Chapter 25: Hermione

If there's something working on him, there's people who'd be able to find out. Ron's two Knuts. He didn't say what people, but the one person I know who could do it is his own fiancée.

She isn't a healer, but she is Hermione. And Draco has made it more than clear he won't go anywhere near St. Mungo's.

I visit Hermione in her office on LUM campus the next day. She doesn't answer Video Phono calls during the workday, and I can't wait till the evening.

"You're expecting me to find out what's wrong with Draco Malfoy's health," she says, leaning back in her chair. It's an ergonomic executive chair, and it makes her look like an especially thin schoolgirl.

"If anyone can do it, it's you. You're the most knowledgeable witch or wizard I know."

She can't be bamboozled.

"It doesn't follow from that that I can diagnose magical diseases. I'm not a healer, Harry."

"But you're the daughter of a dentist..."

"Two dentists. And that hardly qualifies me to perform medical examinations on people, does it."

"Hermione, please. You are the only one I can trust with this. I'll have to make him agree to allow the examination, and I don't think I could suggest anyone else for that but you."

"What makes you think he'll want me of all people? He used to call me a mudblood, you know."

I don't know what to say. She taps her wand onto her desk impatiently.

"Aren't you going to tell me he has changed?"

"He has," I say.

She humphs. It could mean anything. I look at her, trying to read her. She gets up from her chair.

"Godric, Harry. I haven't got all day. Aren't you going to even try to find some more arguments to convince me I should do this?"

Hell, she's going to do it. I grab for her hands.

"I really need your help with this, Hermione. Draco is my family now. I can't just look on when he's suffering like he does."

She looks at me in her x-ray way, then she nods.

"Right. If it happens again, send me a voice message. I'll take a look at him. If he wants me to."

I'm so relieved she's going to help me I pull her in to give her a kiss.

"Your family, huh," she says, wiping her cheek. And I realize I did it at last, I found the term that conclusively describes what Draco is to me. All I've still got to do is tell him. I don't know why I don't do it. Or perhaps I do know, perhaps I'm afraid he'll think me clingy. Nobody likes clingy, so I can't risk that.

And anyway, I've got more pressing problems to solve than the question where Draco and I are standing relationship-wise.

Five days later, he's having another fit in the middle of the night, and I call Hermione. It only takes her a minute to Apparate right by his bedside. She hasn't even changed out of her nightgown. It's surprisingly frilly.

She doesn't spare me more than a curt hello, then focuses completely on Draco. Even though I've treated him with the usual spells, he is so sick he's only half conscious. It doesn't look like he even registered Hermione's arrival.

"Did you ask him if he's okay with this?"

"I haven't had the time."

"You've been putting it off," she states, watching Draco as he thrashes around on his bed, struggling to draw breath. She pulls her wand from her pocket in an abrupt, business-like manner, but her brow has furrowed in compassion.

"Draco? Can you hear me? I'm going to try to find out what's ailing you, alright? I'm just going to look at your head and chest," she says softly, then, without bothering to turn around, she adds in a completely different, commanding tone, "Open his shirt, Harry."

When I've exposed his chest, she shoves me to the side unceremoniously and starts running her wand across his head and upper body. Then she puts her wand to her ear, using it like a stethoscope on his chest.

Minutes go by as she stands bent over him, intently listening. At intervals she screws up her face and shakes her head. I don't dare ask what she means by that. Standing on tiptoe, literally, I look on as she finally carefully pries his lips apart to move the tip of her wand across the inside of his cheek.

She murmurs an incantation I can't make out, then she straightens herself and stuffs her wand back under her nightgown.

"Okay. This must be an illness caused by viruses or bacteria. There's absolutely no trace of dark curses or potions in his system, or his aura. We'll still have to wait for the lab results for the saliva sample, of course."

"Okay."

Her gaze is still on Draco.

"It's really fascinating. They aren't visible to the naked eye, but he has got tracheae and spiracles, everything."

"What's that."

She gives me a soft roll-eye.

"It's how insects breathe, Harry."

"What, are you saying he doesn't have lungs?"

"I'm saying his respiratory system isn't like yours and mine. And that might make him susceptible to germs that wouldn't harm you and me."

"So this might be a kind of fairy flu?"

"That's my best guess. On all accounts, I'm ninety-nine percent sure no dark magic or potion is being used to mess with him."

"Ninety-nine percent."

"There's no such thing as one hundred percent in medicine, nor is there in witchcraft and wizardry, Harry. You should know that. Good night."

She gathers her nightgown around her wispy frame, turns on her heels and is gone.