Granger Will Never Be a Good Healer (Says Draco) [PG] for Shiv5468
Title: Granger Will Never Be a Good Healer (Says Draco)
Author: Vane
Rating: PG
Recipient:
shiv5468
Word Count: ~7500
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and her commercial partners.
Warning(s): Bigotry. Mentions of diseases and deaths, but nothing that you wouldn't expect from a fic set in a hospital.
Author Notes: First of all, I owe the mods huge thanks. Believe me, your patience, support and kindness will never be forgotten. Many thanks also to A. for her beta work. All remaining mistakes are my fault only. This story has gone through several mutations until reaching its final form. I'd originally planned to write a long fic told from Hermione's POV. The characters' jobs would be entirely different, and Snape would not only be present but would also play a large role in the plot. After much struggling, I had to admit that my initial plan just wouldn't work. So, I chose to write a much shorter, more to the point story. I sincerely hope that the result won't disappoint you,shiv5468. I know you'd like to see Draco and Hermione work together over Snape, but whenever I tried to write him into the story, things got out of control and headed dangerously towards Snape/Hermione territory. That's a great pairing, of course, but this is a Draco/Hermione fest. To regain control over my own rebellious plot and make sure it would qualify as actual Dramione, I had to leave Snape out of it and focus the spotlight on Draco.
Summary: Draco Malfoy enrols in a training programme for Healers to help his parents rebuild the family's reputation. His routine as a Trainee Healer includes bearing dozens of whiners, tiresome tasks and Hermione Granger.
Draco was sure he was an excellent son. Only the best of all sons would subject himself to the kind of sacrifice that his parents demanded from him in order to rebuild the Malfoy family's reputation.
The reputation rebuilding process began right after the Battle of Hogwarts. The Malfoys made sure to give plenty of interviews about the role that Draco's mother had played in saving Harry Potter's life. Draco returned to Hogwarts, not only to finish his studies but also to help fix all the damage suffered by the school during the battle. When interviewed, Draco's parents would often emphasise what a dedicated student their son was.
Those initial efforts generated limited results. In a radically pro-Potter world, there didn't seem to be much room left for former Death Eaters and their associates. Therefore, Draco's parents thought it best to move to another country as soon as Draco finished school. They trusted time to gradually obliviate the witches and wizards who thought low of them while they were away.
Draco had happy memories from the two years living in New Zealand. As his family was unknown there, he didn't have to worry about gossip, reproaching looks and parties to which he and his parents wouldn't be invited anymore. Whenever Pansy visited him, they could walk together on the streets without fearing accusing fingers pointed at their direction and whispers on how they were a perfect couple of enemies of the society.
Unfortunately for Draco, one day his parents decided that the time had come for the family to move back to England.
They also decided to use Draco again as a reputation rebuilding tool. Much to Draco's chagrin, his parents announced during their last dinner in New Zealand that he was to enrol in St Mungo's' Healer Training Programme the following month. By forcing Draco into a career that would allow him to save lives, his parents hoped to finally save the family's status. It was also their hope that with the type of knowledge Draco would acquire in the course, he would eventually find concrete evidence of the superiority of pure-bloods over other wizards. The fact that Draco himself had no interest whatsoever in Healing was just a minor detail, of course.
*
The first year in the Healer Training Programme was like a continuous bad dream for Draco—and not only because his eyelids felt heavy most of the time.
He was being trained to save lives, but who was going to save him from the endless classes and the inhumane amounts of homework imposed on him? He felt as though his teachers had an evil plan: watch him as he slowly died out of exhaustion, boredom and despair.
Draco no longer possessed anything that could resemble that much treasured thing that used to go by the name of "life." He inhaled classes, exhaled exams, ate books and drank lectures. He barely had the time to remember who he was or why he was subjecting himself to all that. He didn't even have the time to blame his parents for anything; when he got back home at night, his legs automatically led him to his bedroom, where he would agonise over his homework for hours before he could finally allow himself to faint on his bed.
He vaguely remembered being shaken and shouted at by Pansy when they met at weekends. She appeared to be trying to wake him up from the continuous bad dream. Draco never managed to have much of a reaction though. That must have been why one day Pansy yelled loud enough that he could feel almost awake—at least, awake enough to understand that she was living him. But once again, Draco didn't manage to have much of a reaction as she slammed the door on his face.
*
Draco entered the classroom to attend the first class for second-year Trainees and looked around. Was it him, or that place seemed to be much less crowded than it used to be before the holidays? Had the teachers succeeded in their evil plan of killing as many aspiring Healers as possible?
He shrugged. He was too nervous to care for anything else. The holidays, despite having been much shorter than he would have liked, had lasted enough for him to wake up and resume his status as a human being. And, as a human being, he was capable of emotions—such as hate and fear. Consequently, he had had the chance to realise how intensely he hated his training, and how strongly he feared the beginning of the new term.
Quitting was not an option. During the holidays, Draco could read what the press had been writing about his family; his parents showed him several articles, notes and interviews, and most of them sounded more sympathetic than he expected. He could argue that it was all due to their two years abroad, but he knew that would be a lost battle. Several of those articles did emphasise his career choice—the authors didn't seem to know that hadn't really been Draco's choice—as a way to convey a positive message to readers: "former Death Eaters can regret their wrongdoings and become nice people after all." His parents' idea had proved clever and effective; Draco would not ruin everything now. Besides, his ego whispered to him promises of respect, admiration and appraisal to be earned if he kept on pretending that becoming a Healer was his greatest aim in life. And Draco trusted his ego to know where and how to get satisfaction.
So, Draco gathered all his courage and returned to St Mungo's for a new round of torments. He just didn't know how intense said torments would be. All he knew was that from the second year onwards, theory-only classes would be largely replaced by practical lessons. In other words, the books and lectures would be largely replaced by actual patients with actual problems that would demand solutions more drastic than simply putting an "x" near the correct answer to a question.
As the teacher started explaining the basic procedures the Trainees would have to follow upon arriving to the hospital's Ground Floor, Draco said to himself that the second year would likely be a bit better than the first one.
Surely practical classes are less horrible, he thought. They've got to be less boring at the very least.
*
Draco had been right to think that practical classes would be less boring than the theoretical ones. In fact, for the most part they weren't tedious at all.
However, he had been pathetically wrong to think that his second year in the Training Programme would be better than the first. The continuous bad dream had only given place to a long-lasting Lucid Nightmare Curse.
It was all the patients' fault, of course. If it wasn't for them, Healing would not be such a bad job and St Mungo's would be a much more pleasant place. Sadly, St Mungo's was a hospital, and like all hospitals it had a terrible tendency to attract lots of patients—all ready to add to the misery of Draco's life.
It seemed to Draco that suffering accidents and falling ill was every wizard's favourite pass time. He couldn't believe the amount of people who ended up at St Mungo's because they either didn't care for their own health or ignored the most elementary safety procedures when dealing with potions, magical creatures and plants. Draco would think that all those irresponsible people went through was well-deserved, wasn't it for the fact that their careless behaviour inevitably resulted in more work for him.
As much as Draco hated to admit it, sometimes he caught himself missing the previous term, when he hadn’t had any patients to treat. Patients were detestable. Patients were insufferable. They complained about treatments, questioned the dosages of potions they had to intake and whined about the food. They tried to argue with experienced Healers and showed little respect for Trainees.
On top of it all, patients had very bad habits, such as developing untreatable conditions and dying.
As a result of a dragon pox outbreak, four patients died during Draco's first week of practical lessons. He hadn't even touched any of them; he had just watched them being cared for by his teachers. Yet he couldn't help but fear possible headlines about four deaths taking place at St Mungo's right after a former Death Eater put his feet on the hospital's corridors.
Every time he asked any veteran Healer whether it was normal to lose four patients within such a short time frame or not, he got a positive answer, generally followed by reassuring claims like "don't worry, you get used to it after some time."
Those statements invariably reminded Draco of the deaths he had witnessed at Hogwarts. While trying to erase those memories of fire and green flashes from his mind, he would think:
I'm not quite sure I want to get used to it.
*
Like all Trainees, Draco was supposed to report all his activities at St Mungo's—even those performed in the presence of a professional Healer—to his mentor, Professor Helbert Spleen.
Being under Professor Spleen's mentorship was one of the rare things about the training that didn't make Draco feel miserable. His mentor was patient, supportive and fair. He always praised Draco on his efforts and progress. When Draco made any mistakes, Professor Spleen corrected him in a way that didn't make him embarrassed.
However, one day Draco casually said:
"I had to give half a bottle of Cough Potion to the Mudblood in room 42, and she—"
"Please, don't call her like that, Malfoy. You should call Mrs Cattermole by her name, like you would any other patient."
