A/N: I do not own Harry Potter

Written for The Houses Competition

House: Gryffindor

Position: Potions

Category: Standard

Prompt: [Emotion] Separation Anxiety

Wordcount: 2017

Please, Don't Leave Me

Draco stood in front of her office. He knew that he didn't deserve her help, not after everything he had done over the years, but he thought that she was the only one who could help him. Things with his father had been getting worse and worse, but there were absolutely no signs of a physical illness, a curse, or a hex; there was no explanation for his father's increasingly erratic behaviour. Draco almost walked away at the thought; he wouldn't let her tell him he had lost his mind. Then he thought back to his attempt to leave the house this morning.

"Draco, you can't leave!" Lucius grabbed Draco's arm, pulling him back to the dining room table.

"Father, this is ridiculous; I need to go to work."

"Let's be honest, you don't need to." Lucius' hands trembled before he balled them into fists, unwilling to show any weakness. "I need you to stay. What if I have one of my… episodes."

"If you're that worried, we can call a Healer to the house, or we can go to St Mungo's. What I can't do is tell my boss I have to stay home with my father in case he gets ill." Draco got up again and conjured his long, black outer robes. "I'll see you tonight, I promise."

Draco was halfway to the door when it started.

How did he explain what happened to his father whenever he tried to leave the house? He had, of course, spoken to his boss and said he needed to arrange a Healer for his father. His boss, of course, had reluctantly allowed it. The Malfoy name didn't open the doors it used to. He doubted that it would work with Hermione either. He just hoped that she would be able to put her misgivings aside. He felt sure she was the only one who would accept his symptoms… as, well, symptoms.

He knocked on the door and waited.

"It's starting again." Lucius was doubled over in his hair, his hand clutching his chest as he struggled to breathe. "D-Draco, p-please don't go."

He rushed to his father's side, pulling him from his chair. "It's okay, Father. I'm going to get you to the lounge, but you have to let a Healer see you, okay?"

Lucius' breaths were short and ragged. He was so worked up into a frenzy that he couldn't get the words out. He just about managed to nod his head as Draco wrapped his arm around him and took his weight.

"You'll stay home? Just today?" Lucius asked as he finally settled in a chair.

"First, I am going to get you a nice hot drink. You need to rest while I sort a Healer and let my boss know I will be late."

Lucius' face paled—if that was possible. "I have far fewer episodes when you're here. You need to tell your boss you're working from home. That solves everyone's problems."

"No, Father. The Healer is non-negotiable. I need to know you're okay; I can't lose you, too."

"Come in," she called from inside the office.

As he walked through the door, Draco let go of the guilt he felt about lying to his father. He focused only on the mission before him: getting the help of Hermione Granger.

"Malfoy?" she said. One eyebrow was raised quizzically; her bushy brown hair was knotted into a plait which fell across her shoulder. "What can I do for the great Draco Malfoy?"

"It's my father," he said.

"You want me to help your father?"

Draco nodded, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "There's something wrong, but no Healer can find the answer. I can't leave him alone; after all, he's all I have left. I can't lose him, too."

Her face softened. He knew that it would. Despite everything from their pasts, she was a far better person; she could never leave someone in pain, even Lucius Malfoy.

"What are the symptoms?" she asked, pulling out a quill and roll of parchment.

Draco relaxed as he sat down. "He has episodes," he said. "They aren't always the same; sometimes he can't breathe and he panics because his heart is beating so fast. He's had really bad headaches, felt sick, and sometimes had a sore throat."

"There are a lot of potions and treatments for all of those conditions. Why can't Healers help you? There must be something more."

Hermione's eyes were alight. He could tell she thought there was a complicated puzzle behind this, something that only she could work out. Puzzles were something she relished, and were probably why she'd chosen to enter the field of magical medicine.

"Because whenever a Healer comes to see him, there are no symptoms. They spring up randomly… there's no sense to it and no lasting effect. I'm afraid to leave him in case the worst happens while I'm gone. He's petrified, too."

"There must be some common denominator, otherwise you wouldn't group such differing symptoms such as nausea and shortness of breath. I can't help if you don't tell me everything."

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He felt nervous and anxious about telling her. After all, he had no proof.

"Draco, you can't leave!" Lucius choked out the words as he clutched his head. The pain was clearly written all over the elder man's face. "Don't leave me… please?"

Lucius clutched his chest as Draco made his way to the door. Lucius said nothing, his face paling as his body stiffened. Each breath came short and ragged. Draco turned to say goodbye and saw his father struggling to catch breath before he fell to the floor.

"Father," he cried, running over. "It's okay, I can work from home. We'll call a Healer and I'll stay with you."

Draco had come home from work one evening to find that his panicked father had been ill all day and taken to his bed. He found him lying in his bed, his mind focused on despair. The symptoms had eased as they spent the night together playing chess.

