Author's Note: Asa Galen is an OC. And the name of Stephanie is used as Draco's wife because this is fanfic and I can do what I please.
Healer Asa Galen took very slow, precise steps towards the door at the end of the hallway. This had always been her least favorite part of the day. It wasn't that she dreaded visiting the Janus Thickey Ward, not really. Some of the witches and wizards in there were perfectly lovely people, or would be if they weren't insane, like the Longbottoms. (Their tragic story, whispered again and again in the corridors every time their charming son and his family came to visit, never failed to bring at least one of the Healers to tears.) Others were abusive and lunged for Healers' throats. But it was this one resident in particular that really bothered her, and almost every one of her coworkers at that.
Before she was ready, Healer Galen had reached that very patient's room. To stall, she skimmed through the girl's records, pausing to throw a look of disgust at the picture of the pale, pug-faced brunette, forever silently hissing at all onlookers. In her files, she was listed as a Concoction Catastrophe Casualty, to which Healer Galen scoffed at every time she opened them. This woman was no more a victim than The Boy Who Lived was a squib! No, she'd brought her condition upon herself, which gained her no sympathy from anyone at St. Mungo's.
She couldn't delay it any longer. Healer Galen pushed open the door and pasted a grin on her face, greeting her patient with a saccharine tone. "And how are we doing today, Miss Parkinson?"
"CONFUNDO! IMMOBULUS! INCARCEROUS! SECTUMSEMPRA!"
Healer Galen cast a protective charm upon herself impulsively, though it was not truly necessary. Pansy's wand had been snapped ages ago, and Pansy had never been a good enough witch to perform spells without one. She certainly didn't have the ability to concentrate hard enough on them now. Curled into a ball at the far corner of the room, Pansy had made herself a barrier against the world with her pillows and bed sheets. Just one damn sleeping charm to get her through the night and I can go home, Healer Galen thought to herself, grinding her teeth. Once Pansy had realized that her dinner had been laced with Sleeping Draught every night, she'd refused to eat anything for a week.
"WHERE IS MY DRACO?" Pansy spat. This was one of only two questions Healer Galen had ever heard her ask. The second, as usual, immediately followed the first: "AND WHERE IS MY WATCH?"
Neither Pansy were allowed to see under any circumstances. Healer Malfoy couldn't even step foot on the fourth floor anymore, lest Pansy catch a whiff of his natural perfume and try to claw or beat her way through the door. While her infatuation with him was no secret, it had taken a bit of investigation to figure out why Pansy was constantly begging for her wristwatch. It was shabby and damaged and no longer kept time. But one Healer noticed a strong scent resembling his wife's apple fritters and the air before a serious storm. The watch no longer worked, he realized, because it had been soaked in Amortentia. And Amortentia unquestionably reeked of Healer Malfoy for poor lovesick Pansy. When questioned, Healer Malfoy talked about how much the Malfoys and Parkinsons wished for their marriage, and somewhere along the line—he guessed during their early years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but of course, it was hard to know for sure—Pansy had developed feelings for him. He insisted he would only ever be able to see her as a friend, but she only fell harder as time went on. Unbeknownst to her fellow Slytherins, Pansy had dipped her watch in that potent love potion just so she could feel like she was with him wherever she went. After their school days and into adulthood, Healer Malfoy cut off all contact with the Parkinsons, fearing that Pansy might try to attack his wife Stephanie or his son in envy. Days after Stephanie had convinced her husband to contact the authorities, Pansy was found inhaling the fumes of Amortentia in her cauldron, mumbling the name of her beloved ceaselessly.
Healer Galen pulled her wand out of her robe's pocket. "Calm down, I'm not going to hurt—"
"YOU FILTHY LITTLE MUDBLOOD! Stay away from me! Get back! No, no, not again! I don't want to go to sleep, I WANT MY DRACO! WHERE. IS. MY. DRACO?"
Healer Galen shouted the incantation over Pansy's shrieks, and she was quiet. With a sigh, Healer Galen hauled dozing Pansy onto her bare bed. She looked almost peaceful, with her dark eyebrows untightened and her jaw slackened instead of open and screaming. Before Healer Galen was out the door, however, Pansy spoke in her sleep. It was barely audible, but nevertheless unmistakable. "I want my Draco."
Next time, she decided, she just might force the Draught of Living Death down her throat.