MY LAST NAME
Chapter 21
Hermione didn't know what to expect. She didn't know what to say, and she didn't know what to think. And that rarely happened to her; there was always a book, or a charm that could solve almost anything.
As she walked down the never ending corridor that belonged to St Mungo's Hospital, she looked around her and absorbed the scenery. She watched healers walking around in their green robes, swishing and swooshing from bed to bed. It reminded her of the war, and all the people who she saw lying lifeless, pale, waiting for death to take them.
People say death has a smell, and even immediately after death, you still smelt the stench. Hermione once thought she would never test the theory out, but she she had no choice but to do just such.
So many had fallen that night, too many; friends, family, enemies... All lives that were taken through one person and one alone. Hermione shook her head away from the memories as best she could. Yet she knew that death was the worst thing she had ever encountered.
The halls were quiet, only the gentle footsteps of the healers and nurses and quiet talking, could be heard. The odd elf also lingered in the corridors, carrying towels and books, their feet sliding along the tiled floor, making scratching sandpaper like sounds as they did.
The healer leading Hermione to Draco was tall and fair skinned. His hair was jet black, his eyes, dark blue. He looked troubled, like he had a lot on his mind. But then again, so did the rest of the healers.
"He's in here." The healer stopped at a door and turned to look at Hermione.
"The doctor is aware of us, wizards and witches, etc." he looked at her, his eyes concerned. Hermione simply nodded and walked past the healer and into the room. She already knew St Mungo's kept one or two muggle doctors on reserve in case of situations such as this.
The room was like a typical room that reminded her of Hogwarts; heavy rugs and curtains decorated the room, the windows were narrow and pointed, candles flickered. There was a small Christmas tree in the corner. Hermione gulped.
Draco was laid upon a large oak bed, wires pouring from his arms and nose. His eyes were still closed, his skin, still white. Hermione's heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach; for some reason, she had convinced herself that all this was, in fact, a horrid nightmare, but this was not meant to be.
The doctor stood beside Draco's bed was small in stature, and had short blond hair that hung at his ears. He wore glasses that were barely visible, his eyes were soft and warm.
"Ah Miss Granger, how are you feeling?" He cast her half a smile.
"Not fantastic, to be honest." Hermione replied faintly. She walked over to Draco, her eyes burnt as she held the floods of tears back. She gently placed her hand on his and sat on the very edge of the bed. All that could be heard was a continuous beeb that corresponded to Draco's heart beat.
"As far as we can tell, Mr Malfoy suffered an extreme panic attack" he paused.
"We're still waiting back for some test results, but we fear the attack has triggered something Mr Malfoy has been ignoring for a long time." He looked at Hermione's face closely, trying to decipher her thoughts, but had little success.
Hermione couldn't hold back the tears anymore, they fell and poured silently down her cheeks.
"What sort of things are we looking at?" She whispered faintly wiping her face roughly with her free hand.
"It's too early to say, it could be a number of things. Whatever the case, he will need to stay in under constant observation." He paused as he looked down.
"I'm sorry."
He walked past Hermione and Draco and quietly exited the room. The couple were left in silence. Hermione sobbed, she hung her head low as hundreds of thoughts and emotions swirled around inside her head.
Two days had past, and it was Christmas Eve. Hermione knew this because the wing's elf, Argo, had kept reminding her every time he came in to change Draco's flower pot. Hermione hadn't left Draco's side, and Draco hadn't yet woken up.
Dark circles hung underneath Hermione's eyes through lack of sleep, her skin was pale and grey, almost translucent. Her head wouldn't stop thumping and she couldn't stop thinking and assuming the worst would happen to Draco.
The doctor had gotten the test results back and was still working on the diagnosis.
"Happy Christmas Eve Draco." Hermione whispered faintly, her lips started to crack a little. It stung.
She stood up from the chair she had been rooted to and walked over to the window. She rested her forehead on the window's glass, it was cool and slightly damp. It felt nice against her skin.
"Miss Granger?" The doctor, who had introduced himself as Ansel, had entered the room with a clipboard and a cup of coffee.
Hermione turned to look at him and shot a faint smile to welcome him.
"I've brought you a coffee, Argo said you haven't eaten since you arrived, sugar will help." He walked over and passed Hermione the steaming cardboard cup.
