Chapter four
Hermione
There were certain streets, certain areas, which Harry had avoided at all costs for the last four years. One of those areas was the street with the old, red brick department store, Purge and Dowse Ltd., which was also the entrance to St Mungo's. Here, wizards and witches of all ages passed every day at every hour of the day (and night), so when Harry had left the magical world, he had made the decision to never walk there. Myra, Darius and Candy had all looked at him strangely when he’d refused to go down that particular street.
Now he stood before the window with the ugly dummy dressed in the green nylon dress once again, his body shaking with unpleasant feelings. He was nervous, but it was also much more than that. Dread of the memories that were coming, crashing down on him, even as he stood there. Dread of the memories that would come to him as he entered. Dread of the old faces he would see and even more dread for the faces he wouldn’t see.
Fifth year; he stood here with Ron, Ginny and the other Weasleys, all anxious for news of Arthur Weasley.
Why was he here? He asked himself this question again and again, and he had already turned around eight times, just about to leave when he remembered why he was here.
Malfoy.
Malfoy needed his help.
And if he didn’t go into St Mungo’s, Malfoy would die.
They all die.
For the first time, Harry dared to think back at the thought – They die anyway. People die; it’s the way of life. He didn’t dwell on the fact that it was when he’d been thinking of Malfoy that he’d finally managed to get a break in his fight against the voices in his head. If he did think about that, he would stand here for days, just thinking. By then, it would probably be too late, considering that Malfoy was now unconscious and, according to the nurses, wouldn’t wake up.
Malfoy was going to die and Harry didn’t like the thought in the least.
“I’m here to see Hermione Granger,” Harry finally said with a clear voice. The strength of his voice surprised him.
The window did its trick and Harry stepped through. Just like the times when he’d arrived to St Mungo’s the Muggle way before, the glass felt like water rather than anything solid.
The reception was bustling with people, just like it had been at the Muggle hospital when Malfoy had first been taken there. Somehow, though, the reception at St Mungo’s seemed more cheerful. The wards where they held the long term ill patients was as far from the reception as they could be. Harry pulled his cloak – an actual Wizards’ cloak, since he wanted to draw as little attention to himself as possible – tighter. It felt strange to be wearing a cloak again; after all, it had been over four years with only Muggle clothes for him. The cloak held memories – it was the one he’d left in – but he pushed them back.
He walked up to the reception where the Welcoming Witch sat, her face annoyed and her cheeks red. “Yes?” she asked as Harry came up.
“I’m—I’m looking for Hermione Granger,” Harry said uncertainly, suddenly realizing that Hermione might not be working at St Mungo’s at all. She could have moved to another city – or another country – and he wouldn’t know. She could—
His thoughts were cut short by the Mediwitch saying, “Healer Granger works on the fourth floor with spell damage. Eighth door to your right is her ward. Next!”
Thankful that he hadn’t been recognized, Harry moved swiftly away from the reception and all the people, towards the elevator. There were only two others in the elevator, a mother and her child, and they paid Harry no attention whatsoever; even so, he still found himself wishing for his Invisibility Cloak. It was the one item he had really missed when he left the magical world to lead an all-Muggle life.
The fourth floor was calm and reminded Harry much of the Muggle hospital where he’d spent so many hours in the recent weeks. He counted the doors as he went, reaching the eighth door with the sign, ‘Hexes’. He turned the door handle with a shaking hand and walked inside. He found himself in another corridor, with rooms on both sides. Some of the doors were open, but Harry wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to it. He was anxious to find Hermione – and he was anxious to get out of there. Thoughts of Malfoy had more or less left him; at the moment he could only recall that there was a reason for him being there, but what that reason was, he didn’t know. He just wanted to get out of there again.
A Healer left a room just up ahead and when he saw Harry, he walked over to him.
“Can I help you, sir?” the Healer asked.
“I’m looking for Healer Granger,” Harry said.
“Oh, all right. A friend of hers?”
Harry nodded uncertainly, not sure that the term ‘friend’ still applied when you hadn’t talked in several years. The Healer didn’t seem to notice his hesitance though; he led the way down the corridor and turned into a smaller, cosier room at the end of the ward. It had piles of parchment everywhere, some of it with quills writing on them by themselves, and several chairs around a table. Two women, both Healers, Harry assumed, as he guessed that this was their office, sat by the table drinking tea and talking. One was small, with blond hair and clear blue eyes; she sat facing him. The other had familiar brown, bushy hair – and her back to him.
