Chapter 2: Draco's POV

Draco sank to his chair, cradling his forehead in his hands, feeling as if he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. It was like he was back in Hogwarts, the same feeling of insecurity, and humiliation welling up in him like bile. It was always someone: someone who was so much better than he. He was an evil person, he always would be, no matter how goddamn hard he tried, there would always be a Harry Potter, looming above him, superior and venerated, and they mocked him.

'I tried,' he wanted to scream, but Lenore's hurt disgust floated before his eyes like a dark spectre. He clawed his finger through his hair. He knew it was a lost cause when he he entered Healing. There was only so much penance he could pay, and still draw breath, but he had wanted to save lives somehow undo what had been done.

It was selfish, he realized as he jumped up to pace around the room. In an infantile and naïve way to make himself feel better, he shied away from his past attempts at this, he chose a career that would be, laughable, noble. Wipe away his sins, as if doing one or two good deeds would erase everything that had happened. What the hell was he thinking?

Stooping to lean on the desk, he took deep breaths, tamping down his feelings as always, compartmentalizing the pain. He had a job to do, and by Merlin he was going to do it, regardless of some little Mudblood's disapproval.

The common room of the hospital was empty, as usual. Shedding his dirty robes, he stepped into the shower, the warm water running across his scarred shoulders, the long-healed skin no longer tender. As he washed, he thought about Lenore. How the hell was he going to keep their work professional now? She was a damn good assistant, the best he'd ever worked with, and even though he knew she loathed him, she had never let it interfere with their work. Now...

He cursed. Well now the stupid Mudblood bitch was going to transfer after this. Oh well, he thought, rinsing his hair with overly rigorous scrubs. At least she will no longer distract me while I'm trying to-

He stopped suddenly, letting the soap drip down his face. Distract? She wasn't distracting him! She was just a woman, and it had been awhile, he decided firmly, finishing his shower, concerned with the time.

Throwing on a new pair of spotless, starched robes, he stalked out of the common room, adopting his shield of untouchable confidence. Several nurses stared at him as he passed, expressions of disgust and interest warring with their features; he ignored them, accustomed to the reaction after so long.

Lenore Crowe-Darrington sat staring blankly at her parchment, her quill poised, motionless, over it's ecru surface. She had a Thousand-Mile-Stare that Draco was unaccustomed to seeing on her face. When it came to work at the hospital, she reminded him annoyingly of that Hermione Granger he had hated so much in school. Although, in looks, they could not have been more different...Lenore, with her raven dark hair, smooth skin, and dark glasses behind which emerald green eyes glared at him disapprovingly...

"Well?" he snapped, angry at his body's reaction to her. "Are you just going to stare at the wall all day, or do we have some kind of work to do?"

Lenore gave a violent start, dropping her parchment and quill. With a curse, she dove after them, giving him a dark glare.

"On First, a wizard was just admitted with severe burns, Smethwyck wants you to work on it. He says it looks like a possible Dragon attack. The patient's name is Julian North."

Draco sighed, rubbing his temple as his headache gave him an especially sharp twinge. He nodded, trying to get into the game.

"Let's go take a look, then."

Arrival on the First Floor showed Draco exactly what he was afraid of. Patients were sitting up in their beds, staring at the new arrival: a man screaming and thrashing on a bed, held down by two assistant Healers. Draco ran over to him, glancing him over with a quick, practiced eye.

Grabbing Lenore's arm, he yelled over the man's shrieks of agony. "This is no dragon burn! Get me Ague incense, quickly!"

His wand at the ready, he began to chant melodically, touching the man's forehead and chest softly as he did so. Lenore was soon back at his side, lighting the Ague incense with a flick of her wand and a whispered command.

Draco continued his incantation, his voice even and cool, apparently unaware of his patient's twisting and pleading for him to stop his ministrations. He could feel fear twisting like smoke in his guts; he was almost positive he could not save this man's life. He was familiar with the curse laid on this man, it had been Walden Macnair's specialty. Draco did not want to dwell on THAT particular memory...

The man had stopped screaming: blood was bubbling from his mouth in sickening coughs. Draco tried every healing incantation, word, and every prayer he knew, and by the time the realization had sunk in that his patient was dead, glazed eyes staring up at the ceiling, he was liberally sprayed with blood and sputum, his wand limp in his hand.

