After Malfoy's abrupt departure, the room felt oppressively silent. Hermione felt shaky and disconnected, like this was all happening to someone else. It wasn't her that was lying in St. Mungo's. Not her, unable to roll over in bed by herself and needing someone else to turn her, feeling simultaneously like someone had cauterised her nerve endings, and somehow also like everything in her body was dead and numb.
Pay attention, Hermione, she thought dully.
The room was stark; white on white on white. White floors. White walls. White cabinet with a lock on it. White bed, white sheets. Luna's quilt and a few 'Get Well Soon' cards provided the only rebellious blots of colour. Those, and a box of Bertie Bott's that sat (and would continue to sit) untouched on the windowsill.
She had no appetite, much less one for 'any flavour imaginable'.
She was wearing a hospital gown; practically swimming in it. On the back of her left hand, Hermione saw a needle and cannula, attached by tubing to a pouch that hung on a stand beside her bed. She looked up to the pouch; there was writing on it, but she couldn't make it out, even if she squinted. She tried to pull the stand towards her by the tubing, but it tugged painfully at the needle. She knew that she needed a better solution.
Hermione clutched the bed rail and pulled, dragging her legs off the edge of the bed. She had to consciously tighten her core as she did so to keep from falling back. She forced her upper body to lean forward, towards the pole.
Close. She was close to reaching it.
—
Harry was snapping his briefcase shut when Draco entered into the hallway. He, Weasley, and an older Auror who Draco vaguely recognized were all standing near the entrance to Dolohov's room, looking cross.
"Potter," Draco called, "I need to speak with you."
"Bit busy, Malfoy," Ron said curtly, giving him an annoyed glance. Malfoy gracefully refrained from retorting that he hadn't asked him.
"It's important. It's about Dolohov."
Harry sighed impatiently and finally met his eyes. He cast a Muffilato charm over them. "We've just finished with him. Make it quick. We have to go."
"What did you ask him?" Draco demanded.
"I expected you to be a little more interested in what he said," Harry replied sourly, "rather than our interrogation strategy."
"I just spoke with Granger - she said that Dolohov didn't do anything."
"So what are you asking me about it for?" Harry shot back. "You already know. He gave us nothing about Hermione. Nothing, Malfoy."
"That's why-" Draco growled and clenched his fists. Bloody Aurors. Idiots, all of them. "There's no way this is a coincidence. She just happens to go down when she encounters Dolohov? It's preposterous. It stinks of Death Eater machinations."
"Well, you'd know, I suppose," Ron muttered, and Draco's nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply. So much for the handshakes and hot drinks. He wondered - not for the first time - what their necks would feel like in his hands, being crushed breathless by his fingers.
"Thank you for that," Harry said flatly. "We did consider that possibility, actually."
"Well-" Draco snapped, "you need to figure out what he's done. Don't just ask him about the encounter. You need to ask about whatever conspiracy he's hatching - "
"Give me some credit, Malfoy," Harry scoffed angrily. "Of course we asked. We asked all about his plans. We've asked it in every possible iteration. You know what his answers didn't include? Anything about how Hermione got to be in the state she's in."
"But that doesn't make any sense!" Draco insisted. "You've got to-"
"How about you let me do my job, and you do yours," Harry said in a low voice, squaring up with his chest and delivering a furious stare up at him. Draco set his jaw, ready to remind him that they were on his Ward, and -
An alarm blared. They both broke away, looking towards the source of the noise.
"That's Hermione's room," Ron said cautiously.
"It's just a fall detection charm," Draco said a little breathlessly, striding towards the antechamber. "It's nothing serious."
"We need to go," the third Auror said, finally speaking. "Come on, Potter. Weasley."
Harry hesitated for a moment, but nodded. "Fine. Malfoy - remember what I said. About not being a prat."
The older Auror tipped his head towards Draco. "Always a pleasure, Malfoy," he said coldly, and the three of them turned and left.
—
Hermione swore. She'd nearly had it, but she overshot and too much of her weight was off the bed.
She went down like a rock.
She had landed with a loud crack against the tile floor, the side of her face hitting with sufficient force to bounce back as the IV stand clattered down in front of her. The pain in her face was stunning, so stunning that she barely registered the low wailing alarm. Grey static pricked the edges of her vision on the side she'd hit and she was fairly sure she'd cracked a tooth or two. The potion pouch had at least landed closely enough that she could reach it and bring it close to her face. The words were typewritten:
! WARNING - CYTOTOXIC - HANDLE WITH CAUTION !
IN CASE OF DIRECT CONTACT WITH SKIN, EYES, OR MOUTH, FLUSH THOROUGHLY WITH BEZOAR SOLUTION AND CONTACT A HEALER FOR IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE
Bizarrely, she let out a bark of laughter. Of course the potion that was pumping into her body was toxic.
She might've guessed that on her own.
"Merlin's beard, Granger," came the irritated, too-familiar voice of Malfoy. She heard the door shut abruptly and the click of his shoes against the tile. He was moving quickly. "What were you trying to do?"
"I fancied a stroll," she mumbled sarcastically, her voice cutting. She squeezed the pouch lightly in her fingers and slid her hand further outward. "What is this?"
"You shouldn't touch it," he muttered, snatching at her wrist and checking the cannula to make sure it hadn't dislodged during the fall.
