Hello all you lovely readers! I'm so excited to say that this story has now hit 1000+ followers, and I am feeling so humbled and grateful to you all for your continued interest and support in this story!
I moved to a new city for the summer which can always be a daunting transition, so it's been great to spend some time back with something that is so familiar. Apologies for not updating in a month! If you've left a review for the latest chapter, I will be responding soon, I promise! I really, truly appreciate everyone who has taken the time to share their thoughts/encouragements/suggestions, and I love hearing from readers just discovering this story as well as those who've been so faithfully following along for almost two years now. Yikes, that's a long time!
In any event, here's #26 :-)
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The trip home passed by in a blur. The sounds of Christmas carols being sung throughout the train provided a nice backdrop for Hermione's reading, and she'd even agreed to a small tournament of Exploding Snap which she promptly lost in the first round, much to Blaise's delight. Technically, most of the seventh years were capable of apparating home, but Hermione and Draco had to fulfill their Head duties by monitoring the younger students, and apparating over long distances could be tricky businesses, especially for the newly licensed.
Hermione didn't mind the extra hours on the train. It was a comforting routine, and she loved the tradition of being picked up from King's Cross by her parents and taken out to lunch at the Blue Bird café in London. Her parents looked more at ease waiting for her than they had in her earlier years at Hogwarts, appearing less outwardly thrown by the strange dress and customs of the magical community. Hermione practically ran over to them, her trunk miniaturized and Crookshanks bouncing unhappily against her hip. She had said goodbye to Draco on the train, knowing that he had almost no time to catch his portkey off to France, but Blaise had been eager to meet her parents. He managed to charm them in two minutes flat, much to Hermione's amusement. Still, she decided to hurry them out of the station just in case he decided to indulge his hobby of embarrassing her, leaving him with a wave and a promise to write.
Her house looked much the same as it always did, some tasteful holiday lights strung along the roof and trees, a large evergreen wreath proudly affixed to the front door.
"The Wrights really outdid themselves this year," her dad commented, gesturing next door as he helped her carry her re-sized trunk in from the car. "I wanted to give them a run for their money, but your mum thought that would be tacky."
Hermione silently agreed, looking over at the massive amounts of string lights and wire-framed, larger-than-life Christmas characters. Even unplugged in the daylight in looked like overkill, and she secretly wondered whether a small, accidental spell that evening would be entirely out of the question to help tone down the effusive cheer.
After letting Crookshanks loose on the house she quickly set about unpacking. There was still a week until Christmas and she was eager to make the most of being home with her family. She still had a bit of gift shopping to do, but otherwise planned to read, bake, and draw to her heart's content. She carefully pulled her drawing notebook out of her bag, surreptitiously extracting the half-finished sketch she'd made of Draco the night before. Her memory was good enough that she'd probably be able to add in the missing details, but for now she set it aside, thrilled by the memento of their official relationship finally coming to be.
Shaking her head to clear away the memory of waking up in his arms earlier that day, she set about pulling out some of her favorite drawings from the semester and making room on her crowded bedroom wall. Years ago she'd started putting up a few drawings here and there, and now she had an entire wall dedicated to her art. Her skill had obviously evolved overtime, but she loved some of her earlier work with its heavy lines and shaky curves, a few portraits where you could just barely make out who it was she'd been attempting to draw. Now the wall shined out at her as a testament to the past ten years. Her eyes lingered briefly on an early sketch of Harry, his scar peeking a tad unrealistically from his messy hair.
"Hermione?" Her mum called up the stairs. "I'm making Shepard's Pie for dinner tonight, I'm about to head to the store to pick some things up. Anything you wanted me to grab for you?"
"One second, mum!" she called back, managing to tear her eyes away and moving to find her Muggle wallet amongst a pile of belongings on her bed. "I need practice driving, I'll come with you!"
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Four days out from Christmas, and Hermione begrudgingly found herself perched along the edge of a lumpy examination table at St. Mungo's, her elbows digging into her thighs as she held her head between her legs and took in a deep breath.
"Can we get her some water?" her mum piped up, running an anxious hand along Hermione's back in an attempt at comfort. She felt a bead of sweat slide from her forehead down along the curve of her cheek and fall to the floor at the same time that she heard the mediwitch apologetically refuse.
"I'm okay," she mumbled weakly, trying to ignore the threatening roiling of her stomach as she straightened slightly. "Do I have to do that again?"
"I'm afraid so, Hermione," Healer Wenbrooke replied, tightening her lips in an understanding grimace as she looked up from the chart she'd been scribbling on. "I know your body wants to fight it, but I'd like you to try really hard and not throw-up this time, yeah?"
