A/N: Thank you for reading! And thank you ESPECIALLY if you commented. I love to read your reviews!
PS - I also post this story on AO3. I prefer it as a platform, but I'll keep posting chapters here. But FYI you might get them a few hours earlier if you follow on AO3 ;)
Enjoy!
Draco gripped the edge of the Medi-station desk and exhaled forcibly through his nose.
He felt like he had just been doused with a pail of cold water.
Alive. Awake. Saying his name.
His chest hurt.
Alive.
The treatment - potential costs aside, for now - was working. Finally, the sensation that there was a clock ticking threateningly over his head abated a little, and he felt like he could think. Whatever was waging war against Granger was vulnerable to Vita mutatur. Her magic was still unstable, and the surges hadn't stopped, so she wasn't cured, but… there was at least space to breathe, time to figure it out and reverse it.
And, worst case scenario, if there was no way to reverse it, theoretically she could receive a full dose of the 'essence of squib.' He didn't need to consider that path, though - not yet, anyway. Granger's response gave him valuable information, even if it wasn't enough to identify something solid. Whatever had cursed Granger was bound to her own magic, given it was susceptible to the potion's effects. That excluded a considerable number of curses - anything that could be used against a muggle was out.
"Malfoy," said a voice from behind him, and he rounded to see an older Weasley that he vaguely recognised from the war. "Sorry - I know you've been busy. It's just…" he stole a glance at a group of several Weasleys and Fleur Delacour, Ron sitting somberly in the middle. "The others sort of rushed in there, and Ron doesn't - well, he can't go in, and no one's spoken to us yet."
Draco sighed.
"A minute," he rasped. His voice didn't sound nearly as cool and collected as he'd hoped. The redhead nodded quickly.
"That's fine. We'll just be here."
Draco excused himself and briefly barricaded in the staff bathroom. He was starting to feel the sudden lack of adrenaline quite acutely; his hands were shaking, he was having trouble catching his breath, and he had a slight urge to vomit.
Alive.
She hasn't managed to assassinate your career yet, either, he thought automatically before being struck with guilt for thinking it at all.
He turned the taps and splashed his face several times, which seemed to help. Somewhat steadied, he returned to the remaining Weasleys that hadn't entered Granger's room a few minutes ago.
"What's happened?" Ron asked quietly, stone-faced. "How is she?"
"Hermione is awake now," Draco replied matter-of-factly, and he was a little alarmed when Ron's expression crumpled in relief. Surely, he wasn't going to cry. Not in front of him. Not while he was talking to him.
"See?" Fleur said reassuringly in her thick French accent, rubbing Ron's arm, "She is going to be fine."
"I didn't say that," Draco corrected quickly, but he reigned in his tone after Fleur shot him a look that could only be described as murderous. "But, er, yes. She's awake, and she seems fairly lucid, which is a good sign."
"And her magic?" Ron asked hopefully, thankfully quick to regain enough of his composure to manage his facial expressions again. Draco was grateful. He might have actually died if Weasley had started blubbering. What right did he have, anyway?
Draco's mind again flashed to the front-page spread: the headline, all capital letters, and two large photos, side-by-side. The first was a candid shot of Granger, probably from a case hearing or some policy roundtable. She looked angry, and she was clearly addressing the full room as she spoke. Her index finger pointed emphatically to a stack of documents that she had placed to her side at the table in front of her. Draco remembered thinking that she looked intimidating, like she was a lioness with all of the surety in the world that she'd cornered her prey. The image was a good choice, considering the narrative Rita Skeeter was driving.
The second photo was Weasley, at some dingy pub, looking besotted with a black-haired witch who seemed to be drinking in his words with rapturous attention. His hand was over hers, and the photo showed his thumb dragging over her knuckles as he grinned sheepishly at her.
' SHE'S UNHINGED': RON WEASLEY ON HERMIONE GRANGER'S MENTAL STABILITY AND WHY HE'S SEEKING COMFORT ELSEWHERE
Draco would've liked to say that he immediately binned the newspaper after that, tabloid trash that it was, but he had been curious. It wasn't quite as salacious as the headline made it out to be. It was mostly just a long-winded account of details that Weasley had divulged to a 'reliable anonymous source', who Draco had immediately assumed was the black-haired witch from the picture. There wasn't much more about the 'seeking comfort elsewhere' bit - that he could remember, anyway.
The details of the article were hazy in his mind now, but he recalled Weasley's complaints of Granger's frequent crying, her screaming nightmares that woke them both, and her apparent tendency to stonewall any time Weasley tried to discuss it with her. He'd been quite open with the details to whoever the 'anonymous source' was. Draco recounted feeling vaguely (minimally) sympathetic for Weasley, and at the same time wondered how he could've possibly been so naive. He'd walked into a perfectly obvious trap and instantly gotten himself caught.
"Malfoy?" Ron asked tentatively. Draco's attention snapped back to the present, and he took in the sight of Weasley's guilty, drawn face.
