A/N- Sorry it's taken me so long to update. Sad how quickly uni, work and birthdays take up your life. I've been struggling crazy bad with writers block- and i think its because I'm finding Hermione boring, so I've decided to write this from Draco's POV.
Just because I like to mix things up.
Sorry its so short- or not proof-read- I've written it pretty quickly just to give you guys something.
Thank you for your pretty pretty reviews, they make me warm and fuzzy.
As if being here wasn't humiliating enough, as if having Hermione fucking Granger as a healer wasn't mortifying enough, she had to press him about being cursed by his own fucking wife. A woman, who, despite everything, was a talentless wench.
He had been a fool to marry her, there was no denying that. Although, he didn't realise that it would put him in hospital.
Under the mercy of Granger- Weasley, whatever.
Draco had rarely felt so pathetic. It had been a long time since he felt so completely useless. He had sworn when he left the Dementors that he would never feel like that again.
And yet, here he was, riddled through with holes like cheese and with walking skills of a one year old. It was beyond pitiful and Draco despised himself.
Draco glared at the woman he'd hated during school; her hair was frizzy as ever, greying at the temples, but otherwise unchanged. There was a challenge in her brown eyes and Draco felt her curiosity like a palpable, movable thing. She never knew when to keep her know-it-all nose out.
Despite the flames licking at the sides of his body, Draco managed to muster his filthiest look. Until a wave of burning agony coursed through his body; had she cast the Cruciatus curse? He felt as though he had been dipped in acid, the fire ripping through his body until settling in a rippling blaze across his core, licking and lapping at his torn body.
He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, at least about anything except the pain that threatened to consume him. All he could think was an eternity of being swallowed up by fire.
A growl tore from Draco's throat, his control slipping with every second.
How could this be working?
A dainty hand, cold to the touch, pressed firmly against his forehead and Draco cringed away, pressing himself as far away from the witch as the bed, and the pain, would allow. But his back snapped, excruciatingly, beneath him and he couldn't help but bow with the pain, crying out. Sweet Merlin, let this end.
"Don't touch me!" His voice sounded so deep, like he'd swallowed gravel. He wanted to pass out, so badly to just fall into dark abyss that was unconsciousness. Why couldn't Granger just put him out of his misery, like an old house elf?
He couldn't bare the touch of her, couldn't stand her so close. He knew she was practically a genius, but hated the thought of Granger helping him, healing him. Her touch was too much to bear and he resented her for it.
This was too much.
"I can help with your pain, you arrogant old fool, sit down, shut up and let me help you."
Her words barely registered, but he knew she would do it. She would help him. She would stop the fire raging through his body, spilling through the gaping holes in his chest, eating him alive. Shit!
He knew he couldn't handle this much longer, he needed out. Draco Malfoy, a pureblood wizard, from a long, powerful bloodline, and he had fallen to this.
The most delicate movement, just a simple nod, had triggered a thousand hotter flames. The icy hand, small yet firm, pressed against his sweaty forehead and he fought the urge to fight her off. He was fighting so many things; he was going to lose control of them all.
A wash of balm coated him. Not completely masking, but soothing. Blissfully growing numb, Draco relaxed into the bed. The flames simmered beneath the surface, a quiet relief in comparison.
"Thank you," he breathed his body liquid with respite.
"It's not a problem." Granger's voice was curt enough that Draco opened his eyes and blinked at her. He didn't know quite what to say to the girl he'd spent years tormenting. He didn't owe her an explanation, but he knew exactly what she was thinking.
The silence stretched on.
Draco didn't know how to say it, he didn't want to be touched full stop. Surely that was obvious? He was practically insulted when she'd brought in damn pureblood healers to try and help him stand. Merlin.
The uncomfortable tension mounted between them and Draco burst. 'Uh, Granger?"
Granger's frizzy curls span as her head flicked towards him, with the same birdlike ferocity old McGonagall had perfected. "Yes?"
She couldn't make this easy. Maybe delirium was a side effect of pain relief, there was no way he would do this in any other circumstance. Yet, he felt she had to know. Touching was strictly forbidden.
"I- I didn't mean-uh-"
Hermione just watched him and the words died in his throat. The way she looked at him riled Draco, but he couldn't help feel like he owed her.
A few more heartbeats and Granger walked away, leaving Draco feeling dumbfounded. Why did he say anything? Draco knew she would believe what she wanted to believe, whether he said something or not. He groaned.
That damn Granger girl had given him a potion she'd made up, probably for fun. And it had bloody worked, of course. She always, always, had to be on top. She couldn't never just be a student, and apparently she couldn't just be a healer.
Draco watched her go, resenting her.
She was so damn perfect, wasn't she? Won the war, perfect husband- a professor, of course; who knew Weasley had the talent?- and red-headed children that will no doubt spawn out like the Weasleys do. Sickening. She even looked good.
Although his prejudice had almost died after watching his father crumble to a shell of the man he'd been in Azkaban, he couldn't help but feel that being jealous of Mudblood was…abhorrent.
Jealous of a happy little blood traitor and his mudblood wife. Merlin's sake. What had he been reduced to? He hadn't felt this...Whatever he was feeling since the trials.
Draco had spent years protecting and buffering the shattered Malfoy reputation and he could feel it crashing around him. Fucking Hermione Granger! She always got under his skin.
The warmth under his skin ebbed and bubbled, but Draco ignored it. He tried to wiggle his toes, but pain prickled up his shins. The spell may have kept the pain down, but the fear rose up like bile.
He clenched his fists, his knuckled mottled. What if he couldn't walk again? He couldn't be completely dependent. On who? He snorted. Astoria? Crazy fucking bitch- he couldn't believe she'd tried to kill him! And may possibly have crippled him. Shit. Shit.
It made him think of his son; little Scorpius, a pint sized Draco. The boy with the innocence that Draco never had; his life had always been tainted with the touch of Voldemort. Though Scorpius will suffer because his father had been such a stupid bastard, the boy was smart enough to shrug it off and soldier on.
Draco heaved a sigh, if only.
The room was a suffocatingly happy shade of peach; it clashed terribly with the fear that threatened to bubble over and tear him apart.
A week later and fucking Granger was watching him gurgle down more potion; the burning was less intense now, but it slid down his throat like a hot potato. The fire began in his chest and his curses hissed around the ward.
Granger looked insultingly cheerful as Draco coughed and spluttered, his body burning with the fire it contained.
"I think we're ready to try standing today!" She chirped. Oh fucking hell. Draco's stomach dropped even further, his brain clouding as the implications threatened to finish him.
Unease flittered across his face and Granger's face softened, her chocolate eyes watching him. There was no tenderness there, but the bittersweet tinge of pity. Draco felt ill.
"It'll be fine, Draco," She said softly, but keeping her distance. There was a fear in his face that he couldn't hide. Shit, shit, shit, he thought, with feeling.
He couldn't reply, but nodded, casting his eyes down. He wasn't ready for this; he felt like a sixteen year old boy again, having to bow to the snake-like face…No.
He was an adult and he would face this like a man. If this didn't work, Hermione fucking Granger would fix it. And then he would destroy Astoria. He would make her pay for this, he really would. The wispy blonde stick of a woman would fucking regret walking into his life.
The hospital blanket was ripped off him and his legs looked pale and skinny beneath the darkness of the robes. He cringed away; he was repulsed by how juvenile he felt.
The lump in his throat was heavy and hard, he could barely breathe around it. Shit.
Granger's face was weak with pity; her eyes were sad glints of brown below her concerned brow.
That fucking look. He had to do it, had to.
Draco's breath shuddered through his body and he swung his spindly legs off the bed.