Chapter Text
Dear Draco,
I am no stranger to sorrow and grief. Although very few moments in my life compare to the despair I felt when you opened your eyes following your accident. I wanted to touch you, to pull you in close and kiss your lips, but your eyes kept me away. You looked at me like that before, before there was an ‘us,’ long ago when we were children. Oh, how that changed and morphed into something beautiful. When we were wed, we vowed our love privately, in our own words and in the comfort of each other’s arms. I never had the foresight to vow that my love would have to be enough for the both of us. While my heart threatens to shatter into a thousand pieces, I make this promise to you now: My love will endure for the both of us… because I remember everything.
Monitors beeped wildly. Tendrils of gold swirled from the tips of wands. A sterile scent hung heavy in the air. Hands and limbs shook frantically. Breath attempted to flow in and out.
He’s dead.
He’s dead.
No… just nearly so.
“Breathe,” a soothing voice came from a veiled perception. “You need to breathe.”
She inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. Her vision sharpened as brilliant green eyes gradually came into focus. They were soft and kind, peaceful like jade waters. Her focus grew and she saw that those eyes were swimming in worry.
“Hermione,” he whispered.
At the sound of her name, the fragile grip of her sanity collapsed. Cold, hard marble met her hands and knees, sending shockwaves up her spine. She gasped, trying to fill her lungs with air. Her throat turned raw as she screamed. Hermione shook her head as an unsettling grief raged through her and settled deep into the marrow of her bones. It was hard to see the floor, despite being so close, with tears blurring her vision. Feet slapped on the ground and a warmth like sunshine spread through her body as the lights faded into darkness.
***
Hermione awoke sometime later. She fought against her heavy-lidded eyes, opening and closing as her vision opposed the bright lights. As her sight sharpened, Hermione’s gaze darted around the room, cataloguing her surroundings from the white ceiling with noticeable water marks and pale blue-green walls that offset the linoleum floors to the blank monitor on her left.
Oh, she was lying on a hospital bed at St. Mungos.
A warm calloused hand reached forward to touch her, pulling her gently until her eyes set on a familiar face. Hermione leaned into the touch.
“Tell me, Harry. Is he alive?” Her voice seemed oddly detached.
Harry’s grip tightened as he nodded his head fiercely, with certainty. “He’s alive, but they took him back for an operation.”
Hermione nodded, feeling ostensibly calm. “When will we know more?”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Hermione looked around the blank hospital room. “Why am I in this bed?”
He looked at her sympathetically. Hermione winced.
“That bad?”
“I would have reacted the same had it been Ginny. It’s to be expected. You’re calm now. That’s all that matters.”
“A Calming Draught?”
“Yes, and the Draught of Peace. They may have added a muscle relaxant. You were incredibly tense.”
Hermione nodded. Fine, it was fine. As long as she was lucid, she didn’t care. She was determined to believe that this was more manageable than the well of suffocating panic that previously enveloped her.
Hermione turned her head toward Harry once more. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She wet her lips and tried again.
“What happened?” Her voice croaked. She was suddenly aware of the rawness in her throat as if her esophagus had been scratched with sharp claws by some rabid beast. But there was no beast, no monster; there was only fear.
Harry leaned forward, pressing a paper cup to her lips. After taking a careful sip, she leaned back into the pillows, acutely aware of the cool water spreading through her chest and into her stomach. After placing the cup on the ledge of the windowsill, Harry stared down at their clasped hands resting on the thin white sheet.
“I don’t know much, but it’s not good, Hermione. What I do know, I was not provided clearance to discuss it.”
Hermione pulled in her lips between her teeth and closed her eyes. “Then what can you tell me?”
Harry remained quiet.
“What about his parents, then?” She asked, knowing Harry couldn’t give her the answers she truly sought.
“They should be here soon.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Even his father?”
“Just this once. They granted him temporary leave from his house arrest.”
Hermione felt the remnants of the spell that subdued her leaving her body. No longer feeling sluggish, she wiggled her toes and shifted her legs. The sheets made her feel trapped.
“Help me up.”
