Having Potter as Granger's advocate had its advantages. The wheels of bureaucracy at the Ministry, usually grindingly slow, suddenly seemed to turn with oiled efficiency. Draco was surprised to find out that Harry had returned to the Ward less than an hour later, signed parchment in hand with his consent and acknowledgement of the use of Viva mutatur from Kingsley Shacklebolt himself. Even in emergent cases, Draco had never had the potion approved by the Ministry in under twelve hours.
He started the infusion immediately, with the lowest dose he could possibly expect to be effective. There was a dark, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he pushed the needle into a vein on the back of Hermione's hand; a feeling like he had failed.
You don't have a bloody choice, Malfoy.
He took Wanda aside at the Medi-witches station and gave her clear guidelines. "I want all staff to be aware that this is a continuous infusion, Wanda," he instructed. "I don't want any interruptions for any reason. Make sure that the Medi-witches and wizards know that."
"I know what continuous means," Wanda replied, a little waspishly. The Ward had been in a state of controlled chaos all week, and all of the staff seemed to be working on borrowed patience.
"I mean it," Draco replied, unrelenting. " No interruptions."
Wanda glared at him, hand landing staunchly on her hip, but she seemed to decide it wasn't worth voicing her feelings.
He returned to the quarantine room and scowled in disappointment. He had been hoping… but Hermione looked the same. He tried anyway. " Ennervate."
Hermione laid still.
"Come on, Granger," he scoffed under his breath, almost childishly, "wake up."
Almost as if to taunt him, the alarm that alerted any surge in magical activity sounded, and he heard the shuffle of staff stepping into the antechamber and arming themselves with protective charms.
"It's alright," he called loudly. "I've got it."
The medi-wizard peering through the window nodded at Draco and motioned to the other staff to exit. Sighing, Draco looked up at the pouch connecting to Hermione's IV line.
He pointed his wand at it to adjust the flow, allowing more of the Viva mutatur to enter into Hermione's bloodstream.
The Burrow hadn't had so many visitors in years. The remaining Weasley's (sans Charlie), Fleur, Neville and Luna had all come to hole up at the temporary command centre.
The mood was despondent, except for Luna, who looked quietly thoughtful as she stitched together a quilt that she intended to drop at St. Mungo's once it was finished. Harry thought that the blanket was brazenly hideous - each patch was a different colour and gaudy pattern, with no discernable motif or style to it - but it looked soft and warm.
Molly had busied herself with making an abundance of food and tea, which all sat more or less untouched on the table. Ron hadn't said much since he'd found out that Malfoy hadn't been making empty threats, and he wouldn't be allowed to visit Hermione until she could consent to it herself - should that ever happen. Harry had expected him to create an uproar over it, but when the medi-witch had told him, kindly and with a remorseful expression, Ron simply went quiet.
"When will they start the potion?" Bill asked, breaking the silence.
"Harry's gotten everything in order," Ginny replied quietly. She was holding her head in her hands and didn't look up. She sounded drained. "Malfoy said they'd start right away."
"I'd better hurry up, then," Luna said brightly, not taking her eyes away from her handiwork. "It'd be nice for her to have this when she wakes up."
No one said anything.
After a few moments of heavy silence, Neville smiled sadly and squeezed his arm around Luna's shoulders. "Yes, that would be nice, I think."
Dolohov was finally awake, and according to the Medi-Witches and Medi-Wizards, he had a lot to say.
As soon as Draco had heard, he was at the bedside. Dolohov's skin was starting to fade into a mottled mauve, and he looked every bit as vicious as when he'd come in. His body was corded with muscle and the restraints buckled over every limb appeared not just precautionary, but necessary.
Draco's heart was hammering in his ears. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was anxious to be in the same room as Dolohov. He remembered being terrified of his eerie smile and cruel wandwork when he was a boy, and seeing him now - even as wounded and disadvantaged as he was - threatened to let some of those long-suppressed feelings bubble to the surface.
Obedient.
Trapped.
Weak.
Draco set his jaw and met his eyes, forcing himself not to waver when Dolohov's eyes crinkled at the corners and he grinned.
"How nice to see a friendly face, Draco," he wheezed with a slight chuckle. "I never expected to see you in Healer's robes. I have to say, I don't think it suits you very well."
