i'm gonna pick up the pieces and build a lego house
1.
Weekend night shifts at St Mungo's were the special occasions that always made Hermione Granger regret dropping out of the Ministry and training as a Healer.
"The man is coughing up frogs," Hermione held one of the Healing trainees squarely on the shoulder, "I believe Healer Byron that he is significantly more important than the grumbling in your stomach."
"Uh… uh, of course. Healer Granger," Jack Byron stumbled as he buttoned up his uniform, "I'm sorry. It's just that I have been on nights the whole week and I'm beginning to see things. I just wanted five minutes to eat somethin'."
"Oh," Her eyes blinked as she examined him, "Well. If you put it that way maybe I can spare you five minutes –"
Their exchange was interrupted by a flustered-looking woman ramming into the Healer's station. Sweat had formed a gloss over her face. "Please," she implored, "—we're running out of room. I don't want to rush you but may we please start clerking patients?" A pant slipped from her lips as she smoothed the clipboard she was holding. On the surface was a form with incomprehensible scribbles. It was a known fact that Sylvia Meester – the matron of the reception area – was the neatest person around. You know there's trouble when the neatest woman around began to scribble like a toddler.
"Of course," Hermione chirped, having already forgotten Jack's situation, "We'll be there right away, Sylv. Sorry." Her eyes swivelled towards the young twenty two year old next to her. His cheeks were red and puffed. "Are you ready Jack?" she asked him nicely, "Don't you worry. Just keep calm and clean, okay?"
"Okay Healer Granger," he recited obediently.
"Good," she grinned at him as they walked always together.
The smile eventually slipped.
After all, inwardly she knew how the cruel, turbulent world of the emergency room was going to eat the poor trainee up.
There was a haze of patients to see - all with a variety of ailments and disorders. This was what made these shifts so difficult. Hermione specialized in Potions and Plants and so seeing people with swollen yellow hands due to 'accidentally' joshing themselves with a cursed quill was all very different to her day-to-day patients upstairs. This being said, she preferred these patients to those who stumbled into the unit drunk and feral. On a Friday/Saturday evening, these were unfortunately common. Seated on the creaky, wooden seats of the reception would be a bulk of young men with bloody body parts. More often than not, they would be hexed too. It was the fact that they were intoxicated that made diagnosis so difficult. Hermione had been a Healer for almost six years now and –over time- had tendered a relatively long patience with experience.
She could deal with pretty much every stupid activity in the book. And she had seen enough of them. But it was these useless, annoying things from the pubs that aggravated her to no end. They were rude, childish and always made shifts incessantly frustrating.
"He's just got in," the Healing Assistant told her as she jerked a thumb towards the end cubicle, "quite bloody and loud so I gave him his own stall." The woman was mumbling this. Hermione assumed that the patient must have not made an honourable impression. Already she was dreading it. But work was work. It was not the first drunk she'd had to deal with tonight. In fact, she had dealt with more than three within an hour.
"Sure, thanks." Hermione held her clipboard close to her chest as she walked slowly down the corridor. There was a line of people – all watching her and clearly goading her for help. "I'll be with you soon," she assured some of the forlorn faces as she reached the final booth. With a light breath, she pulled back the curtain and stepped inside.
"Good evening," she greeted with light enthusiasm as she looked up at the figure seated on the bed, "My name's Healer –"
The words literally expired on her lips.
"About… about time," the thin man rasped, watching her, "I've been waiting here for bloody ages!" He wiped his nose with a bloody sleeve. She was frozen for a few seconds as she struggled to compose herself. "Well?" His tone was accusatory as he slammed a fist on the bed, "aren't you going to help… help me? I need to get home… I need to get home, you know."
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat in one swift gulp. Hands clammy, she found herself passing him a nod. "Sorry about that," she managed as she bravely stepped forwards, "I was just –" His eyes lifted up to her. She caught a wisp of the familiar old grey rings within them and found herself breathing:
"Draco,"- a breath -"Malfoy."
"Yeah," he scoffed, whisking the slosh of thin blonde hair from his face, "How do you know that, Healer?" Hermione could feel her eyes widening as he narrowed his gaze at her. "I know you, don't I?" he grinded his teeth together as he grimaced, "I know you. I definitely know you. Who are you? Who are –" His voice had reached a volume that could be taken as a shout. But he did not stop because of that. No. His features changed as a flicker of recognition drew him to the tall, brown-haired woman with perfectly straight teeth. He released a thin breath as he eyed her, body still for once.
"Granger," he stated flatly, "I knew it was you."
The cubicle was silent.
And then the pain shot through his head and he began to scream.
Suddenly, the six years of experience kicked in and Hermione snapped out of her shock. She stumbled towards him as he stopped screaming and fell backwards, temporarily unconscious on the bed. Performing the initial vital checks, she realized that his hair was stained with blood. She rolled him over. Something was lodged at the back of his skull. "This is more than bloody," she mumbled, exasperated. He was stirring, miniscule moans pushing up from his throat.
"You're going to feel a bit sick for a minute but I'm just going to make you sleep," she told him as she wandlessly uttered a spell to inhibit the bleeding at the back of his head. Surveying his body to ensure that nothing else could cause blood loss, Hermione watched as his chapped lips whimpered. She anaesthetized him with another spell and waited until his body stilled.
For a few seconds, Hermione stayed watching. She sanitized her hands and expelled a deep breath. "Oh Merlin," she found herself muttering as a tired hand slipped over her eyes.
The gravity of the situation gradually hitting her, Hermione quickly slipped out of the cubicle and wandered forwards to refer him. "Calm and clean, 'Mione," she mumbled amicably to herself as she strolled down the corridor. First, she needed to be Hermione-the-Healer. She could be Hermione later. "Healer Byron! Healer Byron!" she called out, breathless, "I need you here now!"
A/N: I am a sucker for Dramione. This was just an idea I had. Thanks for reading. Lego House belongs to the lovely Ed Sheeran. Everything else is Rowling's. I own nothing. Hope you're having a lovely holidays to all those who are on theirs.