Chapter Text
Draco drew in a slow breath and adjusted his yellow Healer apprentice robes for the fifth time since he approached the Artifact Accidents ward doors. He shouldn’t be nervous, not really. He’d earned highest marks in every class he attended since being accepted into the Healer training program. This was his first day of clinical training; students will do a one month rotation in each department at St. Mungo’s. Draco didn’t see why this was necessary; he’d chosen his area of practice, treatment of magical maladies, before he was even accepted. He didn’t want to waste valuable time in departments he would never work in. His sole focus was becoming the Master Healer of the Magical Bugs department on the second floor of the hospital. He planned to apply his love of potions to his work, researching and improving current treatments that were lacking, possible even finding cures to the more deadly illnesses. He wouldn’t do it for fame or glory, but rather to make up for the harm he had caused during his time at Hogwarts and the War by saving as many lives as he was able. On a smaller scale, he also hoped that by dedicating his life to serving others, he would earn the wizarding community’s respect. He had enjoyed a certain respect and deference growing up as a member of the Malfoy bloodline. As he aged, however, he realized that this respect was driven by fear; his family was very powerful, which meant that, if they chose, they could bring other less powerful families to ruin. Draco began to notice small signs of this fear at social functions: even the tallest of wizards seemed to shrink while standing next to his father, the witches discretely fiddling with the lace on their sleeves or the clasp of their clutch, eyes surreptitiously searching for an escape. His father would walk away after a conversation ended and Draco saw their shoulders relax and their postures become less rigid. This kind of respect, he decided, was not what he wanted. Draco desired respect that came from his good deeds and betterment of the wizarding community.
This is ridiculous, Draco told himself, you have done more difficult things than this. He internally grimaced as he remembered what those things were: surviving in a constant state of terror while the Dark Lord was at the manor, denying that he knew who the battered, bloodied person in their parlor was, even though he knew it was Potter...entering Healer training even as the other students shrank away from him as he passed, whispered, and even insulted him to his face.
Enough, Draco told himself firmly, walk through the damn door.
Draco squared his shoulders, firmly grasped the handle, and pulled the door open. He strode, back straight as if he hadn’t stalled outside the door for over five minutes, into the ward. The Artifacts Accidents ward was set up like a typical hospital ward: rows of beds separated by curtains bordered the room with a nurses’ station in the middle. Three hallways branched off of the main room, with rooms that housed patients who needed close and prolonged care. It was 7:00 am and there were three patients. As Draco took in their various conditions, his supervising Healer, Penelope Beadle, walked briskly into his periphery, lime green Healer robes billowing behind her.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Healer Beadle said in a kind yet business-like tone, “Welcome to your first day. I trust you are well?”
“Yes, thank you,” Draco inclined his head, “and yourself?”
Healer Beadle returned his nod, “Quite well, thank you. We have three patients, as you can see, all in various states of injury. You are the first to arrive, thus you may choose which patient you would like to treat.”
Draco nodded and surveyed the room. One young man, hardly older than himself, had burns from his hands to his elbows and was missing his eyebrows. Cauldron explosion, Draco figured. The boy’s burns were not severe, a simple salve application would do; Draco moved on. He spotted a woman in a Quidditch uniform. She sat with her eyes closed, face scrunched into an expression of pain, holding a bloody towel to her head.
“I’ll take the woman with the cranial injury.”
“Very well,” Healer Beadle followed as Draco walked to the woman’s cubicle.
Draco retrieved the woman’s chart from where it hang at the end of her bed. “Hello,” Draco glanced at her name, “Mary, I am Apprentice Malfoy, and this is my supervisor, Healer Beadle. Would you tell me what’s happened?”
“Bludger clipped me in the head,” Mary spoke in a strained, soft voice, as though talking hurt.
Draco made a sympathetic sound, “May I take a look?”
“Yes,” She whispered.
Draco pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves before gingerly taking the towel from her. He looked at the injury. Mary had quite the head of hair, he wasn’t going to be able to assess the damage until the site was cleaned.
He stripped off his gloves and reached into the bedside cupboard, pulling out a bottle of saline, gauze, and a pan to catch the run off.
“Alright now, Mary. I need to flush out the wound. This is going to be cold, but it shouldn’t burn.” He replaced his gloves and draped a towel over her shoulder. For the next several minutes, Draco gently flushed the wound, Healer Beadle standing by.
“Good news, Mary. There is a cut in your scalp a couple inches long that can easily be healed. Head wounds tend to bleed quite a bit.”
“Now that we know where the bleeding is coming from, what is your next step?” Healer Beadle asked.
