Chapter Text
Draco woke slowly. The headache was easily the worst of his life. He sat up slowly and waited for the world to cease spinning around him.
He was wearing clothing he did not recognize.
He was in a room he did not know. Clearly, it was a manor of some sort, just not his own. Sunlight streamed through windows that overlooked autumn hills and rolling, still green grass. Sheep dotted the landscape outside. Rich wood paneling glowed in what appeared to be late afternoon sun. An enormous stone fireplace had a fire to ward off autumnal chill. There were tapestries and rugs on the stone floor.
He'd never been in this room before in his life. It was a great hall in a manor house or palace, but it wasn’t Malfoy Manor. None of the rooms there were so warm or welcoming.
He brought a hand to his face to block the light for a moment. Gods that headache.
A knock on the door brought him back to the moment.
“Lord Malfoy? Oh, good, you’ve come to. I’ll let them know. In the meantime, shall I bring you a spot of tea? Perhaps a scone or two? Young men your age are always ravenous.”
The utterly nondescript woman nodded to herself and shut the door firmly as she left. He hadn’t had time to formulate a coherent question.
Magic shivered over his skin. Draco stood and made his rather unsteady way to the nearest wall. One touch was enough to tell him that the wards on this room were old, thick, and some of the strongest he’d ever encountered. What they did he hadn’t the foggiest notion, but it would take an awesome amount of power to break them.
The door opened again, and Draco found himself staring, open mouthed, at the woman who bore a tray of tea and scones in.
He knew her. He knew he knew her. He just didn’t know how. Or from where. Or when. She was his age, more or less, with a tumble of auburn curls, bright honey flecked eyes, and a patient air generally reserved for healers or teachers. He wondered which she was.
“Hello, Draco. Do you know who I am?” She placed the tea service on a low table and turned to face him with a gentle smile. Healer, then, he decided.
“Um, hello. No. No, I don’t. I feel as if I should, but I can’t place it. Where am I?”
She nodded as if this was to be expected, and he found himself sinking onto the couch nearest the fire. She made him tea, as if she knew how he liked it, handed him a worn but comfortable mug.
“My name is Hermione, I’m a healer. We were in school together. You’ve had rather a rough few days, I’m afraid. Can you tell me what your last complete memory is, before waking up here?”
He sipped the tea, taking comfort in that small familiarity. Warmth spread through his chest. Hermione spread a scone with spread that smelled suspiciously chocolatey. She gave him a conspiratorial grin as she handed him a plate before beginning on her own.
“Nutella, this is called. I can’t get enough of it. It’s one of my great weaknesses.”
He took a bite of warm scone, the hazelnut-chocolate spread exploding against his palate.
“I can understand why. Brilliant stuff.” He mumbled with his mouth full.
She gave him another smile that shook him to his bones. A quick glance found that her finger was devoid of rings.
“Draco. Memories?”
He swallowed and shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t seem to be able to think of anything. Nothing, before just now.”
Hermione sat back and crossed her legs. Grey wool trousers, rather smart, met brown boots. The jumper was a rust color that went well with her eyes and hair. She had altogether an air of competency and compassion to her.
“Not ideal, but not unexpected. Finish your chocolate, that’s a good lad.”
He raised an eyebrow. Chocolate. “Was I attacked by dementors?” He motioned at the chocolate. “Is that why you’re feeding me chocolate slathered scones?”
She gave him a soft smile. “There were some in the area, but mostly I find that tea and a good Nutella covered scone help settle me when I’m a bit out of sorts.”
He put the cup down. It wasn’t extraordinary, or cheap. It was solid middle of the road stuff. Handmade, certainly, but not expensive. The room was the same. Well designed, in good repair, but not dripping with family heirlooms or rich fabrics. It was…intuitional.
“Hermione, where am I? Is this some sort of hospital?”
She nodded. “It is, yes. We deal with traumatic brain injuries, memory loss, and complex spells to do with the mind. I’m to be your healer.”