"I'm not here to discuss your opinions, Dolohov," Draco replied in a low voice. "I want you to tell me what you've done."
" Dolohov, is it?" he asked, amused, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "Oh, you wound me, Draco. Surely we have enough history to be on a first-name basis."
Draco chose to ignore this. Dolohov, he knew, was adept at getting under the skin of his opponents, and he intended to limit his opportunity to try.
"I suppose that I have you to thank for keeping me alive," Dolohov continued, the corners of his mouth pulling down into a sneer. "Recipients of my special inventions don't tend to survive, unless they're familiar with the magic."
"You can thank me by telling me what you've done to Granger."
"Do you think I'm an idiot ?" Dolohov hissed suddenly, staring at Draco with naked hatred. "Offer the only useful bit of negotiation I have so I can expedite my banishment to Azkaban? Or perhaps the dementor's kiss? Piss off."
"You're not negotiating your way out of anything," Draco said harshly. "Whether you offer it or we take it from you."
"Well, you'll have to take it, then, because I'm not offering unless the Wizengamot is prepared to compensate me appropriately." He smiled an ugly, cruel smile. "And I happen to know that you need approval for these things. You can't just force Veritaserum down a patient's throat. Least of all someone with your background."
Draco slammed his hand against the bed rail, losing his temper, which seemed to satisfy Dolohov immensely. "Potter will have it in hand soon enough, Dolohov."
Dolohov tutted. "Oh, but will it be soon enough? I've heard whispers that the poor little mudblood isn't faring so well."
Draco's eyes locked onto Dolohov's, and unwittingly, Draco felt himself beginning to claw towards the dark edges of Dolohov's mind. He broke instantly and was forcibly ejected when he heard a cackle escape from Dolohov's mouth and he staggered backwards, nearly stumbling to the floor.
" Legilimency, Draco? On a restrained, injured patient? Very naughty indeed," he laughed. "You'll need to give it a little more effort if you expect results. I somehow doubt your Legilimency skills are quite up to snuff with the Dark Lord's."
Enraged, Draco stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
He went directly back to Hermione. Wanda was just leaving when he approached the door. "How is she?"
"See for yourself," she said mildly, brushing her hands off on the front of her robes. "Breathing again. I've just removed the intubation tube."
Draco fought the bizarre urge to kiss her full on the mouth. "Thank you, Wanda."
She gave him an irritated look, clearly not having forgiven him for his tone earlier in the day, but she nodded and continued on her way. He rushed into the room, and was admittedly disappointed when Granger wasn't suddenly sitting up and smiling at him.
But, as Wanda had said, the breathing tube was gone, and now she only had an oxygen mask over her face. Moreover, a bit - not much, but - a bit of colour had returned to her cheeks.
"Hermione," he called loudly, "are you awake?"
No response. He pulled a chair beside her bed and sat, studying her with nervous eyes. He was probably pushing his luck, but he did it anyway. He rolled the sleeves of his robes up over his elbows and readied his wand.
"Ennervate."
Hermione's lips puckered slightly, as if she was considering asking a question, and her eyebrows furrowed. The next moment, Draco was leaning over her and he slid his fingers firmly through hers.
"Granger, squeeze my hand if you can hear me," he urged in a low voice.
Her fingers curled .
Draco's pulse was pounding in his ears.
The pads of her fingertips weakly brushed the tops of his knuckles.
"Hermione, open your eyes," he commanded. "Look at me."
She turned her head slightly towards his hand, and then all hell broke loose.
Her eyelids had barely lifted at all when a strangled sound escaped her. The magic-surge alarms blared instantly and Hermione's body seized as if someone was pulling her straight up from her hips; he didn't know how she could possibly have the strength for it after being unconscious for so long. Draco swore loudly and removed his hand. She began thrashing with impossible strength, and Draco fought to pin her wrists to the bed to prevent her from ripping out the IV in the scuffle. Within moments, medi-witches and wizards were crowding into the room, asking Draco for instructions over the wail of the alarm.
"Prep a calming draught," he directed loudly. "And hold her down. Do not let that IV move."
"It might be easier to sedate her, Draco," said one of the medi-wizards, watching Granger's violent movements uneasily.
"She's been comatose for days," Draco called angrily, holding her firmly in place while staff positioned themselves to take over for him. "I am not sedating her."