Wanker.
"It's too early to tell," Draco replied evenly, then looking away awkwardly with a sigh. "Besides, she won't be allowed to handle a wand until this is resolved. It's too risky with the surges she's been having."
"That's going to go over well," one of the brothers - the surviving twin - muttered sarcastically, raising his eyebrows at Draco. "Best of luck, mate."
Ron stood suddenly, and stuck out his hand. Draco stared at it and blinked.
"Thank you, Malfoy. For helping Hermione."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "Thank me when she's cured," he returned cautiously, acknowledging Ron's hand with a nod of his head but not taking his hands out of his pockets. Ron nodded, embarrassed, and pulled his hand back.
"Well then!" the oldest brother cut in loudly, picking up a paper cup with the end of a disposable tea bag poking out from under the lid. "How do you take your tea, Malfoy? You look like you could use one."
Draco stared again, bewildered by the cautious gratitude he suddenly felt assaulted by. The tea smelled like the cheap Earl Grey that Granger had tried to foist on him back in her flat and he made an effort not to let the disgust show on his face. "Er - black," Draco said, uncomfortably.
"Cheers," the elder Weasley replied, awkwardly handing it to him and offering an uneasy smile. Draco's fingers curled around the cup and he gave a stiff nod in return, accepting the clumsy peace offering.
It was hot, at least.
Granger had reportedly lasted a marathon seven minutes before she was unable to keep her eyes open any longer. Draco was grateful that Wanda had refused to let the cheering committee stay while she rested and proceeded to shoo them out. He caught Harry in the hallway.
"I need a favour, Potter."
Harry eyed him suspiciously. "What?"
Malfoy looked around and beckoned him into an empty room. Harry followed, now looking angry.
"What?"
"I need you to sign these," Draco muttered, shoving a set of forms at him. Harry stepped back and regarded the papers.
"This has yesterday's date on it."
"That's what makes it a favour."
Harry snatched them and scanned more carefully. "You used Legilimency on Dolohov? Why didn't you mention this sooner? What did you find? "
Draco felt heat rising to his cheeks. "I… didn't, really," he said hotly. "He was getting under my skin, and, well - I lost my temper, alright? He Occluded from me easily. I didn't actually see anything."
Harry stared at him for several moments. He looked like he wanted to ask something, but he didn't. Without breaking eye contact with Draco, he pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled his signature. "Fine."
"Fine?" Draco repeated. He hadn't expected it to be that simple. He realised, perhaps a second too late, that he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.
"What, were you hoping I'd lecture you about following the Wizengamot's official policy on sanctioned Legilimency?" Harry snapped. "If I'm understanding correctly, Malfoy, I think it'd be a bit hypocritical for me not to sign these."
Draco nodded, chastened. He felt like his jaw was working overtime, with all of the clenching he had been doing the past few days. "Right. Well. Where are things at with Veritaserum?"
"Any time now," Harry replied tiredly. "Goldstein's working on it. First thing tomorrow, I expect."
"Good."
The silence stretched a beat too long before Draco spoke again. "Did Granger ask about what happened? Did you tell her anything?"
Harry shook his head. "She was pretty groggy. It was mostly just making a production about her being awake and everyone taking their turn to give her a hug and a kiss."
Draco grimaced.
"She seemed out of it. I'm not sure how much she was actually absorbing."
"Alright." Good. That simplified things. He didn't need them tripping over what words to say and pussyfooting around with the gravity of her situation. "I'll discuss it with her, when she's a little more coherent."
"Don't be a prat about it, please," Harry said seriously. When Draco started to scowl, Harry said defensively, "you do have a tendency."
"Hermione, it's time to wake up," came a voice. "I need to examine you."
Hermione stirred against her pillow. It was like she was suspended in mud; the air felt viscous and slow, and it was unbearably difficult to turn herself to the side. She still tried. Her arm reached outward, sliding uselessly against the mattress.
Her head was pounding.
"Here," the voice said. "Let's sit you up."
A pair of steady hands pulled her onto her side, then in a practised, fluid motion, simultaneously swung her legs off over the bed while lifting her shoulders up. She missed the stability of laying instantly and started to fall back. She felt the hands on top of her own, warm and firm, and they arranged hers to give her some balance: one hand on the rail, and one curled over the edge of the edge of the mattress.
She was breathing more heavily with the effort, and she could feel sweat beginning to collect on her brow.
"Can you manage this for now?"
Squeezing her eyes shut, trying to steady her breathing, she nodded.
"It's nice to see you a little more upright."
She knew that something bad had happened - that was obvious - but the physical effort of holding herself up was consuming most of her attention. For the time being, she wasn't very concerned about anything else. She remembered that she was in the hospital. She remembered Harry had been there.
And Malfoy. Malfoy was here, too.