Draco felt as though Professor Spleen had taken thirty points from Slytherin—and justly so. He surely deserved that punishment for having let that word slip through his lips in the presence of a person other than his father or mother. In fact, his parents would get mad at him if they learnt about that incident. One word was all their detractors needed to destroy the public image they had been struggling to reform.
"I'm sorry, Professor Spleen," Draco hurried to say. "It won't happen again."
*
Draco kept his promise to his mentor: he never uttered the term "Mudblood" in his presence again. But he did think a lot of that word, especially now that Hermione Granger had become a second-year Trainee.
He had heard about her enrolment in the Healer Training Programme at the beginning of the previous term, but his problems—that is, the patients' problems which ended up becoming his—absorbed all his attention. On his mind, there was no room left for wondering how worse his days would turn if Potter's friend—or was she Potter's lover?—ever crossed paths with him again.
Draco couldn't draw much comfort from the fact that he was one full year ahead of her. It wasn't unusual for Trainees from different years to share practical classes and tend to patients together. Thus, he wouldn't always be able to avoid the Mudblood.
Up to that point, Draco had never really cared for his classmates. He knew several of them from Hogwarts, such as Bones, Finch-Fletchley, Patil and Corner. None of them was a Slytherin or a pure-blood, which meant that none of them was important—neither should be Granger. However, her closeness to Potter made her quite hard to ignore. That, and the fact that Draco had never been able to beat her marks at Hogwarts.
He did hope to beat her marks in the Training Programme.
*
Granger was as insufferable as Draco remembered. She remained her pretentious and arrogant self. She retained her annoying habit of being the first to volunteer to answer whatever the teachers asked. She was still able to quote word by word lengthy passages she had found in books. And she continued to trick teachers into thinking her to be better than the other students.
Draco was ever on the lookout for any mistakes that the Mudblood might make. He needed something he could use against her when reporting to Professor Spleen or talking to other Healers. In fact, from time to time he heard of minor mistakes that she had made. He hadn't been lucky enough to witness any of those, which was a shame; he certainly could have done with some laughter at her expense. Yet, what frustrated Draco the most was that minor mistakes weren't enough; they were expected from less experienced Trainees after all. He needed something more meaningful, something that could really put that woman to shame, but she wasn't giving him any of this. If only she would poison or hurt a patient!
Although the Mudblood hadn't caused any serious accidents yet, Draco rarely missed the chance to insert some criticism of her into his conversations with colleagues. Sadly, nobody seemed to care. Some just shrugged and pointed out that "everyone makes mistakes." Others argued that "she hasn't killed any patients, and that's what matters." A few even defended her and claimed that "this doesn't change the fact that she's very good at Healing."
Good at Healing? How could she be good at it? She was just a bloody second-year; she had got a long way to go before she could be considered mediocre, let alone good!
They were just six weeks into the new term, and the unbearable Mudblood had already become rather respected and even somewhat popular. Draco couldn't understand why. She had never been popular at Hogwarts—not among other students anyway. No one except for Potter, the Weasleys and Longbottom seemed to appreciate her company. Actually, it wasn't as if any Trainee at St Mungo's looked particularly close to her either. Still, Draco missed the old days, when he could make snarky remarks on the Mudblood and immediately get nods, laughs and expressions of agreement in return from schoolmates from all Houses, Gryffindor included. Now, apparently no one had a problem with tolerating her existence and praising her for being supposedly good at Healing.
On the other hand, her immense popularity among teachers had not come as a surprise to Draco. Still, he felt bitter about it. Why did they have to give so much attention to a mere Mudblood? Why hadn't they ever been just as enthusiastic about him? He represented the Malfoys and the Blacks. This fact alone put him way above Granger, and should have been enough to leave a much stronger impression on all Healers than anything that woman could ever do.
Even Professor Spleen, who had always been the only one to recognise Draco's qualities without fail, was now fascinated by the Mudblood and would always talk about her:
"Her resignation must have been a huge loss for the Ministry. Such a promising girl! But I'm happy that she's chosen to put her talent to the service of Healing," the smiling Professor commented while Draco handed him the mid-month report for October.
Could you please stop talking about the Mudblood and pay some attention to me and to my report? A nauseated Draco thought.
He had no idea whether Professor Spleen was a Legilimens or not, but an instant later his mentor unrolled the parchment and started reading it. This made him calm down for a while. His thirsty ego could hardly wait for some caressing in the form of appraisal; Professor Spleen had never denied it this joy.
"Very well done, Malfoy. Your reports never disappoint me."
"Thank you, Professor Spleen."
"This one even reminds me a bit of Miss Granger's latest report at some parts."
Draco rolled his eyes. His now hurt but ever thirsty ego reluctantly whispered to him:
Well, I suppose we should try and take it as a compliment.
*
From time to time, Draco accompanied his mother in the visits she paid to his aunt Andromeda and cousin Teddy. In theory, those visits were part of the Malfoys' reputation rebuilding plan. Nonetheless, the discreet contentment seen on his mother's countenance in those occasions made Draco suspect that she genuinely enjoyed the company of her sister. This was why Draco often caught himself censoring the "blood-traitor" accusations that crossed his mind whenever he set eyes on his aunt.
Out of respect for his mother, he had been trying to be more accepting of that part of the family. It shouldn't be too difficult after all. Despite her treacherous tendencies, Aunt Andromeda was a pure-blood. She was also very intelligent. Draco based this assumption on the questions she used to ask about the Training Programme and his duties as a Trainee Healer: hers were less obvious and more stimulating than anyone else's. Draco sometimes got close to admitting that he liked chatting with her.
His cousin Teddy was just like any other small child: noisy, nosy and generally annoying. However, Draco didn't hate him; he simply disliked Teddy because he disliked children in general. The boy's being the son of a half-blood and a werewolf would be an utterly disgusting fact if Draco spent too much time thinking about it, but he didn't. Teddy's parents were dead; in fact, the death of Teddy's mother had been the result of complicated family issues that Draco would rather not remember. Not when his own mother looked so glad that she and aunt Andromeda could act like sisters again.
One thing Draco knew for sure was that pretending was a most vital skill for any person who aspired to a better life. His mother pretended that there had never been any quarrels between her and aunt Andromeda. Aunt Andromeda pretended that she had never noticed her younger sister's pretending. Draco pretended that he liked Teddy. His mother and aunt pretended that he was not pretending. Together, the three adults spent peaceful afternoons drinking tea, eating cake and pretending that their family was perfect, while a child watched them and learnt how to become a pretender.
Those pretending practice sessions proved inspiring for Draco when the third month of term came to an end and it occurred to him that he should change his behaviour towards the Mudblood.
During the first months he avoided talking to her as much as he could, and would never go past the strictly necessary when he had to exchange any words with her. He would never conceal his ill will either, although he tried not to sound too harsh—he wouldn't want a teacher to criticise him for not being best friends with their much adored Mudblood. She, on her turn, used to keep a distant yet civil attitude towards him. There was a difference between the way she talked to him and the way she did other colleagues, but said difference was less marked than Draco would had expected from her. Apparently, it didn't bother her that sometimes they had to be in the same room and work together.
Draco thought that Granger might be pretending. Surely she detested him as much as he detested her. Nonetheless, she behaved almost as if there had never been any problems between them in the past. In other words, she behaved just like Draco and his mother did when they visited aunt Andromeda. And as much as Draco hated to admit it, the Mudblood was right: even if they were still Trainees, St Mungo's was already their workplace; they were supposed to act in a professional way while there, weren't they?
He still refused to admit that his behaviour towards her up to that point had been mostly unprofessional, but he could see the advantages of swallowing his contempt and trying to be nicer to her. First of all, he would be making sure that he wouldn't lose favour with Granger's fans, i. e., St Mungo's staff in general and teachers in particular. Secondly, and more importantly, he would be reinforcing the message his family had been trying to convey: that the Malfoys no longer objected to the ideals supported by Potter and his allies.
When he discussed his ponderings with his parents, he got mixed reactions. His father exchanged looks with his mother, who smiled and said:
"This is a sensible thing to do, Draco."
His father let out a sigh and said:
"Indeed. As long as you don't impregnate the Mudblood."
As Draco entered room 26 and met Hermione Granger the following day, he remembered his father's warning and rolled his eyes.
Saying to himself that mere words couldn't impregnate anyone, Draco smoothed his robe, coughed a bit, put a smile on his face and said:
"Good morning, Granger!"
He regretted his greeting as soon as he uttered it. He had sounded ridiculously enthusiastic.
Unsurprisingly, Granger's eyes widened and she asked:
"Are you all right?"
Draco had to bit his lips to resist the urge to say that a polite person would have answered his greeting before asking embarrassing questions.
