The Healer II- The Patient (Draco Malfoy Fanfiction)

Chapter 12- Out of Uniform

I lowered my voice, but fury still burned within my chest like hot coals. "I made that painting so Gregory wouldn't fail his art class," I hissed.

"He was going to fail that class anyway," Draco replied coolly. He looked at the ground and added, "...Astoria does not know you're the artist. Please do not mention it."

I began to simmer down. I bit my lower lip, not sure what to think. I noticed Scorpius had fallen asleep on my shoulder. Slowly, I set him down in his cradle.

"Draco," I sighed, placing my hands on my hips, "I...I don't know what to make of all this. We broke up seven years ago, and yet you held onto the Ring of Ataraxy, and my painting. It just doesn't make sense to keep these mementos around when we don't love each other anymore." I bit my lower lip.

"I...," I continued, "I don't keep anything around that reminds me of you. Or Hogwarts, for that matter. It's- it's a reminder of things I wish to forget."

There was a prolonged beat of silence, and I wondered if perhaps what I was saying meant nothing to him at all, and I was foolishly reading into things.

Then, Draco stepped towards me, hands in the pockets of his fine black trousers. My heartbeat quickened against my will- usually I kept my distance from him, and now there his face was, looking down at me, leaving me without chance of escape.

"You were my lover, yes, but you were also a friend," he said, honest and deep, "One of the few I had during one of the darkest times of my life. Therefore, these items still hold significance. To me, at least."

I flattened my lips, feeling a conglomeration of feelings that I couldn't quite explain.

"How is Gregory?" I muttered, wanting to get onto another topic.

Draco let loose of a heavy sigh, and the already dark room suddenly felt much darker.

"He died during the Battle of Hogwarts, in the Room of Requirement."

"Oh," I could feel ice spread through my veins. "I'm sorry."

Whenever The Battle of Hogwarts was brought up, a feeling of intense guilt returned to me. The knowledge that I was able to escape Hogwarts before the Battle had weighed on me heavily all these years. Countless lives were lost- people I had personally known; people I had healed in the hospital wing. When I lie in bed at night I think about how if I had stayed, perhaps I would have perished in place of someone else. Sometimes I catch myself wishing that I had.

"It was a time of great loss," Draco said. "We all lost something. Yourself included."

I didn't know what to say. I had known quite a few Hogwarts students, but surely, whatever losses I endured paled in comparison to Draco's.

"I'm sorry about your uncle, Malachi," Draco added solemnly.

My eyes widened, and my lungs let in an involuntary gasp. "O-oh." My uncle; Malachi Sloan, was a Death Eater that protected me and my Squib father. I always hoped he would come to America after the war was over. But my parents and I never heard from him. We waited and waited, but there was very little information coming into America during the Wizarding War, especially regarding fatalities on the Death Eater side. We had resigned ourselves to the reality that Malachi likely perished in the war, but a part of us always hoped that he would turn up.

I supposed now I had my answer. Deep down I had already known that my uncle was dead, but it nevertheless stung to have it confirmed.

Draco studied my unsettled expression. "Did you not know?"

"I-I had a feeling," I replied, realizing that my voice was shaking. "No one ever told us for certain, so..."

A water droplet fell onto the sleeve of my coat, and I recoiled in embarrassment, turning to face the wall. "I'm sorry," I trembled, "I-I need a moment."

It was incredibly humiliating to fall to pieces while Draco watched. It felt a lot like being 16 years old again. But this time, I wasn't expecting him to hold me, or give me comforting words. I was an adult, and had to ride the waves of emotion on my own. So I pressed my hands against the wall of the nursery, controlling my cries and swallowing every sob, just trying to wait out the grief as it came and went and I was able to walk again.

I felt a warm hand on my back. Draco was at my side, saying nothing. My initial instinct was to shove him off, but I craved the reassurance. He, of all people, understood the guilt. So I let him rest a hand on my back while I clung to calming breaths.

I realized then that I had been so focused on my own resentment of the past that I never considered what Draco thought about the time we spent together. Even though Draco didn't think of me as a lover anymore, he was clearly still fond of the time we spent together. And I suppose underneath my spite, I was still fond of him too- otherwise I would not feel so calmed by his touch.

After a few minutes I finally straightened myself, glancing sheepishly at the tall man beside me. He returned his hand stiffly to his side.

Did Draco just... comfort me? I don't think I have ever seen him do that to anyone. Not even to Astoria.

"...Thank you," I muttered. "....You were a friend to me as well, Draco."

He gave me a curt nod, watching me with wary eyes.

I quickly gathered my things and took the portkey back to New York. But even long after I arrived in the cold winter night, I couldn't shake the warm feeling of Draco's hand on my back.