“Granger, this man wants to talk to you,” the Healer who had led Harry there said.
The woman with the familiar brown hair turned around, teacup still in her hand. A second later, the teacup smashed on the floor and tea ran out everywhere. Hermione didn’t notice; she only stared at Harry, who in turn smiled sheepishly.
“Hi, ‘Mione,” he said quietly.
“Um, Becky, could you— give us a moment?” Hermione asked.
Becky’s eyes travelled from Hermione to Harry and back again, before she gave a short nod and left the room. Passing Harry, he noticed just how small she was; she barely reached up to his chest. The door closed behind her and Hermione finally let out a squeal of delight and threw herself onto Harry.
“Harry! Oh my gosh, it’s so good to see you!” she said, voice muffled against his chest.
“It’s, um, nice to see you too, Hermione,” Harry said, slightly – all right, very – overwhelmed by the warm welcome. He was waiting for the onslaught of memories that he was expecting, but none were forthcoming. His mind was completely in the here and now.
“How are you?” Hermione asked, pulling Harry to sit down on a chair and then following suit herself. “It’s been so long!”
“Yeah, I know,” Harry said dumbly. He had no idea how he was supposed to act – after all, he was the one who had chosen to leave. It hardly seemed like the right thing for him to say was that if he’d had a choice, he would have continued to stay away.
The little voice in his head reminded him that he had had a choice – he didn’t have to do anything about Malfoy’s situation. He had chosen that all by himself. Harry told the voice to shut up.
Meanwhile, Hermione had finally fallen silent and took in Harry’s appearance. She also noticed his silence and his unease. Something was wrong; her common sense told her as much.
“Harry?” she asked, her voice now much quieter than before.
Harry looked up at her, his expression almost confused.
“What did you come here for, Harry?” she asked.
There was a small, sardonic smile. “Malfoy,” he said, as though the one word would explain it all.
“Malfoy?” Hermione echoed, sounding shell shocked for some reason Harry couldn’t fathom. Her eyes were wide as she repeated, “Draco Malfoy?”
Harry nodded. “I need your help,” he said. “Well, actually, Malfoy needs your help. That’s why I’m here.”
“Why would you help him?” Hermione asked, sounding almost horrified.
“Because I don’t leave someone who’s paralysed from the waist down to die in a Muggle hospital, no matter what their last name happens to be, not if I can help it,” Harry said. Although he didn’t want to think about it, he knew why Hermione was looking so appalled.
“Even him, Harry?” She spit the word him.
“Even him,” he said with a finality that made her stare and then finally shrug her agreement to him. “Please?”
She thought about it for a few seconds, emotions passing over her face. Harry found that he couldn’t read her as he had been able to back in school; he had no idea what she was thinking. Finally, something that looked almost like a smile graced her lips and she nodded to him.
“I just need to grab a couple of things.”
A few seconds later, she was back, dressed in Muggle clothing, and told him that she was ready to go.
Hermione owned a car.
Of course, seeing how both her parents were Muggles, it wasn’t that hard to understand. She told him that she, besides working at the hospital, was also attending university to learn Muggle science. The little knowledge of Muggle science she already had, had come in handy several times, apparently, in her years as a Healer.
“There are many things that I remembered from my years in Muggle school, before Hogwarts, that have actually come in handy while I’ve been working at St Mungo’s,” she told Harry proudly.
Harry only half listened. He watched Hermione as she steered the vehicle through the busy evening London traffic with familiar ease. She had turned into a woman in the last four and a half years. The last time Harry had seen her, she had still been a teen – a very intelligent and grown-up teen, but still a teen. Now she had let her hair grow to her waist, kept together in a low ponytail. Her face also looked older, more mature than before, her eyes shining with knowledge that could only have come from experience. Harry found himself thinking of Dumbledore, as he watched his former best friend.
Hermione had fallen silent, but Harry hadn’t even noticed. She turned to him for a second and said,
“So, are you going to tell me what is really up with Malfoy?”
