𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 [𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

Mature content ahead, please read with caution.

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St. Mungo's

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DRACO had braced himself for the worst when Healer Silverspoon came striding in, swiftly, one afternoon.

The muscles within the flesh of his stomach crammed in together as he observed the man. His features remained calm and cool, but with the way he was approaching, Draco wasn't so sure that was the case.

"How are you, Mister Malfoy?" he asked, collecting his hands behind his back, out of sight. 

Draco's silver eyes flitted up and down, alert for hidden movements. Staring at him with uncertainty. He answered then, "fine."

The healer gave a firm nod and withdrew his wand from his sleeve, grasping it with the barest of pressure, from what he could see. Aiming it toward the vacant space in front of the bed, muttering a cantation before a spindly chair appeared in its place.

Draco eyed it for a moment, warily. Finding the healer already fixing his gaze on the blonde, glancing down at the seat, briefly, before returning to him.

"I see you are confused."

Draco blinked, scoffing at the other man, "Well, well spotted. Would you like a trophy for your observational skills."

The healer looked taken aback for a moment, then his lip curved into a slight smirk. "I need you to take a seat, Mister Malfoy. I'm sure it's more than just your incredible wit that has returned."

Draco thought about what he was implying for several minutes, setting the book he was reading on the bedside locker before swinging his legs over the edge of his mattress and leaning on his limbs, carrying himself over to the spindly wood.

He was contemplating it; he didn't even understand why. It was only a chair after all. He shouldn't be feeling the powerful thud of his heart like this, and he sacked it away to somewhere in the rear of his mind.

After doing so, he sank into the chair, sprawling his large hands along his clothed thighs, parted, slightly.

He arched his neck to level gazes with the healer above him, who had stepped a step backward. His expression was measuring.

"You can relax, Mister Malfoy." he said, serenely. "You look as if I'm about to beat you or something."

Draco hadn't realized how rigid his frame had become, and he forced himself to let a long breath go. 

He let his eyes shut, leaving them like that even as Healer Silverspoon began to speak again. "You needn't be so worried." It was quiet for the briefest of moments, as though Healer Silverspoon were reevaluating his decisions. "Healer Granger, can you bring a Calming Draught please?"

Draco snapped his eyes apart as Hermione entered the room, the vial she had been asked to retrieve closed in her palm. 

She crouched to level him, her brown eyes glinting with what seemed like sympathy. She was so beautiful, even if she appeared as though she were about to cry — No, what was wrong with him? This was Granger. He shouldn't be thinking this way. That's what he'd been telling himself for years.

He felt a surge of anger through his veins as he stole the potion from her fingers. Her arm retreated as she straightened her spine and stepped away.

Draco despised the way the healers watched him, like he was some sort of exhibit. His brows knitted as he averted away, the pads of his fingers whitening from clutching the vial, so tightly.