Hermione simply nodded, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her face from betraying her displeasure. Her mouth was coated in a mixture of stomach bile and the new potion they wanted her to take, which just minutes earlier an assistant had had to vanish from the floor as Hermione succumbed to a violent bout of vomiting. She caught her dad's eyes from across the room, feeling guilt flood her at his tense stance and his arms crossed sharply against his chest. She looked away as her teeth drew a bit of blood, finding the coppery taste to be ironically pleasant under the circumstances.
"I'm ready to try again," she declared, steeling her resolve and reaching out for the refilled glass.
It was better this way, she reminded herself as she attempted to once again force down the vile-tasting liquid. Better to visit the hospital before the holiday so that they could just get it out of the way and not have the visit looming over them during the entire break. Ideally, there would have been no need to visit St. Mungo's in the first place, but Hermione knew her healing team had been planning a thorough examination for months. Madame Pomfrey was fine for administering medication and keeping an eye on her symptoms, but she wasn't a cancer specialist and Healer Wenbrooke wanted to take advantage of Hermione's time at home to run more invasive tests as well as, apparently, administer several more aggressive treatment regimens. Her mother had nearly insisted that they wait until after Christmas to go in, but Hermione was adamant that they get it out of the way as soon as possible. In the back of her mind, she knew that her mum wanted to shield the family against bad news, allowing them to celebrate Christmas without having to contend with whatever news the healers might have. The mere possibility of admitting to this fear proved too painful for the Grangers, and Hermione was grateful when her dad took her side even as she lost a valiant battle with her tears the night before.
They'd been at St. Mungo's for two hours already, and from the sound of things it would be several hours more before she'd be able to escape. No one had been able to give her any definitive updates, but by the looks on the healers' faces there wasn't much of a chance of hearing that her cancer had magically disappeared. She could still feel incision marks from where they'd taken blood earlier (no healing charms while running tests) so she tried to concentrate on the lingering pain instead of the choking sensation she felt any time she tried to swallow the potion. She had been forced to change into a hospital gown upon arrival, and though it wasn't as scratchy as it looked it still felt unpleasant against her clammy skin. Not to mention the outright awkwardness of being in a room full of people without any underwear on! Why they needed to poke and prod at her there Hermione didn't know, but she was beyond arguing at this stage and was simply grateful that they had asked her parents to step out of the room for that part.
Glass fully drunk, she allowed her mother and one of the mediwitches help her to lay back on the exam table, knowing they hoped to avoid a repeat of last time. She squeezed her eyes shut and in her head focused on listing out all the great Goblin Wars in reverse-chronological order, trying to ignore the rather handsome healer now manipulating his wand around her midsection.
It felt like the potion was going to stay down this time, but she had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn't yet through the worst of it. Healer Wenbrooke had explained that they wanted to try a more intensive version of Hermione's twice-weekly treatments with Madame Pomfrey. She knew that after the potion had a chance to spread throughout her blood stream, they would be applying a strong charge to certain areas of her body to amplify the effects of the potion and concentrate them in infected or vulnerable organs. The look on Wenbrooke's face when she had admitted that Hermione "might feel a slight discomfort" was enough to convince her that it would, in fact, be a fairly painful ordeal.
"Mrs. Granger, we're going to have to ask you to let go of Hermione's hand now. Sorry." Hermione hadn't really been aware of the comforting gesture until she felt its loss, and she tensed her body in anticipation of what was coming next.
"Okay, just going to slip a pillow under your head here, Hermione," she heard Healer Wenbrooke say cheerfully, calmingly, from up near her head. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay," she rasped out, still not opening her eyes. That was, apparently, her line of the day.
"Any tingling? Burning? Loss of feeling anywhere?"
"M-maybe my lips, they're a bit numb," she admitted, pressing them together lightly as if in confirmation of their altered state. "And my throat feels raw."
"Okay, nothing to worry about. We can get you some water soon but you'll have to push through a bit longer, that alright?" Hermione nodded, knowing she didn't actually have a choice as to whether it was alright or not.
"We're going to apply the charges now, Hermione. We're going to start on your left side, just below your ribs, and we'll be monitoring your response and the response of the potion." Her heart began to race and she clenched her hands as she felt someone placing a heavy pad at a diagonal angle across her stomach.
"Just the one shock, then it's over?" she bravely asked, frustrated to hear her voice coming out several octaves higher than normal. She risked opening her eyes but immediately shut them again. There were too many healers standing around her and their lime green robes made her want to throw up again.
"It will be more than one," Healer Wenbrooke replied softly. "We won't know how many until we see how you're responding, but it might be upwards of ten or fifteen. You can do this, Hermione." She felt a tear slip past her sealed eyelid.
It hurt. No more and no less than she had been expecting, but the pain was sharp and seemed to echo throughout her body until there was a dull throb from the bottom of her feet to the very top of her head.
