All I need to get by
Chapter Two: The Top Floor
Hermione Granger had never felt so sore and tired in her life. That was saying something because her life had been one where waking up hurt and aching was the norm – first the Hogwarts years with their adventures and too much studying; then the years at USU (Unseen Stonehenge University) subjected to Mad eye Moody's erratic teaching methods, and then the Head of the unspeakable's vigorous training; followed by the Voldemort Wars where she had been injured, gone out again, been injured, gone out again, almost died, gone out again and then gone home; and of course the numerous operations at the Unspeakable Department.
Her entire body was too stiff to move, and the automatic curling of her fingers was met with no response, not even shooting pain. They simply didn't move, but Hermione chose to ignore that. Moving her toes cautiously met with a stabbing pain through her back, and rolling her head left a kind of dull ache that reverberated around her head like an annoying summer tune. She could feel her hair beneath her head, and saw it when she rolled her head over.
She was covered in cotton sheets which rubbed painfully against tender skin like a nail-file, and her mouth was completely dry. Her eyes hurt because of the sunlight which was seeping in through thick blinds. Her throat was coated in superglue, she discovered trying to speak to herself as was her normal habit to encourage herself. Her lips seemed oddly swolled and dry, and her eyelids were too heavy.
"Scourgify," said a soft male voice from the doorway, the the feeling of sleep was removed. "How do you feel?"
The owner of the voice moved forwards into the light, and revealed itself to be a Healer in red robes whom Hermione recognised as Draco Malfoy. His blond hair was tied back with a black band, but a bang hung forward in his face, curling slightly at the end. His face was still angular and defined, but the mouth was softer and the frown lines soothed over.
Draco Malfoy watched in professional concern as his patient opened her mouth a few times, a baffled look crossing her face, and then sighed petulantly. The Healer took a quill from his pocket and scribbled this newest discovery down on a form at the bottom of her bed. He had to admit, without the blood everywhere, Granger had grown up. Her face had lost every trace of babyishness, and taken on a more mature, calm look. Her curly hair was slightly more manageable, but not enough to be called sleek and flat. It sprang in wayward loops from her head every which-way, but her eyes had darkened even if her skin remained pale.
"Can't you talk?" he asked calmly, moving closer to the bed.
Hermione shook her head no, accepting that she needed his expertise. Although she had had no time to think about accepting his help, years of travelling the world and a friendship with Blaise Zabini, an auror, had taught her to accept others and to know when they had grown up.
"Right," said Malfoy, opening the blinds, "You're on the Top Floor of St. Mungos, and I'm your healer. You're one of five patients with myself and two nurses looking after you."
Hermione watched him with perfectly calm eyes fom the bed, knowing everything he said was true. He had no reason to lie to her, and she could smell it if he did, even if he was a Slytherin. He had moved over to her bedside cabinet to examine the wands lying there and pour some green potion down her throat tube. She wanted to cough as the cool liquid touched the back of her guller, but found it rather comforting.
"Go back to sleep," he said at last, moving towards the door, "I'll be back this afternoon."
Χψως
Hermione was woken up three mornings later by slightly lowered voices outside her door, one of which she recognised as Malfoy's, the other familiar to her as well, not that she could place it though. She was propped up on three pillows and lumber support, the bed responding to her wishes even as she woke up. Automatic charms cleaned her and changed her pretty white teddy to a black one. Ginny Potter had sent them over yesterday when she heard the news from Harry, although so far Hermione had had no visitors. She knew the light outside her door would be glowing white at this precise moment, signifying that she was awake.
"Do you actually know what's wrong with her?" asked the unidentified voice in soft, sibilant tones.
"No," that was Malfoy, snappish and annoyed, "If I did I would respond to the fifteen howlers that Weasley and Potter have sent me so far."
"Look Draco, there's no point trying to fob me off you know. All I'm doing is being messanger boy from just about everyone. Including professor Snape…"
"Snape?" Malfoy sounded urgent, the tone of the conversation moving from friendly to professional, "Has he sent it over?"
"Yes, here."
There was a clink of glass and the bubble of liquid being moved quickly, and an almost sight of relief from the healer.
"She's awake," said unidentified, "She can probably hear us."
"Don't be a fool," answered Malfoy, "That door's solid walnut – even I can't hear through it."
"Heightened senses."
"If she had heightened senses she would be screaming in pain. That's extensive damage to almost every nerve in her body lying in there."
"Malfoy you prat, she's an unspeakable."
Hermione chewed her lip anxiously, a nervous habit picked up from Ron Weasley. The cotton sheets were digging into her skin as if someone had laid shovels across her body, and the pillow felt like a neck brace against her back. Several wounds across her body kept re-opening and bleeding when she shifted uncomfortably. But what irked her most was the loss of her voice. She desperately wanted to tell Malfoy she trusted him – disliked him but trusted him – because she could smell the wariness with which he was moving around her and it was driving her insane.
