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Chapter Thirteen: Saint Mungo's.

Dear Draco,

The more I think about it, the more I suppose that you are right. I did some more research, like you told me to. I wasn't forced into anything; apparently we are just meant to be, or something like that; and I guess, that that might be okay; but I must ask you some questions firsts.

I know I'm not forced, but are you? Are you like "programmed" to like me? What do you even want or expect from me?

I'd love to see you, I really would, but I think that I might be influenced by that. It feels different when you're near. We can still talk, I'd like that.

I guess, I miss you, a bit.

I just need more time. It's all a lot to take in.

Harry.

It did nothing to appease Draco, even though he knew that it should. He heard that Harry's mind was changing, that he missed him; but he also heard that he wouldn't be seeing him anytime soon. He put his arms down and breathed in. It had been two days and three nights, and even though he had very little to no pain fits, he was completely done. His energy had been drained from him, his will had disappeared. He could hardly lift his arms without feeling tired. He turned his head on his pillow and looked at the empty chair by his side with half lidded eyes. He did not have the power to write a reply, not before receiving his potions; so he just waited. He closed his eyes and fell asleep quietly, huddled up underneath two blankets.

His dreams lay forgotten on his bed, seeping through the convoys of the air. When Madame Pomfrey came in to wake him he did notice that tears were dried out on the corner of his eyes; he learned then that it is possible to cry when asleep. He took the energy potion but refused the food when she offered it to him. He had a bucket by his side, which he filled after every single meal. When he sat up straight he felt a stab to his flank and he put a hand on the spot.

Madame Pomfrey observed him and said, "That's your kidneys." She sat down on the chair next to Draco. "I must ask you this, how many times have you urinated in the last two days?"

Draco looked at her in his best you have got to be kidding me impersonation. As she continued staring at him, he finally gave in, accepting the necessity. "Three, four times maybe," he replied with a sigh.

"Was there blood?"

"Maybe a bit."

The nurse sighed and got up. She accio-ed some bottles from the adjacent room and looked through them, flicking her wand over some. "I can give a potion for it but you must understand that your kidneys will continue to deteriorate. You will experience pains and fatigue, as well as a swelling in your legs," she explained.

"Sounds wonderful," he drawled.

Madame Pomfrey went on to give him a general check up; passing her wand over his entire body. By the look in her eyes Draco knew that she wasn't going to give him good news.

She sat back down next to him and folded her hands on the bed. "I'm afraid there is more," she started. "From the colour of your eyes and the changing tone of your skin, I can deduce that your liver is also failing. You will start getting sick more and more. The most dangerous part, at this point, is your very increased heart beat, it is making you have cramps; it is also pumping too much blood in your veins and they could burst at any moment. That means, I'm afraid, that it is going beyond me. If you get internal bleeding I will not be able to do much for you, considering that you don't react well to strong magic spells."

Draco simply nodded. It would have been romantic to say that he died of heartbreak, but it really wasn't. The books didn't mention any of that. They described a perfect, compatible and strong love; they didn't mention live decomposition.

"So... that means that if something goes wrong, that'll be end?" he asked calmly.

Madame Pomfrey got up and replied, "No. It means that, for your own safety, I must transfer you to Saint Mungo's."

""""""""

Dear Harry,

No, I am not forced, not exactly. Even if I weren't a Veela, we'd still be the best we could get. My inheritance just makes sure that it actually happens. A soul mate is chosen over the years preceding the inheritance; so in a sense, I chose you. I may not have liked you much before, but the bond did not force me to do that; it simply forced me to be close enough so that I could actually get to know you.

I don't actually expect anything from you. You're thinking about it, which is already a lot more than I thought you would. I don't know what I want either. I want to give it a shot, I guess; because this is supposed to be the best thing we could ever experience. Doesn't seem like it now huh?

Actually, I think I do know what I want. I want you to want me, and stop feeling like you have to; that you are with me without feeling guilt-tripped into 'saving me'. I want you to choose this, for us. Live free or let me die.

Oh by the way, I must inform you of a change of address. For medical reasons, I am moved to Saint Mungo's. The staff has been informed, so my classes will be sent to me. I leave after dinner tonight.

Draco.

He managed to write with a lot of effort that afternoon. He felt tired, but a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He did know what he wanted; and he felt sure that if he ever managed to return to the mirror, that that would show. He breathed in and gave the letter to the nurse for her to send off. He was going away; it almost felt surreal to him.

