Disclaimer: This is all for fun, I do not claim ownership of the characters or anything recognized from the work of JK Rowling. I am only borrowing them.
Warning: Mature themes, subject to change: mild violence, strong language, substance use or abuse, scenes of a sexual nature as well as general innuendo smattered throughout, adult themes including but not limited to death and disease both mental and physical.
betalove: doctorhodes
[A/N] July 22nd, 2016 - Hello! I had a brief break away from writing to read, and read I did. Special thanks to everyone who has added this story to their watch, has written a review, or interacted with it in any way. You are a great part of the development of this story, and I'm sorry if I haven't had time to reply to your review or PM. The best way to reach me for any questions is always tumblr, same username.
Also, yes I am aware we have the ghost review issue again but I can still see your questions by email and will do my best to reply to every one of you.
Playlist: Control - Halsey | Assassin's Tango - John Powell | A Day Late - Anberlin
Saturday, August 13th, 2005 | 8:13 am | St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
"I could have told you he'd twist a compliment into an insult," Draco said with a sigh. His hair was still damp from swimming in the lake that morning, and as he flitted quickly around his workbench, small droplets of water dotted the back of his lab coat.
Hermione perched on the solitary hospital bed in the laboratory, in the eerily quiet basement of the hospital. She absently swung her legs in a syncopated rhythm. She'd not ventured down to the bowels of the building often, choosing instead to spend as little additional time as possible in the hospital, but it was the only place she and Draco could be sure of privacy while he administered her seventh and final dose of Dark Magic Banisher version 4.6. Privacy and all the equipment they needed, though Hermione knew a small part of her desire to take the treatment here was to avoid the imposing man at the Loch.
"He acted like I already knew how he felt," she said, continuing to swing her legs, though they picked up speed into a steadier pattern. "'You're a singularly gifted witch'. Remus said much of the same when he was our professor."
Draco snorted. "You would do well not to mention any comparison between Severus and Remus Lupin. I knew more about magical creatures from encyclopedias as a toddler than what I learned in his class."
"Don't be a prat," Hermione chided. "But I don't disagree. The stunt with the boggart was a bit daft, making children face their greatest fear without any preparation."
"I'm glad we didn't all face that thing, since I'm sure some of us had worse fears than clowns and spiders." Draco spoke absently his concentration on the beakers in his hands: the potion in his left turning counterclockwise while the one on his right spun clockwise. Both potions were difficult to observe; the bright green mixture moved merrily against the tide he attempted to create, while the chalky yellow made Hermione feel seasick.
"What would yours have been?"
Draco remained focused on his task, ignoring Hermione's question. "As it is, he wasn't the worst professor, and was one of the few that wasn't a former Death Eater or utter tosspot."
Nose wrinkling, Hermione shook her head in disgust, recalling Barty Crouch's contentious teaching methods and Umbridge's blood quills. "If Dumbledore weren't dead, I'd have given him a piece of my mind a long time ago. It's not nearly as satisfying to scream at a portrait because he can run off to any other frame he wants, like a coward. Hogwarts was a death trap, and I'm almost certain he had some dementia before his hand was cursed, allowing the hogwash to happen on his watch."
None of her observations surprised Draco. Years spent cloistered in France and then in their separate Masters' apprenticeships allowed for long nights, and longer letters, discussing their individual Hogwarts experiences. He finished drawing the correct amount of potion for her weight and set the vials on a floating tray.
"It's astonishing Potter was able to defeat the Dark Lord," observed Draco, "simply going off our lackluster education on the subject."
Hermione prattled as Draco secured her to the hospital bed for the session. "I've thought about that, and it only shows how proficient Harry was at Defense, even as an eleven year old. But I do not excuse the methods used to hone those skills. Continuing to allow a hostile learning environment was likely an unintentional...I hope it was unintentional, at least...method of learning where the structured education failed. Hundreds or thousands of teenagers with magic wands and the knowledge of even the simplest slicing hex, meant for fruit or cutting hair, are armed with enough information to cause havoc. Add in a Scottish winter, and no one can come or go, and you can kiss order goodbye."
Smirking softly, Draco tightened the restraints to a level where she'd still be comfortable. He offered her the green vial and checked his watch for the two minute time frame. The blue monitor band on Hermione's wrist transmitted multitudes of numbers onto the observation scroll beside the bed.
"I always thought Severus was proficient at establishing order, as was McGonagall," Draco admitted, though he sounded as if he'd rather swallow sour milk than say the last part again.
Hermione breathed in and out a few times, but nodded to indicate she heard him, and agreed, then opened her mouth for the yellow potion, and the mouthguard swiftly behind it. Her shaking intensified, and Draco wished he could do more to ease her pain than hold her hand before she blacked out.
Saturday, August 13th, 2005 | 4:18pm | St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
The monitoring equipment hummed soothingly, the only sound breaking the silence of the laboratories, except for the turn of a page or the scratch of a quill. Draco sat comfortably at his desk a few feet from Hermione as she slept. Several hours earlier, he'd cleaned a spot on her abdomen to inject the black potion, and prayed to Merlin and Apollo that she wouldn't need this treatment again.
