Hey everybooty! Winter break has just started, so for the past two weeks I've been piled high with homework and tests to study for. Hopefully since it's now the break, I'll have time to write more. I'm beginning to get super duper excited about this fic, I've got so many ideas and shtuff. Prepare for some eventual angst. :) I had fun with this chapter, no matter how much it frustrated me - I had no idea how to start the damn thing.
Enjoy it, and merry [insert appropriate holiday here].
A perfect silence hung in the apartment. It was as if all sound from the outside world had been muted. Never had there been a more perfect atmosphere in the house. The sounds of the early Muggle noise did not penetrate the walls of his house. The only thing that could possibly cut the perfect silence was...
An intensely loud groan came from the man laying on the couch. There was a squeak that came when the man adjusted his position, moving the ancient couch in a way it did not like. An arm hung over the side of the couch, the fingers curling over the carpet. The sound of his heavy, even breathing was cut short as he began to wake.
His head ached as if he had just been knocked unconscious by a bludger and then beaten to near-death by a beater's bat. There was a fair bit of crusty drool on his chin, which he slowly reached up to his face to wipe away the dried saliva. Fuck, he did not want to move.
With a deep breath, he raised himself into a sitting position, though he moved as if he were stuck in molasses.
After taking a long minute to evaluate what he could and could not do in his hungover state, he swung his legs off the couch so his bare feet touched the soft green carpet.
Draco stopped for a moment and tried to stand, but before he could do so, he leaned forward and vomited ice cream and firewhisky onto the carpet. The man stayed hunched over and vomited twice more before beginning to dry heave. It took another ten minutes before he became still and silent. Though there was now a large pile of sick on the floor, he felt much better than he had that morning, but light was still sensitive to his eyes, and his head still pounded.
Testing himself, Draco stood up suddenly and, taking care not to step in the bile, walked over to the dining room table where his wand lay. The man's long slender fingers wrapped around the base of the wand. He turned and pointed the tip of the magical instrument at the disgusting pile of vomit.
"Tergeo," he muttered, not looking as the vomit was siphoned off his carpet and disappeared.
Malfoy walked to his kitchen, intent on making a special little potion his father had taught him to make in his fifth year at Hogwarts: a hangover antidote. It would cure one of most the hangover sickness, though one would still have a slight headache. In the kitchen, he used his wand to gather the potion ingredients from the cupboard, starting a fire in an instant and beginning to boil a cauldron of water over the flames.
Still almost naked, the man began to brew his antidote, having it ready in twenty minutes. As he spooned out a large portion of the liquid into a tall glass, the flames shot his arms into great light. The faded branding of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was still there, memories of his past mistakes flooded his foggy mind. He attempted to ignore the mark, but couldn't help his eyes from flickering to his left forearm until he had finished drinking the antidote and had his forearm out of sight and at his side.
On the mantelpiece stood a handsome grandfather clock he had inherited from his uncle, and Draco glanced at it before he was to leave the room. But the time the clock told stated that he had twenty minutes before he had to be at work.
In a rush of movement, Draco ran to his bathroom and showered quickly which always helped his hangover, even though he had already ingested the hangover antidote. Not to mention, he had gotten a bit of puke on himself. Once Malfoy had finished cleaning himself, he jumped out of the bathroom and hurried to his bedroom, throwing on a pair of borderline dirty Healer robes. After he had clothes on, he practically flew out of his apartment.
Out on the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, the sun was beginning to turn a beautiful pale blue. It looked as if it would be another beautiful May day.
Disappointed that he wouldn't be able to bask in the sunny rays, he turned on the spot and vanished, only to appear in the reception area of St. Mungo's.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the Welcome Witch's voice, one that he did not register with his ginger-headed stalker. Thank god she wasn't working that day, Draco didn't know if he would be able to handle her, along with his dull headache.
"Draco!" a voice called. The man turned in the direction of the voice and saw the Welcome Witch beckoning him over. 'I swear to god if she wants a date with me, I'll hex her into the next century,' he thought moodily, walking over to her desk.
"Yes?" he asked, attempting to keep his mad mood out of his tone of voice.
"I have a note here from Cornelius saying that you have been permanently moved to Spell Damage on the fourth floor." she informed him. Despite his attempts to hide it, the man's scowled. "Oh, don't look at me like that - It turns out that Christina had visited her cousin on the second floor - had a bad head cold, and now she's got spattegroit." she explained quickly; a line was beginning to form behind Draco. "So now she's a patient here and you've got her job. On the plus side, your salary is raised three sickles."
Draco blinked at her. It was proving difficult for him to process the information he had just been given.
"Draco..." the Welcome Witch muttered. "You have to go. I've got a job to do, and you're stopping me from doing it."
The man blinked again, but nodded and made his way to the staircase he had used the day before.
As he ascended to his new, permanent post, he attempted to sort through the jumble of thoughts bouncing around his head.
He wasn't sure if he was happy or not. Yes, a raise was always a good thing, and there would certainly be days when Malfoy would enjoy not having to do much at work. But there was also a large part of him that wanted to find Cornellius and tell him that he most certainly would not work in Spell Damage. True, if he refused to work on the fourth floor there was a weighing chance that he might lose his job... And if he were being completely honest with himself, he would rather have a boring job than no job at all.
Too soon, he had reached the fourth floor. Wendella was waiting for him in the grand lobby area which was strewn with rickety old chairs.
"Hello dearie," she pipped, sending him a beaming smile. "Excited to start your work here? Officially, of course." Wendella giggled, and she began to walk, with Draco keeping stride beside her. There were two hallways that led from the lobby, each of them opposite each other. The pair of them went toward the same hall they had gone down to get to the Janus Thickey ward.
