Chapter Text
The doors of St. Mungo’s hospital burst open as the healers wheeled in a bloody gurney. A state of homogenic panic took over as the healers realised what they were dealing with.
“Twenty-two-year-old male, gunshot wound to the chest!” Pendragon, the healer on-call informed, after a quick look at the body. “What?” an attending healer yelled out, his voice vociferous, “Does anyone even know how to deal with a GSW? Are we even equipped for that?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “No…” Claire Pendragon answered, caught a little in the heat of the moment. “Then why the fuck bring him here?”
“Sir… it’s Draco Malfoy…” the woman said, trying to hold back her tears. Truthfully, she has always had authority issues. “Merlin’s right tit…” he sighed, “Somebody get Granger!” “Granger, Sir? I really don’t think she’s the right person to treat this, uhh… situation… given their history,” she said, the look on her superior’s face sending a wave of embarrassment all throughout her body. “Well, Pendragon, do you know any other person in this hospital that knows how to treat this?” he asked, if not a little too aggressively. “No…” “Okay, then I don’t care if you think she’s ‘unfit given their past’. Get Me. Granger. Now!” “Yes, sir!”
Few moments later, the one, the only, in blood and flesh, Hermione Granger, genius, The Golden Girl, war hero, philanthropist (the list goes on), stormed into the room. “Someone fill me in, please!” she asked in a manner of calmness that would send chills down your spine. After all, “after the horrors of the war, what was a little blood to this treasure of a woman?” When Hermione read that sentence in last week’s issue of The Witch Weekly she wanted to puke.
Pendragon repeated all the necessary information to Granger, obviously leaving out the fact that right before her was laying Draco Malfoy, with a bullet somewhere in his chest, yet, the question that has been pressing her soul from the moment she heard “GSW” was still unanswered. Oh well… I guess she’ll have to ask the unaskable. “Attempted suicide, or murder?” she asked, regretting it as soon as the words left her mouth. “I… I don’t know” Pendragon answered. “Who brought him in?”
“I did.” Hermione recognised that voice. She turned around, greeted by Nott, her stomach in realisation. Glancing back at the man on the gurney, Granger started noticing details she hasn’t took in before: absurdly blond hair, the tiny scar on his blood-splattered nose from that one time she punched him in the face during third year. Oh, Godric. Draco Malfoy got shot. And, evidently, with her luck, she was the only one is this goddamned hospital who knew how to handle this mess. See guys, this is why also knowing muggle medicine is important! Gods save her!
Staring at Malfoy, panic invaded her body. For a split second she felt like she was seventeen again, laying on the cold, marble floor of the Malfoy Manor as Malfoy’s giddy, jolly aunt was torturing her to almost insanity. Her glance jumped over to her wrist, where her scar laid under her sleeve, before snapping back to her senses. She took out her wand and started casting healing spells, but soon realised that they wouldn’t do anything, she needed to take out the bullet first. Now, we wouldn’t want Draco Malfoy to die, would we? Personally, Hermione would, but she loved her job too much to risk it over an old school-time foe.
Hermione threw her wand at Claire Pendragon, hoping she would catch it, but hitting her in the head instead. Granger winced before quickly inspecting the bullet wound and plunging into it. Locating the bullet, she grasped hold of its end and slowly pulled it out. She knew doing it quicker was more efficient and less painful, but if she couldn’t let Malfoy die, at least she could make this as painful for him as she could.
“Pendragon, toss me back my wand, would you?” she asked, hoping Claire’s throwing skills were better than her catching ones. Gladly, no one was hit in the head this time. Hermione started repairing the tissue of Malfoy’s chest. As she was casting spell after spell, she remembered Theodore Nott was still standing behind her, watching her as she was trying to save his best friend’s life. Godric, what was wrong with her? Why hasn’t anyone escorted Nott out of the room yet? She remember the sinking feeling flooding her chest when Hagrid carried a what she thought was a dead Harry into the grounds of Hogwarts. She would never wish that upon anybody.