Harry shook his head to clear it, when he realised that Hermione had given him a question. “Um,” he said and cursed his ineloquence. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” he said quietly.
“You said he has a fever that won’t go down and he isn’t reacting to Muggle medicine. But why is he in a Muggle hospital to begin with? Harry?”
“He got into an accident, all right?” Harry snapped, suddenly annoyed. “A motorbike accident. Crashed with a car. Bang.” He slapped his hands together as if to illustrate his point, making Hermione jump. “Ambulance, hospital, lots of doctors. He broke his spinal cord. He’s paralysed. I told you that. Broke his leg and arm and a few ribs too, but they’re almost fine now I think. Now it’s just his spinal cord. And he’s gotten sick.”
The car fell very silent and Harry stared out through the side window, ignoring Hermione’s concerned eyes. He had never asked to go back to the Wizarding world! He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be in his flat, doing homework for his classes at the university, writing his new book and just ignoring his past, as he had done so well in the last four years. But no, the fates had to go and screw him over yet again. They had to bring Draco Malfoy back into his life and make Harry care for some stupid, unknown reason. He didn’t want to care, had never asked for this.
Harry brooded the rest of the way – which wasn’t any more than five minutes – and when Hermione parked the car in front of the Muggle hospital, he got out without a word.
Hermione followed him up to the third floor without a word. No one paid them any attention, despite it being past visiting hours, until they reached the third floor. There, the same plump nurse that had been there earlier came up to them.
“Visiting hours are over, Mr Evans,” she said to him. “And besides, Mr Malfoy is unconscious, so you won’t get anything out of a visit anyway.”
“This is Hermione Granger,” Harry said as though the plump nurse hadn’t said a word. “She’s a specialist and Mr Malfoy’s private doctor. She’s here to look at him.” The lie came easily for once and although the nurse looked doubtful, she finally sighed and said, “I need to see your papers.”
Luckily, Hermione understood what Harry was doing. She pulled papers from her back with St Mungo’s seal on them, and while the nurse read the papers, Hermione grabbed her wand and muttered a quick spell. Suddenly, the nurse’s doubtful expression changed to a smile.
“Well, everything looks in order, Doctor Granger,” she said. “Come with me, I’ll take you to Mr Malfoy’s room.”
Malfoy’s room was dark; the only light was that from the streetlights outside, seeping through the closed blinds. Malfoy lay on the bed, the sheet of sweat making his skin glow eerily and his blond hair looked rather like a halo. From a distance, he looked unearthly, but when the trio came closer, even Harry, who had no medical knowledge at all, could see that the blond was sick, very sick.
“He has a dangerously high fever – forty-two point three,” said the nurse, “And he isn’t responding to any of the medication we are giving him. I am afraid that if another day passes with a fever like that, we may never see him wake up again.”
Hermione walked around the bed to Malfoy’s right side and said to the nurse, “Could you please step outside for a few minutes? I need to check a few things.”
“Of course,” said the nurse. Harry wondered if her sudden consent to anything Hermione said had to do with the spell the witch had muttered earlier. Either way, the plump nurse left the room. Harry and Hermione stood on either side of Malfoy.
Hermione muttered two quick spells and suddenly, the casts around Malfoy’s leg and arm disappeared. Both were now healed and fine.
“Take his hand,” Hermione then instructed him. “Be careful, though – I will fix as much as possible with his back in a little while, but right now, I’m going to get his fever down.”
Harry nodded and carefully lifted Malfoy’s hand, lacing the other man’s fingers with his own. Hermione did the same on her side, whilst her other hand held her wand. “Decreacio.”
Harry felt energy surge from Malfoy’s hand into his own, up through his arm and into his heart. The energy felt warm; a tickling sensation in his chest.
“Don’t let go,” Hermione said gravely.
The tickling increased to a hot sensation and then into a burning. Suddenly Harry realised just why Hermione had told him not to let go – had she not told him, he would have done it. The burning turned painful and he could feel his heart beat faster and faster with every passing second. He felt light-headed and gripped the side of the bed tighter to avoid fainting.
Then it suddenly stopped.
“You can let go of his hand now,” Hermione said, disentangling herself, her demeanour cold.
Harry didn’t let go; instead, he asked Hermione, “What did you do?”
“I sent the illness from him into you instead,” Hermione said. “Most of it, at least.”
