I'm dedicating this story to Annamonk. A more loving and giving soul doesn't exist. Happy Birthday, Sister Mine.
Chapter 1:
Funny how one second of nothing could change everything.
Draco never could figure out what possessed him to behave the way he had on that fateful day. He wasn't normally impulsive. Yet his actions had not been premeditated, either. He had felt neither hot nor cold. Apparently, just right was the temperature needed to perform heroic acts of bravery.
For that was what he'd been. Brave. Heroic.
And a bleeding fool.
In a single moment of uncharacteristic selflessness, Draco canceled out everything he'd ever done in his life. With one act, he altered the course of his future.
And the course of hers.
It had been during the battle of Hogwarts, in the heat of combat. A miracle had already occured. Harry Potter had somehow beaten death a second time and was thick in the fray, fighting through death eaters in his attempt to reach the most evil wizard of all time and finish his business with him. Around the grounds were lifeless bodies, sprinkled across the courtyard much like raisins atop a bowl of oatmeal. Dancing around the corpses, Order members were busy, fighting valiantly to bring to an end the reign of terror. Draco watched with bated breath as Molly Weasley stepped up to take on his demonic aunt. Their duel was fierce and deadly; Draco had never imagined the matronly witch having such speed and skill. When he saw her deliver the final blow on Bellatrix, Draco sighed with relief, but his comfort was short-lived. Something to the side drew his attention. His own father was dueling Hermione Granger. Draco groaned. He knew the feisty witch was no match against the more experienced wizard. Lucius was easily gaining ground on the muggleborn. Draco had practised enough with the elder Malfoy to know his moves, and thereby, his next action. He knew when his father flicked his wrist in a slashing fashion, he'd hexed the witch with an extremely powerful curse.
Without stopping to think of the consequences, Draco shoved Granger aside right before the spell reached her.
And was hit instead.
The pain of a thousand crucios struck him with the force of a runaway Knight Bus. So overwhelming was the agony, it overwhelmed his magic. His brain could not process the volume of screams coming from his nervous system. It began to shut down.
The last thing Draco saw before the curtain of night overtook him was the look of utter despair on his father's face.
So. That's it for me, was his final thought. Just as well. His life had been doomed anyway. He knew better than to hope.
No bright future awaited anyone branded with darkness.
For a time, it looked like he might be right. Death and life fought over his body, both claiming ownership. Destruction seemed the stronger of the two. It closed in to assert its victory.
But Providence had other ideas.
Following the battle, Draco remained unchanged for the next two weeks, drifting along on a sea of magical pain spells and muggle morphine. Occasionally he roused to a limited awareness. During that time, his senses played peek-a-boo with his consciousness. The first sense that broke through to his mind was hearing. A few days after he was hit, Draco surfaced and slowly registered the sound of sniffing and whispers coming from somewhere close by.
"How could you?" a familiar voice accused. A normally soft voice filled with the thick sound of tears and heartbreak.
"How the devil was I to know he would do that?" responded the equally tortured sound of the male voice belonging to his father, Lucius.
His father. His childhood hero. His constant North star…...his mentor and inspiration.
His attacker.
The reason why I'm in…..well, whatever shape I'm in.
Draco couldn't remember a time his father had ever sounded so defeated before, even including the past year when the Dark Lord stripped the elder Malfoy of his wand, home, and pride.
His mother, however, cared little for her husband's misfortunes, brought on by his own poor choices. All her concern was focused on her son.
"But why? She was just a girl…..a classmate of Draco's. She was no threat to you." Draco heard his mother release a tiny whimper, sounding much like a hurt puppy. "You knew what that spell would do."
"Cissa…..I swear on my wand, I never imagined …." Lucius' voice faded out as oblivion rose up to take Draco hostage.
The next time he awakened, the sense of touch joined his hearing in being responsive. Someone was gently holding his hand while also rubbing it softly. It felt nice.
"Ugh, `Mione….. How can you stand that?
"Stand what?
"Touching the filthy ferret."
The voice was familiar but Draco couldn't recall why. He desperately tried to get his sluggish mind to cooperate; he knew he had heard it before. Something about it brought to mind memories of the great hall at Hogwarts, food…..and freckles. Then it came to him. The person holding his hand was Granger. And the person who called him a ferret was….Weaselbee. Of course. But why was the ginger menace visiting him? Why was she? He tried to pull his hand out of her grasp, but there seemed to be a disconnect between his brain and his muscles. He tried to open his eyes; the same thing happened. Nothing. It dawned on Draco that he was essentially paralyzed. His body wasn't responding to any mental command. He felt a growing panic steal over him. Within his own body, he was trapped. A prisoner.
Feeling a sudden helpless terror, he willed himself to move. A pitiful moan filled the room. Draco didn't know it had come from him and had been his response to the pain incurred in his attempt at movement.
"Ohh….." Granger's voice quivered with undisguised compassion. "He's hurting. Ron, go fetch the medi-witch."
Ron snorted. "Why should I? He's probably just faking. "
Draco couldn't see it, but he could sense Hermione's hair bristling in fury at her stubborn friend's refusal to cooperate. He heard it when she huffed.
"Ronald! Now!"
In spite of the electrical shocks coursing through him, slicing through his nerves as if they were warm sticks of butter, Draco noticed when the Weasel obeyed. He skulked off stomping, his heavy-sounding footsteps showing his rebelliousness and blatant disapproval of Hermione's request. Then the door slammed shut.
For the space of a few heartbeats, there was silence. Then a sigh. Granger spoke again.