Come evening, his things had been packed – not that he would need much – and he waited in his bed. Dumbledore had come to see him and explained to him that apparition was too dangerous in his condition and that because of that the medical staff from Saint Mungo's would come to get him themselves. He had ingested a batch of potions to be strong enough to get up and walk to the outskirts of Hogwarts.

A carriage waited for him over the hills by Hagrid's cottage; three people stood by it, dressed in plain white uniforms. He sighed and leaned on his crutch to move forward.

Step by step he reached the first man who said, "Good-evening, Mister Malfoy. I am Julian Longbreach and this is my staff. We will be looking after you."

This, to Draco, sounded ominous and he wanted to answer that they'd better not hijack him and take him to their bondage closet.

As soon as he opened his mouth to say just that, a voice called behind, "Malfoy!"

He turned round and saw Hermione Granger running towards him, her hair bouncing wildly with every step. "Granger," he drawled. "How kind of you to see me off."

She reached him but stayed at safe distance. She observed him without his glamour a moment before saying, "You can't leave."

"Pray tell, why not?"

"Harry needs you to be here."

Draco's heart skipped a little at hearing his name and the proclamation said out loud.

"I know everything," she continued. "I read your letter, Harry's still at Quidditch practice, he hasn't seen it yet. Just wait a moment, he will want you, he's just too thick to realise that now."

"That I know."

"What I mean is, that when his mind does change for the better, you have to be there to show him that that is what you want," she added.

Draco rolled his eyes and changed twirled his cane, leaning against it. "He already knows that I do. Furthermore, if I stay, I will most likely die. I'd love to be here but I'd also love to actually be alive when our happy ending comes. So, goodbye Granger." He turned round, ready to get into the carriage.

"Do you have the time to wait?" she asked with her arms crossed, defying him. Draco admired that in her.

He looked behind his shoulder and shrugged. "No, I guess not," he said and sat down.

The carriage took off and at the same moment a tear fell on Draco's cheek; something broke down in him.

""""""""

Something really did break in him. He fell asleep on the coach so no one realised; but one of his veins had snapped. When they arrived at Saint Mungo's, incapable of waking him, they noticed that he was sweating and that underneath his lids, his eyes had gone red. Internal bleeding had begun. He was taken as quickly as possible to the nearest operating theatre, where a whole team of healers surrounded him. They stopped when he was undressed, to observe the mark. Red liquid flew through the cracks; they could see it moving over his entire left side; from his knee, over his hip, tracing his ribs, going down his shoulder to his wrist and over his shoulder-blade. They apparated a Veela expert into the operation and he advised them over the proceedings.

The operation was a success. Well, he survived at least.

"""""""""

He woke up from sharp pain to his; but his eyes hadn't opened that he already felt he couldn't breathe. He sat up in panic, throwing his hand over his mouth. A contraption was installed in front of his face and the fear made him hiccup. He held the machine in front of his lips and listened to it pushing oxygen into his body. He opened his eyes and his vision was blurred. His eyes felt heavy and closed by their own accord. He tried to move but found that nothing did. He peaked at his feet and sent the command to set them in motion, but nothing moved. He could move his arms, his face and his chest, but from his waist down he felt nothing. His heart beat started to pick up as he realised that he was paralysed. The machine went crazy trying to follow his breathing.

"Woah woah, calm down princess," someone called next to him and he turned to see a young man in a white uniform walking towards him. The man checked on the machine and looked at Draco. "Draco, seriously calm down," he said. "I'm Doctor Klaymore; I specialise in Veela's and I'm telling you, relax. You're okay."

Draco nodded and breathed deeply in and out. He felt his heart going down. He tried to speak but the machine blocked him and a groan left his lips. He looked up to his doctor who sat down on the chair next to him and lifted his feet on top of Draco's bed.

"Can't talk yet buddy, the machine's inhibiting it; sorry 'bout that," he explained while grabbing an apple and taking a bite.

Draco raised an eye brow at him and lifted his arm to point at his legs.

Doctor Klaymore gulped down a piece and replied, "Yeah that's from the operation. Sorry no one told you. So you arrived here with a busted vein; internal bleeding, all the works. We operated you and you're okay now; but we had to go through your back, which is why your legs don't function. It should come back."

Draco was stuck at the 'should' come back. He looked at the man, unable to talk to him, to insult him; and his legs were gone too. He sent his best cold glance at the man but he didn't pay any attention. He simply threw his apple away and stretched out. Just my luck, Draco thought, I'm lumbered with the cowboy.

Klaymore then leaned forward and put a hand on Draco, careful to leave the blanket between them. "But, dear man, there is something we do need to talk about," he said seriously. "You need to reach out to your mate. We can keep you alive but emotionally you will perish at some point."

