𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 [𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

_____

St. Mungo's

_____

DRACO returned from his daily, afternoon walk to find Healer Silverspoon in his room.

He held a chart between his fingers, brown, mossy hair collected into an updo above the nape of his neck. His eyes concentrated, until Draco stepped through the frame.

Giving him an acknowledging bow of his head, he clocked his sights into the blue. "Afternoon, Healer Silverspoon."

"Hello," he replied, "I was hoping we could chat."

"Sure."

The healer withdrew his wooden wand from the pocket of his robes and conjured a table and two chairs. Rounding toward the back, seating himself before gesturing the other to Draco.

Draco relucted, staring down at the set, contemplatingly. Every other time they'd spoken, it was never over a table and chairs. The motion seemed so official. It set the blonde on edge, worrying him, deeply.

The muscles in his throat convulsed around a swallow as he found himself reaching for the backrest of the chair before squared his body with it, and sinking himself into the hard plastic of it. 

"First of all," Healer Silverspoon started, waving his hands about as he spoke to Draco, his brows knitted together as his forehead lined with sympathy. "I wanted to apologise on behalf of my wife — well, soon-to-be ex-wife. What she did was despicable and I cannot believe she would do such a thing."

Draco's shoulders went rigid, the oxygen snatching from his lungs as Astoria returned to mind. Images flashed of how she tied him down to the chair, holding him hostage, and kissing him despite how he protested against it. The sight of the spilling fire as the candle set him free.

He never wanted to feel like that again. Contained, forced into committing an act without the desire to do so. Heat flared in his wrists as the mere thought of the ropes, the excruciating friction something he'd never rid of.

He knew Healer Silverspoon had nothing to do with the situation, and didn't hold him accountable for Astoria's sins. And from the way the healer shifted in his seat, he could tell he was uncomfortable with this conversation to begin with.

"I just don't understand why she would do such a thing." the healer continued, seemingly, lost in a bit of a ramble. The blonde didn't interject. "A woman I am — was married to. A woman who knew you well enough. Even if she didn't, how could someone to do that to someone else. I'm so grateful you escaped before it escalated."

The passage of Draco's throat parched within seconds as the possibilities of what could've happened eroded into the walls of his mind. A rush of nausea flooded through his veins, a shiver pathing down his spine.

His left hand pressed over his clothed navel, unfurling at a sluggish pace. An unsettling feeling washing over him.

"And I know I'm not responsible for what she's done. She's her own person who makes her own decisions, and her own mistakes. But I'm still really sorry." he finished, finally. His features contorted in sorrow.

Draco appreciated the gesture. Giving the healer a nod, to prove he had been listening to him, drifting into his thoughts as he sought what to say in response, stringing sentences together in his head.

"I don't blame you." he began, "and I do appreciate your apology." From the way the healer's expression lifted, he could tell there had been a terrible weight balancing there, to be relieved by his appreciation.

There entered a silence into the atmosphere. A comfortable sense of silence, he'd thought. He assumed that Healer Silverspoon would see himself out afterward, but it seemed he had something else to speak.

His lips parted as the sound of his voice filled the still air. "I have some important news for you." He started, earning a shiver to path up the height of the blonde's spine at the endless possibilities of what it could be. He resumed, "I have been looking over the reports Healer Granger has been sending me. As well as the extra notes from the other healers, the nurses, and Madam Evermoore. Your condition is almost remarkable. Which is why I'm letting you go."

Draco had to blink, rub his knuckles over his eyes and think it all through, to ensure he'd heard the other, correctly. He cleared his throat, "I'm sorry?"

Healer Silverspoon gave a chuckle, "I'm letting you go. You don't need to be kept here any longer. You're memory is near perfect, I expect you'll need to relive some things in order to understand, but quite sufficient. Your physical health, mental health, and even your sexual health are all in order."

Draco pretended he hadn't heard that last part, holding his note low and throaty as he said, "how'd you know how my mental health is doing?"

"I'm a professional." The other replied, "it's my job to recognize otherwise."

The blonde didn't ask or add anything else. He was cleared. He could leave and be with Hermione. But she'd be working all the time, he wouldn't see her. And, especially, with her hoping to get this new job in Prague, he wouldn't want to distract her. Where would he live? Surely, not the manor. He didn't think he could ever return there now with his entire memory restored. And what would he do all day, not much more than what he did right now. And what if —

"Mister Malfoy, are you alight?"

"Water," he rasped out, without even thinking. He gestured the pads of his fingers to the hollow of his throat and tapped there, "I need some water. Could I get some water? Please."

Healer Silverspoon withdrew his wand from his pocket and flicked it through the air. A long chain of a wispy blue protruding from the tip of the wood. Draco didn't even notice the cup in his hand until the healer stashed his wand away once more.

Draco took one — two long gulps of the beverage before setting the cup on the flat surface of the table in front of him.

"Are you alright?" The healer asked again.

The blonde was overthinking things. He realized he did that an awful lot. He nodded, "I'm just shocked. I hadn't pieced together I'd be leaving so soon. But I understand there's no reason to keep me. Where will I go? Because if you've truly read my notes, you'd know that I refuse to return to the manor. Too many horrid memories there."

"I know. And I realized that." Healer Silverspoon talked to him, telling him that, "so Blaise Zabini is collecting you and has offered to let you leave with him and his fiancé for as long as you choose to. He'll be here within an hour, or so."

"I'm leaving today?"

"Yes." The healer spoke, "Draco Malfoy, you are, finally, free."

_____

Draco hadn't much to pack away, only the things Blaise had brought to him once.

He scored an, entirely, black attire. He draped his cloak over his shoulders, fasting the clasp as he laced up his shoes. Waiting for Blaise. 

He still couldn't fathom that he was leaving. He knew it was coming; he could tell himself that his condition was improving. But it didn't make the reveal any easier.

"Mate, why are you just standing in front of the bed like that?" a cool, familiar voice asked him.

Draco peered over his shoulder at Blaise entering through the frame, an amused smirk bewitching his lips. Followed by a series of snorty chuckles.

"Just thinking. Got distracted, that's all." mumbled Draco, merely. Zipping his bag closed as he draped it over his shoulders.

Blaise's expression hardened, sensing the atmosphere in the room, "about what?"

"Things." he hadn't meant to sound that icy.

Blaise blinked, "how descriptive." The man made a gesture for the door, "tell me properly on the way."

Draco cracked a smile and exited behind him. Taking once final glimpse around the room as the realization set in that he wouldn't ever lose to a coma again.

_____