Draco was standing in the middle of a field.
Before and behind him stood three humongous goal posts, and mere feet from him stood a lovely woman with her back to him. The sun was rising on the horizon behind her and it turned the brown curls that cascaded down her back golden. A purple sundress that went to her knees clung to her small frame, leaving her lightly tanned legs exposed.
Draco ached for her, longed to close the space between them and embrace her but he was frozen as if petrified. A sense of recognition bubbled in the closet of Draco's subconscious but he did not know that he knew who the girl was.
He studied what he could of her for what seemed to be hours. The longing that was coursing through his veins only intensified as he memorized the curve of her body, the bend of her legs, the color of her skin. The girl remained planted in her spot throughout Draco's inspection, only moving when she shifted her weight every couple of minutes. Draco's heart seemed to melt every time she let out an audible sigh.
The girl began to shift her body as if she was turning around after hours of longing. A sense of anticipation and excitement boiled in Draco's chest as he awaited to see her face. Just as her profile came into view, however, a deep and brooding voice shouted his name from behind.
Draco whirled around to identify the voice and his eyes fell immediately onto the long, blonde hair of his father, shadowed by the dark sky in the background. The moment he recognized his father, two large and never-ending walls fell on either side of him. His father's face remained indifferent and proper as Draco began to worry.
The walls were made out of an odd substance like gel that was clear yet opaque. Draco could see the outline of the world surrounding him but could not view it properly. This would not have worried him had the mysterious girl not been on the other side of the wall. Draco put both of his hands to the wall on either sides of his face as the girl mirrored him. They were so dreadfully close but so painstakingly far away from one another. This tore at his insides and he began scraping and clawing at the wall, trying to break through.
Draco wrestled with the wall forcefully for a couple of moments, and just as his hand was about to reach through the flimsy substance he felt a hand on his shoulder. He knew that it was his father but felt the need to turn anyway. A disapproving snarl had replaced the indifference on Lucius' face although he spoke not. Draco hastily turned his attention back to the wall only to find that it was no longer a gel, but a liquid. A deep red had also replaced the clarity, murdering his blurred view of her.
The wall of liquid began oozing just then and with a startling gasp Draco realized that it was blood. Before he could step away, however, he awoke with a start.
.
.
The fourth floor was in absolute chaos. Hermione looked to her left and saw a married couple covered in blood cradling one another. Behind her was a father holding his unconscious daughter. Although Hermione's heart seemed to break as she beheld these sights her determination ceased not.
She whipped out her vine wood wand and began conjuring cots wherever space allowed. She then proceeded to levitate each victim she came across who did not seem to have a major injury off of the ground and onto the cots, allowing more space to move around. As shouts, screams and yells sustained around her, Hermione found herself trying harder than ever to stay focused.
Hermione treated the more fatal looking wounds that she came across immediately, and once the patient was stable she moved on to the next. Within an hour she felt sure that she had summoned at least a dozen bottles of various healing and sleeping potions, as well as performed innumerous spells. The pandemonium surrounding her had not allowed time for Hermione to communicate with any other Healers lest the brief and confused glances she had exchanged with a few of her colleagues counted.
Now that most of the victims had been tended to the noise had decrescendoed into the occasional yell of agony and the more frequent soft groans that emerged from the unconscious patients' lips, Hermione set off to find Penelope Clearwater, the head Medi-Witch of the fourth floor, in hopes that she carried answers.
It did not take long to find the dark-haired witch as she was buzzing through the floor checking on various patients, writing down their information and handing out orders as Healers approached her. She was scribbling something onto parchment as Hermione neared her but looked up when she sensed a presence.
"Oh good, Hermione, I've just been searching for you. We've been transferring the less severe cases to Pomfrey at Hogwarts due to lack of space but you have been assigned to the patients in rooms 416-424. All of their charts and everything they need for the time being is in their rooms."
As Clearwater relayed the information she continued her previous work, and Hermione followed her around dutifully while paying close attention to every word spoken. When it seemed the witch was finished speaking, Hermione verbalized the question that had been floating through her mind for the last hour.
"Of course. Can you perhaps clarify on what exactly hap-"
"There was an attack in Diagon Alley. Five former Death Eaters but they don't know who," stated Penelope generally as if she had already been asked half a million times.
It was vague but Hermione knew that Penelope was busy and decided that she could seek details elsewhere once she had completed her tasks.
"Thank you, Penelope. Good luck," she added hastily as Penelope shuffled off once more. Hermione made her way out of the main room in which she stood, weaving her way through the cots, Healers and concerned family members towards the private rooms that had been reserved for the more... wealthy patients.
Hermione silently recited the information given to her by Penelope in her mind as she made her way towards room 416. A name had been carelessly written on the door with a hasty spell but she did not pause to read it, and instead walked directly to the back to remove the patient's chart from the wall.
The patient, Herbert according to the chart, was in a deep sleep on the twin-sized bed placed in the middle of the room and an assortment of potions sat on the nightstand beside the bed. He looked to be around sixty years old but Hermione could not be certain because of the various injuries on his face. There was a couple of small burns around his neck that glimmered with previously applied potion, a few cuts and a swollen eye. His left arm was wrapped in white cloth and the older wizard twitched in pain every couple of seconds. Hermione assumed that he had a few internal injuries as well.