Harry stared, his mouth gaping. “You did what?”
Hermione smiled slightly. “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” she said. “The bug Malfoy had is a very simple illness. But Malfoy had two problems – a) he is paralysed, so his body wasn’t reacting correctly to the virus and b) the nurses here were feeding him Muggle medicines.”
“Why aren’t Muggle medicines a good thing?” Harry asked.
“Harry, do you recall what Lucius Malfoy looked like?” she asked in turn and Harry nodded. Hermione continued, “He, and Draco here, are both blond, with aristocratic features and are quite beautiful, are they not?”
“Err, sure,” Harry said uncertainly, refusing to say such a word about someone like Malfoy. Although it was accurate.
“Okay, Harry, I’ll make it easy for you. Lucius Malfoy’s mother was a Veela. That makes Lucius himself a half-Veela and Draco a quarter-Veela.”
“But they are always going on about how they are pure bloods!” Harry said.
“Yes, well, being a descendant to Veela isn’t really that bad,” Hermione said. “People think they are beautiful and they have certain magical qualities, so… Besides, people tend to turn a blind eye to anything to do with the Malfoys. Or a least they did before. Either way, Veelas can’t handle Muggle medicines, just as their bodies can’t handle certain potions. Part-Veelas inherit this trait.”
Just then, said Malfoy stirred slightly on the bed. Harry quickly let go of Malfoy’s hand, just as his grey eyes fluttered open. Malfoy blinked a couple of times, his eyes getting used to seeing again.
“Potter?” he asked, his voice as thick as it had been when he had last talked, several hours earlier. Eyes wandering, he squinted at Hermione, without recognition.
“How are you feeling?” Hermione asked him without introducing herself.
“Like hell,” Malfoy said. “Who—”
“Oh, you’d know me as ‘Granger’,” Hermione said, her voice icy. “Or perhaps, ‘Mudblood’.”
Malfoy didn’t comment on this, nor did he let any recognition or shock show on his face. Instead, he asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Saving you from certain death,” Hermione replied. “Now, let’s see what we can do about your back.”
Waving her wand over Malfoy’s still form and mumbling a complex spell, a bunch of numbers and letters appeared above him. Harry had absolutely no idea what the letters meant, although he guessed that it was the sort of things Hermione had learned during Arthimancy in school.
Hermione waved her wand again so that all the numbers and letters disappeared.
“I can’t do anything about your paralysis,” she said. “If you’d been brought straight to St Mungo’s after your accident, we would have been able to heal it quite well, but as it is now, no. I will, however, put a stabilizing spell on your back so that we can take this thing –“ she motioned at the structured around Malfoy “– off. That way, you can go home. You’ll still be in a wheelchair and you won’t be able to move much, but well, home is better for you since there is nothing the nurses and doctors here can do for you. In fact, they will only make things worse, since they will feed you Muggle medicines.”
Malfoy closed his eyes and said something very quietly.
“What?” Harry said, opening his mouth for the first time since Malfoy had woken up.
“I don’t have a home,” Malfoy repeated, only a little louder this time.
Harry frowned, but Hermione didn’t seem too surprised, nor did she seem to care much. “Do you have some place else you can live?” she asked him, keeping the same cool, distant voice she’d had since she arrived at the hospital.
“I’ll find something,” Malfoy said, his voice turning cold. “Just perform the bloody spell. I’ll be out of your lives and you won’t have to worry your pretty little heads anymore.”
Hermione’s face turned equally icy, “Fine, then.”
Harry backed away as Hermione said another complex spell that he had never heard of. A blue mist shot out of her wand and surrounded Malfoy. He let out pained but held-back groan. Harry wondered how much the spell hurt; he didn’t think he wanted to know.
The blue mist was absorbed by Malfoy’s body and for a second, his skin glowed blue. Then it disappeared and the room went dark once more.
“There. The spell keeps your back stabilized and secure, so that you can be moved to a wheelchair without risk. You will find that you still can’t turn your head or lift your arms very much, as this would be a risk to your spinal cord,” Hermione explained. “The spell will wear off gradually as your back gets better. In four weeks, it should have worn off completely and then you will be able to move as much as your injury will allow.”