She could tell the healers were speaking to one another, but the adrenaline coursing throughout her body prevented her from making sense of the noise.
"Hey, Hermione, you okay?" Healer Wenbrooke again, tapping her gently on the arm until she pried her eyes open, blinking blearily to clear the tears gathered in her eyes.
"Y-yes. I'm okay." How many more times would she be saying that before she could go home? The older mediwitch held her gaze searchingly, eventually nodding in acceptance of her answer.
"We're going to continue now. We'll be applying more shocks to the same area, up near your sternum, and we want to get down by your hip as well. Say something if you need us to stop or if the pain gets too intense, otherwise we'll try to get through this as quickly as possible."
Hermione had to appreciate the witch's efficiency, though as she closed her eyes again she couldn't help the heady longing that ballooned in her chest, fervently wishing that her mother's hand would return to her own.
All in all it took another forty five minutes before Hermione was able to relax, temporarily released from the examination room with promises that there would be no more invasive procedures that day. Her parents were nipping down to the cafeteria to pick up some lunch, but as she was only allowed to have room-temperature water for the time being she'd decided to stretch her legs a bit while the "super-potion" made its way through her body.
Her entire left side felt as though it had fallen asleep before being rudely awakened. Almost all of the charges had been applied to that side, though the ones to her sternum seemed to have radiated throughout the entire cavity of her upper chest. She felt pathetic limping along in her white, shapeless hospital gown, her hair frizzing madly from the combination of sweat and friction from the exam table. She made a mental note to ask her mum to braid it for her when she got back, knowing it would be helpless to attempt such a feat herself when she could barely lift her left arm a few inches from her hip. Her healers assured her that moving around would help, but she wasn't sure her ego agreed as she averted her gaze from a curious family passing by.
St. Mungo's didn't look that big from the outside, but the beauty of magic meant that one's eyes couldn't be trusted. Hermione hadn't wandered that far from the Long-Term Ailments ward, but already she'd passed five intersecting hallways leading off to other departments. She knew from prior experience that emergencies were typically handled on the lower floors, while the higher you went the less time-sensitive treatments tended to be. She'd been comforted a ways back upon passing the Maternity ward, less so upon seeing a sign pointing down a different hallway directing visitors to the Burn ward.
She knew, somewhere in here, were Neville's parents. He didn't like to talk about it much, but she knew that his parents were permanent residents of the Memory Loss and Long-Term Care unit. She considered for a moment whether he might be here, visiting them on his school break, but then remembered him mentioning a magical cruise that he and his Gran were taking to America. It was just as well, she didn't really fancy visiting with anyone in the state she was in.
Just as it occurred to her that she ought to turn around and head back to her room she caught sight of a calming blue sign announcing her arrival at the Addiction Treatment and Care Center.
She shuffled to a jerky halt, a tingle of renewed feeling dashing up her leg and settling with an ache in her hip. Harry was here.
Actually, she wasn't really sure that he was literally, physically in this wing. Perhaps there was a different department where they were treating him, or maybe he'd already been discharged, sent home or to another treatment center. Her lack of knowledge on the subject had been plaguing her for days, half-written letters littering her trash can from her failed, if earnest, attempts to reach out to her former best friend. She started to move towards the reception desk before pulling up short once again.
Not only was she wearing no underwear and clearly a patient of the hospital, but she also doubted they would tell her if he was there. At that thought she felt a sudden rush of desperation and sense of protection seize her, hoping that wherever he was the staff was going above and beyond to ensure his privacy. Her mind flashed to all of the times over the years when his life had been twisted and plastered all over the papers. She glanced around in a panic, suddenly feeling as though her mere presence in this hallway might bring down the full force of the blood-thirsty media.
She pivoted and began hobbling back the way she came, trying to walk quickly despite the stiffness of her muscles. She'd been more than a little lax with her own privacy in the last 30 minutes, wandering around in the public hallway. She knew all of the staff were under strict NDAs, but now she worried about the family she had seen just a few minutes earlier.
It took her about ten minutes to make it back to her ward and she shot the receptionists a polite, if strained, smile before seeking out the safety of her room. Her parents were still notably absent so she settled for sipping on some water while she willed her paranoia back into submission. Several of the healers were in the room tending to what looked suspiciously like an active potion cauldron, but Hermione decided that for now ignorance would be bliss. She thought about rifling through her bag for a book, but for once the thought of reading held no appeal.
"You're back," Hermione nearly startled as Healer Wenbrooke strode into the room, a sandwich in one hand and a stack of parchments in the other. "How's that left side feeling?"
"A bit better," she replied, tentatively placing a hand against her ribs as if to test the validity of her claim.
