A/N: Hey. I started this fic 10 years ago, and recently I thought...
What if I rewrote it, and actually finished it?
So, here it is. Healer Draco, Stubborn Hermione.
Enjoy.
p.s. occasional violence and swearing etc etc etc.
I do love a review. :)
Hermione closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply.
There is a Basilisk in my brain.
The prosecutor faced the crowd directly and spoke.
"Though it's cryptic, this appears to be referencing the Gringotts break in, which strongly suggests this letter was not written in November, but instead…"
I can feel its fangs piercing the back of my eyes.
She pursed her lips and exhaled slowly.
Its venom is a liquid Cruciatus, pulsing, ripping, tearing -
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione's eyes snapped open and she was startled to see a haggard and hateful-looking wizard staring directly at her. Was it strange that these trials had started to blend into one another? Ten years had gone by, and every so often, another Death Eater or supporter would be pried out of the dark corners of the world and brought in front of the Wizengamot.
So, here she was, testifying.
Again.
And her head felt like it was going to split right bloody open.
She smiled politely. "Yes. My apologies. Could you repeat the question?"
Shakily, she jammed her key into the lock and barely made it to the chair before collapsing.
Though she had intended to stay for sentencing – usually, she would sit next to Harry and give his hand a reassuring squeeze – it wasn't happening today. She was tottering on her feet and she worried whether she was going to be able to keep her breakfast down.
She shoved her hand into the bottom drawer of her desk and retrieved a vial filled with thick black potion. She fumbled with the cork for several seconds before cursing in frustration and pointing her wand at it.
The cork dislodged with a satisfying ploonk and Hermione emptied its contents down her throat. Her muscles instantly began to loosen. The vial rolled out of her hand onto the desk, leaving little ink-like splotches in its path. She let a hoarse exhale of relief escape from her as she leaned forward on her palms, massing her temples with her fingertips.
It was hard to pinpoint exactly when this had all started. She remembered pushing through pain in the final days of the War, but hadn't thought much of it at the time. After the War, for several years, it felt like it was always there.
Preliminary diagnosis: migraine headaches with visual and sensory aura, triggered by stress (and, she was sure, Ronald Weasley).
Unbidden, the memory of Ron's red ears and a copy of the Prophet flashed through her mind. The photo would have been enough, but the headline – well. She had apparated to Ginny and Harry's, then promptly emptied the contents of her stomach into the sink. Ginny had to lead her to the guest bed, because she had literally been blinded by pain.
It was after that she invested in strong pain potions. The potions at least enabled her to get her work done (which - if she was being honest - was all that really mattered to her at that time). If she kept her stress levels low, she could get away without using them for weeks at a time.
She pushed her fingers through her hair and rubbed at her eyes. Right, she thought. Back to work, then.
She pulled out her quill and began writing furiously. Soon enough, dots were floating up into her vision. Her arms felt like lead.
She persisted.
Knock knock, Hermione…
It hadn't been this intense in years, especially after a pain potion.
Nevertheless, she had a lot of work to do.
Knock knock knock knock knock
She almost screamed in frustration at her body's betrayal when a magicked note sailed towards her. She plucked it from the air.
Hey, is everything okay? You looked white as a sheet in there.
Meet me at the café?
Harry
She considered for a moment, but she knew that Harry wouldn't be appeased until he saw her with his own eyes.
Hermione stood and the pain suddenly struck her like lightning, stealing her vision in sharp dissections. She felt herself falling, and she absently heard a weak voice (her own?) say, "oh."
There was a popping noise. It was repetitive, rhythmic, and it didn't occur to Hermione to open her eyes. That changed when a sudden pungent smell invaded her nostrils.
She gagged as she sat bolt upright. She went into a fit of spluttering coughs and felt a hand thump her rather hard between the shoulders.
"Bloody hell, Hermione," Harry said tightly. He set the awakening potion on the corner of the desk. "What happened?"
It took her a moment to get her bearings. She looked around – office, chair, Harry looking worried and angry –
Right.
"Er, I'm not exactly sure. Must have had a head rush when I stood up," she muttered. She stood again, but her movements felt heavy and clumsy. Harry frowned and steadied her shoulders with his hands. He studied her face critically, and seemed unsatisfied with what he found.
"Did you hit your head?"
She shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. "No, no. Come on, let's grab some tea."
Harry did not move. His expression was stern.
"What?" she demanded, exasperated. Waves of nausea rolled over her and her head was pounding.
"We're not getting tea," he said firmly. "I'm taking you to St. Mungos. You look terrible."
"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione scoffed.
"Hermione," Harry said tiredly. It was then that she noticed he was holding the emptied vial of pain potion, with its little droplets of black liquid around the rim.
"It's not…" She hesitated. "It's been bad today." At Harry's raised eyebrows, she protested, "just today, Harry!"
"At least let me take you to a clinic," he said, his expression softening somewhat. "Just to get checked out. What if this is something new? Something more serious?"
Oh yes, she thought angrily. They will certainly take me seriously at the clinic. Healers have always been so understanding when I explain that I need the very strongest potions at the very highest doses.
