The unrelenting heat of early August stifled the countryside of rural England in an unusual heatwave. Living creatures ran amuck with comfort and ease, seeking out food sources and chattering angrily to one another in foreign, animalistic languages. The high pitched whine of insects reacting to the sweltering temperatures rose and fell consistently. It had been so dry that summer that the grasses in the fields had darned a bright yellow tinge in complaint of the drought and baking sunlight.
Two birds flew side by side as mates, searching for sustenance to bring home to their chicks. They chirped in unison and at peace with the seemingly calm afternoon, high in the sky, until naturally, they attempted to cross the property line of a rather sinister dwelling. Upon impact with the invisible ward both of their necks snapped and they spiraled to the ground, twirling gracefully with the weight of their outstretched wings. They landed side by side in the gravel at the foot of the black wrought iron fence that magically framed the expansive property. Their little feathered chests heaved in pain, until they inevitably completed their journey in the living world at death's door. The sun continued to shine as it always did, without regard for what occurred on the surface of the Earth below it's scorching rays.
The Malfoy Manor stuck out in the bright landscape and endless gardens it was wedged in the center of, like the blackened thumb of a hiker with frostbite. The seven story mega structure cast monstrous shadows over anything within quite a circumference of the ancient, obsidian bricks, rotating a menacing blanket of shade around it's base with the angle of the sun each day. The ridiculously tall windows were famed for giving anyone outside of the building a chill down their spine with the sense that they were being watched by something less than benign within.
This precise chill was making it's way down the spine of a portly doctor who lumbered down the gravel lane, squinting through his spectacles in the sun's glare at the windows towering above him, half expecting one of the more petrifying residents to be boring their eyes into him from behind a thick curtain. He was darned in a white suit under the climactic conditions, and golden beads wove his long white beard into two separate pristine braids down his chest. An expensive purple tie was tucked taught into his waistcoat, disappearing below the jacket regally.
He had visited the Manor for over two decades on beck and call to the Malfoy family, under an unbreakable vow to serve and care for them whenever they sought him out.
Despite his undisputed reputation as one of England's top magical doctors, he had a devastating gambling problem. This naturally had led his family into hard times that were foreseeably unrecoverable, that was of course, until Lucius Malfoy had pulled him aside at a gala and offered a sum far beyond his wildest dreams in exchange for tight lipped, unwavering medical care when requested.
At first the bargain had seemed too good to be true; visiting their Manor only when required, which could possibly be rarely at times, and to tend to their family members which were few and generally healthy. This had been an easy enough position over the years, until the dark lord had risen once again, and Albert had discovered that the Malfoy's were involved with the Death Eaters.
He had kept his promise to never speak of what he saw or what he healed at the certainty of his own demise, but the past few years had especially taken a toll on him. He had witnessed kidnapping and horrific battle wounds, not to mention every time he had visited the Manor the malevolent energy in the air only seemed to have grown thicker. The possibility of bumping into the dark lord himself was another fear altogether that Albert was perfectly happy to be able to now push out of his mind forever.
He reached the stone porch where Narcissa was frantically wringing her hands. The woman had never been so much of a bother to him as Lucius had, with his threatening gazes and short temper. "He is awake, at last," Narcissa said with a stringy voice. Her anxiety flowed from her like static electricity.
Albert nodded glumly, knowing it would be a brutal affair. He followed her inside of the chilly, cavernous home and fought not to jump as the massive door groaned and slammed shut with a thunderous boom behind him. She walked briskly up the stairs and he had to wheeze to keep up, now almost in his sixties and out of shape.
He had been to the Manor each day for two weeks straight following the gruesome battle of Hogwarts where their son and daughter-in-law had suffered unspeakable injuries.
The boy had been savagely struck with a killing curse, only to have miraculously survived due to a Moonstone that had been directly between the tip of the assailing wand and his body. The likelihood of it occurring was absurdly unrealistic. Albert had only heard of Harry Potter having survived it, and his care had not been publicly documented, which left the doctor to draw on every manner of his impressive education and extensive experience. He had spent countless hours hosting consultations with private doctors in other countries, trying to figure out the best strategy to approach Draco Malfoy's rehabilitation. By this point he was quite proud of his progress with the young wizard, who had stabilized dramatically over the days he had been dropping by.
The girl however, was another story altogether. Albert Hallewell had spent his entire life behind a desk and in examination rooms. He was studious and a socialite who never ventured into any situation involving wild magical beings. He was even afraid of cats, that was how much he could not stand anything that was not of the human variety. He was undeniably scared of the tiny French girl with too much power for her own size. Albeit still human, she harnessed far too much conflicting magic and was capable of too much of the unknown.
