Chapter 16

"Good morning, Ms. Granger!"

"Good morning, Michaels," she replied dully, without looking up from her book.

This had become their routine. Everyday was exactly the same. First came her morning wake up call and an arduous trip to the loo. Then came Trainee Michaels or Mediwitch Thompson and their daily inquisition. Today it was Michaels.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Apart from the fact that I can't move of my own volition, use the loo without an escort, or you know, do magic at all. Other than that I'm peachy, thanks.

"Did you have any more episodes?"

"No."

Which wasn't entirely true, but she didn't much feel like discussing the little bursts of energy that were expelled from her body at odd intervals and the near constant pain she felt building behind her eyes even as they spoke. Lying was faster.

"Were you able to sleep through the night?"

"Like a baby."

Which was weirdly true. It was almost irritating how much sleep she required. Hadn't she done enough sleeping for one lifetime? If there was any justice in the world, she'd never need to sleep again.

"Good! How are your wounds healing?"

"They're itching like mad."

"Another excellent sign! Healer Malfoy mentioned that they should start to itch and scab over after a few days."

The young healer sounded as though she were quoting the gospel. She evidently admired Malfoy very much.

"Delightful," Hermione said, folding down a corner of the already dog-eared page of her book to mark her place and laying it in her lap. It was a silly paperback, seemingly written for children, about a boy wizard who goes off to a magical boarding school. It was obviously a muggle book, but it was funny to read a muggle's imaginings about the magical world. The author seemed to think that any problem could be solved by magic. Shows what she knows.

"What would you like for breakfast this morning? The usual?"

"Yes, thank you."

"One bacon sandwich coming up!" Michaels said, as she jotted a quick note on her protean charmed clipboard, placing the order.

Then Michaels proceeded to check all of her vitals, examine her abrasions, and change any bandages that needed replacing, chattering about all manner of nonsense while she worked. In any other circumstance Hermione would've found her relentlessly perky demeanor intolerable, but it was clear that Michaels truly loved her job and cared deeply for her patients. That, coupled with her earnest eagerness to please, and Hermione couldn't help but like her. The girl reminded Hermione of her younger self. She wondered idly if they would've been friends or competitors if they'd been at Hogwarts at the same time.

"Michaels, what was your Hogwarts house?"

"Hufflepuff," she said with pride.

Of course she was a Hufflepuff.

"You were in Gryffindor, right?"

"Yes."

"And Healer Malfoy was Slytherin?"

"From the crown of his head to the soles of his dragon hide boots."

"You were at Hogwarts at the same time, weren't you?"

"Yeah. We were in the same year," Hermione replied, curious as to where this line of questioning was going.

"Were you two friendly in school?" she asked, a little too casually.

Hermione let out a single, humorless laugh, followed by a highly unladylike snort. Michaels looked taken aback.

"No, we were not friends. Quite the opposite, I assure you."

"That's so odd..."

"Is it? How so?"

But before she could answer, there came a knock on the door and Perkins, one of the orderlies on the ward, bustled into the room carrying a tray laden with breakfast foods.

"Wow. That was fast. They can't have had time to cook the bacon that quickly, never mind walk it all the way up here from the kitchen."

"The kitchen staff had your usual ready, just in case. And I ran all the way," Perkins said, breathing heavy and clutching a stitch in his side.

"Thank you, Perkins, but there's no need to go out of your way. It's not like I'm going anywhere…"

"It's an honor to serve you, ma'am."

Hermione couldn't believe it. She'd just been ma'am-ed. Her expression must have visibly darkened, because Michaels stepped in to answer before Hermione said something she'd likely regret.

"That'll be all for now. Thank you, Perkins," Michaels said in dismissal.

"Anything you need, Ms. Granger. You just give me a shout, okay?"

"Will do. Thanks," she said. Her temper was always so close to boiling point these days.

As Perkins took his leave, Hermione caught a glimpse of one of the guards posted outside her door. There were two stationed on either end of the ward, and two more pacing directly in front of her door. She'd never met them, as they'd never had cause to enter her room. But she could tell from their brief, clipped conversations during shift changes that they were stoic Ministry types. All business. She couldn't decide if their presence made her feel protected or trapped. Not that it mattered. Until she could walk unsupported, she was stuck there. And, unlike her shallow flesh wounds, her muscles didn't seem to be in a tremendous hurry to heal. She was still extremely weak. Standing up for any amount of time left her legs achy and trembling. A simple trip to the loo was an ordeal that usually required a nap afterwards. It was maddening.