“Though the cut is easily healed, there may be further internal damage. I will order further examination to rule out concussion and intracranial bleeding.”
Healer Beadle nodded, “I will leave you to it, then.” She swept away, heading toward another apprentice.
Draco pulled out a small white slate from a drawer and scribbled down his orders with the attached stylus. The order vanished off the slate, sent to the appropriate Healer.
“Right then, Mary, another Healer will be by to do your tests.” He handed her a pain potion, which she swallowed. Draco took out the medical wand he was issued at the beginning of his training. To avoid contaminating their personal wands, and transmission of disease between patients, Healers used wands that had layers of protective spells embedded into them. He lightly ran the tip over the cut, the skin stitching itself back together. Draco muttered a powerful cleaning charm over his wand. “That should do it. If you need anything, alert one of the nurses.”
Mary opened one eye and nodded slightly, “Thank you.”
Draco exited her cubicle and sighed. His first real patient, complete. He cast a Tempus: 7:30 am. Seven and a half hours until his shift was over. Pocketing his wand, Draco moved into the next patient’s cubicle.
___________________________________________________________________________
When 1:30 pm rolled around, Draco was losing steam. Reading about healing and actually doing it are two very different things. He had worked all morning in the main ward. At noon, he and his fellow apprentices accompanied Healer Beadle on her rounds. She quizzed them on various aspects of each patient’s condition and then heard any concerns from the family. Draco closely observed how the patients responded to Healer Beadle’s practiced bedside manner versus his fellow apprentices’. Where Healer Beadle only used medical jargon when necessary, the apprentices used so much Draco doubted the patient or family understood a word. He carefully modeled after Healer Beadle, his expression soft yet professional. He was rewarded with a small smile and nod when he finished speaking. When rounds were over, it was back to treating acute injuries. Draco couldn’t wait to collapse into bed the second he got home.
Draco was just finishing up transferring a patient who’d hexed himself when his wand had back-fired on him during a drunken duel to the fourth floor when a gurney carrying a young man bleeding profusely from his side came speeding through the doors. The ward wasn’t especially large, but in the flurry of activity that started as the young man was wheeled into one of the cubicles, Draco could just barely make out his features. He felt a jolt of adrenaline as he took in the olive skin, black hair and glasses, his mind immediately flying to a face he hadn’t thought of in a long time. The man disappeared behind the curtain and Draco mentally shook himself. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Potter in going on four years. He assumed Potter had gone the route everyone thought he would: joining the Aurors. Draco fell so deep into his own training and just generally trying to live in a world that hated him that he hadn’t thought on it since.
But it couldn’t be Potter.
“Mr. Malfoy!” Healer Beadle called, drawing him from his thoughts, “Your assistance, if you please!”
Draco snapped to action, jogging across the ward to where Healer Beadle was casting multiple vital sign charms over her patient.
“He’s lost quite a bit of blood, I need you to staunch the flow so he doesn’t lose any more,” Healer Beadle’s eyes scanned the read-outs of her charms as she shook her head and called for several vials of blood replenishing potion.
Draco retrieved some gloves and, aiming his wand at the wound, cast a Stasis charm. The flow of blood stopped immediately, earning a surprised look from Healer Beadle.
“That’s some very creative thinking, Mr. Malfoy,” She sounded impressed. She slipped past him to accept the potions from the nurse. She passed them along to Draco, who uncorked the first one. He turned to bring it to the young man’s mouth and froze. He was, in fact, staring at the face of Harry Potter. Potter’s head listed to one side and his lips were slightly parted. They were as chapped as they always were in school, though still managed to be soft and full. His eyes were closed, but Draco could still see their intense shade of emerald green in his mind’s eye. Potter’s face had changed slightly since graduation, his cheekbones more prominent and his jawline more square. Draco blinked, feeling a sharp pang in his chest, as his eyes traveled down Potter’s neck and shoulder, taking in the muscle shifting under the skin as Potter breathed.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Malfoy?” Healer Beadle broke into his thoughts a second time.
Draco flushed, realizing that he had been staring slack-jawed at Potter for the better part of a minute, “No, I’m sorry, Healer Beadle,” He paused, ”I haven’t seen him since graduating Hogwarts, it was a shock to see him in this state.”
Healer Beadle nodded once, “Can you continue?”
Draco squared his shoulders, “Yes.”
He resolutely turned back to Potter. Bracing himself, Draco reached out and turned Potter’s head toward him. Draco was wearing gloves but he could still feel the heat radiating from Potter’s skin. Potter made a sound; so he was conscious, at least somewhat.