Draco sighed and shrugged, for lack of speech.

Klaymore approached him. "Do you feel strong enough to breathe by yourself? You should be able to," he asked.

Draco breathed in and out heavily a couple times, and nodded his consent. The healer removed the contraption, only then did Draco notice that it went into his throat. He clicked his jaw, massaging his cheeks, and testing his voice by emitting a low hum.

"I have reached out to him," he finally said, his voice still harsh. "Well not exactly. In any case, he knows."

"Then why the hell are you here? Why are you not huddled up with hubby or something?" Klaymore snapped.

Draco turned away. "It's complicated"

"How so?"

"He needs to think about it."

He closed his eyes. Think about it, it sounded wrong even to him; and he was so sickly in love that he wanted nothing more than to believe it.

The healer got up and circled round the bed, checking him over. "Your mark is far too advanced," he said. "As you know; your body is failing; which is alright. Well no it is not alright, what I mean is that we can treat that. We can't treat your heart, as it were. If you give in, then it's over."

""""""""

A shot of pain woke him up in the middle of the night. He screamed with tears running down his cheeks. His face was scrunched up, his chest in a tight grip. He looked up to the ceiling. He dreamt that Harry came for him, that he held him close and that it soothed him from the inside.

After that he turned towards Draco, looked him in the eyes and whispered, "I do like you, but I'm sorry. I can't do this."

And Draco's entire world crumbled to pieces. The pain he had felt then was so intense, so real; that when he woke up it was still there, and it was clawing away at him. He couldn't breathe; he felt the need to grab his machine, had he remembered that it existed. He could not think of anything, he could just feel the intense pain conquering him. He was going to die alone, and he'd never actually been happy. He'd die; and the worst part was that, that was the best possible outcome. He suddenly felt like dying, felt like slitting his wrist; anything to stop this. He couldn't do it anymore; he was just dragging himself through the dirt, holding onto that bit of hope; and it was all in vain.

Healers gathered round his bed, wearing special gloves, and they held him down.

He remembered hearing Klaymore's voice telling him, "Draco, Draco, focus now. It was just a dream, it's not real. You must keep believing. Don't give up."

Draco didn't know if he could. Didn't this spell the end, hadn't the curse taken him? The healers went away, one by one as he started calming down, letting his tears fall freely. He felt the sting on his back where he knew the mark was growing, but it hardly mattered.

He looked over to his healer. "How could I not give up?" he asked brokenly.

Klaymore sat down on his bed and looked down at the covers. "There is something out there worth fighting for out there, Draco," he replied soberly.

"How do you know?"

Klaymore shrugged and crossed his legs. "Experience. He'll turn round in the end."

Draco turned his face against his cushion. He didn't reply, didn't care much for Doctor Klaymore's sob story; he just knew that he had to be wrong. He glanced down at his feet and wiggled his toes. Above the surface of the blanket, nothing moved. He tried lifting his knee, and his mind he did, but still nothing moved.

"I will walk again, won't I?" he asked. Even if Harry came and swopped him away, he would not spend the rest of his life as a cripple.

"You will."

He didn't believe him. He knew that Klaymore was trying to cheer him up, trying to give him some light at the end of the tunnel; but Draco knew he could not promise that he would walk again. He sent another message to his feet, a last one; and still nothing moved.

"""""""""

Upon his wake, Draco felt tired and drained, but something seemed to have sparked inside of him. He sat up straight, pushing himself up on his arms; something wet was underneath his palms but he ignored it. This time it would work, it would simply have too. He closed his eyes and breathed in, sent a message down to his right knee and lifted it up.

The covers didn't even blink. He looked at them, desperate for them to move. With a breath he fell back on the bed, only then did he realise that most of the bed was wet. He closed his eyes with clenched fist. This was not happening. He turned in search for his wand but his rear end remained glued to the mattress so he couldn't turn enough. A nurse came in quietly and he looked at her operate.

She took her own wand and whispered a scorgify on the bed. She looked at Draco and asked, "Doctor Klaymore says that performing a simple spell might sting but it would not essentially harm you. Would you like me to apply a cleaning spell on you?"

Draco didn't hesitate for a second and nodded his consent. She whispered the spell and he gritted his teeth. The pain was bearable. The nurse left without a word, and he thanked her for that. Draco turned his head and saw Doctor Klaymore, the one and only, by the door.