The young Medi-witch read quickly through the Herbert's chart, instantly committing to memory his injuries, when and how they had been treated as well as his medical background. She then re-dressed his wounds, applied new potions and ointments and replenished the ones remaining on the bedstand. Herbert remained asleep through all this and a gentle grin slipped onto Hermione's face as she looked down on the sleeping man. She stood in the position for not more than a few moments before the door burst open and a woman about his age with greying hair bustled in towards him, tears brimming her eyes.
"Oh, Herbert!" she said simply and Hermione quickly exited the room to allow the married couple some privacy.
After exiting room 411, Hermione slowly made her way through the room of each and every patient, addressing each of their unique injuries and illnesses specifically. Most were asleep, although a few remained awake and attempted light conversation with her through their occasional grimaces of pain.
Exhaust did not greet Hermione until she had finished attending to the patient in room 423. She had been an hour away from the end of her 12-hour shift when the victims began flooding the wing and now, four hours later, she was still here. The Healer only hoped that her last patient's injuries didn't require too much attention.
Hermione lightly rapped her knuckles against the door to make sure that the patient was asleep. When no reply was heard, she took her last sane step and then froze in the doorway as her eyes fell upon the patient and his platinum blonde hair.
Now that his disguise and faded completely Hermione recognized Draco Malfoy instantaneously. His pale skin, thin yet full lips and smooth face wreaked of gentility despite the fact that it was bruised and cut. Although he slept, it was not a relaxed sleep. Every few seconds his face would tense up with furrowed eyebrows and a creased forehead. His face stayed troubled like this for no more than a few moments before it relaxed once more. Hermione had the strange sense that he was dreaming.
By the time she had finished observing him the initial shock of the reappearance of her old nemesis and classmate had worn off and reality snuck back upon her. Draco's left leg and arm were wrapped in thick white material and what she could see of his chest was bare. She assumed that this meant he had some sort of injury there, but would not know completely until she examined his chart, which required moving. Towards him. But really, why should she? What did she owe the creature who did not approve of her existence? who ridiculed her and her friends every chance he got? who nearly killed Dumbledore? whose family was always at the right hand of the Dark Lord before his demise?
She had just settled on the decision to return to Penelope and request another Healer be assigned to the pureblood when, with a sudden jerk, Draco awoke. His breathing was heavy and tainted with worry as his eyes frantically searched the room. He did not know where he was, he did not know what had happened, he did not know why it hurt to breath. Draco very much disliked not knowing, for it made him feel insufferably vulnerable. He was filled with a longing leftover from his dream, but as the dream had momentarily escaped his mind and he remembered none of it, this only left him feeling more confused and therefore angry. It took him nearly a minute to notice her. By that time his breathing was nearly back to a normal pace, and a snarl of disgust replaced his previous confusion.
He lowered his head a few inches after a few seconds of charged silence. "You," he growled with a clenched jaw. It was impossible to misinterpret his attitude with such vividly negative body language. Hermione's bushy eyebrows furrowed instantly and her mouth parted in outrage and shock. She opened her mouth wider to retort but found her throat constricted by anger. Before she could do anything rash she turned indignantly and stormed out of the room.
The pig! Or maybe ferret was a more adequate word. How dare he speak to her as if they were still in school, as if they were still teenagers, as if the Light had not won the war. The good had won, didn't that mean that everything should be right again? Hermione desperately wished that this is how things would be, that everyone's previously skewed ideals and beliefs had automatically transformed with the victory. It was for this reason that she loathed Draco. His sudden appearance and attitude made it nearly impossible for Hermione to deny that things hadn't changed much at all.
Hermione thought all this as she tore her way back to the main room to search for Penelope, still fuming with anger. It was nearly one in the morning by now and most of the patients were tended too and asleep, so Hermione assumed that Penelope was managing things from her office for the time being. Her assumption was correct and she found Penelope sitting at her desk, scattered with papers, scrawling something onto a piece of parchment.
"Penelope -" she started, but Penelope, not looking up to her and still writing furiously, cut her off before she could continue.
"I assume you have discovered Mr. Malfoy and are requesting that a different Healer be assigned to him? See here, Hermione, I know that you two had your differences at Hogwarts but that was over two years ago and it's in the past, a separate world." She dramatically dotted the period at the end of the sentence she had just finished writing, set down the quill, and looked up at Hermione.
"The fourth floor is completely filled and I need everyone doing as much as they possibly can for the next couple of weeks. You are a brilliant person, witch and Healer and I know that you are more than capable of doing this."
With that, she picked her quill up once more and continued writing. Hermione remained in the doorway for a couple of seconds, prepared to make a well-reasoned argument but Penelope had already busied herself once more with the paperwork.
Hermione bustled out of the room and made her way out of the office, through the main room and to the entrance of the hall containing private rooms number 400-449. Her anger had momentarily subsided. She paused there, turned her back to the wall and rested the back of her head against it for a few moments. Her eyes closed and her head swam with thoughts that she could not sort out. With a deep and weighted breath she pushed herself off the wall and, very slowly, began making her way back to room 424.
This was going to be an interesting couple of weeks.