Harry guided her out of the bed. Their progress was slow as they made their way down the long hallways as monitors beeped in the background and MediWitches rushed from room to room. Draco wasn’t the only one who was injured.
Despite the busyness of the halls, she couldn’t get her legs to move with haste. Hermione was calm, almost too calm to the point where she could not be bothered to go any faster. It was a peculiar feeling. She could feel the faint worry and fear bubbling inside of her, but those feelings were so deep that she couldn’t summon them to the surface. Like an object being held down by the weight of the ocean, it would not budge when she tugged. Instead, the lingering sense of calm and peace from the potions blanketed her. It was a contradiction to what she believed she should be feeling.
They took a final turn and entered a large waiting room filled with visitors scattered throughout. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood immediately from their seats in the front and center upon her entry. Draco’s mother dashed forward gracefully and grabbed her with shaky, cold hands. The two witches stared at each other in a heart aching silence as Lucius approached Harry.
“Mr. Potter,” Lucius drawled. “Where is he? There hasn’t been a MediWitch at the front desk since our arrival.”
“The beds are overrun from the raid. I was told that they would come find us as soon as there is an update.”
Narcissa covered her mouth with a manicured hand. Her eyes flicked between her husband and daughter-in-law, before settling back on Hermione.
“What do you need, dear?”
Hermione’s lip quivered and she inhaled quickly. The urge to cry was heavy, but the potions would not let the tears fall. Hermione changed her mind. She wanted the potions flushed out of her system this instant. Words failed her as she was unable to describe how she felt or what she needed. Hermione finally shook her head and looked to the ground.
After Harry was summoned by the Ministry, Narcissa requested for a private room to wait. The eyes lingering on them in the main area was distracting and uncouth. Rumors would be swimming in the gossip rags by the morning. She was sure of it.
Sitting in silence, Lucius stood off to the side, standing vigil as he watched his wife. Draco’s mother sat next to Hermione, stock-still with impeccable posture as her eyes never strayed from the door. Hermione merely sat there, overcome by the numbness that spread through her body. It was incredibly odd, this feeling of disconnectedness.
Hermiome looked down, brows furrowed, surprised to find her hands were shaking. She struggled to consider why this was occurring. Maybe this was a side effect of the potions wearing off. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Maybe she was experiencing shock. Desperate to compartmentalize her thoughts and the way her body was responding, she attempted Occlumency, but Hermione lacked the proper training. She never took to it like Draco.
Draco.
A warm tear slid down her cheek and landed on her blouse. Hermione didn’t bother to wipe it away for she knew there would be more once the potions fully wore off.
Three knocks sounded from the door before a healer entered the room and greeted them with professional warmth. Hermione’s body jolted back into the present as she stood. The shaking in her hands drifted to her knees. Lucius walked over to Narcissa, placing a hand on her shoulder. How Hermione desperately craved the touch of her own husband at this moment, but it was he that they were awaiting answers for. It was her that would need to comfort him.
“When Mr. Malfoy arrived at the hospital last night, he was unconscious. Initially, we detected a deep laceration on his scalp. Further testing indicated brain bleeding. He was placed in a medically-induced coma and sent to an operating room. The brain bleeding is now contained. The most recent scans show disrupted neural activity in a couple parts of the brain. Unfortunately, we won’t know the full extent of these concerns until he wakes up. If you are able to, then we would encourage you to be there when Mr. Malfoy wakes up. It will help him to see familiar faces. Patients tend to be disoriented and may become distressed upon waking.”
Hermione nodded frantically as her body’s awareness grew.
He was alive.
Hermione almost laughed but bit her lips for it felt like an inappropriate response. Yes, she had to be going into shock as adrenaline flew through her veins. Once this thought passed, another entered her consciousness. Her shoulders pinned back and her throat tightened as her mind finally settled on the words brain bleeding, scans, and disrupted neural activity. He was alive, but to what extent? What was to become of him?
“When will he be awake?” Hermione asked, voice shaking.
“Now, if you are ready,” the healer answered.
“Take us to him.”
