The Healer II- The Patient (Draco Malfoy Fanfiction)

Chapter 23- The Proposal

Dear Dr. Erica Thorncroft,

I want to start this letter by saying that I could never forget the time you chewed me out for not letting you into the hospital wing the day Ron was poisoned. I certainly learned never to stand in the way of a healer that day.

It's no secret you've been making big strides in the realm of Dark Magic healing. Your discoveries of hedera alba's healing properties and the werewolf mood stabilizer potion have been revolutionary. Dark Magic rehabilitation is an important field, and I cannot think of anyone better suited for it than you.

In regards to your current patient, I do have to say I'm shocked. I do not think any of us could have predicted that the Dark Mark was going to eventually have those long-term effects. I believe that since Voldemort has perished from existence, whatever residual magic that kept the Mark alive is now turning against their hosts. After asking around I found out the ex-Death Eaters in Azkaban are experiencing the same symptoms. Nothing is being done about it.

I would be a liar if I told you I hadn't thought about Draco's sentencing since it happened. Draco and I didn't get along, perhaps due to an unchangeable lack of a common point of view- but that doesn't mean he ever lost my respect. I don't know if you are aware of this but I offered to testify in his favor 11 years ago. He refused my help then, and I have always assumed he would never accept help from anyone. But your letter makes me hope that may have changed.

I agree with you that something has to be done. But it's unfortunately not up to me to end Draco's exile. I'll speak to the Ministry, and see if the Wizengamot will consider reopening his case.

In the meantime, I would like to visit him. If he's willing to see me.

Regards,

Harry Potter

He won't be mad. He won't be mad. He won't be mad. I told myself that over again and again, but it had been nearly a week since I arrived at the Chateau, and I still hadn't summoned the courage to tell Draco that Harry Potter wanted to visit. I knew it was irrational to think Draco would overreact like Len. But it's not like years of walking on eggshells can be forgotten overnight.

These days at the Chateau had a sort of ease to them that I didn't want to end. I saw Draco's crabby reclusive exterior crack every time the children asked him to play. "No's" turned into "later's" until finally one day the children got him out in the grass and ran circles around him in a pretend game of Quidditch. Afterwards, I heard Draco promise to buy each of them their own brooms.

As he said he would, Draco got me paints and an easel. I decided to try them out by the pond today, while wearing a shin-length sundress I transmuted out of old drapes. My bare feet enjoyed the feeling of twisted roots in the wet mud and the breeze flowing between my ankles. Even with the squeals of the children playing in the yard beyond, it was peaceful.

I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind me. They were heavier, and did not sound like they belonged to the children. I turned, and spotted Draco coming towards me, his left arm in its usual sling. I had to do a double take at the clothes he was wearing.

I guffawed. "Are those jeans?"

Pink colored Draco's pale cheeks. "My pants kept accumulating muddy handprints from the children. I needed something more practical."

I used my paint palette to hide the cheeky smile spreading across my face. I don't think I had ever seen him wearing jeans beyond the age of 13. He looked nice in them. Very nice.

"I like them," I said. "In fact, they almost make you look American."

Draco's lip curled. "I'm going inside and taking them off."