The light from the morning sunrise warmed his back, which shone lily white next to the soft yellow and tan shades of the sand he lay upon. Ocean water lapped at his glowing feet while seagulls cawed gently over head. The warmth of the sea breeze kissed his stubble chin, the corner of his mouth rising to a sly smirk just as a beautiful, busty brunette in a sparsely covering bright-red bikini came bouncing into view.

"Draco"

Ohhhhh, she knows his name, he thought dreamily as a nudge in his shorts dared to give him away. The cat like grin on his face widened in anticipation.

"Draco, darling. Can you hear me? It's mother."

Mother? Whose mother? And then realization struck him, hard. He woke with a start and immediately threw his arm over his eyes, shielding them from the false, incandescent light coming from a long row of lights above his bed. Draco relaxed his body and peeked from under his arm. Gone were the sun and the busty woman, replaced now by stark white surroundings and the face of his mother, a furrow of concern resting on her brow.

"Mother." He slurred with a touch of disdain on his tongue. "Where am I and why in bloody hell is it so bright in here?"

She remained unaffected by his brazen attitude and answered his question in hushed, cool tones. "You are currently residing in the Recovery And Treatment Section of St. Mungo's. Prior to a few hours ago, I have it on good authority that you were on day three of a fire whiskey binge in the Three Broomsticks. Madame Rosmerta flooed St. Mungo's after you threw your spirit glass at another patron and attempted a slashing curse. Unfortunately for you, not only did you manage to hit your intended target, but the spell partially backfired. Your inebriated state no doubt played a part in your lack of full spell success. You managed not to do any serious damage to yourself other than some disgusting cuts across your chest, and the patron also suffered minor cuts to his arm and shoulder, but Madame Rosmerta is not entirely pleased with you, to say the least. I fear your physical pain will pale in comparison to your future legal issues. Again."

Draco closed his eyes and tried to think back through the unreceptive fog surrounding his brain, seeking some truth in his mother's words, but all he could find was a strong desire to dispel a series of shot glasses filled with fire whiskey into his mouth. He drew in a slow breath and let it go at the same smooth pace, trying to clear the haze that was hanging heavy behind his eyes. While trying to clear the cloud, he became acutely aware of the sound of someone breathing on the other side of the room. When he opened his eyes the flash of red in the bed next to him sent his blood to a boiling point.

"What the hell is that weasel-arse doing here?" he snarled, his voice igniting with rage and disgust.

"Would you please keep your voice down?" Hissed Narcissa, "Thanks to your inebriated state at the pub, Mr. Weasley is your room mate here for the time being."

"Like hell he is!" Draco roared hoarsely, though the only movement he could muster was a slight eye roll as he clutched the railing of his bed.

A strangled voice grumbled from the other bed. "Malfoy, shut your whining trap, I'm trying to sleep."

Draco wanted to throw his pillow towards the red headed freak, but his body felt as though it weighed 500 galleons, so instead he growled through gritted teeth and sunk back into his bed, wishing at that moment to disappear into a bottle of fire whiskey once more.

The row of service floo in the basement of St. Mungo's lay dormant at 5:30AM Monday morning, that is, until Hermione Granger appeared at the end of the hallway, stepping aimlessly through the green flames of the last fireplace on the right, her nose tucked behind a rather thick medical book entitled "Communicable Diseases in the Wizarding Community in the 1600's." Her steps were light but purposeful, her book bag slung over the shoulder of her white student robes.

After completing her 7th and final year at Hogwarts, top of her class, with a world of options at her finger tips, Hermione felt bound for a career in the medical field and entered the Healers School at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. She was ready to face the world head on and become the best healer the wizarding world had ever seen.

Three years in to her four year long program found her single, overwhelmed, frazzled, and, in general, unsure of what life could hold beyond the dank white walls of the hospital and a life filled with the sick, the hurt, and the twisted that stepped through the doors day in and day out in search of healing. She still had friends, of course. She was thrilled to stand by her two best friends as Maid of Honor when Harry and Ginny wed the summer before and Luna visited Hermione at the hospital often with the latest copy of the Quibbler. Ron begrudgingly maintained some limited owl contact, though Hermione knew that had to be at the urging of his mother. She loved Molly Weasley as a friend and practical second mother, but she feared the aging woman had taken her break up with Ron harder even than he had.

Hermione wanted to go to medical school; Ron wanted someone like his mother. Hermione held Molly in great regard, respecting the hard work and compassion the woman shared with her children and in pursuit of the safety of their world, but Hermione always knew she wanted a career, and a demanding one at that. Ron, being the impatient man he is, didn't want to wait for a career woman. Ironically, after breaking up three years ago, Ron was still single, and waiting, Hermione presumed, for her to finish school. But the demands of school and the time apart twisted Hermione's feelings of guilt and uncertainty into a shield around her heart and blinders on her eyes. The only things she saw were medical texts and tools and the only feelings she felt were the small ones she let linger for her patients every once in a while, mainly children and the elderly.

On this morning, Hermione arrived an hour early, like always, to check over her charts and begin her rounds. In her final year as a student, she had earned the right after passing her Healer Open Objectives Test (HOOT) with perfect marks, to begin working as Healer In Training, or HIT. This allowed her to take on patients with minor illness and injury under the guidance of a senior level Healer. In this case, she reported to Head Mediwizard Barnacus, the top man of the hospital. HM Barnacus didn't usually work with HIT's but he took a special interest in Hermione and her training, as she was the most accomplished student the hospital had ever seen.

Hermione stopped by the HIT's office to place her bag and book in her desk drawer and sign in to the roster for the day. Owls flew in shortly after her arrival, placing stacks of brown folders on the three dusty desks crammed into the tiny, dimly lit office. Hermione removed her student Healer coat and placed it on the back of her chair, pulled her wild brown curls into a messy bun on the top of her head, and and sat at her desk to begin her day. She absentmindedly sipped at her cup of tea and began thumbing through her patients for the day when two names, in folders back to back, brought her up short. The names "Malfoy-Room 402" and "Weasley-Room 402" all but reached out and slapped her slacken jaw clear off of her face. What on earth could those two idiots have done now and why in Morgana were they in the same room?

Disregarding the remaining folders of the stack, Hermione collected her coat from the back of the chair, picked up the two folders, and made for the lift around the corner from her office. One the ride up to the fourth floor she read over the notes in each mans file. "Pub fight. Honestly Ronald, I should have known" she sighed to herself. As the lift came to a halt the gate swung open and Hermione looked up from her files just as she walked smack dab into Narcissa Malfoy.