"I know you don't want to," he said gently. "But please. I'm worried about you."
Hermione bit down on her lip and closed her eyes. "Yes, alright. Fine."
"You must be Miss Granger. What can I help you with today?"
The Healer was a tall, middle-aged man with an accent she couldn't immediately place. He seemed friendly enough. He gave her a polite smile as he sat on a rolling stool next to the examination table.
"Er – well." She faltered, then tried again. "Um, I started getting a migraine today. I get them sometimes. But, well, today – "
Why was she always so nervous around Healers?
" – today was worse. I think I fainted because of it."
The Healer seemed unfazed, which was reassuring.
"Is this the first time you've fainted?"
She said yes, and he nodded in response.
"Would you mind lying back so I can examine you?"
She nodded uncomfortably and shifted down onto the examining bench, letting her back settle on the plastic cushion. She forced herself to breathe out as the Healer's gloved hand came to her forehead and pressed slow circles into her temple with her fingers, following it with his wand.
Hermione winced involuntarily and barely concealed a gasp of pain.
"How long have you been getting these headaches?"
"Erm…" Hermione squirmed a bit. He wasn't applying much pressure, but her head felt very tender under his fingers. "Several years, I suppose."
He nodded, pausing to scribble a note into her chart. "And have you tried any generic pain potions?"
"Yes, of course," Hermione answered quietly. Dread filled her stomach.
"Which potions have you been taking, and which have been the most effective?"
Hermione rambled off nearly a dozen different potions, only two of which had made any difference whatsoever.
"Alright, Miss Granger," he began.
"Hermione."
Another polite smile. "Hermione. From what you've told me, the standard pain potions haven't worked for you. The ones you've been relying on—"
"Promote disconnect between bodily perception and conscious feeling," Hermione interrupted. "Not generally used because they make your body feel like it's all pins and needles, and tends to cause drowsiness."
"You do your homework," he said with an approving nod. "I'm going to try something if it's alright with you. At best, it should help the pain, and at worst it will do nothing. Is that okay?"
Hermione nodded and tried to ignore the nervous kick in her stomach.
"Good. I'm going to perform a few spells and I just need you to tell me if you feel anything—tingles, pain relief, that sort of thing. I'm going to start now."
He began murmuring incantations that Hermione didn't recognize, then he stepped back and watched.
"I need you to tell me everything that you're feeling, Hermione."
At first she felt nothing. Slowly, a sort of haze crept upon her.
"I feel—foggy," she said slowly. "Disoriented, maybe."
The Healer nodded once and scribbled something into her chart.
"Has the pain changed at all?"
"No," Hermione replied quietly. Suddenly, her muscles began to tighten and she could not control it. "It's—it's making my body tense."
His eyes narrowed. "Tense?" he repeated, but before Hermione could answer, she jerked forward involuntarily, her legs seizing upward, and she let out a shocked cry of pain.
The Healer immediately released the spell and Hermione fell back onto her arms. Her heart was pounding, and it felt like the ground was falling out from under her. Without thinking, she clutched at her chest and took in a shaky breath. Hermione thought that the Healer was trying to act impassive, but he didn't take his eyes off of her.
"I apologise... That's not a regular reaction to the spell. Are you alright?" he asked. He was now scribbling furiously.
A growing sense of dread was blooming in the pit of Hermione's stomach. She nodded and tried to sound assured. "Yes, I'm fine."
"It doesn't mean that you're in any danger. All that your reaction tells us is that your pain isn't due to the typical magic imbalances that we see often causing migraines."
"Oh—oh, okay," she stammered, forcing a smile. Damn Harry for making me come here. She wanted so badly to be back at her flat, alone and with a cup of tea, and out of this bloody Healer's office. She had been in this situation before, being told that her symptoms didn't make sense, and the implication in the end was that this was her own fault. "What do we do next, then?"
"'We' don't do anything," he replied simply. "What you're experiencing doesn't meet the criteria of any of the known chronic pain disorders, which suggests that it's more complex than just magical imbalance or biological predisposition. I would suspect that it's an interaction between those things and something that you were exposed to earlier in life—an errant curse, botched potion, maybe a cursed object. That said, I don't have the expertise to treat you, or even diagnose you properly."
Wonderful, she thought sourly.
Upon seeing Hermione's expression, the Healer allowed himself a genuine smile. "Don't worry. I wouldn't be a good Healer if I just sent you on your way, would I? There's another Healer in the clinic who specialises in complex curses. He's quite brilliant—I promise you'll be in good hands."
Well, that sounds promising, at least.
He stood, telling her that she'd fetch this other 'brilliant' Healer. He shut the door abruptly behind him, leaving Hermione to sit alone with her thoughts in the examination room. She shifted uncomfortably and sighed.
Several minutes passed without a sound, and then suddenly the door snapped open again. The new Healer came into the room facing away from Hermione.
"I'll let you know, Willem, thank you," the new Healer called back into the hallway in a voice…
That voice!
The Healer turned and Hermione didn't bother trying to hide her shock.