Hermione beamed.
Out.
She looked over to the door of the quarantine room. She realised that she didn't even know what Ward Four looked like from the other side. She'd never had to visit it before – at least, not that she could remember. Surely, it just looked like the rest of St. Mungo's. Nothing to —
Why on earth was she nervous?
Hermione's stomach lurched unpleasantly as Draco strode towards the door. He swung it open and held it for her. The brightness in his eyes dimmed, just fractionally, as he studied her face.
"Alright, Granger?" he asked, sounding uncertain.
"Of course," she said, too quickly, too brightly. She plastered a smile on, feeling like she shouldn't break eye contact with him.
Are you?
Draco hesitated as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he pushed the door open even wider, inclining his head towards the antechamber. Hermione nodded in response, marching past him with her fists unintentionally clenched.
The antechamber was larger than she'd expected – room for several people, she supposed, if multiple staff needed to get their protective charms on at once.
If there was an emergency.
Was she alright?
Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.
Why were the lights in the antechamber so bright?
Hold her down.
Hermione clutched absently at the front of her patient's gown and pulled it away from her chest, suddenly feeling suffocated and desperately needing the cool reprieve of air.
The noise of the unit buzzed and blurred together until all she could hear was a sharp ringing and it was assaulting her, coming from every direction and –
Two hands on her shoulders, firm and warm.
"Hermione."
Safe.
A violent shiver ran through her and she nodded, shaky, several more times than she needed to.
She felt arms wrap over her shoulders; soft skin and cords of muscle, bundling her back together.
She was trembling uncontrollably.
"Shh," Draco hummed, barely audible as he dragged a thumb over her hair, rubbing small lines up and down the back of her neck. The contours of his chest and stomach felt solid, something steady for her nerves to ping off of to remind her you're okay you're right here your feet are on the ground you're okay
"Come on," he whispered, guiding her gently back into the room that she'd wanted so desperately to leave. She clung to him like a life raft, terrified that letting go would leave her unmoored in her own mind.
She let him sit her down, not on the bed, but in the chair that he and her friends had always occupied when they visited. She let him wrap a blanket around her shoulders, unable to focus her eyes enough to follow the lines of the tile, or count the cracks where the floor met the wall.
Was she going to be alright?
Something warm and smooth was placed in her hands, which Draco cupped around the object.
She swallowed heavily.
"Cup of tea first, Granger," Draco said quietly, looking down at it and nodding towards it. "Then we'll try again."
Draco was quite subdued for the rest of Hermione's hospital stay. She was able to get herself out of the room, eventually, thanks to him. She'd opened the door to the hallway to an eruption of cheers from Harry, Neville, Luna, and a half-dozen Weasleys. She'd grinned when they swarmed her, burying her in their embraces and their excitement.
She expected to see Draco's face buried in with them, but when she looked for him, she realised that he was backed away, leaning onto the Medi-Witch desk, giving her an encouraging but sad smile.
He let Friedmann do her final medical examination, stepping back respectfully, watching quietly from a distance with Harry and Ginny, nodding along politely when they said something in his general direction.
Had she done something wrong?
He placed her vinewood wand in her hand, the handle nestled into the crease of her palm. He hesitated for a moment after her fingers wrapped around the familiar contours of it, leaving his own fingers lightly curled around its tip.
He pulled his hand away slowly, his eyebrows forming a creased line between them.
"Er," she said in a slightly cracked voice, "is there a specific spell I should try?"
Friedmann's voice was calm and kind. " Accio will do just fine, Miss Granger."
She swallowed.
"Right," she said through an exhale. She blinked several times.
Accio.
Accio.
Summoning charm, Hermione, she thought, irritated. Which requires something to summon.
Right.
She pointed her wand at a pillow and cleared her throat. "Accio."
The sensation that threaded through her was familiar but wrong, like there wasn't enough force behind it to push it through her fingertips and instead it dribbled out, like a faucet only emitting drips of water instead of the steady stream of it you really wanted.
The pillow twitched towards her, like being tugged on by a string, and stuttered off the bed, landing stationary on the floor below it.
"Excellent!" Friedmann cried, clapping his hands together. Harry and Ginny both whooped, too, and Ginny nudged her hip against Hermione's playfully.
She turned to them to look at them, trying not to let the heartbreak show on her face.
Draco's lips were drawn together in a firm line. His grey eyes were lasered in on her, and she could feel it she could feel him seeing the cracks in her mask, hearing her silently scream this is not excellent, none of this is excellent, nothing is going to be –
And saying, in return, just as silently,
I know.
Molly had fully stocked the deep freeze with casseroles and pies.
Her flat was, otherwise, exactly how she'd left it twenty-one days ago.
Twenty-one days.
Was that all it was?
She flicked on the telly and left it on, not watching anything that crossed the rounded screen.
Friedmann called to check in on her quite often.
"Are you sleeping at night?"
No. "Yes."
"And your intake has been alright? No nausea?"
Her freezer remained stuffed to the brim.
"No nausea."
"How frequently does the Mind Healer have you scheduled in to see her?"
Fuckkkkkkk offfffffff
"Twice a week."
"Good. That's good."
A pause.
"How is Draco?"
More pausing.
"I haven't heard from him," she pressed.
A sigh.
"He'll be very glad to hear that you're doing well."
He is avoiding her.
She doesn't know why, but he is.
She visits the Ward.
Wanda tells her she will let him know that she stopped by.
She asks Harry.
Harry bites the inside of his cheek. His eyes are wary.
"I think he's just taking some time away, 'Mione. I think he's just… tired, and needs a rest."