Piles of notes from Healer Audrey Weasley, nee Horner, filled one side of the desk, while Hermione's own self-evaluation covered the other two thirds. Draco rarely allowed himself to fully scowl or knit his brows - wrinkles - but her records and level of detail, detached and clinical, worried him. He resorted to beginning flow charts of her behavior on another sheet of parchment. A thin black line of ink trailed between dates and events, creating a spiderweb across the paper.
Hermione was obviously not attending regular, or perhaps any, scheduled mind-healing sessions. Limited records existed of Reverse Occlusion to assist with breaking down some of the barriers created between difficult memories and her active psyche, and the notes only existed in Healer Weasley's records with no corresponding items in Hermione's meticulous text.
"Damn you," he whispered to her sleeping form. Draco checked her vitals again, knowing she was due to wake up any moment.
Angry as he was - and he was very angry with her for intentionally harming herself by omitting important information on her progress - she was also harming others. These notes were the same ones he and Severus pored over before going back to the drawing board to improve the potion, and her omission impeded their progress and potentially extended her own suffering.
When the door opened to the lab behind him, Draco startled out of his chair. He blocked as much of Hermione as he could and drew his wand before the interloper could take two steps inside.
Severus stood still until Draco breathed in and out twice, then moved forward to lean over the table of notes.
"The hospital is rather quiet on Saturdays," Severus noted. His hand hovered over a few of the sheets of parchment, selecting two to compare side by side.
"Down here at least," Draco said, resting his hands on Hermione's bare wrist and forehead, safe in the knowledge Severus would defend them if anyone decided to burst in. His nerves were still coming down from Severus's arrival. "She's been asleep for almost eight hours now."
"Typical for that dose," Severus replied, flipping through the paperwork without sitting down.
Draco observed his godfather's posture, his tense shoulders, and how resolutely the other wizard avoided looking in his direction, and decided he'd had enough of the dancing around.
"What's going on with you and Hermione?"
If Severus was stiff before, he was ice now, the room temperature itself dropping a degree from the force of his Occlumency. Draco didn't bother hiding his frustration, but attempted to drill into the back of his mentor's head with his gaze, as the taller man finally finished the flow chart Draco had started with a flurry of hands over Hermione's charts.
"I don't know what you're-"
"Pull the other one, Severus."
"I assure you-"
"That you actually care? You've never been this involved with a case, with a patient. At least not since Tracey Davis."
"Don't speak of her!" roared Severus, his body uncoiling, and snapping at Draco; a cobra instigated with a flaming hot poker.
Draco stood, breathing heavily from restraining his temper as much as possible, but he deflated once he saw the look on his godfather's face. Hard lines melted to smooth planes of understanding, silver searching the guarded depths of black. The realization slid over his skin, a cold fog of knowledge he could scarcely believe. He knew Severus would never admit it aloud, and it went against his basic nature to be so frank, but the words stumbled from suddenly numb lips before he could pull them back in.
"You're afraid she'll die, too. Aren't you?"
Severus paled - no small feat - and his reaction was the only response Draco needed, before drawing another chair below himself and sitting down heavily. Fumbling into his pocket, he withdrew a long stick of mint of chewing gum, unable to light a fag like he really wanted to do. Hermione still wasn't awake, and though he was anxious to further examine her, he thanked the stars she couldn't hear their exchange. His voice was muffled behind lips that didn't want to work correctly.
"Tracey had more muggle and half-blood descendants than what her family let on. She died because of the combination of charms work speeding up the deterioration process of her internal organs and bodily functions, and our lack of knowledge on her ancestry." Draco looked up to stare at Severus, his Occlumency and Severus's hitting each other with a gong of power that made them both flinch. Recovering, Draco continued, "But we have different data for Hermione, and we didn't know any of those details until I read the Directory."
Turning away from his godson to draw diagrams on a clean sheet of parchment, Severus's hair fell around his face to hide it completely. Draco leaned forward to hear him as he spoke, the baritone of his voice soft and restrained. "Her progression of...deterioration is remarkably swift."
Unable to disagree, Draco conceded, "Yes, since she hasn't been taking as good care of herself as she should."
"The alcoholism." Severus clenched the fist that wasn't gliding over paper. "That, combined with what you see here, and the amount of potion she's already taken...the curse is building a resistance to our methods. Similar to an antibiotic with Muggle infections.
"She's developed diabetes – type two, mercifully – several allergies, and lactose intolerance. The curse is wearing down her magical core's natural resistance to those small afflictions, and if it continues...," Severus hesitated over the chart Draco started and he'd finished, his grip pressing fingerprints and creases into the previously crisp sheet. Monitoring beeps and hums suspended the silence as Severus added more notes then brought the document to Draco.
Grasping it with sure fingers, the hunched man's eyes scanned it once, twice, before he put his hand over his mouth in dread. "Merlin. Either way, our next batch will be her last."