I don't own these characters, I'm just borrowing them.

Malfoy's weren't exactly known for their patience, and Draco's incessant leg bouncing certainly validated that fact.

The silver haired man checks his watch for what has to be the twentieth time since arriving at this muggle healing ward, and he's surprised to note that more than three hours have passed since then. Draco scowls in annoyance, wondering what kind of healer would be unable to diagnose and subsequently cure an ailment in double the time any magical healer would have gotten everything done, and then some.

Granted, it's not as though anyone is forcing him to wait around. In fact, if he were smart, he would have left the hospital as soon as Granger had been taken back to a room surrounded by medical personal, and the like. Of course, his malfunctioning brain is what got Draco in this whole mess, he admits. He should have just notified the nearest emergency personnel, and left the situation alone.

"Mr. Granger?"

A proper Slytherin wouldn't have even let anyone know. They would have just walked away without looking back, leaving fate to its work. Of course, Draco never felt like a proper Slytherin. No, his father made sure of that, always punishing Draco for not thinking quickly enough on his feet, and for letting a mud- muggle born best him in classes. He was never good enough for anything, why should school be any different?

"Mr. Granger, are you listening to me?"

Draco looks up from his watch, only to find a man staring at him imploringly. The man is obviously some sort of muggle healer as he's dressed in the white laboratory coat that adorned many of the healers that had come to Granger's aid upon bringing her in.

The slender man stands up awkwardly, and briefly wonders if he should offer up a handshake to the healer before dismissing the thought, and simply responding with, "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

The healer smiles gently, an easy, reassuring smile perfected over years of dealing with patients and their families. "That's alright, I'm sure you're very worried about your wife. I was just coming to let you know how she is doing, and that you can see her now."

Draco isn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the notion of being married to Gryffindor Granger, but he neglects to correct the healer. It's not as if he has a status to maintain anymore. "Oh, um, yes, how is Gran- er Hermione?"

"She's doing very well, we started her on an IV drip of anti-anxiety medication, and we have her on oxygen temporarily to ensure that if a panic attack does happen again, she won't lose consciousness like earlier. However, I do think it's best that she look into a psychologists that specializes in PTSD." The healer responds, letting Draco's stumble go unnoticed.

Draco nods, though he doesn't understand a word the healer says. Honestly, do they have to talk in riddles all the time, or does it just come with the territory? "Is she awake?"

"She's not awake yet, these types of attacks tend to exhaust people, and it's generally best to let them sleep it off. Ordinarily, we like to keep patients that come in overnight for observation, but in your wife's case, I think it best if you take her home now."

Well now you've gone and stepped in it, idiot Draco thinks to himself. "I'm not really sure that's the best idea. I really wouldn't know how to help her if this happens again. Beside, we don't have oxygen at home or IV's or anything, and you said she needs that."

"You misunderstood me, Mr. Granger. We have her on oxygen as to prevent her from passing out if she is to have another attack, but if you take her home, the oxygen won't be needed. Most victims of PTSD are far less likely to have an attack at home than in the hospital simply because home is a much more familiar, thus controllable, environment. As for the anti-anxiety medication, I've already written a prescription you can have filled at your pharmacy, and I can send a couple of doses home to get you through until it's ready. Besides, we have some excellent pamphlets about how to deal with this type of disorder."

For a muggle, this guy would make one hell of a Slytherin, even Draco can see that. He's successfully backed Draco into a corner, leaving him no other option. "You do make a fair point." Draco concedes, albeit begrudgingly.

Thirty minutes and a mountain load of paperwork later, the blond haired man is wheeling a still unconscious Hermione towards a cab he'd called for earlier. Even armed with five different 'informative pamphelts' about how to handle attacks like the one his 'wife' had earlier, Draco didn't feel the slightest bit confident. The doctor had sent the bushy haired Gryffindor home with strict orders for Draco not leave her alone for even five minutes, warning that another attack could happen at any moment, and she would need him there to help calm her down. Oh, the irony, if only the healer knew.

Draco carefully transfers Hermione from the wheel chair into the cab before climbing in himself. He gives the cabbie his address, internally praying to Merlin that Granger won't kill him in the morning. After all, he can't very well break into her house, and she's giving no indication of waking up anytime soon. An unwelcome sleepover is certainly on the horizon.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and have a lovely Christmas!