Hermione could scarcely hear the sound of her own breath nor the Healer speaking with Lucius as they walked down the halls. Her mind ebbed and flowed out of focus, randomly selecting words from their conversation.
Hermione’s pulse thrashed through her veins, causing her breath to turn shallow. She focused on seeing her husband instead of the catastrophizing thoughts that swarmed her consciousness.
I’m coming for you, Draco.
Hold on, my love.
Once his hospital room came into view, the rest of the world grew quiet as if she were under water.
When they entered, Draco was reclined in a medical bed with clean gauze wrapped around his head. If she stared long enough, then maybe she could convince herself that he was sleeping peacefully, that he was only resting after a long day at work. Soon, he would wake and they would talk about their time apart as if it were any other day.
Hermione glanced reassuringly at the monitors hovering in the air, beeping in a steady rhythm.
He was safe. He was fine.
He had to be.
As soon as she reached the bed, Hermione latched onto his hand to find it warm, but the heaviness from his loose grip was not reassuring. She looked to the healer and MediWitches, finding them watching her expectantly. Hermione took a deep breath and nodded.
Wands were raised and the MediWitches casted the spell.
After a few tense moments of anticipation, Draco’s fingers twitched between her own. His eyes moved languidly behind closed eyelids. He blinked several times, slowly, before she met the paleness of unfocused grey eyes. Draco looked up at her unseeingly and then over toward his parents. Narcissa leaned forward, cupping his face as he emerged from the haze.
“Draco,” Narcissa choked out.
His voice was dry and weak. “Mother?”
Fresh tears filled Hermione’s eyes at the sound of his voice.
Relief. She felt pure relief.
Lucius approached his son, looking down at him with far more emotion than she had ever seen him display before.
“Glad to see you, son.”
“What happened?” Draco asked, looking toward the monitors.
Narcissa sniffled. “There was an accident. At work.”
A vertical crease appeared in between Draco’s eyebrows. As if becoming aware of his own body, he looked down, settling on his hand entwined in Hermione’s. He glanced up, staring at her uncomprehendingly as his face flickered between emotions.
“Draco,” Hermione whispered.
“Granger?” He asked in complete disbelief.
Hermione’s heart dropped. She hadn’t heard that nickname in so long. Occasionally, yes, but not like this, not voiced in such clear confusion. This must be the disorientation the healer spoke of. Hermione reached forward to stroke his cheek but stopped abruptly when he flinched away from her. Draco looked between his parents and Hermione. His breathing turned erratic and sharp.
“What is she doing here?” He asked, surprised, almost angrily.
“Draco, it’s Hermione,” Narcissa offered, but she seemed just as confused.
“I know who she is, but what is she doing here?”
As if realizing he was still holding her hand, Draco quickly withdrew his own and stared at her with such raw vulnerability. Hermione’s chest tightened as she ached at the loss of him.
She could not find her voice.
What was happening to her?
Hermione had never been at such a loss for words.
Narcissa took his hand and said gently, “Hermione is your wife. Where else would she be?”
Draco’s face turned white with shock. He sputtered as if trying to gain control of his thoughts. “Wife? I have no wife. What are you talking about?”
The healer stepped forward. “Sir, I am Healer Carnegie. I am going to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright.”
Draco seemed to notice his presence for the first time. His eyes flicked from face to face around the room, taking stock of the Healer and three MediWitches before shifting back toward his parents. Finally, he swallowed and nodded.
Healer Carnegie smiled warmly. “Good. First, what is your name?”
“Draco Lucius Malfoy.”
“What is your date of birth?”
Draco glanced toward his mother who nodded encouragingly. “The 5th of June, 1980.”
The healer pointed to his parents. “Who is this?”
Draco’s voice gradually became quieter with every question. “My mother and father. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.”
The healer nodded his head and then gestured to Hermione. “And who is this?”
Draco swallowed, glancing out of his periphery. “Hermione Granger.”
“And who is she to you?”
Uncertainty marked his face. “A former classmate.”
Hermione turned away from the medical bed and choked on a sob.
“Draco, what is the month and year?”
There was a pause and then he spoke hesitantly. “April 1999.”