Breathing In Mortality
01. Fury and Rage
"I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor
I dare you to move, I dare you to move
Like today never happened
Today never happened before
Maybe redemption is stories to tell
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell
Where can you go to escape from yourself"
-Switchfoot, "Dare You To Move" / Album: Learning to Breathe
Draco sighed heavily as he beat his feet back and forth against the cold, hard examination table. He hated the doctors office. It was cold, dreary and depressing, to say the least. He would have liked nothing more than to magic himself well and be done with it. You can fix broken bones without going to the doctors…can't really do much for what was wrong with him. If he hadn't had a constant headache and the inability to insult Potter and his Dream Team, he wouldn't have bothered with Dr. Starrmen at all. However, if Draco Malfoy can't insult Harry Potter, there is definitely something wrong.
Draco could hear the old wizard's frail voice mumbling to his mother, who seemed quite calm even though Draco told her he was probably near to his death bed. She may have cared, she may not have. It was hard to tell with her; she was so cold and contrite with her mannerisms and well chosen words, that even Draco, her son, couldn't tell if she even cared at all about him.
He had been depressed for a few months. Even at school and while playing Quidditch, when he's in his element, he couldn't seem to snap himself out of it. His grades were suffering, his reputation was going down the tube and at this rate he wouldn't be able to graduate. Seventh year at Hogwarts is very tough and he needed to "keep his eye on the prize" as his father said. Draco couldn't seem to stay with it.
So, he'd contacted his mother as a last resort and she'd dragged him to his old doctor. Draco wasn't sure why his mother made him go, he speculated it was because he would tarnish the family name if he was ill. It was hard to think optimistically about the evil spectrum of the ying-yang when you, yourself, are not part of it…even when he told himself to give his mother the benefit of the doubt.
Dr. Starrmen, a very old and fragile wizard with a long white beard not unlike Dumbledore's, came into the room with Narcissa Malfoy close behind. She surveyed the room with discontent. It seemed Dr. Starrmen's practice had gone downhill since the last time they were in the room: about fourteen years prior. The furnishing seemed very below Malfoy-Manner's outlandishly priced attributes.
"I'm afraid I have some…bad news," Dr. Starrmen said, sounding very business like.
"Please hurry, if you will. I need to get back to class. I'm missing Potions and if I'm not there to berate Potter, no one will and the world will collapse around us." Narcissa rolled her eyes and patted Draco condescendingly on the knee. He sneered at her in response.
"Do not be rude, Draco," she said, sounding irritated.
Draco snorted, "It's not purposeful, mother. It just comes naturally. It's a side effect of the disease."
"Sadly, it is," stated the doctor, taking a seat on his stool with Draco's rather minuscule file in his lap.
"What do I have?" Draco asked, even though he already seemed to know. He'd been dreading this part because the last thing he needed was for his mother to find out what a playboy he was. On the other hand, word would get back to his father, who would undoubtedly be proud. Draco tensed up in anticipation of the embarrassment to come.
"I won't beat around the bush, then, young Malfoy." He turned to Narcissa, "Draco has an acute and extremely rare version of Snogishtiley* which is commonly known as Snoggington, the snogging disease. However, he's had it since he was quite young. You see, this very rare, and much more deadly version is hereditary. It's only seen every one hundred years or so. It's barely traceable and you wouldn't know it was there unless you specifically looked for it." He paused, probably for effect like in the movies, "Draco's case is very fierce."
Draco stared straight ahead, unable to speak.
"What do you mean, Doctor?" Narcissa asked, seemingly worried.
"I'd say Draco only has a few days to live. Possibly hours. It seems that his condition will just get progressively worse until he…until it ends. Right now, the disease has overtaken about 75% of his body." He looked at them helplessly. Narcissa, in a motherly fashion, took Draco's hand in her own. He was in such shock that he didn't flinch away. "It's untreatable, I'm afraid."
"Untreatable!?" Draco shouted, jumping down from the table. "We're wizards for Merlin's sake! We can treat ANYTHING!"
The doctor cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable, "Unfortunately, Mr. Malfoy, that is not the case. Some things do not have cures, yet, even for us."