"Hop up, let me take a look." Hermione walked back over to the exam table, grateful for the magic that automatically lowered the device so she didn't have to scramble up. "Any trouble breathing?"
She shook her head. "Everything's just a bit tender and, well, kind of tingly."
"I'm going to lay you back, do a little check. Do you mind if I use my hands to test our your muscle response?"
"That's fine," Hermione agreed, though found herself crying out not 30 seconds later, "Ouch!"
"Sorry about that," Wenbrooke gave her an apologetic smile before helping her to sit up once again. "Your body definitely took the brunt of a lot of magic, it might take a bit longer for your muscles to relax again. I'll go ahead and show you some techniques to massage out the soreness in case anything's still bothering you this evening."
She watched as the older witch demonstrated a few simple techniques, gritting her teeth against a few sharp bursts of pain.
"How's school going?"
"Pretty well, I guess," Hermione shrugged. "N.E.W.T. preparation is a nightmare, but my Head Girl duties have been mostly fun."
"I heard you have a boyfriend?" Wenbrooke was giving her a sly, knowing grin and Hermione couldn't help but blush.
"I—who told you that?" She had only just informed her mother the night before, and that was only because Draco was due to visit tomorrow. Her stomach leaped in anticipation at the reminder, but she still couldn't imagine that her mum was gossiping about her.
"Poppy and I were in Healer-training together, she might have let slip that a certain someone had been hanging around the hospital wing quite a bit this semester…"
"It's new," she admitted softly, not quite meeting the healer's eyes as she fiddled with the hem of her gown. Though she was a private person by nature, there was something so thrilling about being able to admit to officially being in a relationship.
"That young Mr. Malfoy is quite handsome, though he could stand to smile a bit more in those Profit pictures. What is he doing for the break?" Wenbrooke asked, ending her demonstration and moving a few steps away so she could properly see her young patient's face.
"He's with his mum over in France, but he's supposed to stop by for a visit tomorrow as long as the portkey comes through."
"Muffliato." Hermione scrunched her brows, confused as to why Wenbrooke had just cast a spell to mask their conversation. "Are you and Mister Malfoy sexually active?"
Well that certainly took a turn, Hermione thought, embarrassment painting her cheeks. Hadn't she been mentally praising the healer's efficiency just an hour earlier?
"We're, ummmm, we're not really there yet," she tried to fight through the awkwardness.
"I don't want to embarrass you, dear," Wenbrooke assured her with a professional yet reassuring smile. "I only ask because with the treatments we're giving you, the standard pregnancy-prevention charm won't be effective and the last thing I'm sure you want right now is anything unplanned."
Hermione gulped. She hadn't even thought about that.
"Well. How about I just write you a prescription for a special potion we have, that way you'll be covered just in case. You can pick it up at the pharmacy before you leave. I can, shall we say, strategically delay your parents so you have a chance to pop down unescorted."
Though she wasn't prepared to admit it right that moment, Hermione was extremely grateful for Healer Wenbrooke.
Her parents arrived back a few minutes later, looking decidedly less pale now that they weren't having to watch their daughter crying out in pain. A 'Muggle Relations Specialist' was also brought in to help guide the conversation, though frankly she didn't really see the point in this. It's not like getting cancer was common in the Muggle world either, her parents likely would have been just as lost listening to a Muggle doctor explain things as they were listening to her team of healers here. Still, it seemed to reassure everyone, and she supposed it was good to have some sense of familiarity during such an emotionally-charged time.
Though she'd been preparing herself for a blunt update on her health status, they were told that any results today would be inconclusive and that they'd need time for the treatment to take hold before they could make a meaningful assessment. She felt equal parts irritated and relieved. The waiting was nerve wracking but at least her mum would get her wish for a cheerful Christmas.
The ride home was awkward. Her dad too silent and her mum overly chatty, while all Hermione could think about was the small package she had surreptitiously hidden in her coat after her quick stop at the pharmacy on the way out. It had been a long day and she was still more than a little sore, so she was thrilled when her mum agreed to make her favorite mac and cheese for dinner and her dad fetched her drawing supplies and some tea while she curled up with Crookshanks on the couch. Her dad had turned on the news so he could listen while tending to the laundry, and though she looked around for inspiration nothing was really catching her attention enough to bother drawing it. She simply sat for a while listening to how the economy might finally be on the rise if home prices were anything to go by. Crookshanks had fallen asleep by her feet, his small exhalations hitting her big toe and causing her foot to occasionally twitch.
Eventually she picked up her parchment pad, flipping to a clean page and grabbing an ordinary pen from her mum's nearby crossword puzzle.
Dear Harry,
I've been thinking about you a lot and hope that wherever you are, this letter finds you well.
It was time that she actually finish her letter.