Thankfully for him, it was well documented that Veela "winters" as they were known, where during a chrysalis period a Veela enters a transformative, comatose state and must be left to their own devices. Similar in respect to a butterfly in a cocoon.
He had not been into her room since the day she had been brought back and left to her brooding slumber. Only Narcissa dared enter that room and he was grateful to be left out of it, but was all too aware that his time was short. He would have to evaluate her emotional state once she was awake - and he was afraid to know how much malice would come back with her.
Narcissa reached Draco's door on the fourth floor and Albert could already hear his agonized whimpers. She opened the door and the doctor slipped past her with speed and determination, swinging his briefcase with practiced authority.
Draco had been propped up in his bed with multitudes of black silk pillows in an oversized white hoodie with tears running down his pale face. His silvery blue eyes were red around the edges and the dark circles under them made it look like he had just been dug out of a grave and brought back from the dead.
A little elf wearing a pastel purple dress was trying to pat his hand in sympathy, but the pain would be registered as microcosmic eruptions of torture for the boy. Every cell of his being had hardly survived being obliterated and each and every movement, no matter how minute, would no doubt be excruciating. Draco inhaled a shuddering breath and glared sideways down at the elf from his paralyzed state with eyes begging for her to stop, but she was interpreting it as him desiring even further affection.
"Step away, elf. Stop that at once," Hallewell commanded as he set his briefcase down at the table side. He unlatched it as Draco shut his eyes tightly, trying to breath without crying.
The elf shook her head in objection, "Nibs is not leaving Mr. Draco. Nibs is loving Mr. Draco."
Hallewell spun to look at Narcissa in conjecture, "She is insolent."
Narcissa sighed and shook her head in embarrassment, "I apologize; Madeleine freed her at some point without our permission. Nibbles, listen to the doctor and remove yourself from the vicinity. He needs space to work." She spoke with a glint of warning in her oceanic eyes and Nibbles finally drifted backwards, looking sullen and worried with her ears flattened.
Hallewell shone the bright tip of his wand into Draco's eyes to inspect the health of his brain and eyesight. When he was satisfied with the results he bent his head to the side with deep focus, "Draco, can you speak for us?"
Draco's eyes flickered down onto the covers where his hands were lying motionless against his will. The tip of his index finger jerked up momentarily and he blinked rapidly in obvious relief. His voice escaped in a strangled moan, "Wha-wha-what happened t-to me?" He looked at his mother in devastation, tears brimming in his eyes generously. He was visibly terrified and confused, like he had been somehow abandoned.
Narcissa swiftly sat at the far end of his lavish bed with severe pity on her normally stern face, careful not to touch him, "What do you remember last, darling?"
It was awkwardly silent as Draco searched before himself, only managing to squeak out a few words, "My dorm. At s-school."
Narcissa frowned deeply as the doctor turned around with multiple vials of fluids in his beefy hands, shimmering in pastel hues, "Alright Draco, big breath now. You're going to down all of these. It will limber you up and reduce the pain so that you can move better today." Draco shakily opened his mouth in terror and allowed the familiar family doctor to pour not one, but three potions down his throat, all of which he gagged on due to the insidious flavors.
Narcissa waited until he had regained most of his composure before pushing on, "You don't recall a long war? A girl with white hair, perhaps? Has it all been taken?" She dipped her head at him with nervous scrutiny as though she already knew the answer.
His lip trembled as he looked down again, "No, I-I don't remember anything of the sort." His eyebrows furrowed together as he met her gaze again in absolute shock, "Am I..." His voice pitched away in a horrified whine as his breathing picked up a jagged pace in a panic, "Am I paralyzed?" He blinked away tears as he looked up at the doctor for answers.
Albert was suddenly hit with an overwhelming surge of sympathy for the boy, quivering in his bed before him. "No, Draco, not permanently. As I said, you will limber up within the hour thanks to what you have just ingested. You will be stiff for many weeks, and your bones may snap easily, so, unfortunately...this will be necessary." He reached into his briefcase and drew out what looked like a miniature model of a pristine white wheelchair. He placed it on the ground and slowly enlarged it to a standard size. "There, now you are set for a full recovery. I'm sure you and your mother have much to cover. Narcissa, I will leave you with a large stock of these healing and pain relieving potions for him. Two times a day, one of each color each time."
He briskly left the room as he always did when he had the chance to escape the haunting property. The last time he had left he was sure he had seen a poltergeist of a young boy wearing a ragged Christmas sweater on the first floor, reaching out for him speechlessly, and shimmering in and out of visibility.