He approached him with his hand in his pockets. "Sorry we didn't warn you about that. Because your lower body is paralysed for the moment, so is your control over your bladder. Accidents will happen." He came by him and punched him friendly on the shoulder. "Good job your kidneys have failed, so you only produce a little, eh?"

Draco didn't even bother to reply to that. He held his head high up and said, "I will not live like this."

Klaymore sat on the chair. "You won't have to," he answered. "Couple of days and it will all be over. Then you can enjoy taking a leak again."

Draco sighed and leaned back on bed. Breakfast was brought to him but he never ate. He couldn't care less. He kept his mouth shut and didn't say a word. He was too ashamed, and too far away from whom he had always been to act normal. He did however drink the dreamless sleep potion before he once again dozed off in the wide blue yonder.

He remained in there for hours; his hands kept reaching out in the emptiness, his eyeballs rolled behind his lids in search for him; but he just couldn't find him.

"""""""""

They told him that he needed a new operation, this time to save his liver from rupturing. He was awake when they moved him through Saint Mungo's, and Merlin how he wished he were unconscious – or dead. Everywhere around him, he saw disease and madness. He saw a man without legs crawl on the floor, sniffing at it and making obscene gestures. He saw a mother dragging her young child by the hair. He saw an elderly woman sitting by the window in a wheel chair, she had tubes sticking out of her and part of her face was laid bare. None of them had their wand. They were reduced to muggle standards in there; sick muggles. A man grabbed one of the accompanying nurses by the leg and screamed words that Draco could not comprehend; she never budged. This was madness. It was not a silly mark crawling on their backs, itching like mad and compelling you forward. This was real. He turned away, because it did not make him feel better for himself. He supposed most of those people weren't aware of what they were missing, and he wanted that: Oblivion.

He was brought into the operating theatre. He looked around and the sight scared him. The room was white, bags of blood put into a blue bucket on the right hand side. It was wide and large, full of machines and wands put onto a table on the far end of the room. Draco was laid on the table and he grabbed the sleeve of one of the healers.

"After this, will I walk again?" he asked quietly.

The healer removed his hand and replied professionally, "We are treating your liver today; your legs will heal by themselves."

And more and more Draco felt that they were all trying to keep him alive, just not standing.

""""""""

His operation was a success, and they even managed to inject a special potion into his kidneys to help keep them in shape too. He had high hopes upon his wake, but when he moved his legs, still nothing happened. He was still paralysed and alone in that forsaken place. The nurse brought him breakfast, explaining that he was on a new diet to strengthen up. They should have forced it down his throat, he wouldn't eat it. He tried one bite, and by the way his stomach churned from the simply motion, he knew it was a bad idea.

He skipped lunch and dinner too. A psychiatrist came to talk to him but he kept his mouth shut and his head turned away. He didn't feel like speaking to anyone whose initials were not H.P. He realised with a sigh that his Doctor's name actually was Heliac Pittersburg. He didn't talk to anyone that day.

He sat on his bed, quietly scratching at his wrist, where an open wound was starting to form, doing his best to keep all bodily fluids inside of him – and failing twice. He had a pain shot once on his shoulder where Harry was probably being touched, and his mark grew more and more by the instant. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it crawl up over his neck and beneath his jaw, he knew it was there.

At the beginning of the evening he suddenly felt something other than loneliness and emptiness, he felt angry. He felt so pissed off that he could rip the covers off – which he did. He threw the bottles by his bedside on the floor and yelled. He wanted to scream, to punch, to kill. And the nurses could thank Merlin that they were used to this; they knew that they shouldn't enter.

The anger subsided very quickly, and he was left with an unnerving feeling of sadness. His yell turned into a sob and the broken glass on the floor became the tears on his face. This just wasn't fair. He was meant to be a pure blood, a powerful man in his prime, he was meant to be strong; instead of that he found himself half a beast, stripped off of his family title and his power, paralysed, mad and incontinent. It wasn't fair.

A letter arrived for him, a nurse brought it in. He opened it slowly and read:

Dear Draco,

I have finished thinking now; it did take me a while.

It was a hard decision, but I realised that I cannot live a lie as important.

I am sorry.

Yours truly,

Harry Potter.

Draco stopped breathing for a moment. Part of his brain was seeing all the signs, but most of it saw a confirmation of what he had dreamt. The letter fell to the floor and Draco turned his gaze desperately to his feet. No matter how hard he tried, they still didn't move. He turned his head to the side and closed his eyes; the friction made a single tear fall from his eye. He turned away from it all. For a moment he remembered Klaymore's words, if you give in, then it's over.

But he did anyway.

*Edited