CHAPTER FOUR: FOR YOU AND YOUR DENIAL
Hermione gave a huge sigh as she left the last pair with their assigned nurse. It had been less trouble than last year; Roger Lestrange being the only one really complaining. Professor Granger contemplated the young boy. He was attractive in looks, but his attitude seemed to ruin everything. Hanna was the only girl that had ever given him lingering looks or paid extra attention to him. Five years previously, Hermione had been shocked to hear that a Lestrange had entered Hogwarts School again. Apparently, Bellatrix had hidden him away at her old house, hiring an elf to look after him. She had been less shocked to find he was placed in Slytherin.
Now, the woman emerged from the elevator on the top floor. This department was the one kept most secret. She felt privileged every time the medi-witch smiled and opened the door for her. It was called the Uncureable Department. Hermione assumed the reason they kept it so secret was because of the name. It was rather foreboding; patients certainly wouldn't request a visit.
The Uncureable Department was a large part of Muggle-born acceptance during the war. St. Mungo's hid them in the uppermost level, but catered to Death Eaters so that they didn't suspect the organization's true allegiances. Although, pre- and post-war, the Uncureable Department had strictly hired Muggle-borns and a few of their relatives.
This department specialized in diseases that were unidentifiable or unable to be cured by magical means. Modern wizards recognized that they could not cure or prevent some conditions that were very fatal in Muggles, so they adapted to their normal forms of treatments. These included physical and psychological problems, ranging from cancer to eating disorders.
Anyone who worked there had to sign confidentiality agreements with enchanted quills. Rumor had it that one medi-wizard told his sister and his fingernails started peeling off. Hermione didn't really believe it, but she was such a stickler to the rules she wouldn't have mentioned it to anyone if there hadn't been consequences. She had desperately wanted to inform Briar that she in fact helped with some of the same cases and more, but had held her tongue.
Hermione always came up here after taking care of the students' needs. She trusted the nurses to answer all their questions. The brunette felt that this was where she belonged. She felt most relaxed when she was tending to people. She felt like she mattered to them more than she mattered to her students. Hermione let out a sigh of relief as she opened a door to the top floor.
An obscure receptionist that Hermione could never remember smiled brightly at her entrance. "Back again, Miss Granger. Doctor Black is with a relative right now, but I'm sure he'll be up shortly. In the meantime, Cecilia isn't having a good day. I'm sure she could use a visit." Over the last two sentences, the unidentifiable woman's smile turned sad, with fewer teeth and barely upturned corners.
Hermione's eyes sparkled, on the edge of tears. Cecilia was her favorite patient. She had come in the day that Hermione started working in the Uncureables. The single Muggle doctor that was, and is still to this day, employed, diagnosed her with severe brain cancer. Her feet, encompassed in sensible black flats, seemed to carry her to the woman's room. She always tended to her on her monthly stints at being a medi-witch and she normally came in for an hour once a week, as a visitor, to hear the woman's stories.
The woman looked peaceful. Her wrinkled face was in the calmness of slumber. Miss Granger sat in a cushioned chair pulled exceptionally close to the hospital bed and placed her soft hands on the older ones, harder with years of work, of Cecilia. Hermione's chocolate eyes absorbed every inch of her serene expression, making their way to her long silvery hair that had been braided down her shoulder. It was her wish to age as gracefully as her eldest friend, with wisdom that reflected her years but the sense not to throw it out at everyone. Wisdom is a gift to be bestowed on the worthy.
"I knew it was that time of the month." A quiet, raspy voice penetrated Hermione's thoughts. "Well, not THAT time of the month. I haven't had that in years." The old women met eyes with Hermione, giving her a small wink.
"How are you?" Hermione said. Her smile was so wide her cheeks hurt. It was a kind of smile she only got when she was with close friends, or her parents.
"Oh, dear, I am lovely. I am fully rested for our talk." Cecilia said, leaning up on her many pillows. "You look upset."
"It's –" Hermione hesitated. "-nothing. Not important anyway." She folded her hands over Cecilia's delicate, wrinkled ones.
"Really, Hermione. You are a dreadful liar." The older woman gave a sad smile to her younger friend. "We talk so I can give you my wisdom. Now, please."
"Well, it's about Ronald." Hermione began with a sigh. "He's just been so-" And with that, she was interrupted.
"What do you mean?" Malfoy roared in Leo's office. "You got nothing conclusive from ANY of the tests?" He was too furious to be thankful of the Muffliato charm his relative cast after sitting him in the room.
"We have one last place we can take him, but we need you to sign an agreement." Leo said, his calm voice cracking slighty.
"So I can't mention that you can't fucking identify ANYTHING!" Draco spat, shoving himself out of a plush, red chair. He paced around the cream and red office, rubbing hands through his hair. The blonde locks were standing on end when he turned back to Medi-wizard Black. "Give me the paper."
After a hurried explanation of where they were going, Draco returned to the examination room where Marcus was sitting on a sterilized cot. The blonde knelt down beside his son. "Marcus, son, we have one more test we need to run." The brunette looked up, his gray eyes briefly meeting his father's before fixing on the knot in his tie. "This test is going to be much, much different. It involves a machine instead of a wand. I need you to be brave for me." Marcus nodded, his eyes boring into that tie clip.