She was slightly distracted by the arrival of Malfoy in her room, holding a small blue vile in his pale hand. His red robe was open revealing the usual black ensemble, but his hair looked as if he had been running his hands through it again and again. Behind him followed another man, dressed in the grey robes of an auror, with dark hair and brown eyes and a petulant, spoilt smile on his face. Blaise Zabini.
Malfoy ignored her almost completely while he tipped the blue potion into the tube which ran down her throat and into her stomach. She watched it bubbling along the tube apprehensively.
Even Malfoy was surprised at the level of scream which sounded through the room. It was as if thousands of muggle bullets were being shot into her throat – short, stabbing pain that grew into one long ribbon of agony spiralling from her voice box. Every feeling was sucked out of her as she screamed, only concentrating on the pain that consumed her. In the reception the blonde witch dropped her cup of pumpkin juice over three files; over the waiting rooms small children burst into horrified tears while their mothers sat in frozen silence. Two Healers misjudged spells on the A&E floor and a wizard ended up with hemerroids on his head and an enlarged foot. Blaise Zabini clapped his hands to his ears and screwed his face up comically. Malfoy blinked twice.
"Granger!" he shouted, "Be quiet!"
It was the only thing that Hermione was aware of, and it worked. The scream died down into a gasping, choking sob that wrneched his heart more than the scream had. He filed that unwanted reaction to the back of his head, and reminded himself quite firmly that she had been a pain at school. Hermione carried on crying, head flung back and whole body on fire.
"Granger, as sympathetic as I am," Malfoy drawled sarcastically, "Can you speak?"
"You insufferable git!" came the muffled reply as Hermione turned over and buried her head in her pillow, "Out! Get Out!"
Χψως
"That was abysmal," said Blaise Zabini as the two Slytherins retreated from the room, "Totally unacceptable. What were you playing at?"
Draco Malfoy turned to his angry friend and sneered. Zabini was scowling, two bright spots of colour of his tanned skin. His arms were folded across his robes. Draco stuffed his hands into his pockets and let out a short bark of laughter.
"She's a mudblood Blaise. Who cares?"
"I care!" thundered his companion angrily, "She's my friend, and so are you! I thought you'd grown out of hating mudbloods years ago! Maybe next time I see you you'll tell me what daddy says about her!"
"Low blow, Zabini, low blow," snapped Malfoy.
"No lower than you! Sometimes I wonder why people say you're the best Healer in St Mungos – you weren't exactly professional in there."
Blaise got no answer from Draco. He had moved across to the filing cabinet standing in the hallway, and picked up a file bound in black leather. Slim fingers like batons flicked the pages slowly, grey eyes absorbed in the parchment covered in neat italic writing – his own. The auror glared at the back of his head and Malfoy could feel the gaze boring into him like a three inch drill with no aneasthetic.
'Fine!' Malfoy spun around on one foot so rapidly the file he was holding crashed to his feet, 'I don't know what's wrong with her! Happy?'
'Well ask her then! Instead of being an infant with a sore head! If you can get her to speak to you again that is…'
'Oh shut up Zabini!' bellowed his friend, and slammed his fist into the filing cabinet.
The five drawers shot open and a shower of snow like paper flew out all over the corridor, lying thickly on the floor and over Malfoy's head and shoulders, like A4 sized dandruff. While Malfoy cursed like an extrememly experienced member of the Royal Navey completely drunk, Blaise lent down discreetly and took a page of parchment off the floor. He left the whole floor in uproar almost silently, leaving the scene of the paper Malfoy behind him as he passed Hermione's door where her sobs were clearly heard, and slipping past the duty nurses.
Author's Note and stuff:
Liz Unfair:- Thankyou! And seeing how you gave me such a cute little thingy at the end of the review, here's another chapter!
MadAboutHarry:- I think that's the first cliff hanger I've ever written actually. I should write more, they get faster reviews! Okay, basically H's an Unspeakable, the best in the business, and she gets injured in Operation Stonehenge (which isn't over by the way), carted off to St Mungo's where D's dozing off, and, hopefully, rescued.
Sweet jane:- I think I'm going to cry! You said I had unique plots! Thankyou! hiccup .
In this chapter Hermione wakes up in the Top Floor in St Mungo's which is for witches and wizards suffering from extreme, magical ability suffering curses etc. She cannot move her fingers. Blaise Zabini arrives (look, sorry, I couldn't use anyone else like Nott because he does something else later on, so deal with a male Blaise Zabini. By the way, does anyone feel J.K Rowling has forgotten Blaise?) with a potion from Professor Snape (are we having a Slytherin dominated story? Well, yeah) which kind of really seriously hurts Hermione. Draco is most unsympathetic because he doesn't know why his stomach is line dancing with his heart, and Hermione chucks him out. Blaise Zabini has a go at him, and steals an Important Document (note the caps). Woops. The Top Floor is left in complete chaos. Wahey!