*
Despite the clumsy first step, Draco's plan worked: he didn't have to become friends with the Mudblood, but now they were on good enough terms that he could already reap the benefits he had predicted.
Interestingly, his initiative to develop a more amenable relationship with Granger also resulted in something Draco hadn't foreseen, but that he loved: the freedom to criticise her openly, on her face, under the excuse that he was just offering her some professional advice like any good colleague should do. Soon nitpicking on the Mudblood's acts became one of his favourite hobbies while at St Mungo's, second only to complaining about patients on their back.
That hobby would be more entertaining if he managed to make Granger feel bad about herself, or if she bit him back. Much to Draco's frustration, she never gave any signs of being as upset by his words as he would like her to. Most of the time she just pursed her lips, frowned or turned her back to him. She was obviously unwilling to engage in arguments.
One day, Draco tried to tease her about this right after telling her that the Anaesthetising Spell she had cast on a patient had lasted three seconds beyond the necessary:
"Won't you try to defend yourself, Granger?"
"I would, if you had attacked me or hurt me. But you haven't, so I've got nothing to defend myself against."
Something in the smirk that accompanied her words made Draco feel as though she had unmasked him. Had she realised his true intentions? Could this be why she never reacted to his provocations the way he hoped?
I may have underestimated this Mudblood, Draco admitted to himself.
*
All Trainee Healers were generalists. It was only after completing their sixth year that they were given the chance to pick a specialty and continue their studies if they wished.
Draco didn't know what he could specialise in. All options from Artefact Accidents to Plant Poisoning and everything in between looked equally dreadful. On the other hand, remaining a generalist would be even worse, because as a General Healer he would have to do one million things he hated. By picking a specialty, he would only ever have to do ten thousand things he loathed. Therefore, becoming a specialist was a matter of self-preservation for Draco.
For this very reason, he could already tell what he would not be specialising in: Permanent Spell Damage. The Janus Thickey Ward was by far the most depressing of all. Nothing made Draco want so hard to quit the Training Programme as being told to spend a whole shift there.
It didn't take him long to notice that Granger didn't feel the same way about that ward. She seemed to enjoy working there. She never looked afraid of the unpredictable behaviour of some patients, nor did she ever look disturbed by the eternal stillness of some others. Draco would admit to envying her if that wasn't to ask too much of him.
It was during one of those unnerving days spent at the Janus Thickey Ward that Draco finally got something he could use against Granger. Actually, it was a quite minor thing, but with no other options left he had to cling to it.
Granger pointed her wand at Frank Longbottom and cast on him a spell to test his reactions to stimuli. That was a quite ordinary procedure, which Draco himself had executed several times before—to no avail in that patient's case. Although he was supposed to act as Granger's monitor while their teacher was away, he didn't pay much attention to the test she was performing. That was a good thing, because then he could pay attention to her face instead. This was how he spotted something that looked out-of-place on her otherwise composed countenance:
"Is it pity in your eyes, Granger?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she answered with indifference, without looking away from Mr Longbottom.
"You aren't fooling me, Granger. You feel very sorry for this patient, don't you?"
"What if I do?"
Draco explained in a purposefully didactic tone:
"It's wrong to feel sorry for our patients. Our teachers always say that good Healers should never get emotionally involved with their patients. We should do the best we can without letting our emotions get in the way. This is not only for our own protection, but also in our patients' best interest."
"I don't suppose it's possible to keep completely detached from what we see here."
She's reacting! Not quite as I'd like, but at least she's trying to defend herself this time. I've got to tease her a bit more.
"Don't delude yourself, Granger. This job is not for the weak, as you very well know."
"I'm glad that you've realised this on time, Malfoy. You've still got time to quit this course and choose a more suitable profession."
Draco felt his face burn at her words. He was about to call her what she was: a filthy little Mudblood. But Professor Spleen returned to the ward right when Draco opened his mouth, which led him to cancel the insult immediately. Granger must have noticed what had caused the sudden change in his behaviour, because she looked at the teacher and then smirked at Draco.
*
From that day on, paying attention to Granger's face while she tended to patients became an absolute must-do for Draco. He needed to make sure that he had indeed detected her soft spot. Also, it was essential to remind the Mudblood that she was doomed to fail as a Healer. If he repeated it often enough, maybe she would end up fulfilling his prophecy.
If only Granger was a bit more cooperative! Why did she have to ignore his alerts? He was one year above her; she should show more respect towards his opinions.
One the other hand, she had been involuntarily supporting his cause by refusing to wipe that feeling away from her eyes. For while that feeling remained there, Draco could still hope to find a way to use it against her.
In fact, he made an attempt to draw Professor Spleen's attention to his discovery three weeks later.
Draco swore that he was not gossipping. He'd got the best of intentions! He was just concerned about the patients' well-being. Moreover, he was sincerely worried about his colleague; wouldn't it be sad if she wasted her time preparing for an inadequate career? Of course, he would never had raised that issue if he didn't think it was serious enough. But he was sure that Professor Spleen would know what to do about it.
"I had noticed that about Miss Granger too," Professor Spleen said after listening to him.
"Really?" A hopeful Draco asked.
"Yes. But I wouldn't call that 'pity,' Malfoy."
"Is it even worse than I had thought then?" An even more hopeful, barely able to restrain his excitement Draco wanted to confirm.
"On the contrary: I think this is nothing to worry about."
"What?" Draco frowned.
"What you call 'pity,' I'd call 'sympathy,' or 'kindness.' Miss Granger clearly has got a heart, and this is excellent. We don't need heartless people here."
"But... but... I always thought that we shouldn't get emotionally involved with patients and—"
"I'm afraid we're talking about different things here, Malfoy."
And Professor Spleen gave Draco a long lecture on the differences between keeping the self-control necessary to a good Healer and being simply uncaring. His mentor also mentioned that he trusted Granger to be emotionally strong because she had survived all the hardship she had gone through during the years she supported Harry Potter in his fight against Voldemort.
I've been through a lot too, but I never get all this appraisal. That's unfair! Draco thought bitterly, while he fought to maintain a fake smile on his lips.
However, he did get some appraisal after all. Professor Spleen said that he was glad to have such an observant student, and emphasised that attention to details was a highly desirable trait in a Healer.
Draco's ego whispered that it was time to offer the teacher a more sincere smile. Draco complied effortlessly.
*
Professor Spleen's lecture hadn't been enough to make Draco change his mind. He still hoped to prove somehow that Granger was too emotional to be allowed to exercise Healing. He was sure that someday he would catch her breaking in tears or having a hysterical fit. All he had to do was to persist in watching the silly Mudblood. Of course, he also had to be careful not to let Professor Spleen—or any other teachers, in case Professor Spleen had told the others about that conversation—notice what he was doing. It was very important for Draco to conceal his suspicions about that woman from her fans.
Soon Draco found out that he had been failing to conceal his Granger-watching activities from his classmates. What made him realise this was a comment—followed by a chuckle—from Finch-Fletchley:
"You just can't take your eyes off Granger, can you?"
Draco limited himself to staring at Finch-Fletchley the way he would a worm and turning his back on him. Nonetheless, it was hard to forget those words and the implications behind them.
Of course, such a ridiculous comment could only have come from a stupid Mudblood. How could that bloke think even for a second that he, Draco Malfoy, the heir of two of the most noble wizard families, would take that kind of interest in such an unworthy woman? That was impossible. An utterly idiotic idea, really.
He might forgive Finch-Fletchley's idiocy if Granger was an attractive woman. Looking at attractive women was a perfectly understandable act after all, regardless of their blood status. But "Granger" and "attractive" were two words that would never belong in the same sentence. There was nothing special about her. Nothing at all. Her face was too common, with no distinctive traits that might make her stand out from any crowd. Her hair was hideous. Nowadays she kept it tied in a bun most of the time, but when she didn't it looked as though there was a bush perched on her head.
Draco admitted that no one could look good in the awful lime green robes that they had for uniforms, so he didn't hold it against Granger that she looked so ugly when wearing them. However, sometimes he would catch sight of her at the Floo Hall when they were arriving to St Mungo's or preparing to floo away. In such occasions, it became evident to him that the woman had no idea how to dress with elegance. Her robes looked like potato sacks.
It was obvious that no wizard in his senses would care for her. Even Weasley had eventually stopped seeing her, or so Draco had heard. And if even Weasley had been able to understand that Granger wasn't worth his time, why would Draco feel differently about her?
*
The holidays had come and gone, but Granger hadn't changed a bit. She still was the same unbearable colleague and teachers' favourite who Draco longed to get rid from. Therefore, he kept determined to monitor the emotional weakness that he could see in her eyes, waiting for a chance to exploit it.