Malfoy gave as much of a nod as the spell would allow but didn’t say anything. Hermione, who hadn’t expected a thank you considering who she was dealing with, waved her wand again and Malfoy’s head tilted back slightly, a scream escaping him. Harry watched Hermione wide-eyed.
“What did you do?” he asked, placing a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. Malfoy was trembling beneath his touch, sweat glistering on his forehead, his breath still hitched.
“A bowel/bladder controlling spell that we usually use on those that are on temporary bed arrest at St Mungo’s,” Hermione said. “Allows him to feel when he needs to do his business, which he wouldn’t have felt otherwise. Isn’t that so, Malfoy?”
Malfoy’s cheeks turned red and Harry realised that ‘cleaning up’ wasn’t the only thing the nurse had done when she came in the last time he’d been there. Harry felt his cheeks flush.
“Thanks,” Malfoy mumbled.
Hermione only raised an eyebrow at him, then turned to Harry.
“I have to go back to St Mungo’s,” she said. “My shift doesn’t end until twelve and I promised I’d be back as soon as I could. The only thing you need to do with him—“ she nodded towards Malfoy “—is to take the structure off and find a wheelchair for him. I’m sure he’ll be fine after that.”
Harry didn’t like Hermione’s cold tone, but didn’t question it.
“Oh,” she said, remembering something. She took out two vials from inside her robes. “This,” she said giving the first to Harry, “is for you to drink after you’ve eaten; it will stop Malfoy’s virus from infecting you. I don’t believe it will anyway, but take it just to be on the safe side. And this,” she continued turning around to Malfoy and placing a vial in his lap, “is for you when you get well. One drop, three times per day; it will help your back heal. You will have a bit of a fever for a few days, ‘cause I couldn’t get all the poison out at once, but you’ll be okay.”
A flutter of closed eyelids and a murmured, “mhm,” was all that told Harry and Hermione that Malfoy had heard a word of what she’d said.
“Don’t forget the potion for you tonight, Harry,” Hermione said, sending him a stern, mothering look.
“Okay,” Harry said, confused as always. He was beginning to wonder if he was supposed to be at least semi-confused at all times. It certainly seemed like it.
Hermione made her way over to the door and was just about to leave when she turned and said, her voice much softer now, “Oh, and Harry? Don’t wait four years until you come talk to me again, ‘kay?”
She smiled slightly and Harry suddenly remembered just what a great friend she had been for seven years.
The plump nurse still seemed quite confused when Harry asked her for a wheelchair for Malfoy. She didn’t question him though – it seemed whatever spell Hermione had placed on her was a strong one. She had Malfoy sign his own release papers and then she stood and waved good-bye stupidly to them as they took the elevator to the ground floor.
Now they stood – well, Harry stood and Malfoy sat, obviously – outside the hospital, in complete silence.
Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes of silence, Harry had had enough. “Where are you going to go?”
“None of your business, Potter,” Malfoy replied haughtily.
“Fine, fine.” Harry threw his hands up in the air. Muttering, he added, “Jeez, it was just a question.”
“Why are you still here?”
Harry turned to actually look down at Malfoy. It made him feel stupid – with Malfoy sitting down in his wheelchair and Harry towering over him. At the same time, he couldn’t very well kneel next to Malfoy. No matter how much said Malfoy would enjoy having Harry kneeling before him, it was a matter of pride – and comfort – for Harry. Sitting hunched wasn’t the most comfortable of positions.
Harry realised that he still hadn’t answered Malfoy’s question. Then again, Harry didn’t know the answer to the question, so he might as well stay silent.
“Potter, do not ignore me,” Malfoy said.
“Look, do you want to come and stay at my place tonight? You can leave first thing tomorrow morning, but at the moment, you have no means of getting anywhere. You might have the wheelchair, but you’re still unable to move because of the spell, so you can’t get anywhere.”
Malfoy glared at him as Harry listed his weaknesses. Harry had a feeling Malfoy hated things that made him seem weak as much now as he had in school.
Malfoy’s silence made Harry grow uncomfortable and he said, “You don’t have to, but it’s an offer and—“
“Fine,” Malfoy spat. “I’ll come. But only tonight.”
“Of course,” Harry said, although he wondered where he would go tomorrow morning. He still wouldn’t be able to move until another four weeks had passed.