“Someone get Nott out!” she demanded. “Oh, Granger, c’mon now!” he pleaded, she could hear his tears in his voice. Frankly, she didn’t think Nott could cry. “I want Nott out, please. I can’t work with the pressure of him staring at me,” she continued. “Come on, Mr. Nott, I’ll show you to the waiting room,” a nurse offered. Nott clearly wasn’t very happy about leaving, but he understood the pressure his presence must’ve had over Hermione, and, for her, him leaving felt like a huge relief, at least if she screwed up now, Nott wouldn’t have to watch Malfoy die.
Hermione’s fatal flaw was self-doubt. She knew Malfoy wouldn’t die, not on her watch. She knew she was better than that, she knew she was trained to heal this, she knew she could save his life. Yet, she doubted everything she was doing, every spell she casted, she wondered if it had been the right choice, even every little episkey had her doubting herself and her abilities.
At last, she cast a final diagnostic spell. She scanned it over and over again, looking for something to prove that this was it, that she had finally screwed up. But, as usual, everything was perfect, her casting, her choice of spells, Malfoy’s heartbeat was, quite literally, perfect. The Golden Girl has done it again!
“Someone should go inform Mr. Nott that his friend is out of the woods…” Hermione said, her voice so icy it almost fell like a Dementor passing by. She waited for a nurse to take Malfoy to his room, before she started clawing at her scar. Godric, it has been burning and itching horribly for the past few weeks. Soon after the apparition of the irritation, Hermione unfortunately discovered that nothing helped anymore. Cooling charms? Nope. Irritation healing spells? Those made it even worse. She couldn’t stand it anymore, it was driving her mad.
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She found Nott in the waiting room, his forehead resting in his hands. She sat down besides him, softly placing her hand on his back in consolation. He raised his head to look at her, that was when she realised, he had been crying. Not once in her life has she seen a Slytherin this exposed.
“Granger…” “Nott…” “I can’t thank you enough,” he said, letting out a quiet sob. It was horribly odd seeing Nott in this hypostasis. They never interacted much during school, but he has always been so reserved, and, often, cold. “I’m sorry if it’s to soon to ask, you don’t have to answer, but, I-… What happened?” she asked, using her best bedside manner voice. “I don’t know. I flooed in his study, like I do every Friday, and he was on the floor with a gun in his hand,” he answered, covering his eyes with his palms, “I think he tried to kill himself. He’s been having a hard time lately, y’know?” Hermione’s breath hitched. Godric…
“I didn’t know what to do, so I brought him here. It didn’t even cross my mind that the people here don’t know how to treat muggle stuff like this…” Nott continued, “Y’know, I’m glad you were here, otherwise Salazar knows what idiot would’ve tried to heal him, he would’ve probably been long dead with these twats ‘round here.” Hermione didn’t know if she should cry or smile and accept the compliment, backhanded or not.
“Nott, I feel like I should tell you…” she started, this could go two ways: Nott would either thank her for informing him, or crash out over the information he’d been about to receive, Hermione had a strong feeling it would be the latter, “They’re planning to send him to the psych for attempted suicide.” Theodore’s eyes quickly grew cold, “Oh…” This, she hasn’t expected.
“I should go see him. Thank you, Granger,” his voice uncordial, and his gaze distant. Soon, Hermione was left alone with her own thoughts. This has been one of the worst days she has had in the past five years. She began to scratch her scar again, casting a finite on the concealment charm she throws every morning over the carvings on her wrist. It had turned all red and the skin around the letters began cracking. Hermione started tracing the letters engraved into her skin, unanswered questions from today’s events racing through her mind.
m…
Why had Malfoy tried to kill himself?
u…
Why had he used a gun?
d…
What has he been going through?
b…
Is it because his father is in Azkaban? No… it couldn’t be.
l…
Could it?
o…
Is it because Astoria Greengrass broke off their engagement?
o…
It couldn’t have possibly been over a girl…
d…
Why the fuck did Draco Mafoy try to kill himself?
Hermione closed her eyes, seeking a moment of peace from her thoughts. That’s it, she’s had too much of this hospital for today. This was her sign to head home and get some fucking sleep. She decided she would visit Malfoy tomorrow.