"Well, I'll be off then, and let you eat in peace," the trainee smiled.

"Tell me something, Michaels, do all patients receive this kind of treatment? I seem to remember when my friend Ron's dad was a patient here the food was…well, it wasn't exactly home cooking."

"Most patients eat whatever their healer prescribes for their meal plan. But Healer Malfoy instructed the kitchens to bring you anything you want. And I mean anything. If you want something they don't know how to make, they'll send out for it."

"He did, did he…?"

"Yes, Ms. Granger. No expense is to be spared."

That was interesting.

"And where is Healer Malfoy? I haven't seen him for days."

Four days exactly. Not that she was counting.

"Er…Healer Malfoy is…well, he's taking a bit of time off."

"He hasn't been sacked, has he?" Hermione asked, with more concern than she'd like to admit.

"No…"

"What is it?"

"Healer Malfoy was forced to take a week's leave."

"Why? Because I broke a mirror and Rita Skeeter is a horrible cow? That's ridiculous."

"I thought it was rather unfair, myself, but Chief Smethwyck blames him for the security breach and the negative publicity. That and, he and Healer Malfoy have never really got on," Michaels added in a conspiratorial whisper.

Hermione could easily believe it. During their brief encounters since she'd awoken, Smethwyck seemed to her like a great blustering bully. She remembered him from before, when he'd been the head of Creature Induced Injuries, and was so dismissive of muggle healing practices. She hadn't thought much of him then either.

"Fortunately, the other healers took up his cause with the Chief. I know he seems gruff at times, but Smethwyck trusts his senior healers. He really does. Especially Healer Pye. The Chief trained Healer Pye himself. But listen to me, going on. Your breakfast is getting cold! Should I send for another sandwich?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Thank you."

Michaels was looking down at her hopefully from the foot of the bed. Hermione was hoping that their little tête-à-tête would have distracted the trainee, sparing her from the next part of their daily routine.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley came to see you…they're in the visitor's tea room now. Should I show them in?"

"No," she said flatly. "Send them away."

"But Ms. Granger, I know your friends would very much like to see you. They ask after you everyday."

Hermione felt the familiar guilt gnawing in her gut, but she was unyielding.

"I don't want to see anyone." I don't want anyone to see me…not like this.

"Very well, Ms. Granger. I'll be in to check on you later," the young witch said, taking her leave.

How could any of them understand what it was like to lose more than a decade of one's life? To wake one morning and discover that everything you thought you knew about your place in the world was gone? What would they think when they found out she was no longer 'the most brilliant witch of the age?' That she may not be a witch at all?

She wasn't hungry anymore, and pushed away the levitating tray bearing her uneaten breakfast. The tray slowly drifted back to its original position. She nudged it again. Again it floated determinedly back to her. Knowing the fruitlessness of the exercise, she attempted to turn the tray over, but it merely scooted out of her reach before returning, nudging her gently.

"Oh, of all the irritating... Fine. You win," she said, taking a few small bites of sandwich. "Happy?"

But apparently the tray was not happy, and continued to prod at her, urging her to eat more.

"Ugh go away!" she said, forcibly shoving the tray across the small room.

It slunk away dejectedly, and drifted down to settle on a nearby table.

"Everything alright in here, miss?" asked one of the guards through a crack in the door.

"Just fine," she replied. "Everything is bloody fantastic." She sighed, picked up her book and began to read.

oooOOOooo

By midafternoon she'd finished the book. She suspected it was a series, but she wasn't interested in reading any more the about the boy wizard's adventures. She longed for information about the real wizarding world. She read and re-read every inch of Malfoy's copy of the paper, including the horrible article Rita Skeeter had written about him. That article more than anything inclined her to trust Malfoy's instincts about the treatment protocol for her mysterious condition. She wasn't sure why, but Hermione figured if Rita was making a fuss about it, then Malfoy must be onto something.

Malfoy was a mystery in and of himself. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that Draco Malfoy, the most bigoted blood purist in Britain, would become a healer. The fact that he studied complementary medicine at a muggle university and was the head of his ward blew her mind entirely.