Harry grabbed the handles on the back of Malfoy’s wheelchair and began walking without asking for Malfoy’s permission.
The night was cool but the sky was clear and Harry could see the stars above. The streets where they were walking were quiet, with only the stray cat appearing here and there. Harry pushed Malfoy’s wheelchair without a word, trying to walk where the road was the flattest. Any little stone they rolled over would make Malfoy’s whole body jump, as the spell didn’t allow any sudden movements of just one body part.
“Sorry,” he muttered, when he, despite his best efforts, pushed the wheelchair over an uneven part of the street.
Malfoy didn’t answer. It appeared to Harry as though the blond was sulking.
Harry sighed and continued to push quietly.
They reached the apartment in little less than twenty minutes. Here, they were faced with the first big problem.
“Let me guess,” Malfoy said as he looked up the stairs, “you live on the top floor?”
“Actually, no,” Harry said, “I live on the third. But that’s bad enough.”
Malfoy gave out a long-suffering sigh. “And how do you suggest we solve this?”
“You sleep here?” Harry joked, mostly to fill the silence as his brain worked on the problem at hand.
“You know what,” Malfoy snapped, “I don’t want to be here and you don’t want me here. Why don’t you just call a cab and I’ll leave?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Harry bit back with almost as much intensity. “You have no place to go and no one to take care of you – yes, you do need taking care of! You can’t eat by yourself, get yourself anywhere, go to the bathroom by yourself or do anything else that is necessary to be able to live alone. So shut up and stop whining the whole time.”
Amazingly, Malfoy did shut up, although his expression stayed very sour.
Harry sighed. “I don’t see any other way for you to get up there than for me to carry you and then get the wheelchair.”
“Hell no,” Malfoy said. “You are not carrying me anywhere like some stupid damsel in distress. Get your wand and do some magic.”
“I haven’t done magic in four and a half years and I’m not about to start now,” Harry said.
“You are wearing a bloody Wizard’s cloak – how hard would it be to do one spell?”
“No. I don’t have my wand.”
“Then go find it! You are not going to carry me.”
“Do you want to sleep out here?” Harry snapped.
Draco looked like he wanted to cross his arms, but the spell didn’t allow him to lift them more than a centimetre off his lap. His expression turned even more annoyed when he realised this.
“Fuck you, Potter,” he muttered sincerely.
“Yes, you too,” Harry said and lifted Malfoy from the wheelchair despite the blond man’s howls of indignity. “Shut up, Malfoy.”
This time, Malfoy didn’t quiet down; he continued to abuse Harry verbally all the way up to the third floor. By that time, Harry was panting with the effort of holding Malfoy up and he was infinitely grateful when they finally got into the apartment.
“This is where you live?” Malfoy sneered. “What a dump.”
Harry hadn’t really been expecting anything less than a mean comment, but considering that it was eleven thirty at night, he had just carried his ex school nemesis up three flights of stairs and his day had just been over all bad, he threw Malfoy unceremoniously onto the couch, knowing that the spell would do its work and keep Malfoy’s back protected. “You can sleep there,” he growled and went downstairs again to get the wheelchair.
When he finally got back upstairs – twenty minutes or so later, when he’d finally understood how he could fold the wheelchair together to make it small enough to fit through the narrow staircases – Malfoy had fallen asleep, despite the uncomfortable position he’d been left in. His body lay rigid on the couch because of Hermione’s spell, the muscles looking like they were working overtime to keep Malfoy’s back straight.
Harry rolled his eyes to himself and walked over to the blond. He picked Malfoy up again and walked into his bedroom. He almost laughed at the way it must have looked; Harry Potter, carrying Draco Malfoy into his bedroom.
Gentler this time, Harry placed Malfoy on the bed and pulled the covers over him. Malfoy looked so much nicer when he was asleep, his face no longer screwed up in a sneer.
Beautiful, Hermione had said.
When the moonlight illuminated Malfoy’s face and body, Harry admitted she’d been right. He felt something within stir, but quickly shut that train of thought down. He certainly didn’t need that on top of everything else.
Sighing, Harry grabbed a pillow from the bed and an extra blanket from his wardrobe and walked out to the living room, where he put the things down. Before lying down, he drank the potion that Hermione had given him. Then he tried to sleep.
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