"Thank you" Hermione cleared her throat, took the coffee and resumed her position back in the armchair beside Draco's bed.
"We have the test results back Miss Granger"
Hermione's heart skipped and her ears pricked, she stared at Ansel as he examined his clipboard, waiting eagerly.
"On the night Draco collapsed, he had had a heart attack. However, this shouldn't have been the cause for the nausea and you said he was clawing at his head, as if his head was in pain?"
Hermione felt empty, she faintly nodded to Ansel's question as she stared at Draco blankly.
"Well in that case, nothing else has shown up on our tests. We called in a psychologist and we believe Mr Malfoy is suffering from a mental illness that causes extreme levels of stress, anxiety and worry. We've seen it before when the anxiety gets too much, the bodies reaction to this is to vomit, and send piercing signals to the brain to try and slow down his thought processes, and in response to this, his anxious disposition. The heart attack developed from a severe anxiety attack. Miss Granger, we strongly recommend consulting a psychiatrist once Mr Malfoy is strong enough to leave."
The words just echoed in Hermione's head.
Heart attack
Anxiety
Mental health
Psychiatrist
None of this made sense, but yet it made perfect sense. She had been ignoring the signs of this for too long, Draco had been too strong for her and she had passed it by.
"Miss Granger? Are you alright?"
A soft hand was placed on Hermione's shoulder, and a sudden realisation hit her;
She needed to be strong for Draco, for herself. Moping wasn't helping her, she needed all her strength to help Draco.
She looked up at Ansel who was still stood beside her, and smiled weakly.
"We'll both get through this, Draco will fight through this." She smiled, wiped away her tears and started to sip her coffee.
Draco didn't want to wake up, he didn't want to face whatever the hell was wrong with him. He wanted to sleep until he was fine again, until he was sat in Hermione's cottage, with her on his knee. But he'd been listening to Dr Ansel's diagnosis and refused to believe such nonsense that came from some idiot with a PHD.
He remained silent and still as Hermione chatted to Argo. She seemed happier, even though she had been informed, by a professional, that her boyfriend was a raving lunatic. He would've sniggered, if he wasn't trying to continue with his fake slumber.
He drew in a silent breath and decided he missed Hermione too much to lay and put off the inevitable now. He wanted to see her smile, he wanted to feel her lips again on his skin.
He opened his eyes slowly adjusting to the light and turned his head to look at Hermione.
"Draco!" Hermione gasped and raced close to his side.
"Oh my goodness, I've been worried sick!"
Draco smiled at Hermione, seeing her smile made him feel immediately better. He took her hand in his whilst he worked on focusing and adjusting to the light.
"How do you feel?" Her eyes were full of concern, but colour started to flood back into her cheeks.
"A little delicate, but otherwise, spot on." He smiled and traced Hermione's veins with his finger tip gently.
"I've been sat by your side all the time you've been asleep. I haven't once left." She took her other hand and cupped his cheek gently, trying to avoid the wires pouring from him.
"The doctor said you're not well Draco." She looked down, almost as if she was embarrassed. Draco's heart skipped a beat slightly.
What if she didn't want anything to do with him? What if she didn't want to be associated with a lunatic?
Wait, was he really a lunatic?
"Draco?"
Hermione's voice snapped Draco out of his silent frenzy, his eyes locked with hers as he lifted her hand and kissed it gently.
"Not well? I'm Draco Malfoy, of course I'm not well." He smiled warmly at her, letting out a quiet chuckle and slowly sat up to kiss her cheek.
The next few days trickled by, Christmas was slow, and not at all as they expected it would be, but they were together, and that was all that mattered. After a week of observation and horrid hospital bed sheets, Draco was discharged but was to still remain under supervision until he was able to start visiting the psychiatrist.
Hermione vowed to take care of him until that was to happen.
"Hermione?" Draco carried in their suitcase, laying it gently on the living room floor. Snowball and her bell ran past the doorway jingling along the way.
"What?" Hermione was engrossed in some mail an owl had left on her windowsill, her brow furrowed as she read, engrossed.
"There are still some bags left downstairs." Draco walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her into his embrace.
"Draco, no please..." She pushed away, brow still furrowed, but now with concern and confusion.
"What is that you're reading?" Draco walked around to her front.
"It's from Harry."