Draco pressed the mouth of the vial to Potter’s mouth, “Drink this.”
Potter gave no indication he heard Draco other than opening his mouth a little wider for Draco to pour in the potion. Draco watched as Potter’s adam’s apple moved as he swallowed, then tore his eyes away to uncork the next vial. Potter drank the second vial, his head leaning further toward Draco. Draco disposed of the vials and his current pair of gloves before getting into the cupboard to begin cleaning the wound. He needed to work quickly; the Stasis charm was holding, but the potion would already be replenishing Potter’s blood volume. Setting the supplies on the metal table, Draco realized he couldn’t treat Potter’s wound if he was still wearing his shirt. There was a large hole where the wound was, but the whole thing needed to come off...and seeing as Potter was barely conscious at the moment, Draco would have to remove it for him.
Draco startled as another apprentice pulled back the curtain dividing the two cubicles, “I’m sorry to interrupt, Healer Beadle, if I could have a moment?”
Healer Beadle looked questioningly at Draco.
He nodded, reading her expression.
She passed him as she moved into the next cubicle and moved the curtain back into place.
Gritting his teeth, Draco used a pair of scissors to cut into the T-shirt Potter had on. It was burgundy and appeared to have dirt ground into the fabric in some places. That same dirt was smudged on Potter’s face, arms, and pants.
What on Earth were you up to, Potter?
Draco’s thoughts came up short as more of Potter’s chest was exposed. Aside from it being one of the more well-muscled chests he had seen, it was also littered with scars. From small marks to larger cuts, individual or in groups, the more Draco looked the more he saw. His chest panged again.
His emotions around Potter had always been complicated. Yes, he had tormented Potter and made his life at Hogwarts miserable to the best of his ability, to the point where he could say it was his favorite past-time. Seeing Potter’s bright eyes flash and his face contort into anger had sent a thrill through Draco. For a long time he’d told himself, and others, that he was cruel to Potter because he hated him for rejecting him on the train. As it turns out, this wasn’t the whole truth; yes, he was angry and insulted that Potter would choose Weasley and Granger over him. What he didn’t realize for a long time, though, is that under that was hurt. Draco grew up hearing about The Boy Who Lived, and when he finally saw Potter that first time, all he could think was that he hadn’t expected him to be so attractive. Draco had felt small inklings of attraction to other boys before but told himself he was just imagining it; seeing Potter made it real. He wanted to be close to Potter, get to know the boy behind the emerald eyes and messy black hair. Then Potter rejected him. Draco shoved his attraction to Potter into a box and locked it in a proverbial closet inside his head. Fine, he’d thought, if that’s how it’s to be. And thus began their rivalry. As it would turn out, however, some things just can’t stay locked up forever. The door to Draco’s closet began to deteriorate, splintering apart each time he had to watch Potter smile at another, when he playfully bumped his shoulder into Weasley’s as they walked past, ignoring him. Potter wrapping his arm around Granger’s shoulders and pulling her close for a hug, Draco wishing it was him. The box also began to wear; the lock rusted and crumbled, no longer serving its purpose. Draco felt the extent of the damage the first day of sixth year, when the full weight of his feelings toward Potter came crashing down on his shoulders. The box and closet no longer existed and there was nothing to hold back the intensity of five years’ worth of emotion.
Draco’s heart banged out a steady rhythm as he finished removing Potter’s shirt. As he cleaned, he assessed the wound. It was not pretty; though not deep, due to its size, there was a good chance Potter would need a skin graft. When the wound was clean and Draco had cast a spell to kill anything that may have found its way in, he packed the wound in gauze infused with a potion to speed cell growth. Potter was mostly silent and still throughout the process, making one small sound of pain when Draco applied the first layer of gauze. Draco quickly finished and gave Potter a pain potion, using a tissue to dab away a drop that had spilled on his chin. He took a step back, shaking just a bit.
Healer Beadle came into view, “Mr. Malfoy, I see you have him patched up. How will you proceed with Mr. Potter?”
Draco inhaled, willing his hands to stop shaking, “I’m going to admit him and begin the process of getting him a skin graft. His wound is not deep but the width is much too large for a normal healing spell.”
“Good,” Healer Beadle looked toward the doors as the second group of apprentices came onto the ward. She eyed Draco for a moment and said, “I’ll finish Mr. Potter’s admission and get things squared away. Your shift is almost over, why don’t you go home?”
Draco almost told her no, he was fine and didn’t need to leave early. Instead, suddenly feeling like his limbs were made of lead, he nodded and thanked her. He stopped himself from looking at Potter one more time and missed the emerald green eyes trained on him as he left.