Cold dread sank into him.
“Why am I here?”
She gave him a sad smile. “You and your partner are Aurors. You were playing a pick-up game of quidditch with some of the lads after a particularly trying case, and you were attacked. You play seeker, and you fell quite a long way. Only through the quick thinking of your partner’s wife did they manage to slow your descent enough that you didn’t die in the incident. You did however take a bludger to the head on your way down, in addition to hexes and spells. So you’ve a rather complex case.”
He swallowed. “I’m an Auror?”
Hermione confirmed. “Yes, and a brilliant one. Your partner is a man named Harry Potter. Do you remember him at all? Tall, thin, hair sticks up all over the place?”
Draco closed his eyes in an attempt to aid memory. “Does he have ridiculously green eyes?”
“He does indeed.”
“I can see a pair of very green eyes looking at me from inside a pair of specs, if I close my eyes. They seem worried.”
“Brilliant! That’s encouraging indeed. Good, Draco. Excellent. Yes, Harry and his wife and her brothers got you to me soon as they could.”
“So, I was attacked, and hit my head, what, twice?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“You didn’t happen to bring something for the damned headache, did you?”
She looked rather apologetic. “I’m sorry, but until we’ve determined what kind of damage your brain has taken we can’t risk potions. I may be able to help you though. Might I have your hand?”
He blinked. “My hand?”
She turned red. “I’m not proposing or anything. Just…please?”
He held one hand out. She took it in both of hers, her hands so much smaller than his own. Very gently, Hermione began to rub between his thumb and forefinger.
“Breathe nice and slowly for me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Nice and easy.”
Draco closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. The fire was warm, and near to lulling him to sleep. It crackled and popped merrily behind them. Strong fingers manipulated his hand, rubbing firmly now in that same spot, over and over. After a little while, he was amazed to find that the headache had, in fact, gone away.
“How did you do that?”
She rubbed two more slow circles on his hand before releasing it. “It’s a reaction in the body, a pressure point. It’s a natural response to that stimulation. We use it often in patients like you who are too much of a risk to use potions or magic.”
“What is it you’re afraid of?”
She sighed, ran a hand through the brown curls.
“We’re afraid that you may not recover your memories. Or that there may be…gaps. It’s very early days yet, and the fact that Harry’s eyes came to you is an excellent sign. But physical trauma combined with magical trauma can do odd things.”
“But I wasn’t attacked by a dementor, directly?”
Hermione took a long, slow breath. “No, not directly.”
“I don’t understand.”
Honey shot dark eyes met his. Good. He liked it when healers just told you what the issue was. Not when they beat around the bush.
“Someone channeled dementor magic. Through a device used as a conduit. You were hit full on by dementor magic, like a Kiss.”
Draco’s blood ran cold.
“How am I even alive?”
“Fast thinking by the Aurors present. If half of your friends weren’t insanely talented Aurors, you’d have died at the scene. As it was, you were very, very lucky.”
He sat back, letting the couch suck him into its depths.
There was a knock at the door. Hermione excused herself. A tall, lithe ginger with a dragon’s tooth in one ear, scars, and loads of freckles murmured to her, looked over to him, and nodded. He brushed one hand over Hermione’s cheek before he took his leave. One of the Auror friends, no doubt.
“More good news!” His healer returned.
He looked up at her.
“They’ve caught the man who’s done this to you. We’ll be able to get direct information on the magic used. That’ll be tremendously helpful diagnosing this and formulating a plan.”
Draco felt a but coming along.
“But?”
She came to his side, sat on the edge of the couch. “But the physical trauma to your brain remains, and unfortunately there’s no magic I know of that can reverse whatever damage that may be. It’s going to be a long, slow recovery.”
Draco swallowed.
She put a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll be here with you, every step along the way. I promise you that.”
Panic set in. Despair. Nausea.
“Draco.”
He held onto her hands. His own shook helplessly.
“Draco, I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to bring you back to your life.”