Now that she was a third-year, he had even more chances to work with her. They shared practical lessons at least three days a week. This gave him plenty of opportunities to watch her behaviour, and to pester her under the excuse that he was just trying to help. Unfortunately, this also gave her plenty of opportunities to show him that she didn't let whatever he said affect her negatively—or to pretend so, as Draco hoped to be the case.
What Draco would never waste his time hoping was that the behaviour of their patients would improve. Patients would ever be his main problem, no matter how much time he spent focusing his attention on Granger. Why couldn't they all just seek another hospital and leave him alone?
One might argue that he needed patients as much as they needed him. Without them, he would never acquire the practical, deep knowledge that would allow him to get a diploma. But who said he wanted that bloody diploma anyway?
Patients were useless, that was the truth. They served no other purpose than tormenting those who tried to help them. And what did they offer in return for the assistance they got? Only complaints, whining and disobedience.
*
While tending to Blaise Zabini, who was said to have been hexed by his new stepfather during a quarrel, Draco realised two things. The first was that Mrs Zabini now probably had one more reason to make her fortune grow again very soon. The other was that pure-blood patients were as insufferable as everyone else.
Why won't this bastard just shut up? He thought as he applied Skin Regenerating Concoction on Blaise's wound-covered arms.
Did the concoction make the skin burn intensely? Yes, it did. Did the painful sensation last five minutes? Yes, it did. Did Draco have to user thick gloves to protect himself from the effects of the concoction? Yes, he did. But of course none of this was enough reason for Blaise to shout and utter threats like he was doing!
Draco tried to take his little revenge from seeing the usually indifferent Blaise lose his cool for once. But Draco had trained his brain to associate patients to annoyance and distress; no little revenges could lift his spirit.
He's just a whiner, like all the others. He's unable to behave with the dignity everyone would expect from a man of his birth. Not that the other pure-bloods here behave any better than this. Let's face the truth: I can't tell the difference among pure-bloods, half-bloods and Mudbloods anymore. As soon as they put their feet on this bloody hospital, they become all the same.
Draco had a start. What had he just thought?
Surely he was just too tired. And too nervous. Yes, patients had the power to make him so nervous, that sometimes he would lose control over his mind for an instant. That was the reason behind that absurd thought, wasn't it? After all, there were clear differences that set pure-blood patients apart from the rest, such as... such as... such as what again?
What did that void on his mind mean?
No, that couldn't mean what he suspected it to. He was a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake! He couldn't question his family's values. Malfoys never did that!
But Blacks sometimes do. Ask aunt Andromeda.
All he didn't need at that moment was a new conviction-shattering thought.
Draco tried to deny to himself that he was a Black. He didn't carry that name; thus, he was a Malfoy. Only a Malfoy. In fact, his very presence in that hospital was nothing more than a mission that he was fulfilling in the name of the Malfoy family. His parents wanted him to save their status, and to prove their superiority as pure-bloods.
Funny how he had completely forgotten about that second part of his mission. Not that it had been his fault. His parents had only mentioned it during that last dinner in New Zealand. After that day, their concerns about reputation and social relations eclipsed everything else.
Yet, that unexpected remembrance only made Draco grow more alarmed. He was the one working hard to acquire the knowledge that might prove the righteousness of his family's beliefs. Therefore, he was the one who should never have forgotten what he was supposed to do. But he had. And he only remembered that incumbency now that he had realised how pointless it was.
But was it really pointless?
Yes, it was. That was Draco's fourth year as a Trainee Healer, and up to that point he had never found the slightest evidence that pure-blood patients were different from the others. If said evidence existed, it was likely buried inside some one-thousand-page Healing book that he was yet to read. By the time he got that imaginary book, he would have already been sent to Azkaban for Cruciating unbearable patients like Blaise without caring for their blood status.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?!"
Blaise's fury-filled voice pulled Draco out of his thoughts. Only then he noticed that he must have spent the previous minutes practically paralysed, so distracted he had been. But other than making himself look like an idiot, that wouldn't have been a problem—except for the position of his right hand. It had remained inclined in such a way, that nearly all the concoction had spilt from the bottle and fell over Blaise's robe.
*
Draco walked down the Second Floor's main corridor without paying much attention to what he was doing. Still disturbed by the thoughts that had occurred to him minutes earlier, he felt disconnected, as though someone had cast an Anaesthetising Spell on him.
It was only when Granger passed him that he got close to coming back to reality.
She greeted him briefly and went ahead, barely giving him the time to greet her back.
There she goes, the Mudblood. No, the Muggle-born. That's what Professor Spleen wants to hear, right? But he can't hear my thoughts, and I'm correcting myself anyway. Someone must have cursed me. Maybe I've cursed myself.
Shaking his head, Draco entered room 27. While Madam Malkin lamented the allergic reaction that had brought her to St Mungo's, he noticed there was a book on her side table. This wouldn't be an important fact at all, wasn't it for the title on the green cover: A Wizard's Epiphany.
Draco couldn't help but think that the book could very well be about him.
Are epiphanies a kind of self-curse?
*
Draco opened the door to the Floo Hall, and saw that Granger—now dressed in one of her potato sacks—was there. Alone.
Was it the third of fourth sign he had got that day? He had lost count. Anyway, that looked more and more like a conspiracy to brainwash him. He wondered whether aunt Andromeda had gone through something like that: a series of inconvenient thoughts and weird coincidences all within less than 24 hours. Could a fast process like that have been the reason why she ended up married to a man of no wizard family?
Draco shrugged. He was tired, he wanted to floo back home, and he needed to ask Granger a question.
"Hi Granger. Hard day, wasn't it?"
As she nodded, he continued:
"May I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"Have you ever questioned your own beliefs?"
She smiled.
"Yes. Several times."
Draco felt there were more questions he should ask:
"Have you... changed afterwards? I mean, your way of thinking, has it changed? You know, after all the questioning?"
She frowned. Draco could tell she was wondering where he wanted to go with that talk.
"In some cases, yes."
"I see. And... how long has it taken you to change your mind in those cases?"
She stared at him for some seconds. Draco shifted his weight from foot to foot.
"These things vary a lot, Malfoy. Sometimes, it takes me years to change my views on a topic. Other times, I learn a new fact, or realise something I'd been missing for ages, and the change is instant."
Draco was relieved to know he wasn't the only person in the world prone to fast changes of opinion, even if he still wanted to believe that someone had cursed him.
"Thank you, Granger," he said.
And before he could stop himself, he added:
"You've helped me a lot."
She broadened her smile.
"No problem. I'm glad to help."
Much to his surprise, her words were followed by one of those looks that she gave to patients.
Professor Spleen is right: this isn't pity, Draco admitted to himself. This is... so much better.
He gazed at her in silence for what seemed to be several minutes, thinking that she must be about to floo away. But she didn't do anything, except for sustaining his gaze with those warm eyes of hers.
Leaning forward and kissing her felt like the right thing to do at that moment.
*
Draco wanted to yell at his pillow and Cruciate his mattress. Surely it was their fault that he couldn't sleep that night.
Granted, he'd had quite a day. But it was over now. He was in his comfortable bedroom, safe from all patients, and from Granger's lips, and from Finch-Fletchley's unexpected appearances right when a couple needed to be alone, and—
No. Just because he'd had a silly impulse and she hadn't pushed him away from her, didn't mean they were a couple.
But it was funny that she hadn't rejected him.
That's because no woman can resist to you, Draco's ego tried to explain.
However, another inner voice begged to differ:
How can you say that, when Pansy has been the only one so far?
Oh, shut up! His ego snapped.
Draco on his turn was busy with trying to decide whether Finch-Fletchley had done him a favour or not. The bloke had entered the Floo Hall in a highly inappropriate moment. But he had given Draco a perfect excuse to break the kiss, wish Granger a good night and enter the nearest fireplace before she could say or do anything. So, in a way, Finch-Fletchley had saved him from a potentially embarrassing post-kiss situation.
Of course, Draco would still have to face Granger the next day. Both were scheduled to spend half a shift in the Janus Thickey Ward.
In spite of his negative feelings towards that place, Draco tried not to lose heart and hope for a good day.
All he needed was a few hours of rest. The next morning, he would be less confused, and less vulnerable to perturbing ideas in general. With some luck, he might even realise that his convictions remained unharmed. He would then stop thinking things that he couldn't dare mention to his parents. He would stop thinking of aunt Andromeda as a person who might be able to understand him. Oh, and most importantly, he would stop thinking that Granger was attractive in her own distinctive way after all.
*
Draco had been right to think that what he needed was some rest. After some struggle, he had finally managed to fall asleep, hence feeling considerably better by the time he had to floo back to St Mungo's.
But he had been totally wrong to think that some hours of sleep would bring back his previous convictions. They grew more and more distant from him, whereas fresh thoughts made unabashed attempts to steal their place.