"He can be such an arse."
A male chuckle followed. Hermione's joined it. A moment later, soft fingertips began to caress Draco's wrist.
"Look at him," she whispered softly. Draco felt the fingertips leave his wrist to comb through his hair. "If he hadn't pushed me away…..," she choked, then gave Draco's cheek a gentle caress. "This would have been me, Harry."
So it was Potter who had laughed.
"I know. Poor sod," his former enemy spoke commiseratingly.
Draco felt a large hand join the smaller to cradle the crown of his head.
Oh, blast. He'd forgotten the Gryffindor tendency to show affection. Potter better not try to hug me.
"I really do feel badly for him. He has to be in agony."
"Do….do you think he realized what spell his father cast?"
"He had to have had. It being his father and all."
Not exactly, thought Draco. Just that it was a dark one.
He desperately wished they would speak it. Then at least he would know what he was up against.
"I feel terrible…..I misjudged him….badly."
"We all did. Me, most of all."
So, the entire golden trio had come to check on him. Draco couldn't fathom it. Then a sudden realization hit him. The Boy Who Lived must have defeated the Dark Lord.
Could it really be possible?
Draco had seen so much carnage. So much death. So much evil, he was scared to hope.
This must be a dream, he finally concluded. A few moments later, it was fact. Draco didn't hear Ron returning with the nurse; he didn't know she had cast a spell to put him temporarily out of his misery. All he knew was that he had once more succumbed to the pull of sleep and was now adrift in a dream filled with nonsensical images of him dressed in white and Granger in green. In the background, Potter was singing while he and the muggleborn waltzed in a ballroom filled with red-headed waiters throwing champagne on anyone who came close to them.
When he was finally able to open his eyes, Draco was by himself. Blearily looking around, he noticed the white walls. The sterile environment.
St. Mungo's, then.
He tried to stretch and immediately regretted it. A stifled scream slipped past his lips. The pain was incredible. His heart began to race. Unknown to him, the instruments taped to his body alerted the staff to his distress. Only a few moments passed before a healer and a medi-witch barged into his room.
Draco stared at them pleadingly, his eyes filled with anguish. "What's wrong with me?" he croaked, his voice raspy from disuse.
The mediwitch ignored him, being too intent on retrieving the correct vials of potion stored in the cabinet beside the bed, but the healer, an older wizard with a kind, weathered face, answered, "You are recovering from the effects of a curse, the likes we haven't seen in over a century. Stay still….we have something for your discomfort."
Draco grunted; staying still was something he would surely do, as the slightest movement was causing him agony.
The nurse turned around, her hands full of vials gleaming with a substance that reminded Draco of moonstones and white opals. The sheen of the liquid was luminescent and otherworldly.
"Here you go," she said in an attempt at a motherly voice, but when she tried to raise Draco a bit so he could take the medicine, he moaned, the pain acute.
"Hazel, let me," the healer instructed. Taking the potion from her, he waved his wand to raise the head of the bed a few degrees. Then he tilted the vial to Draco's lips. The weakened blonde struggled to swallow the bitter drops, but the healer gently massaging his throat helped him finish the task.
To Draco, the fluid tasted like a cross between a milk punch and something tingling; as if a bolt of lightning had been condensed into liquid form. It was soothing and refreshing and wild. The hairs on his body rose; Draco felt goosebumps all over. The pain began to recede. He sighed, a feeling of relaxation overtaking him. "Tha wuz…... greaat," he slurred.
"And that's why it's a controlled substance," the healer muttered. The medi-witch grinned.
"Witch Hazel, we might need to put a seek-me-not charm on those potions. Mr. Malfoy will have enough to overcome without adding an addiction to the list."
"Yes, Healer Robbins."
The older man sighed, his large frame heaving slightly. His kind heart was weighed down by the knowledge of what his newest patient was facing. A future filled with fevers. Weakness. Pain.
So young to be so disadvantaged.
Life wasn't fair. Young lads such as Mr. Malfoy being forced to fight in wars others created. Older men who had nothing better to do than to sacrifice their young in the flames of their overweening pride.
Such senseless, needless misery.
It made Robbins mad. What was worse, was the careless regard in reintroducing a curse like the one Draco was suffering from….the older healer shuddered.
It recalled to him the ancient wars. A more primitive time when muggles were attuned to the elements; a time when they knew the secrets of the earth and could call forth its powers for life…...and for death. The wizarding world was not as advantaged then. The playing ground was more even. One muggle proved that quite well.
Ramm's Revenge.
The curse supposedly created by the fabled muggle king in retribution against the infamous sorceress, Ardith the Attercoppe, a hex later copied and made more lethal by wizards down through the ages.
Muggles had different names for Draco's condition; myopathy, neuromuscular disease, Parkinson's, Multiple Sclerosis….many more. Some worse than others, some with additional symptoms, but for Mr. Malfoy, the prognosis would be the same. He would be afflicted. Disabled. A cripple.
What's that strange-sounding word the muggles use? Healer Robbins paused to recollect.
Oh, yes. He remembered it now.
Handicapped.
AN: For those of you who have read my story, The Summer Queen, you will recognize the character of Healer Robbins.
I also indulged in a bit of fun with the name of the medi-witch. Witch Hazel is a cartoon character from the Bugs Bunny / Looney Tunes universe. I just couldn't resist!
As with so many other of my stories, this will be a short one, with snack-size chapters. The struggles Draco experiences will come from real-life situations. There will be sorrow and angst, but also humor. And love.