The Brightest Black - A Dramione Fanfic

Hermione's Cure

Draco quickly turned and pressed himself to the wall, narrowly missing a mediwitch racing by, her arms heavily laden with potions.

Trying to maneuver through a crowded hospital while invisible was much harder than he thought it would be.

How in Merlin's name did Potter use this in Hogwarts?

It didn't help that he'd had to ride the lift up to the proper floor. And it took about ten minutes before someone selected the floor he wanted. Why did so many people want to go to the tea room?

Once again he wished he could just hand the potion to Potter to administer.

But, no, stupid, bloody family tome.

Why had Snape even shared it with him? There were only two possibilities, and neither of them filled him with comfort. Either the Dark Lord had a sinister plan for getting Potter's sister cured, or Snape was not quite as loyal as the Dark Lord believed.

He carefully moved around a corner and scanned the small waiting room with the mediwitch station.

Ah, there.

Behind the desk was a map of the floor, with names written on each room. H. Black was in room 412.

He moved down the hallway, upon reaching Black's room he found the door slightly ajar.

He leaned forward and pressed his ear to the crack. He could hear nothing, so he assumed it was empty.

He looked around to make sure no one was nearby before slowly pressing on the door. When the gap was big enough he slipped in, pulling the cloak tight around himself.

All he needed now was for it to catch on the door latch.

The room was empty except for a curtained off area, where he assumed Black was.

He slowly closed the door, making sure to leave it the way he found it.

Silently he crossed the room and peaked through the curtains.

He had to be in the wrong room. There was no way that this skeletal figure was Hermione Black.

He glanced at a clipboard hanging on the end of the bed.

It was her.

Her hair had been cropped short, close to her head. And her face was sickeningly pale. It kept contorting into a pained frown before relaxing. Her hands were tied to the bedrails and as he watched they curled into claws and shook the bed as they reached for her bandage clad abdomen. After a few seconds she relaxed again.

Draco felt sick.

Potter hadn't been lying when he said she was weakening. If the potion had taken any longer to brew it would have been too late.

His hands were shaking as he approached the bed.

Her tossing and turning had pushed the thin hospital blankets to the floor. She was clad in a pair of hospital pants and a too big button up nightshirt that had been cropped at the bottom of her ribcage. Bandages soaked in some sort of sickly orange potion were wrapped around her waist.

Only her small, pale face was visible. They'd put gloves on her tense, claw-like hands

Her extremely prudish modesty was preserved.

He looked around the room and saw a chart with times and names listed. It looked like he had a good thirty minutes before they came to check on her.

He took a deep breath and slipped the cloak off before opening his small satchel bag and pulling out his supplies.

The potion had to be directly applied to where the curse had hit, and then it took ten minutes to set.