She is thrumming with fury as she marches out of the pub whose Floo she co-opted and into the rain. Her umbrella is useless against the windy lashes of London air that cut through the streets. She has only made it halfway to her destination when the metallic frame acquiesces to the gusts and inverts itself. She holds it up anyway, rain and vinyl and wind alternately whipping at her face, and she storms forward until she reaches a large, black door with a twisted knocker in the shape of a snake, directly at eye level.
She rolls her eyes and bangs it against the door.
When Draco finally answers, he is clearly surprised to see her. He is wearing a black zip-up hoodie with joggers slung low on his hips. His hair is messy, pieces sticking against his forehead in slightly different directions rather than his usual, relaxed way of letting wisps of it fall over his eyes. His cheeks and his nose are slightly pink, like he'd set his thermostat too high but chosen not to do anything about it.
"Hermione," he said hoarsely. He looked like he was going to say something else, but then his gaze skated over the tatters of her umbrella. His mouth fell open. "Did you walk here?"
"I can't exactly Apparate myself, can I?" she said waspishly, awkwardly forcing the umbrella to fold back in whatever limited way it was still capable of and shoving it in his arms. " Are you going to let me in?"
Draco stepped backwards, head low, and gestured for her to enter with his hand, the other reaching for the back of his neck. "Sorry," he muttered.
"Why are you avoiding me?" she demanded.
His confusion looked genuine, if annoyed. "What?"
"You're avoiding me," she said clearly. "Why?"
"I am not avoiding you, Granger," he said through grit teeth. "I – "
"You haven't called."
"Yes, but – "
"You won't see me when I come to St. Mungo's."
"Right," he said, the word a staccato laugh. She looked up sharply.
He looked amused.
"What?" she demanded.
The edges around his eyes softened and the corners of his lips curved upwards, slightly.
"I'm suspended from St. Mungo's."
The air froze around her.
"You're– what?" she cried. "For what? How could they–"
"Relax, Granger," he said evenly, "they're calling it a 'forced medical leave.' Until I'm cleared by Will-the-Mind-Healer. I'm being told it's for my own good."
His eyes glittered as he said it, and his smirk grew.
He smelled like liquor, she realised.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, then opened it again.
What are you, an indignant goldfish?
"That's not fair," she finally said, voice shrill.
"None of this is fair," he countered, his smirk cracking into a devilish smile. "Who said it was ever going to be?"
She let out a sad, angry sound as she lunged at him, her lips landing on his furiously, her hands raking into his unkempt platinum hair. He echoed her movement, enveloping her and pulling her against him as if even an atom would be too much space between them. She felt the hard lines of his hip bones and the muscular contours of his stomach and arms — the heat of his breath as he pressed hot, wet kisses in the space where her jaw met her neck.
He twisted their bodies together even more tightly, hands cupping under her thighs as her legs wrapped around him, hooking at the ankles. Tears flowed freely in tracks down her face; she could taste him,and the salt of them, as she caught his bottom lip between her teeth and sucked gently. He made a broken noise and leaned forward, pinning her between him and the door, his hand fisting into her curls and feeling her.
"You didn't even owl me," she gasped between a hiccup and a sob. "Why?"
Malfoy stilled then, pulling back so he could look at her, bore into her with those grey eyes.
He looked gravely sedate.
"Hermione," he said seriously, "think about it."
She wanted to explode into a thousand pieces, each shard deadly sharp.
"I have!" she cried. "I've done nothing but think about it, Draco! And I'm trying to better but I am so fucking tired and my magic is broken and I can't reason things out properly right now, okay?!"
Draco closed his eyes, eyebrows coming together in a pained expression, and swallowed. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I only meant – after everything that happened to you, the last thing I wanted was for you to feel obligated to me."
She blinked. "What?"
He sighed, letting their foreheads rest together for a moment before he released her legs back down onto the ground. "That's not why I did this. I didn't save you just so you would feel guilted into giving me something I wanted."
"But – "
"Let me finish. You're kind, Granger, and I think I've made it pretty fucking obvious that I'm in love with you. You would want to pay me back for the fact that I had my father imprisoned and went through an absolutely hellish time being your Healer." He raised his eyebrows at her, staring at her with defiant eyes. "Even if you didn't feel the same way about me."
She stared at him.
I'm in love with you.
"But I do feel the same way about you," she whispered.
He smiled, tilting her chin up towards him with his thumb, watching her lips lazily with heavy, half-lidded eyes. "Well," he murmured, "then thank fuck for that, at least."
"Time to get you home," Draco said sleepily, tugging on the sleeve of her sweater with the arm he had wrapped around her shoulder. Suddenly, she felt his other arm, hooked under her bum, hoist her up with him as he stood.
"Mmm," she replied in protest, sleepily pawing at the corner of her eye. Her toes stretched almost involuntarily, and she buried her head against his chest. "Do I have to?"
He chuckled softly, just once, a puff of contentedly exasperated air against her ear. "Fine."
She let her eyes stay closed as he carried her somewhere, softly bouncing against him with each step. She snuggled into him, happy and sleepy.
Safe.
He pulled the blanket over her and she heard footsteps retreating.
She sat up, sort of. "What are you doing?" she asked blearily.
A beat of silence. "Sleeping on the chaise."
Of course he owned a chaise.
"Stay."
A/N: Do not worry - Draco and Hermione are still getting their HEA. But having everything fixed for either of them didn't feel authentic to me. It's not the nature of illness, and it's not the nature of trauma. They can come out changed, unable to go back to the way they were before, but still able to have joy and meaning and love.
Thank y'all so much for the encouragement as I've written this story. It has really stretched my comfort zone in trying to convey emotion (while distracting you with a plot! muahaha!) and I think I've learned a lot as a ~still very much learning~ writer. I don't think I would have kept going if not for everyone's lovely comments and cheerleading. It means more to me than you know.
:)