"What the fuck?!" Draco demanded, storming around the room, "I can't be ill! I don't even feel differently except for the blasted headache and maybe some slight memory loss!" He whirled around to face the barer of bad news, "You must have diagnosed me incorrectly!"
Dr. Starrmen reddened, "I assure you, I haven't. I did all the tests possible to disprove my theory. I double checked with other doctors. I got second opinions. That's why you've been here so long. Draco, I'm sorry."
"HA! How very…very…dammit!" Draco sighed heavily and dramatically. "I'm not going to die. People who are going to die aren't as healthy as me."
"Healthy people die to," replied the doctor reasonably. Narcissa's eyes were clouding over as she pulled a tissue from her designer bag. "You aren't healthy, Draco. This disease has been in you since you were an infant. You were born with it. It slowly took a percentage of your body for itself every year of your life. You're lucky, in the other cases of this disease the patient only lived to be fifteen. You surpassed it for two years. You held out."
"Why do you say I only have HOURS to live? If it's only taken up 75%." Draco's eyes were flashing with hurt, anger and sadness.
"As it takes over more of your body, it grows more rapidly." The doctor explained calmly, "I'm only guessing you have hours. You may very well have weeks."
"Or months," stated Draco evenly.
The doctor cringed, "Probably not months," he said quietly.
"Isn't there ANYTHING you can do?" Narcissa begged.
Dr. Starrmen stood up, crossing the room to stand away from Draco. "I can contact every wizard doctor in the world. I can contact the scientists who are trying to develop a cure. I will do everything in my power, I promise you. Lucius may also be of help. He has connections that I do not. All I can predict right now is that we may be able to prolong his life…but we cannot save it indefinitely."
Draco lay in his large bed pouring over books upon books containing anything and everything having to do with Snogishitiely. He was not a quitter, he would not give up on himself; not yet. There had to be a way to save himself, there just had to be.
It was all so very confusing and frustrating. It seemed that the more he learned about the disease, the more perplexed he was about it. He knew it was hereditary, but who the hell had had it before him? Who had passed him the gene of death? He was pissed off at his ancestors, a feeling he'd never had before. Draco Malfoy had always been so proud to be a Malfoy. The name demanded respect, power, invincibility.
The name was now a curse. The curse of the dragon.
"DAMN!" Draco hollered, shutting another leather bound book with a snap. He threw it across the room where it flopped to the floor, lifeless. Draco could not wrap his head around the fact that he might die at any moment. He couldn't believe it. He felt fine, normal and healthy. Did this disease just creep up when you least expected it and take your life?
There had to be SOMETHING. He would not, ever, give up hope that there was something out there to save him. Maybe there was something that could trick the disease. Perhaps there was a spell that would give him eternal life. If only stupid Harry Potter hadn't helped get rid of the Sorcerer's Stone. That could have been Draco's saving grace.
This wasn't doing any good. All this thinking did was make him more angry at the world; Harry Potter in particular. It wasn't Harry's fault, he had nothing to do with this.
Draco felt helpless, sitting there in his huge manner. The manner had been a source of happiness for him in his childhood. Now it merely haunted him. He wanted out. Now.
Breathing was like a foreign task to him, he couldn't catch his breath, couldn't breathe in the night air. His eyes were watering from the icy air as his lungs tried to fill with oxygen.
"Oh God," he muttered, slowing his pace, "I'm dying right now. Right here. In the middle of the God-dammed forest." He looked around him, he was completely surrounded by trees. He'd left the manner hours before, heading out into the darkness. He didn't know where he was going, he just knew he had to get somewhere.
It was as if something was calling him; something other worldly. He desperately needed answers, but he couldn't just sit in his room for the remainder of his life, looking through books. That's what that bookworm Hermione Granger would do…
Hermione Granger. Why didn't he think of it before?
He took his wand from his robe pocket and with a small pop, he was gone.
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*Snogishitiley. Pronounced: snog-ish-it-allee
Don't just assume he's Apparating to Hogwarts because, before you say it, I KNOW there is no Apparating on Hogwart's grounds.
I'm really liking this so far. I hope this idea hasn't been done before. I've never read it anywhere, but it'd be so cool for me to have something unique. I'm sure it HAS been done before. But oh well. I hope you like it!! There will be more soon.