What about Granger? As he met her in the Janus Thickey Ward, he recognised that she hadn't become any less interesting during the hours spent away from him.
Draco greeted Professor Spleen first, and then turned to his colleague:
"Good morning, Granger."
"Good morning, Malfoy. Ready for a new day?"
Draco tried to fight his stubborn lips, but they insisted in curling into a smile. He was pleased to see her smile back at him.
"Of course. I always am," he lied.
Actually, he wasn't quite sure he was ready for anything that would happen in his life from that point on. Asking himself inconvenient questions, finding harsh answers, learning to live with new beliefs, hiding them from his parents for as long as he could... He felt dizzy and worn out just to think about it all. So, he decided that he was going to put his concerns aside for the time being, and try to have a normal day. He'd bemoan some patients, taunt Granger over her supposed lack of talent for Healing, bemoan other patients, pretend that he'd got no other reason to watch Granger than to find excuses to criticise her, and bemoan a few more patients.
"Good. I hope you're also ready for the conversation that we're going to have tonight, before we go home," Granger whispered, and there seemed to be some friendly defiance in her tone.
"Oh... yes. Sure," Draco whispered as well, understanding that he would have to add one more task to his to-do list. A rather unnerving one, although he couldn't honestly say that he hadn't liked Granger's invitation.
Well, if things with her go wrong later, I can always lift my spirits afterwards with an extra round of patient bemoaning.
ferretbush_post is the account the mods use to post the gifts. It has not created any of the gifts.
Author: Vane
Rating: PG
Recipient:
shiv5468Word Count: ~7500
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and her commercial partners.
Warning(s): Bigotry. Mentions of diseases and deaths, but nothing that you wouldn't expect from a fic set in a hospital.
Author Notes: First of all, I owe the mods huge thanks. Believe me, your patience, support and kindness will never be forgotten. Many thanks also to A. for her beta work. All remaining mistakes are my fault only. This story has gone through several mutations until reaching its final form. I'd originally planned to write a long fic told from Hermione's POV. The characters' jobs would be entirely different, and Snape would not only be present but would also play a large role in the plot. After much struggling, I had to admit that my initial plan just wouldn't work. So, I chose to write a much shorter, more to the point story. I sincerely hope that the result won't disappoint you,
shiv5468. I know you'd like to see Draco and Hermione work together over Snape, but whenever I tried to write him into the story, things got out of control and headed dangerously towards Snape/Hermione territory. That's a great pairing, of course, but this is a Draco/Hermione fest. To regain control over my own rebellious plot and make sure it would qualify as actual Dramione, I had to leave Snape out of it and focus the spotlight on Draco.Summary: Draco Malfoy enrols in a training programme for Healers to help his parents rebuild the family's reputation. His routine as a Trainee Healer includes bearing dozens of whiners, tiresome tasks and Hermione Granger.
Draco was sure he was an excellent son. Only the best of all sons would subject himself to the kind of sacrifice that his parents demanded from him in order to rebuild the Malfoy family's reputation.
The reputation rebuilding process began right after the Battle of Hogwarts. The Malfoys made sure to give plenty of interviews about the role that Draco's mother had played in saving Harry Potter's life. Draco returned to Hogwarts, not only to finish his studies but also to help fix all the damage suffered by the school during the battle. When interviewed, Draco's parents would often emphasise what a dedicated student their son was.
Those initial efforts generated limited results. In a radically pro-Potter world, there didn't seem to be much room left for former Death Eaters and their associates. Therefore, Draco's parents thought it best to move to another country as soon as Draco finished school. They trusted time to gradually obliviate the witches and wizards who thought low of them while they were away.
Draco had happy memories from the two years living in New Zealand. As his family was unknown there, he didn't have to worry about gossip, reproaching looks and parties to which he and his parents wouldn't be invited anymore. Whenever Pansy visited him, they could walk together on the streets without fearing accusing fingers pointed at their direction and whispers on how they were a perfect couple of enemies of the society.
Unfortunately for Draco, one day his parents decided that the time had come for the family to move back to England.
They also decided to use Draco again as a reputation rebuilding tool. Much to Draco's chagrin, his parents announced during their last dinner in New Zealand that he was to enrol in St Mungo's' Healer Training Programme the following month. By forcing Draco into a career that would allow him to save lives, his parents hoped to finally save the family's status. It was also their hope that with the type of knowledge Draco would acquire in the course, he would eventually find concrete evidence of the superiority of pure-bloods over other wizards. The fact that Draco himself had no interest whatsoever in Healing was just a minor detail, of course.
*
The first year in the Healer Training Programme was like a continuous bad dream for Draco—and not only because his eyelids felt heavy most of the time.
He was being trained to save lives, but who was going to save him from the endless classes and the inhumane amounts of homework imposed on him? He felt as though his teachers had an evil plan: watch him as he slowly died out of exhaustion, boredom and despair.
Draco no longer possessed anything that could resemble that much treasured thing that used to go by the name of "life." He inhaled classes, exhaled exams, ate books and drank lectures. He barely had the time to remember who he was or why he was subjecting himself to all that. He didn't even have the time to blame his parents for anything; when he got back home at night, his legs automatically led him to his bedroom, where he would agonise over his homework for hours before he could finally allow himself to faint on his bed.
He vaguely remembered being shaken and shouted at by Pansy when they met at weekends. She appeared to be trying to wake him up from the continuous bad dream. Draco never managed to have much of a reaction though. That must have been why one day Pansy yelled loud enough that he could feel almost awake—at least, awake enough to understand that she was living him. But once again, Draco didn't manage to have much of a reaction as she slammed the door on his face.
*
Draco entered the classroom to attend the first class for second-year Trainees and looked around. Was it him, or that place seemed to be much less crowded than it used to be before the holidays? Had the teachers succeeded in their evil plan of killing as many aspiring Healers as possible?
He shrugged. He was too nervous to care for anything else. The holidays, despite having been much shorter than he would have liked, had lasted enough for him to wake up and resume his status as a human being. And, as a human being, he was capable of emotions—such as hate and fear. Consequently, he had had the chance to realise how intensely he hated his training, and how strongly he feared the beginning of the new term.
Quitting was not an option. During the holidays, Draco could read what the press had been writing about his family; his parents showed him several articles, notes and interviews, and most of them sounded more sympathetic than he expected. He could argue that it was all due to their two years abroad, but he knew that would be a lost battle. Several of those articles did emphasise his career choice—the authors didn't seem to know that hadn't really been Draco's choice—as a way to convey a positive message to readers: "former Death Eaters can regret their wrongdoings and become nice people after all." His parents' idea had proved clever and effective; Draco would not ruin everything now. Besides, his ego whispered to him promises of respect, admiration and appraisal to be earned if he kept on pretending that becoming a Healer was his greatest aim in life. And Draco trusted his ego to know where and how to get satisfaction.
So, Draco gathered all his courage and returned to St Mungo's for a new round of torments. He just didn't know how intense said torments would be. All he knew was that from the second year onwards, theory-only classes would be largely replaced by practical lessons. In other words, the books and lectures would be largely replaced by actual patients with actual problems that would demand solutions more drastic than simply putting an "x" near the correct answer to a question.
As the teacher started explaining the basic procedures the Trainees would have to follow upon arriving to the hospital's Ground Floor, Draco said to himself that the second year would likely be a bit better than the first one.
Surely practical classes are less horrible, he thought. They've got to be less boring at the very least.
*
Draco had been right to think that practical classes would be less boring than the theoretical ones. In fact, for the most part they weren't tedious at all.
However, he had been pathetically wrong to think that his second year in the Training Programme would be better than the first. The continuous bad dream had only given place to a long-lasting Lucid Nightmare Curse.
It was all the patients' fault, of course. If it wasn't for them, Healing would not be such a bad job and St Mungo's would be a much more pleasant place. Sadly, St Mungo's was a hospital, and like all hospitals it had a terrible tendency to attract lots of patients—all ready to add to the misery of Draco's life.
It seemed to Draco that suffering accidents and falling ill was every wizard's favourite pass time. He couldn't believe the amount of people who ended up at St Mungo's because they either didn't care for their own health or ignored the most elementary safety procedures when dealing with potions, magical creatures and plants. Draco would think that all those irresponsible people went through was well-deserved, wasn't it for the fact that their careless behaviour inevitably resulted in more work for him.
As much as Draco hated to admit it, sometimes he caught himself missing the previous term, when he hadn’t had any patients to treat. Patients were detestable. Patients were insufferable. They complained about treatments, questioned the dosages of potions they had to intake and whined about the food. They tried to argue with experienced Healers and showed little respect for Trainees.
On top of it all, patients had very bad habits, such as developing untreatable conditions and dying.