He turned to stare at Lenore, who gaped at him. "Call it," he said dully, walking over to the sink to wash. He realized that the drying blood had glued his wand to his palm, and he tore it away with difficulty, laying it next to him with precision.

He stopped short, letting the water tumble through his fingers. Smethwyck knew. He knew Draco would recognize the curse used against this man. He knew there was no hope that Draco could fix it; he just wanted to throw this information into the young Healer's face.

Grabbing up his bloody wand, Draco pushed Lenore aside and headed out the door. Stalking through the corridor, he past assistants, patients fellow Healers, unmindful of the stares at his blood splashed robes and face.

Bursting into Hippocrates Smethwyck's office, he ignored the couple who were seated before the Healer-In-Charge as they swiveled in their chairs, shocked at the interruption.

"You manky pillock," he declared softly, his gray eyes murderous. Smethwyck looked up at him, slowly rising from his seat. He gestured to the couple, whose mouths were hanging open in shock at Draco's comment.

"If you would excuse me," he said politely, his eyes never leaving Draco's. 'We will continue this as soon as I have taken care of...this."

"You seem very well-informed as to my life, Smethwyck," Draco purred menacingly as the couple filed cautiously past him, their expressions morphing from shock to avid curiosity. "Cludo," he snapped and the door slammed shut behind them.

"Yes," the other man replied, steepling his fingers. "Many of us took it upon ourselves to learn about the Death Eaters, Mr Malfoy. Some of us did more work than others in that regard."

"I have only seen the curse laid upon Julian North used by one man," Draco said coolly after a moment of silence. "Specifically because of the extreme pain caused before death-"

"There was a letter," Smethwyck interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"There was a parchment nailed to Mr North's hand." Smethwyck handed Draco a liberally ink and blood stained roll of parchment, a heavy scrawl digging into its surface.

"Nailed?" Draco asked as if if doubting his own ears. He had witnessed Walden Macnair's brutality more than once, he did not have to be told twice. The muddy strokes of the words scrawled across the page, heavy and crude. His eyes caught his name; it was addressed to him. He felt his blood run cold, and he swallowed heavily, terror making his heart hammer his ribs.

Draco Malfoy,

Thought I would send you a little gift, boy. It's been a while since we talked last. You know, since you defected and left us to our own devices. You'll be happy to note that I escaped the special little Azkaban roundup, and I have some little surprises planned for all of the skanky prats at the Ministry. Hear Shacklebolt got the Big Job. Must congratulate him and all that.

You know, I never knew how much of a little wanker you really were, Draco. But don't worry, I will give you a show you will never forget, m'boy. I always took you for a man who liked to watch.

See you around. If you come after me, which we both know you won't, but if you do, I will be preparing something special for mummy and dad, and it won't be quick. Just some food for thought.

Draco tossed the letter back onto Smethwyck's desk, the casual movement barely hiding how hard his hands shook.

"You read it, I assume?" he asked rhetorically, a bitter laugh scraping his throat. "Of course you did."

"You have worked here for a reasonable length of time, Malfoy," Smethwyck told him, gazing intently at his steepled fingers. "And thus far, you have done nothing but your job. I confess, when I was notified by the Ministry that you had been approved as a Healer, I resigned. They, of course, refused to accept my resignation, and I am glad of that. If nothing but to see your work." he held up a hand. "Let's be clear, I still hate you, Malfoy. But your work is stellar. You and Assistant Darrington make one of the best teams to ever grace this hospitals corridors."

"Is there an eventual point in this treatise?" asked Draco, his voice back to its normal drawl. His armor was back up, impregnable and hard, a skill he had perfected after all these years, and it had held strong, even after everything.

The Healer-In-Charge gave him a hard look. "Indeed," he rumbled. Leaning forward, he met Draco's eyes with a steely glance. "If your history of bad decisions affect the safety of anyone in this hospital, I will personally kill you, Draco Malfoy."

Staring into Hippocrates Smethwyck's eyes, Draco began to laugh. It was a truly delighted sound, and Smethwyck leaned all the way back in his chair, his bushy eyebrows almost in his hairline.

"Good luck doing that before Lenore Crowe-Darrington," retorted Draco as he spun on his heel and left the Healer-In-Charge staring incredulously after him.