She examined the photograph on the cover of The Prophet in as dispassionate and clinical a manner as she could muster. It was not a pretty picture. Though it was little surprise she looked so gaunt and haggard. Stasis spells merely kept a person alive, not hale and hearty. Her wild mane of hair, once the bane of her existence, looked wispy and flat. Her cheeks were hollow, and the redness of her abrasions stood out in stark contrast to her dry, pallid skin. She had never been a vain creature, but it pained her to look at the photo now, especially when contrasted with a photo in a neighboring article depicting a smiling, teenaged Hermione standing alongside Harry and Ron in their Hogwarts days.

She felt a mixture of embarrassment, sadness, and longing whenever she thought about her two former friends. She mourned the loss of their friendship as much, if not more than she mourned for Fred, Remus, and Tonks. There was a small voice in her head that told her she was being unfair to think of them as former friends. After all, they had come to see her everyday since she awoke. However, after their last disastrous visit, Hermione had flatly refused to see them.

According to Mediwitch Thompson, hordes of witches, wizards, and well-wishers from all over the country descended upon St. Mungo's everyday to try and get a glimpse of her. Hence the need for more guards. Others sent cards and gifts, but everything had to be searched before she could see it. Hermione had little interest in any of it.

The only people she saw in a day were her healers, Michaels, Thompson, Perkins the orderly, and, on pleasant occasions, Gus. On less pleasant occasions, Chief Smethwyck visited. Today was also a Swethwyck day.

"Well now, how is our little miracle patient faring?" Smethwyck asked, in the same unctuous tone he always used when addressing her.

Hermione was in no mood to deal with him today. Her head was aching and her limbs were still sore from her last sojourn to the loo.
"I'm fine," she answered after a long enough pause to let him know she was annoyed.
"Good, good. Delighted to hear you're recovering so well."
She knew exactly what was coming next and decided to head him off at the pass.

"To save us both some time, no I don't want to deviate from Healer Malfoy's treatment protocol. My cuts are healing fine on their own. No, I don't want to give any interviews, especially not to Rita Skeeter. And no, I don't want any visitors. Including Harry and Ron. Did I cover everything?"

"You do get straight to the point don't you?"

"When you've lost twelve years of your life, time becomes your most valuable resource."
"Time and health. I beg your pardon, but what good is more time if you can't spend it doing the things you enjoy with the people you love. Am I right, Ms. Granger?"
Was he actively trying to upset her, or was he seriously that dense?
"I'm working on the health part as well."
"And we could restore you to health even faster if you'd allow me, or one of my other healers take a look at you and-"

"No, thank you. As I've said on numerous occasions, I'm perfectly happy with Healer Malfoy handling my case. Where is he by the way? Because if you've sacked him over what's happened to me in the last week, I may change my mind about giving that interview."

She had no idea why she was sticking up for Malfoy, but at present, Smethwyck was being an even bigger nuisance, so she was glad to see that Smethwyck picked up on her thinly veiled threat. Hermione had so little control over anything in her life, and she took savage pleasure in watching the beefy man squirm.

"Very well. On your head be it if he fails," replied Smethwyck. He made for the door. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"A better selection of books would be wonderful."

"Of course. I'll send Perkins to fetch you whatever you'd like. Wishing you a speedy recovery."
"I'm sure you are," Hermione said to his retreating back.

oooOOOooo

A trickle of water cascaded down a nearby section of stone wall in the cold, dark chamber. It was the only sound echoing in the cavernous silence apart from their gasping breaths. Ron clutched her hand in the darkness. It too was cold and clammy. He had just stabbed Helga Hufflepuff's cup with the basilisk fang, and they clung tightly to one another as they watched a piece of Vodermort's soul take its last shuddering breath.
When the terrifying image evaporated, Ron turned her to face him. Searching her face to make sure she was all right. Hermione didn't know what came over her, but in that moment, flushed with success at destroying another horcrux and pride for Ron's quick-thinking, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He kissed her back immediately and with equal fervor. His lips were surprisingly soft. He deepened the kiss and she let him. It was wonderful. Blissful. She never wanted the moment to end, but of course they couldn't do this here and now. They had to get back to the fight. Find Harry. Kill Voldermort. Save Hogwarts.

They slowly broke apart and a mild awkwardness settled between them. She'd waited years for him to pluck up the courage to confess his true feelings for her. She was tired of waiting, so she took matters into her own hands.
"I love you, Ronald Weasley," she said, breathless.