As a result of a dragon pox outbreak, four patients died during Draco's first week of practical lessons. He hadn't even touched any of them; he had just watched them being cared for by his teachers. Yet he couldn't help but fear possible headlines about four deaths taking place at St Mungo's right after a former Death Eater put his feet on the hospital's corridors.
Every time he asked any veteran Healer whether it was normal to lose four patients within such a short time frame or not, he got a positive answer, generally followed by reassuring claims like "don't worry, you get used to it after some time."
Those statements invariably reminded Draco of the deaths he had witnessed at Hogwarts. While trying to erase those memories of fire and green flashes from his mind, he would think:
I'm not quite sure I want to get used to it.
*
Like all Trainees, Draco was supposed to report all his activities at St Mungo's—even those performed in the presence of a professional Healer—to his mentor, Professor Helbert Spleen.
Being under Professor Spleen's mentorship was one of the rare things about the training that didn't make Draco feel miserable. His mentor was patient, supportive and fair. He always praised Draco on his efforts and progress. When Draco made any mistakes, Professor Spleen corrected him in a way that didn't make him embarrassed.
However, one day Draco casually said:
"I had to give half a bottle of Cough Potion to the Mudblood in room 42, and she—"
"Please, don't call her like that, Malfoy. You should call Mrs Cattermole by her name, like you would any other patient."
Draco felt as though Professor Spleen had taken thirty points from Slytherin—and justly so. He surely deserved that punishment for having let that word slip through his lips in the presence of a person other than his father or mother. In fact, his parents would get mad at him if they learnt about that incident. One word was all their detractors needed to destroy the public image they had been struggling to reform.
"I'm sorry, Professor Spleen," Draco hurried to say. "It won't happen again."
*
Draco kept his promise to his mentor: he never uttered the term "Mudblood" in his presence again. But he did think a lot of that word, especially now that Hermione Granger had become a second-year Trainee.
He had heard about her enrolment in the Healer Training Programme at the beginning of the previous term, but his problems—that is, the patients' problems which ended up becoming his—absorbed all his attention. On his mind, there was no room left for wondering how worse his days would turn if Potter's friend—or was she Potter's lover?—ever crossed paths with him again.
Draco couldn't draw much comfort from the fact that he was one full year ahead of her. It wasn't unusual for Trainees from different years to share practical classes and tend to patients together. Thus, he wouldn't always be able to avoid the Mudblood.
Up to that point, Draco had never really cared for his classmates. He knew several of them from Hogwarts, such as Bones, Finch-Fletchley, Patil and Corner. None of them was a Slytherin or a pure-blood, which meant that none of them was important—neither should be Granger. However, her closeness to Potter made her quite hard to ignore. That, and the fact that Draco had never been able to beat her marks at Hogwarts.
He did hope to beat her marks in the Training Programme.
*
Granger was as insufferable as Draco remembered. She remained her pretentious and arrogant self. She retained her annoying habit of being the first to volunteer to answer whatever the teachers asked. She was still able to quote word by word lengthy passages she had found in books. And she continued to trick teachers into thinking her to be better than the other students.
Draco was ever on the lookout for any mistakes that the Mudblood might make. He needed something he could use against her when reporting to Professor Spleen or talking to other Healers. In fact, from time to time he heard of minor mistakes that she had made. He hadn't been lucky enough to witness any of those, which was a shame; he certainly could have done with some laughter at her expense. Yet, what frustrated Draco the most was that minor mistakes weren't enough; they were expected from less experienced Trainees after all. He needed something more meaningful, something that could really put that woman to shame, but she wasn't giving him any of this. If only she would poison or hurt a patient!
Although the Mudblood hadn't caused any serious accidents yet, Draco rarely missed the chance to insert some criticism of her into his conversations with colleagues. Sadly, nobody seemed to care. Some just shrugged and pointed out that "everyone makes mistakes." Others argued that "she hasn't killed any patients, and that's what matters." A few even defended her and claimed that "this doesn't change the fact that she's very good at Healing."
Good at Healing? How could she be good at it? She was just a bloody second-year; she had got a long way to go before she could be considered mediocre, let alone good!
They were just six weeks into the new term, and the unbearable Mudblood had already become rather respected and even somewhat popular. Draco couldn't understand why. She had never been popular at Hogwarts—not among other students anyway. No one except for Potter, the Weasleys and Longbottom seemed to appreciate her company. Actually, it wasn't as if any Trainee at St Mungo's looked particularly close to her either. Still, Draco missed the old days, when he could make snarky remarks on the Mudblood and immediately get nods, laughs and expressions of agreement in return from schoolmates from all Houses, Gryffindor included. Now, apparently no one had a problem with tolerating her existence and praising her for being supposedly good at Healing.
On the other hand, her immense popularity among teachers had not come as a surprise to Draco. Still, he felt bitter about it. Why did they have to give so much attention to a mere Mudblood? Why hadn't they ever been just as enthusiastic about him? He represented the Malfoys and the Blacks. This fact alone put him way above Granger, and should have been enough to leave a much stronger impression on all Healers than anything that woman could ever do.
Even Professor Spleen, who had always been the only one to recognise Draco's qualities without fail, was now fascinated by the Mudblood and would always talk about her:
"Her resignation must have been a huge loss for the Ministry. Such a promising girl! But I'm happy that she's chosen to put her talent to the service of Healing," the smiling Professor commented while Draco handed him the mid-month report for October.
Could you please stop talking about the Mudblood and pay some attention to me and to my report? A nauseated Draco thought.
He had no idea whether Professor Spleen was a Legilimens or not, but an instant later his mentor unrolled the parchment and started reading it. This made him calm down for a while. His thirsty ego could hardly wait for some caressing in the form of appraisal; Professor Spleen had never denied it this joy.
"Very well done, Malfoy. Your reports never disappoint me."
"Thank you, Professor Spleen."
"This one even reminds me a bit of Miss Granger's latest report at some parts."
Draco rolled his eyes. His now hurt but ever thirsty ego reluctantly whispered to him:
Well, I suppose we should try and take it as a compliment.
*
From time to time, Draco accompanied his mother in the visits she paid to his aunt Andromeda and cousin Teddy. In theory, those visits were part of the Malfoys' reputation rebuilding plan. Nonetheless, the discreet contentment seen on his mother's countenance in those occasions made Draco suspect that she genuinely enjoyed the company of her sister. This was why Draco often caught himself censoring the "blood-traitor" accusations that crossed his mind whenever he set eyes on his aunt.
Out of respect for his mother, he had been trying to be more accepting of that part of the family. It shouldn't be too difficult after all. Despite her treacherous tendencies, Aunt Andromeda was a pure-blood. She was also very intelligent. Draco based this assumption on the questions she used to ask about the Training Programme and his duties as a Trainee Healer: hers were less obvious and more stimulating than anyone else's. Draco sometimes got close to admitting that he liked chatting with her.
His cousin Teddy was just like any other small child: noisy, nosy and generally annoying. However, Draco didn't hate him; he simply disliked Teddy because he disliked children in general. The boy's being the son of a half-blood and a werewolf would be an utterly disgusting fact if Draco spent too much time thinking about it, but he didn't. Teddy's parents were dead; in fact, the death of Teddy's mother had been the result of complicated family issues that Draco would rather not remember. Not when his own mother looked so glad that she and aunt Andromeda could act like sisters again.
One thing Draco knew for sure was that pretending was a most vital skill for any person who aspired to a better life. His mother pretended that there had never been any quarrels between her and aunt Andromeda. Aunt Andromeda pretended that she had never noticed her younger sister's pretending. Draco pretended that he liked Teddy. His mother and aunt pretended that he was not pretending. Together, the three adults spent peaceful afternoons drinking tea, eating cake and pretending that their family was perfect, while a child watched them and learnt how to become a pretender.
Those pretending practice sessions proved inspiring for Draco when the third month of term came to an end and it occurred to him that he should change his behaviour towards the Mudblood.
During the first months he avoided talking to her as much as he could, and would never go past the strictly necessary when he had to exchange any words with her. He would never conceal his ill will either, although he tried not to sound too harsh—he wouldn't want a teacher to criticise him for not being best friends with their much adored Mudblood. She, on her turn, used to keep a distant yet civil attitude towards him. There was a difference between the way she talked to him and the way she did other colleagues, but said difference was less marked than Draco would had expected from her. Apparently, it didn't bother her that sometimes they had to be in the same room and work together.
Draco thought that Granger might be pretending. Surely she detested him as much as he detested her. Nonetheless, she behaved almost as if there had never been any problems between them in the past. In other words, she behaved just like Draco and his mother did when they visited aunt Andromeda. And as much as Draco hated to admit it, the Mudblood was right: even if they were still Trainees, St Mungo's was already their workplace; they were supposed to act in a professional way while there, weren't they?