Draco grabbed his son's hand, leading him to the "elevator", as Leo called it. The Medi-wizard was already waiting for them. The Malfoys entered the elevator and Draco looked around curiously as it ascended. The room was completely nondescript, blue wallpaper and navy tiled floors. He was cut short by a tug on his hand. "Dad," Marcus said, his eyes looking excited. "After this, can I get some chicken strips?" His excitement was completely innocent.
"As many as you'd like." Draco replied, giving his son's little fingers a squeeze. He watched as the brown haired boy's face broke into a small, private smile, and he returned to looking around. He also noticed something peculiar; Marcus kept wiggling his fingers. It was as if he was playing a very complicated song on the grand piano that had sat in their living room, though Marcus had never touched it. The piano was his mother's and his mother's things were off limits. Draco hoped that it had been sent away, or at least, that Astoria would never come back for it. The finger motions were strange, deepening Draco's concern for his child.
The elevator stopped, doors opening to a carpeted hallway. The color scheme was similar to the elevator, navy blue carpets with a more robin's egg blue paint on the walls. Doors branched off in various places down the entire length, before the hall made an abrupt left turn. A woman jumped up from the desk that was in a nook near the entrance. "Doctor Black, you're back from your appointment! Earlier than expected." She noted, almost to herself, checking her watch. "Hermi-"
"Actually, the appointment isn't quite over yet." Leo cut the receptionist off, motioning for her to sit back down again. "Where is she?"
"Cecilia's room; I thought it was best she visit before starting her work for the day." The woman answered perfunctorily. She turned her eyes to Draco, widening them for an instant before giving him a look of distaste. He pondered why this was necessary until his third cousin said "Goodbye, Daphne." Daphne Greengrass. His fiancée, ex-fiancée's, sister. He looked down the hall, giving a slight nod before briskly following the medi-wizard.
"I am going to set you up in a testing room, then get our consultant to help run the tests." Leo said, navigating the sharp turn and through double doors. This hallways seemed more sterile, almost glistening with cleanliness. "Here." The doctor pushed open a door. The room awaiting was plain, yet ominous. There was a cushioned chair, with what seemed to be a scanner next to it. "Please sit, Marcus." Leo gestured to the large chair and adjusted the machine so it was level with his head. "Draco, I'm going to need you to step outside while I get some help and run the test."
For the duration of the test, Draco paced the hallway. He caught a flash of Leo and a brown-haired woman disappearing behind the door once, but other than that it was a relatively quiet stretch of time. He was going crazy, running his hands through his hair multiple times. By the time Leo emerged in the hall, no strand of hair was still lying flat. Leo's face was etched in determined lines.
"Did this bloody test work?" Draco spat, his nerves manifesting themselves into anger.
"Yes, we believe we have it pinpointed." Leo said, his voice solemn. "We believe he has Asperger's Syndrome. It is most common in non-magical persons."
"My son has a MUGGLE disease? Are you saying his a fucking SQUIB?" Malfoy bellowed, forgetting that this meeting wasn't private by means of Muffliato. "Fuck." He whispered the last word, eyes misting slightly. "What does that mean Arsejerber's?"
"As-per-ger's." He enunciated every syllable. "It affects the ability to communicate and have social interactions with others. It doesn't relate to his abilities magically, except make it difficult for them to present themselves. We can't be sure if he can or cannot produce magic."
"But how do you KNOW that's what's wrong then, if it's in his brain, if you 'can't be sure'? MAYBE HE'S JUST SHY!" Draco hissed his next words with emphasis.
"We modified a machine to examine the brain and its connections. The Prefrontal Cortex, which contains emotions, social skills, and more, was wired atypically. I talked to someone with a personal experience of the condition and she said Marcus had the correct signs." Leo hesitated, then placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "I'm very sorry."
"SORRY? How can you be SORRY? YOU AREN'T GOING THROUGH THIS!" Draco said, looking utterly defeated. "I don't know what to do." This was said in the lowest voice possible, a few tears trickling out of his blue-gray eyes.
"Marcus and my colleague are in the room. Go in when you're ready." Leo sighed, walking down the hall, a frown gracing his normally happy features.
It took Draco nearly fifteen minutes to compose himself from the overwhelming amount of different emotions. He breathed deeply, walking into the room.
"I really like Methuselah and Silent Sam. They seem to really help Matthias, but don't seem to get much credit." Marcus was jabbering away about the most recent book he was reading. It was called Redwall. Draco had soon exhausted wizarding stories for his son and resorted to buy at least three books a visit at a Muggle bookstore.
"Oh yes, I love Methuselah." The other person in the room, a woman with bushy brown hair, replied in a warm gentle voice. Her response wasn't noticed or reacted to as Marcus continued talking.
Draco cleared his throat, causing the woman to turn. "G-g-granger?"
"Malfoy?"
Can you hear the crowd?
They'll all go wild, for you and your denial.
They're watching you break down.
Desperation kills, but when it's on your sleeve you wear it well.
Underneath it all, you'll always have this war inside yourself.
For You and Your Denial – Yellowcard
A/N: Oh my goodness, I think this song is perfect… Yay or nay from my studio audience (readers)?
Thanks to my amazing betas AussieGleekFreak91 & Kairi9889. Special thanks to FBFan & For_the_Lolz