The blush creeping up his neck was adorable. His attention focused somewhere near her shoes, he replied…

Hermione was suddenly jerked awake by another sudden expulsion of…what? Magic? Energy? The remains of her will to live? Before she had time to register what was happening, strong hands were on her, holding her shoulders down. She was too surprised even to scream. It was so dark, she could barely make out the figure hovering over her, but she knew instantly that it was Malfoy. She couldn't be sure how she knew, but she trusted her instincts and, unbidden, she relaxed.

"What happened? Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm okay. It's nothing. It's like little echoes of whatever happened to me with the mirror and the lamps."

"So this has happened before? How often?" he asked.

Crap. She needed to get her wits together. Malfoy wouldn't be as easily appeased as Smethwyck or Michaels.

"I don't know, it just happens sometimes. Mostly when I'm asleep."

"Were you dreaming?"

How in Merlin's name had he guessed? She was developing a begrudging respect for his capabilities as a healer.
"I don't know," she hedged. "Probably."

"What were you dreaming about?"

She had no intention of telling him that.

"I don't remember."

"Ok. You don't want to tell me. I get it. Can you at least tell me if you were experiencing any strong emotions in this dream?"

He was utterly insufferable.

"Yes. I was. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"Hardly, but it does give us a new angle to look into. Whatever these outbursts are, they seem to be tied to your emotions. That's a clue."

She'd been thinking the same thing for several days, but didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing they were on the same page. She also couldn't help but notice his use of the word 'us.' Deciding she'd rather not think about that, she attempted to change the subject.

"Can you please turn a light on? I don't like conversing with an incorporeal voice in the darkness." I've done quite enough of that for one lifetime.
He complied wordlessly, conjuring a candle and lighting it with a muggle lighter rather than using his wand to light one of the recently repaired wall sconces. He set the candle on the bedside table, and she was surprised to see he wasn't wearing his healer's robes. Instead opting for jeans, a simple grey t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket. The look suited him. Another avenue of thought she'd prefer not to travel.
"Who are you, James Dean? Since when does Draco Malfoy dress like a muggle and carry a lighter? You know smoking is bad for you, right?"
"I don't smoke. And who is James Dean? Wait, isn't he that Gryffindor bloke who was in our year?"

She legitimately laughed at that.
"You're thinking of Dean Thomas. James Dean was a muggle movie star, famous for his t-shirt and leather jacket, among other things."
"What other things?"
"Nevermind. What are you doing here? Did Smethwyck take you off of administrative leave?"
"I'm back on Monday. I'm not technically supposed to be here."
"Some guards you hired. Apparently they'll let in any old riff-raff. I'll ask again. What are you doing here, and in the middle of the night?"
"I brought you some books. I couldn't bear to think of you shut up in here with nothing decent to read," he said, shrugging and handing her the most recent edition of Hogwarts: A History and a biography of Severus Snape. "The biography is particularly good. There was stuff in there about Snape even I didn't know."
She had complicated feelings about Snape, but was eager to read his story all the same. It was Malfoy's thoughtfulness that brought her up short. These books would give her details and actual answers about the aftermath of the war. She'd been dying for any tidbit of information she could get her hands on, but none of her other healers seemed to want to say much. She supposed they were instructed not to upset her, but they couldn't have been more wrong. It was the not knowing that was driving her crazy.
"Thank you," she said finally.

"You're welcome. How are you feeling now?"

There was still a dull ache behind her tired eyes, but she wasn't about to tell him that. She'd had enough of people fussing over her lately.
"You're not my healer until Monday. I don't have to tell you anything."
If riling him up was the one pleasure at her disposal, she would gladly indulge.
"I liked you better when you were comatose," he said. His answering smile taking the sting out of his words. She was tempted to say that she liked him better now, but thought better of it.
"Leave the candle, please. I have some reading to do," she said, by way of dismissal.
"Don't set the place on fire while I'm gone."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Malfoy."
He turned to look at her when he reached the door. She could swear he was about to say something, but he simply closed the door and turned down the corridor.

A/N: Surprise! It's been a decade and I suddenly started writing again. Not gonna lie, I completely forgot about this story. Apparently, all I needed to do was get out of a bad relationship and start an original project to get the creative juices flowing on this fic again. Is this site still active? I haven't been here in a while, but please say hello if anyone out there actually reads this!