Malfoy remained silent. He didn't want to upset Wendella by being honest and telling her that he was extremely disappointed in the job change. Afraid his voice might betray him if he tried to speak, the man simply nodded curtly.
"Now," the witch began, twirling her wand idly between her short fingers. The blond wizard had a fleeting image from five years ago of a man with scarlet eyes and long pale fingers, doing the exact same moment. "You'll be taking care of this entire side of the floor, where it is all permanent residence wards or temporary residence. It's a little less exciting and action-packed than where people come in with never-ceasing dancing feet, or their bottom half turned into a desk." she laughed, sickly sweet, basking in her fond memories. The sound of her laughter made Draco's headache a little more prominent. "But it's still fun," Wendella assured the man. "Many of the patients that come through here are friendly.
"There is a filing cabinet in each ward. Each drawer is for each patient in the room. In a patient's drawer you will find instructions for how to take care of that specific patient, and also their approximate length of stay in St. Mungo's. Abrax from Creature-Induced Injuries on the first floor has informed me that you're a smart young fella, and you learn quickly." As the pair of them walked, Draco vaguely wondered how one person could talk so much. "So I won't be bothering you too often and you won't be botherin' me too often neither. If you do need me though, come running." Wendella laughed again. She was much too cheery for Malfoy's liking. "There are five wards in this hallway, with a capacity of six in each ward. None of the patients are allowed wands until they take their leave, so mind you keep yours in sight at all times. There are a few that would simply adore a wand to play with."
Finally, they had reached the farthest door, the Paracelsus ward. Beside the door frame was a small silver plaque that read: 'This ward is sponsored by Ministry of Magic Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.'
Wendella unlocked the door with her wand and stepped into the room.
"This is a temporary residence ward," she informed him. After spotting the nervous expression that was creeping onto Malfoy's face, the witch patted him on the arm comfortingly. "Don't worry dearie, you'll do fine." She turned to leave, but hesitated for a moment, her brows knitting together in a frown.
"Oh. Right! I'll have to warn you that there will be some occasions in the future when you'll be called in off schedule. Hope that's alright." She seemed to be trying to make it seem more fun than it would ever be.
Daring to use his voice, he said, "No that's fine; it happened all the time when I was on the first floor with Abrax."
Wendella nodded and gave him a cheery wave goodbye.
The man stood by the door and spotted the filing cabinet that the plump witch had been speaking of. He approached it and opened the top drawer, which had been marked with the name 'Natalie Goldstein'. Pulling out a thick file, he perused its contents for a few minutes, reading the small notes that had been written over the sheets of paper. There was one particular note he enjoyed: 'Attempted to steal my wand right my pocket to repair her legs herself, the little bugger. - Christina"
The wizard's laugh died away soon, and turned into a depressing sigh. 'Maybe it'll turn out to be a great job,' he told himself. 'I've just got to give it a chance.'
x x x x
Malfoy had been working in Spell Damage for nearly a month. Thankfully for the man's sanity, the job hadn't proved to be as boring and dull as he thought it would. In fact, he was truly beginning to enjoy the work. He met plenty of people, most of which were chatty and were dying to have a conversation with someone other than their fellow patients occupying their ward.
In the Janus Thickey ward, there was virtually no change in any of the patients: Alice and Frank Longbottom were as nutty as ever. Hermione Granger had moved her fingers twice more in the past three weeks, and only when Draco had been by her bed, either staring out the window or staring at the brunette. It had become a terrible habit of his to look at her as often as he could when he was in the ward. Never had he attempted to figure out why he was so drawn to her, because he was too frightened of what he might find out.
In the few weeks of him working on that floor, he had learned by heart all of the typical spells Wendella and Christina had used when they worked in that section of Spell Damage.
It was the end of June, and according to Wendella, recently graduated Hogwarts students were pouring into the lobby with a multitude of magical spell problems. She was explaining this to him during their ten minute lunch break.
"... It's because of all their celebrating, you know," she said serenely, munching on her tomato sandwich. Draco fondly remembered his celebrating of the completion of his magical schooling: most of it he had been too drunk to even know his name.
"At least we're not bored," he grinned, referring to the week where St Mungo's had been almost empty, which was most unusual for a hospital.
Wendella laughed and agreed with him. The pair of them finished their quick meal in silence, and went back to their opposite halls.
Malfoy made his way to Janus Thickey ward, poking his head into the wards that were on his way, simply looking in and doing a head count of his patients. Though he would never admit it to any of his friends, the blond wizard enjoyed the Janus Thickey ward the most, because there he was able to keep an eye on Granger, who he felt insanely responsible for, and he was able to easily entertain the Longbottoms. The reason he was on his way to that ward at that moment was to squeeze in a game of Exploding Snaps before he would have to go and re-administer potions to a handful of patients.
But when he unlocked the door to the ward and entered the room, there were voices talking in hushed tones. The screen was pulled around Granger's bed, blocking her visitors and patient from the entire room. Perhaps her parents had come unexpectedly to visit.
Malfoy quickly poked his head behind the curtains that hung to hide the Longbottoms from public view. Mr and Mrs Longbottom were snoring quietly on their beds, their features even more daunting in the serenity on their faces. The Healer left the two patients alone and quietly walked to the end of the ward, toward the young witch he took care of. Reaching out a pale hand, he grasped the edge of the screen and moved it aside to greet the Mudblood's visitors.
A handsome young man with untidy dark hair and glasses sat in a wooden chair, accompanied by a man with burning red hair and a large array of freckles on a concerned-looking visage.
"Hello there," Malfoy said politely, shocking the two men, obviously not having heard the man approach them. They both turned to look at the Healer, and as they all recognized each other, the blond wizard's greeting died on his lips.
Potter and the Weasel had come to visit their dear friend.