"It's stuck in my arm, Malfoy, I'm always touching it."
He replanted the IV pole upright rather forcefully. She couldn't see his face from her position, but she imagined that he was scowling. "Don't be pedantic."
"Don't ignore me when I ask you a question."
Then his face was above hers, eyebrows drawn together and jaw set. As his eyes raked over her face, his expression deepened into disapproval. "You've hurt yourself."
"Are you even listening to me?" she demanded, awkwardly trying - and failing - to roll onto her hands and knees in a pitiful attempt to get herself off the floor.
Malfoy sighed impatiently. "I heard you," he said quietly. "Let's get you back up, first." He moved to help her, but retracted his arm instantly when she shrunk away from his hand.
"I'll…just let me-" she ground out, struggling to lift her body.
Draco watched her with an impassive expression on his face for several seconds before swishing his wand lazily towards her. She felt herself floating upwards, weightless, and then she was deposited softly on the bed.
Her face was wet with tears by the time she landed.
"Where does it hurt the most?" he asked. She glared venomously and she saw a muscle flicker in his jaw. "Yes, I know that's not why you're crying, Granger."
She tore her eyes away from him, thoroughly humiliated, and touched over her right cheek. "My mouth," she mumbled. All she could taste was blood.
He dipped his head down to get a closer look and frowned. She flinched as he wordlessly conjured gloves. His wand and opposite hand came towards her lips. "Just let me see," he said. His quiet voice was impatient, but not unkind. Then he raised an eyebrow at her. "Unless - you're planning on biting me."
That earned a short huff of air from her, nearly a laugh. Malfoy smirked a little in return. She let her jaw fall open and screwed her eyes shut, unable to bear seeing him staring at her up so close.
She felt his index finger under her chin and his gloved thumb against her lower lip, gently pulling it down to reveal her broken molars.
She felt her pulse quicken.
"Stunning work, Granger," he said sarcastically. Despite herself, she opened her eyes. Draco was looking fixedly in her mouth, appraising the damage. "Probably managed to concuss yourself, too."
With an annoyed look, he cast a diagnostic spell at her forehead and waited. He looked upwards at the results it produced and considered for a moment. "Hold still for a second."
She closed her eyes again, and heard him mutter "episkey." A hot, then cool sensation spread over her gums and she felt slight movement and a soft crunch. She grimaced.
"It would be best to use a small dose of Skelegro, just to make sure the cracks are fully sealed," he said after a moment. He dragged his eyes up to hers and handed her a tissue to wipe her face. "But not right now."
His gaze was penetrating.
"You have questions."
Hermione scrunched the tissue into the corners of her eyes and let it sop up her tears. "I want to know what's in this IV."
"Vita mutatur." He was unflinching. He watched as the horror dawned on her face. "Do you want me to explain, or do you have more questions first?"
She made a choked sound and shook her head. "Just… explain."
He did. He told her, with mechanical efficiency, that after Dolohov's curse rebounded back on him her own magic had surged and blown out the wall of the women's lavatory. Then, her body had started attacking itself with unrelenting vigour. He told her that without the Vita mutatur, she would be dead; that her magic continued to react unpredictably, and that there was a high risk of permanent damage to her powers. Finally, he told her that Dolohov on Veritaserum had been fruitless from her illnesses' perspective, and they were essentially fighting blind.
In not so many words.
Hermione set her mouth in a firm line and forced her breathing to steady. "Is that everything?"
Draco's expression was hard to read. "Just because Dolohov didn't curse you directly doesn't mean we're starting from scratch. When he tried to curse you, he must have activated something, or intensified whatever was …" he hesitated. "Whatever was happening before."
She nodded and looked down at her lap. "That makes sense, I suppose."
"Granger…" He was still watching her. "I'm sorry this happened."
Her heart hurt.
"C'est la vie," she sniffed, producing a thin, wavering smile. She thought of him lecturing her at the clinic, in her kitchen. "You did warn me."
He looked incredulous. "I didn't mean - "
"I'll take that Skelegro," she interrupted, but she could hear the slight wobble in her voice. "Might as well get it over with."
"For god's sake, it can wait," he said softly. "Give yourself a minute, will you?"
"I take dental trauma very seriously," she said waspishly, poking her chin up a little defiantly. Her head pounded threateningly. Everything hurt already, what did it matter? "Call it a familial neurosis."
"Hermione - " he started, his tone utterly cheerless.
"Malfoy, please," she whispered, and her voice cracked quite audibly this time. "Just - give it to me."
Draco stared at her for several moments before breaking away and muttering something under his breath. Gryffindor was the only word she heard clearly. He unlocked the cabinet using silent magic, took a vial from it, and uncorked it. He turned and held it out to her, but he didn't let go of it when she wrapped her fingers around it.
"Granger, this is going to hurt." His eyebrows were furrowed together, like he was trying to understand her by studying her.
She tightened her grip and Draco immediately released the potion. She downed it in one. "I know how Skelegro works," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her mouth and handing the vial back to him.
He was silent for a few moments. Finally, he sighed heavily and rubbed his hands over his face. "Would you like to be alone?"
"I would like that very much."
She didn't look at him.
He gave her one final glance before nodding sharply. "Then I'll be back when it's time to examine you again."
She said nothing as he turned and left.
As soon as the door closed behind him, she burst into tears.