She cracked her eyes open, and there he was again, sitting opposite to her, his knees positioned outside of hers and squeezing gently to give her some stability. He seemed to be watching her carefully, but she couldn't read his expression.
"How are you feeling?"
"Poorly," she managed gruffly, which resulted in a sort of snorted laugh from Malfoy.
"I can imagine. Let me take a look."
She inhaled sharply when she felt something cold and metallic against her chest.
"Sorry," he said distractedly, listening to her heartbeat, then her breathing. Finally, he took the frigid drum of his stethoscope away. "Look at my wand. Don't move your head."
She did, following it with her eyes as he dragged the tip of his wand back and forth across her vision. She noticed two steaming cups sitting on the bedside tray.
"One of those for me?"
"In a minute," he said dismissively, not taking his eyes off of her. He held her at the elbow to steady her, then placed his opposite index and middle finger in her palm. "Squeeze. Hard as you can." She did, and he nodded, apparently satisfied. "Good."
He ran through a few more trials with her, and cast a few diagnostic spells. By the time he was finished, her face was damp with sweat, and her whole body was shaking. She tried to scoot her legs back onto the bed, so she could lean back against the inclined mattress. She didn't protest when Malfoy tugged on the sheet underneath her to help her slide over.
"I expected more questions," he said quietly, plucking up one of the paper cups in his hand and bringing it to her mouth. He let her hold the cup, but he didn't let go, apparently concerned that she would let it fall and spill all over herself.
Rightly so, she thought, sipping as he helped tip the cup towards her. It tasted nice; a mild lemon with honey, not too hot. "Just… a second," she said in reply to his statement. She took another sip gratefully. "'S'good."
"Life's too short for cheap tea, Granger."
A hazy memory of Malfoy at her flat, standing in her kitchen. Why had he been there?
He set the tea back down and sighed. "How much do you remember?"
She heard a voice cold and clear in her mind.
'I thought I'd missed you, Hermione .'
Dread washed over her, but the memory was like trying to hold water in her hands - there, and then gone, despite her best efforts.
"I was… in the bathroom. On my way to…" she frowned, searching.
"That's right," he said quietly, his voice encouraging. "What else?"
'Are you not well?'
She shook her head and felt her pulse quicken. "Malfoy… what's happened to me?" she whispered, feeling frightened for the first time since regaining consciousness. Suddenly, the weight of it was suffocating her.
Unwell. Hospital. Weak. Feels wrong. Harry. Malfoy.
Antonin Dolohov.
Mudblood. No, he hadn't said that, had he?
"Hermione."
A pitiful, hurt sound escaped from her mouth, and she looked desperately at Draco, suddenly grabbing his sleeve.
"Please, I need my wand. Where is it?"
Draco looked stricken. "I - Hermione," he replied in a strained voice, gently pulling her hand away from his robe and placing it back on her lap. "I'm sorry. You can't have your wand right now."
"Why not?" she demanded, suddenly alert and feeling her neurons firing at a thousand miles a minute. "Patients are entitled to access their wands unless they've been deemed a threat to themselves or, or-"
"Or others," Draco finished quietly, his mouth set in a thin, hard line. "And right now, you're both. You've been put in quarantine. When Dolohov attacked you, your magic became unstable, and we had to isolate you for everyone's safety. I can't give you your wand, and you're going to have to stay in the room until we get this sorted out, Granger."
"I-" she choked out. "Wh-where's Harry?"
Draco looked away, his eyes trailing towards the door. The door, she assumed, that she wasn't allowed to pass through. "He'll be back soon, but there's something else we need to discuss first."
"Malfoy, please-" she started, shaking her head hysterically. "I don't w-want to stay in here, please-"
"I know," he whispered. His voice was solemn. "I know you don't. I'm sorry. We're going to sort this out, alright? Whatever Dolohov did to you-"
Hermione gasped and froze, then started shaking her head even more emphatically than before.
"What?" Draco asked cautiously, frowning. "What is it?"
"He didn't," she whispered, terrified. "Dolohov. He didn't. It wasn't him."
She could hear the thud of Dolohov against the bathroom stall, see his rapidly bruising skin, the look in his eyes.
Draco looked increasingly concerned. His eyebrows drew together in a hard line, and he spoke slowly and calmly. "What wasn't him?"
"He was-dead ," she gasped. "Before it happened. Before I fell, Dolohov was already dead."
"He's not dead, Hermione. He didn't die."
"It wasn't him," she insisted. "I deflected his curse. He was down on the floor. He couldn't have managed a nonverbal spell like that."
Draco stared at her for several moments, searching her face. His expression was serious. "Alright," he said finally, his voice low. "I … believe you. But I need to speak to Potter about this." When he stood, she started to protest.
"What about-"
"Sorry, Granger," he said quickly, not looking back at her. "I need to speak to him right away. We'll discuss more as soon as I'm back."
The door snapped shut behind the flurry of Malfoy's robes, and Hermione was alone.