Once the others had a good grip on Hermione, he let Wanda administer an injection of calming draught into Hermione's shoulder. Meanwhile, he adjusted the flow rate of the Viva mutatur, again increasing the dose incrementally.
Whether it was the calming draught or the infusion, Hermione's strength seemed to be sapped within moments and her flailing kicks died down into weak drags against the bed and the hands holding her down. Draco held up his hand to the staff, signalling for them to lift their hands away. His eyes were trained intently on Hermione's face.
She let out a moan of anguish, and suddenly Draco realized with sickening clarity what the cause of the commotion might have been. He tugged down his sleeve forcibly.
The first thing Hermione had seen when she opened her eyes was the faded remnants of the Dark Mark on the inside of his wrist.
Slowly, her eyelids lifted again, and this time, her hazy gaze met his.
"There you are," Draco whispered, sharply taking in a shaky breath. "Welcome back, Granger."
Bright was the first word that popped into Hermione's mind. She squinted against the light, which felt like an assault on her eyes.
Hurts was the second.
She couldn't really see properly - just the outlines of people around her. She heard voices, but they sounded far away and foreign. Something was over her mouth, and she tried to paw it away with her hand but found that her arms were leaden. Despite using all of her strength, she couldn't lift them. She moaned and tried to twist her head to the side, anxious to get the obstruction off of her face.
"That needs to stay there for now, Hermione," a voice said, and she only registered it in a distant, detached way. She moaned again, and gasped when she felt a sharp strain in her throat. Tears pricked the edges of her eyes and she felt them slide freely down her cheeks.
"Get a pain potion," commanded the same voice. She recognised it, but her mind was too foggy and dull to make sense of anything. "Hermione, can you sit up?"
She moved her head side to side as much as she was able. She felt the surface beneath her being moved, and she sensed that she was more upright. She squeezed her eyes shut, hissing at the pain of shifting position.
"Hermione," the voice said loudly and clearly. "You're at St. Mungo's. You've been injured quite badly. I need you to drink this potion, alright? It will make your throat feel better."
She managed a nod, and she felt multiple sets of hands moving her gently, sitting her up fully, supporting her back, carefully sweeping her hair back behind her shoulders. She felt the thing being pulled off her face, then long fingers around her chin.
As soon as the cool potion hit the back of her throat, she erupted into a bout of involuntary coughing. Her lungs rattled and squeezed miserably, and she felt one of the hands pat her back softly.
"You're alright. Breathe. Sorry, Granger. I'll go more slowly."
More prepared this time, she allowed the tingling liquid to slide back and she swallowed heavily. Instantly, a cool, pleasant relief radiated out from her oesophagus, to her chest, out to her limbs.
She relaxed and sank into the mattress, the hands receding from her and setting her back down gently. Someone replaced what she had finally recognised was an oxygen mask over her mouth. She opened her eyes again and dully realised whose voice had been giving commands. Somewhere, she registered that she maybe ought to be frightened, but as it was, everything felt slackened and slow, and she didn't react. "Malfoy," she murmured, as much as an acknowledgement as it was a request for confirmation.
"Very good," he said drily, eyes trained on her. "What else can you remember?"
She moved her head back and forth again. Malfoy nodded and tried to smile, but she could tell it wasn't genuine. There was a noise coming from outside the room and he looked up. "We'll talk soon," he promised with a bit of a sigh, then he stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. "You have some visitors who are very excited to see you."
Before she could manage a response, Malfoy was out of her line of sight and she heard a door open and close. Again, she heard a cacophony of muffled voices, but nothing she could make out.
"- easy , alright, Potter?" she heard as the door opened again. "Just start with a few minutes."
And then there were several faces she knew better than anyone else in the world, beaming over her. Neville, Ginny, Luna, Molly.
Harry.
Tears sprang to her eyes again as her best friend reached down and embraced her fiercely. She held him as tightly as she was able - not very - and wasn't able to stop herself from sobbing into his chest.
"Blimey, Hermione," Harry whispered, giving her an extra squeeze, "you really scared us."
When he finally released her, he used his thumb to wipe the tears off of her cheek.
"Sorry, Hermione," Luna said regretfully, opening a questionable-looking bundle of clashing bits of fabric and smoothing it over her. "I really had hoped that I would finish this before you woke up."