He still refused to admit that his behaviour towards her up to that point had been mostly unprofessional, but he could see the advantages of swallowing his contempt and trying to be nicer to her. First of all, he would be making sure that he wouldn't lose favour with Granger's fans, i. e., St Mungo's staff in general and teachers in particular. Secondly, and more importantly, he would be reinforcing the message his family had been trying to convey: that the Malfoys no longer objected to the ideals supported by Potter and his allies.
When he discussed his ponderings with his parents, he got mixed reactions. His father exchanged looks with his mother, who smiled and said:
"This is a sensible thing to do, Draco."
His father let out a sigh and said:
"Indeed. As long as you don't impregnate the Mudblood."
As Draco entered room 26 and met Hermione Granger the following day, he remembered his father's warning and rolled his eyes.
Saying to himself that mere words couldn't impregnate anyone, Draco smoothed his robe, coughed a bit, put a smile on his face and said:
"Good morning, Granger!"
He regretted his greeting as soon as he uttered it. He had sounded ridiculously enthusiastic.
Unsurprisingly, Granger's eyes widened and she asked:
"Are you all right?"
Draco had to bit his lips to resist the urge to say that a polite person would have answered his greeting before asking embarrassing questions.
*
Despite the clumsy first step, Draco's plan worked: he didn't have to become friends with the Mudblood, but now they were on good enough terms that he could already reap the benefits he had predicted.
Interestingly, his initiative to develop a more amenable relationship with Granger also resulted in something Draco hadn't foreseen, but that he loved: the freedom to criticise her openly, on her face, under the excuse that he was just offering her some professional advice like any good colleague should do. Soon nitpicking on the Mudblood's acts became one of his favourite hobbies while at St Mungo's, second only to complaining about patients on their back.
That hobby would be more entertaining if he managed to make Granger feel bad about herself, or if she bit him back. Much to Draco's frustration, she never gave any signs of being as upset by his words as he would like her to. Most of the time she just pursed her lips, frowned or turned her back to him. She was obviously unwilling to engage in arguments.
One day, Draco tried to tease her about this right after telling her that the Anaesthetising Spell she had cast on a patient had lasted three seconds beyond the necessary:
"Won't you try to defend yourself, Granger?"
"I would, if you had attacked me or hurt me. But you haven't, so I've got nothing to defend myself against."
Something in the smirk that accompanied her words made Draco feel as though she had unmasked him. Had she realised his true intentions? Could this be why she never reacted to his provocations the way he hoped?
I may have underestimated this Mudblood, Draco admitted to himself.
*
All Trainee Healers were generalists. It was only after completing their sixth year that they were given the chance to pick a specialty and continue their studies if they wished.
Draco didn't know what he could specialise in. All options from Artefact Accidents to Plant Poisoning and everything in between looked equally dreadful. On the other hand, remaining a generalist would be even worse, because as a General Healer he would have to do one million things he hated. By picking a specialty, he would only ever have to do ten thousand things he loathed. Therefore, becoming a specialist was a matter of self-preservation for Draco.
For this very reason, he could already tell what he would not be specialising in: Permanent Spell Damage. The Janus Thickey Ward was by far the most depressing of all. Nothing made Draco want so hard to quit the Training Programme as being told to spend a whole shift there.
It didn't take him long to notice that Granger didn't feel the same way about that ward. She seemed to enjoy working there. She never looked afraid of the unpredictable behaviour of some patients, nor did she ever look disturbed by the eternal stillness of some others. Draco would admit to envying her if that wasn't to ask too much of him.
It was during one of those unnerving days spent at the Janus Thickey Ward that Draco finally got something he could use against Granger. Actually, it was a quite minor thing, but with no other options left he had to cling to it.
Granger pointed her wand at Frank Longbottom and cast on him a spell to test his reactions to stimuli. That was a quite ordinary procedure, which Draco himself had executed several times before—to no avail in that patient's case. Although he was supposed to act as Granger's monitor while their teacher was away, he didn't pay much attention to the test she was performing. That was a good thing, because then he could pay attention to her face instead. This was how he spotted something that looked out-of-place on her otherwise composed countenance:
"Is it pity in your eyes, Granger?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she answered with indifference, without looking away from Mr Longbottom.
"You aren't fooling me, Granger. You feel very sorry for this patient, don't you?"
"What if I do?"
Draco explained in a purposefully didactic tone:
"It's wrong to feel sorry for our patients. Our teachers always say that good Healers should never get emotionally involved with their patients. We should do the best we can without letting our emotions get in the way. This is not only for our own protection, but also in our patients' best interest."
"I don't suppose it's possible to keep completely detached from what we see here."
She's reacting! Not quite as I'd like, but at least she's trying to defend herself this time. I've got to tease her a bit more.
"Don't delude yourself, Granger. This job is not for the weak, as you very well know."
"I'm glad that you've realised this on time, Malfoy. You've still got time to quit this course and choose a more suitable profession."
Draco felt his face burn at her words. He was about to call her what she was: a filthy little Mudblood. But Professor Spleen returned to the ward right when Draco opened his mouth, which led him to cancel the insult immediately. Granger must have noticed what had caused the sudden change in his behaviour, because she looked at the teacher and then smirked at Draco.
*
From that day on, paying attention to Granger's face while she tended to patients became an absolute must-do for Draco. He needed to make sure that he had indeed detected her soft spot. Also, it was essential to remind the Mudblood that she was doomed to fail as a Healer. If he repeated it often enough, maybe she would end up fulfilling his prophecy.
If only Granger was a bit more cooperative! Why did she have to ignore his alerts? He was one year above her; she should show more respect towards his opinions.
One the other hand, she had been involuntarily supporting his cause by refusing to wipe that feeling away from her eyes. For while that feeling remained there, Draco could still hope to find a way to use it against her.
In fact, he made an attempt to draw Professor Spleen's attention to his discovery three weeks later.
Draco swore that he was not gossipping. He'd got the best of intentions! He was just concerned about the patients' well-being. Moreover, he was sincerely worried about his colleague; wouldn't it be sad if she wasted her time preparing for an inadequate career? Of course, he would never had raised that issue if he didn't think it was serious enough. But he was sure that Professor Spleen would know what to do about it.
"I had noticed that about Miss Granger too," Professor Spleen said after listening to him.
"Really?" A hopeful Draco asked.
"Yes. But I wouldn't call that 'pity,' Malfoy."
"Is it even worse than I had thought then?" An even more hopeful, barely able to restrain his excitement Draco wanted to confirm.
"On the contrary: I think this is nothing to worry about."
"What?" Draco frowned.
"What you call 'pity,' I'd call 'sympathy,' or 'kindness.' Miss Granger clearly has got a heart, and this is excellent. We don't need heartless people here."
"But... but... I always thought that we shouldn't get emotionally involved with patients and—"
"I'm afraid we're talking about different things here, Malfoy."
And Professor Spleen gave Draco a long lecture on the differences between keeping the self-control necessary to a good Healer and being simply uncaring. His mentor also mentioned that he trusted Granger to be emotionally strong because she had survived all the hardship she had gone through during the years she supported Harry Potter in his fight against Voldemort.
I've been through a lot too, but I never get all this appraisal. That's unfair! Draco thought bitterly, while he fought to maintain a fake smile on his lips.
However, he did get some appraisal after all. Professor Spleen said that he was glad to have such an observant student, and emphasised that attention to details was a highly desirable trait in a Healer.
Draco's ego whispered that it was time to offer the teacher a more sincere smile. Draco complied effortlessly.
*
Professor Spleen's lecture hadn't been enough to make Draco change his mind. He still hoped to prove somehow that Granger was too emotional to be allowed to exercise Healing. He was sure that someday he would catch her breaking in tears or having a hysterical fit. All he had to do was to persist in watching the silly Mudblood. Of course, he also had to be careful not to let Professor Spleen—or any other teachers, in case Professor Spleen had told the others about that conversation—notice what he was doing. It was very important for Draco to conceal his suspicions about that woman from her fans.
Soon Draco found out that he had been failing to conceal his Granger-watching activities from his classmates. What made him realise this was a comment—followed by a chuckle—from Finch-Fletchley:
"You just can't take your eyes off Granger, can you?"
Draco limited himself to staring at Finch-Fletchley the way he would a worm and turning his back on him. Nonetheless, it was hard to forget those words and the implications behind them.
Of course, such a ridiculous comment could only have come from a stupid Mudblood. How could that bloke think even for a second that he, Draco Malfoy, the heir of two of the most noble wizard families, would take that kind of interest in such an unworthy woman? That was impossible. An utterly idiotic idea, really.