"You have to take this seriously, because there's no correlation between what happens and his symptoms. I mean, it's insane to think that… what's happening at the time is what's causing his illness."

"Draco, it's okay. I'm not going to laugh you out of the room. There's something wrong here, I can tell. After what happened with your mother, I can only imagine how protective you are of your father."

Draco sat up straighter, his arms folded. He met Hermione's eyes and his face showed the worry in his furrowed brow. His expression showed how vulnerable he felt coming to her for help, coming to her about this.

"It's… whenever I leave the house." Hermione looked surprised and then placed her quill to one side. Draco stood up straight away. "I thought you would be different."

He made his way to the door, not even waiting for a response.

"Draco, I know what's wrong with your father, but there's nothing I can do to help."

He practically spun on his heel to face her. The idea of there even being an answer was filled with hope. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Your father has been through a lot, and with what happened to your mum…"

Hogwarts was crumbling. In the centre of the Great Hall, Potter and the Dark Lord duelled. Hexes and curses flew through the air, and so many were falling. The ground was littered with the bodies of the fallen, but most of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord refused to give in; they fought on, killing and maiming as many as they could.

The Malfoys had not. They made their way away from the battle, slowly but surely. They were almost out of the grounds when they saw Longbottom fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa's sister.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion from there. Narcissa turned as a flash of red headed straight for Bellatrix's chest. Her face was frozen in fear.

Bellatrix was faster, though. She soon deflected the curse, and it was heading straight towards Narcissa, and her family.

Lucius was pulling Draco as he ran further away from the battle. The curse was on his heels, but he hadn't noticed. Draco did. He embraced his father, becoming a human shield that would, of course, absorb the deadly hex, protecting his father.

Narcissa could not allow that.

Draco turned when he heard the crack of the curse. His mother trembled for one moment, then fell to the floor. Lifeless.

"What does… Mother have to do with this?" His lip trembled and his fists balled as he tried to regain some semblance of control over his emotions.

"He worries about you, doesn't he?" she asked. "He thinks you'll get hurt, that you'll die if he doesn't keep you safe at the mansion?"

"H-How did you know?" Draco looked up, dumbfounded that she seemed to know everything that went on, and all from one statement. She seemed to insinuate that she knew he wouldn't even leave. "It's Potter, isn't it? Spying on us? No wonder he's worried. We are like pariahs, even though we made the right decision—"

"—After you knew Voldermort couldn't win," Hermione said with ease.

"Does it matter when? We were leaving the battlefield. We weren't a threat. She never was! She never joined. She just married one of us. Why shouldn't he worry that you'll come for me too?"

"But," she began, delicately, "it's bordering on paranoia now, right? It worries you the way he talks, because you know that Harry vouched for you in his trial. You know that the trials are over and you're both safe. Despite your emotions and how you feel about the situation post-war, you do know your life isn't in any danger. Does your father?"

Draco grasped the handle and turned it. "You said you couldn't help, therefore this conversation is pointless. Good day, Granger."

"Stop." Hermione stood up now, her voice raised, demanding that he stay. "I said that I couldn't help you, but there is help out there."

Draco didn't move. He stood by the door which was only slightly ajar, waiting and listening but doing no more. "Go on."

"Your father has a condition called Separation Anxiety. It's a mental health issue—"

"—How dare you insinuate that my father is mad!"

"I'm not. Mental health is all but ignored at St Mungo's, but not everywhere. Your father went through emotional trauma and because of that, he fears a repetition. He fears losing you, and whenever you leave, it gets worse. That's why your father has the episodes. He fears losing you so much his body creates symptoms.

"To heal a trauma like that, you need a different kind of medicine. He needs to heal the trauma of losing your mother, of the war, of everything that evil man put him through! It is a Muggle treatment, but I know a Muggleborn who decided to go into that field. He's been helping a lot of people out after the war."

"What's this treatment?" Draco asked wearily. He turned around, facing her again. "I've heard horror stories about Muggle medicine… they stitch up skin, cut you open… it's barbaric!"

"It's called Cognitive Behaviour Therapy, which is basically talking with a professional. His doctor will be able to give him medicine that will help with the symptoms, too, if he thinks it's needed. He can even go to one of the support groups — people coming together who understand how your father feels, people with similar experiences."

"So, when you say mental health?"

"I mean keeping the mind as healthy as the body. Can I give you his card?" she asked hopefully.

Draco nodded his assent and took the card from her hand. He sniggered. "Justin Finch-Fletchly? Just like a Hufflepuff to create a career based on sharing your feelings!"

Rather than reprimand him for his comment, Hermione smiled, almost as though she could see the new found hope that he felt. That was worth it.