Parkinson. Your kid can hear you," Draco said before taking her advice and heading back down the hall. Not to make an appointment, though- just to leave. St. Mungo's gave him the willies worse than a graveyard on Halloween after a scary movie.
He wasn't that concerned about his hands, not yet. It was probably just the way he was sitting. Or maybe it was colder in the waiting room than he realized. It wouldn't be a problem unless the numbness kept on spreading, he reasoned, fumbling with the door out of St. Mungo's.
And so it wasn't a problem for at least another fifteen minutes, when he suddenly could not feel his robes brushing against his elbows. Draco stopped. He had, by then, made it to the apparition point and was now securely in his own living room where he was sure that the temperature was completely perfect. He was not sitting down. He wasn't doing anything at all that would have logically caused this numbness. He fumbled in his robe pocket for his wand and came up empty handed. Swearing, he moved into the light and peered into his pocket (why did it have to be so deep!?), visually locating his wand before negotiating his numb fingers towards it.
Once he had it in his grasp, he cast a warming charm at his left hand. Nothing.
He went on to try several charms and spells, everything from scourgify to ennervate, which made his fingers twitch but caused no feeling whatsoever. Frustrated, he cast a stinging hex at his left hand. Nothing.
"Damn," Draco said, and apparated back to St. Mungo's.
This was annoying. A little weird and kind of eerie, but mostly it was annoying. Spending the day at St. Mungo's… he shivered. So many sick and injured people… it was like the war here, almost. It was a war here. A war against dying.
"Can I help you, sir?" asked the irritable looking witch at the front desk.
"Yes, I'm here for treatment. My hands are-"
"Spell damage? Magical malady? Artifact accident? Creature induced?"
"I'm not sure, exactly-"
"Pain and swelling? Tingling? Uncontrollable urge to hit small children?"
"No—What?—No, none of that. I can't feel anything," Draco said before the witch could interrupt, "Completely numb," he added, wiggling his fingers.
"And you have no idea why," She said tiredly. It was a statement, not a question, so Draco didn't answer. "Spell damage, level 4," she pointed down the hall toward the lift. "Next!" she cried, and a woman with a large unicorn horn sprouting out of her forehead shoved past him.
"Weird," Draco mumbled to himself and rode the lift up to level four. Being in St. Mungo's gave him another reason to hate being in St. Mungo's, he thought. Coming here was hardly ever a good thing. Nor, he amended, a normal thing: sharing the lift with him was a man with huge elephant ears and a small boy with green oozing boils clinging to a mother who looked like she might vomit at any moment. Draco hastily shuffled away from them and waited impatiently for the doors to open to his level.
After they opened, he was ushered out by a frantic looking attendant and into the back of another line. Brilliant.
By the time he was halfway to the front, he was not sure whether he could feel his shoulders.
By the time he finally reached the desk, he was quite positive he could not feel his shoulders.
"And what seems to be the trouble, sir?" asked the mediwitch behind the desk, searching him in vain for a dog's tail or a parrot's beak or some other equally strange ailment.
"I can't feel my arms. They've gone completely numb."
"And what spell were you using?" She asked with a small smirk.
Pervy nasty naughtiness, Draco thought bitterly before responding: "I didn't use any spell at all."
The mediwitch blinked up at him.
"You are aware, sir, that this level is for spell damage?"
"Yes, I am aware," said Draco with increasing frustration, "I've been waiting here for nearly an hour, you see, and the numbness is spreading. The witch at the entrance sent me to this level and I would like to see a healer now, please."
"Very well, sir," she said tiredly, "Your name?"
"Draco Malfoy."
That got him a second look, alright.
"To the left, room six," she said in a cooler tone than before.
"Thanks." He gave a deep, exaggerated bow and walked to his room.
It was maybe another twenty minutes before the healer entered. Luckily, the numbness seemed to be content now that it had taken his arms entirely and had stopped spreading. Draco was glad; he wasn't very interested in trying to walk on numb legs.
The healer that entered his room was a plump, elderly woman with a bun of frizzy gray hair and small blue eyes.
"Hello," she said in a light sing-song tone, "I'm Healer Nelson. What seems to be the problem, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco explained his problem for the third time, and Healer Nelson listened with rapt attention. She, at least, did not seem to suffer from the same prejudices as the last mediwitch.
"And you don't remember casting any spells?"
"None."
"Do you recall having a spell cast on you?"
"No."
"Very well. I beg your pardon, Mr. Malfoy," she said, before murmuring a spell that cast droplets of golden light towards Draco that seemed to wriggle under his skin. He could see them glowing as they zoomed through his veins to the tips of his fingers, where they seemed to exit under his finger nails and coagulate into a large golden ball with Healer Nelson caught in her outstretched hand.
After examining it, Healer Nelson sighed. "Well it's good news and it's bad news, I'm afraid."
"Good news first, please, I've had a rough day," Draco deadpanned.
"Well the good news is that it isn't a medical issue. Your body is fine. Which brings me to the bad news: You must have been hit with a spell or a curse. Since you say you cast no spell yourself, that means that someone has deliberately done this to you. It also means that we do not know what spell or potion might reverse this curious ailment, if it is reversible. I also do not know if the problem will worsen or if it has done what it intended to do."
"That's a whole lot of 'I don't know,'" Draco said (not nervously, mind you), "I mean, with that much I-don't-know, what happens next?"
"Well," said Healer Nelson with a sigh, "You can stay here for observation. We can try to learn more and treat the symptoms. Or of course, you can seek outside help from a cursebreaker. That's what I recommend, if you can spare the time."
Draco awkwardly flopped his right arm against his side. "I think I can spare the time."
"Very well," Said Healer Nelson, "I have a list of St. Mungo's recommended cursebreakers. Should you chose one, he or she should hopefully be able to identify the type of curse or spell used against you and devise some way to reverse it. I would recommend a cursebreaker who also has training as a mediwitch or wizard since we do not know how else you may be effected."
"Ok, I can do that," Draco said, "Just tell me the best cursebreaker you know."
Healer Nelson smiled, disbursing the golden ball of light into the air. "The best in the field is Cursebreaker Potter. Very busy man, in high demand. Unless someone up there likes you a whole lot, I'd say it's nearly impossible to get him on such short notice."
"Cursebreaker Potter. Not Harry Potter?" Draco asked, suddenly very disenchanted with the universe as a whole.
"Of course," Said Nelson.
It bloody well would be.
AN: My backspace button is squeaky. Anyways, please leave a review. I tend to start things and not finish them, but reviews help me want to finish them. And that helps you. See?