He might forgive Finch-Fletchley's idiocy if Granger was an attractive woman. Looking at attractive women was a perfectly understandable act after all, regardless of their blood status. But "Granger" and "attractive" were two words that would never belong in the same sentence. There was nothing special about her. Nothing at all. Her face was too common, with no distinctive traits that might make her stand out from any crowd. Her hair was hideous. Nowadays she kept it tied in a bun most of the time, but when she didn't it looked as though there was a bush perched on her head.
Draco admitted that no one could look good in the awful lime green robes that they had for uniforms, so he didn't hold it against Granger that she looked so ugly when wearing them. However, sometimes he would catch sight of her at the Floo Hall when they were arriving to St Mungo's or preparing to floo away. In such occasions, it became evident to him that the woman had no idea how to dress with elegance. Her robes looked like potato sacks.
It was obvious that no wizard in his senses would care for her. Even Weasley had eventually stopped seeing her, or so Draco had heard. And if even Weasley had been able to understand that Granger wasn't worth his time, why would Draco feel differently about her?
*
The holidays had come and gone, but Granger hadn't changed a bit. She still was the same unbearable colleague and teachers' favourite who Draco longed to get rid from. Therefore, he kept determined to monitor the emotional weakness that he could see in her eyes, waiting for a chance to exploit it.
Now that she was a third-year, he had even more chances to work with her. They shared practical lessons at least three days a week. This gave him plenty of opportunities to watch her behaviour, and to pester her under the excuse that he was just trying to help. Unfortunately, this also gave her plenty of opportunities to show him that she didn't let whatever he said affect her negatively—or to pretend so, as Draco hoped to be the case.
What Draco would never waste his time hoping was that the behaviour of their patients would improve. Patients would ever be his main problem, no matter how much time he spent focusing his attention on Granger. Why couldn't they all just seek another hospital and leave him alone?
One might argue that he needed patients as much as they needed him. Without them, he would never acquire the practical, deep knowledge that would allow him to get a diploma. But who said he wanted that bloody diploma anyway?
Patients were useless, that was the truth. They served no other purpose than tormenting those who tried to help them. And what did they offer in return for the assistance they got? Only complaints, whining and disobedience.
*
While tending to Blaise Zabini, who was said to have been hexed by his new stepfather during a quarrel, Draco realised two things. The first was that Mrs Zabini now probably had one more reason to make her fortune grow again very soon. The other was that pure-blood patients were as insufferable as everyone else.
Why won't this bastard just shut up? He thought as he applied Skin Regenerating Concoction on Blaise's wound-covered arms.
Did the concoction make the skin burn intensely? Yes, it did. Did the painful sensation last five minutes? Yes, it did. Did Draco have to user thick gloves to protect himself from the effects of the concoction? Yes, he did. But of course none of this was enough reason for Blaise to shout and utter threats like he was doing!
Draco tried to take his little revenge from seeing the usually indifferent Blaise lose his cool for once. But Draco had trained his brain to associate patients to annoyance and distress; no little revenges could lift his spirit.
He's just a whiner, like all the others. He's unable to behave with the dignity everyone would expect from a man of his birth. Not that the other pure-bloods here behave any better than this. Let's face the truth: I can't tell the difference among pure-bloods, half-bloods and Mudbloods anymore. As soon as they put their feet on this bloody hospital, they become all the same.
Draco had a start. What had he just thought?
Surely he was just too tired. And too nervous. Yes, patients had the power to make him so nervous, that sometimes he would lose control over his mind for an instant. That was the reason behind that absurd thought, wasn't it? After all, there were clear differences that set pure-blood patients apart from the rest, such as... such as... such as what again?
What did that void on his mind mean?
No, that couldn't mean what he suspected it to. He was a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake! He couldn't question his family's values. Malfoys never did that!
But Blacks sometimes do. Ask aunt Andromeda.
All he didn't need at that moment was a new conviction-shattering thought.
Draco tried to deny to himself that he was a Black. He didn't carry that name; thus, he was a Malfoy. Only a Malfoy. In fact, his very presence in that hospital was nothing more than a mission that he was fulfilling in the name of the Malfoy family. His parents wanted him to save their status, and to prove their superiority as pure-bloods.
Funny how he had completely forgotten about that second part of his mission. Not that it had been his fault. His parents had only mentioned it during that last dinner in New Zealand. After that day, their concerns about reputation and social relations eclipsed everything else.
Yet, that unexpected remembrance only made Draco grow more alarmed. He was the one working hard to acquire the knowledge that might prove the righteousness of his family's beliefs. Therefore, he was the one who should never have forgotten what he was supposed to do. But he had. And he only remembered that incumbency now that he had realised how pointless it was.
But was it really pointless?
Yes, it was. That was Draco's fourth year as a Trainee Healer, and up to that point he had never found the slightest evidence that pure-blood patients were different from the others. If said evidence existed, it was likely buried inside some one-thousand-page Healing book that he was yet to read. By the time he got that imaginary book, he would have already been sent to Azkaban for Cruciating unbearable patients like Blaise without caring for their blood status.
"What the hell do you think you are doing?!"
Blaise's fury-filled voice pulled Draco out of his thoughts. Only then he noticed that he must have spent the previous minutes practically paralysed, so distracted he had been. But other than making himself look like an idiot, that wouldn't have been a problem—except for the position of his right hand. It had remained inclined in such a way, that nearly all the concoction had spilt from the bottle and fell over Blaise's robe.
*
Draco walked down the Second Floor's main corridor without paying much attention to what he was doing. Still disturbed by the thoughts that had occurred to him minutes earlier, he felt disconnected, as though someone had cast an Anaesthetising Spell on him.
It was only when Granger passed him that he got close to coming back to reality.
She greeted him briefly and went ahead, barely giving him the time to greet her back.
There she goes, the Mudblood. No, the Muggle-born. That's what Professor Spleen wants to hear, right? But he can't hear my thoughts, and I'm correcting myself anyway. Someone must have cursed me. Maybe I've cursed myself.
Shaking his head, Draco entered room 27. While Madam Malkin lamented the allergic reaction that had brought her to St Mungo's, he noticed there was a book on her side table. This wouldn't be an important fact at all, wasn't it for the title on the green cover: A Wizard's Epiphany.
Draco couldn't help but think that the book could very well be about him.
Are epiphanies a kind of self-curse?
*
Draco opened the door to the Floo Hall, and saw that Granger—now dressed in one of her potato sacks—was there. Alone.
Was it the third of fourth sign he had got that day? He had lost count. Anyway, that looked more and more like a conspiracy to brainwash him. He wondered whether aunt Andromeda had gone through something like that: a series of inconvenient thoughts and weird coincidences all within less than 24 hours. Could a fast process like that have been the reason why she ended up married to a man of no wizard family?
Draco shrugged. He was tired, he wanted to floo back home, and he needed to ask Granger a question.
"Hi Granger. Hard day, wasn't it?"
As she nodded, he continued:
"May I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"Have you ever questioned your own beliefs?"
She smiled.
"Yes. Several times."
Draco felt there were more questions he should ask:
"Have you... changed afterwards? I mean, your way of thinking, has it changed? You know, after all the questioning?"
She frowned. Draco could tell she was wondering where he wanted to go with that talk.
"In some cases, yes."
"I see. And... how long has it taken you to change your mind in those cases?"
She stared at him for some seconds. Draco shifted his weight from foot to foot.
"These things vary a lot, Malfoy. Sometimes, it takes me years to change my views on a topic. Other times, I learn a new fact, or realise something I'd been missing for ages, and the change is instant."
Draco was relieved to know he wasn't the only person in the world prone to fast changes of opinion, even if he still wanted to believe that someone had cursed him.
"Thank you, Granger," he said.
And before he could stop himself, he added:
"You've helped me a lot."
She broadened her smile.
"No problem. I'm glad to help."
Much to his surprise, her words were followed by one of those looks that she gave to patients.
Professor Spleen is right: this isn't pity, Draco admitted to himself. This is... so much better.
He gazed at her in silence for what seemed to be several minutes, thinking that she must be about to floo away. But she didn't do anything, except for sustaining his gaze with those warm eyes of hers.
Leaning forward and kissing her felt like the right thing to do at that moment.
*
Draco wanted to yell at his pillow and Cruciate his mattress. Surely it was their fault that he couldn't sleep that night.
Granted, he'd had quite a day. But it was over now. He was in his comfortable bedroom, safe from all patients, and from Granger's lips, and from Finch-Fletchley's unexpected appearances right when a couple needed to be alone, and—
No. Just because he'd had a silly impulse and she hadn't pushed him away from her, didn't mean they were a couple.
But it was funny that she hadn't rejected him.
That's because no woman can resist to you, Draco's ego tried to explain.
However, another inner voice begged to differ:
How can you say that, when Pansy has been the only one so far?
Oh, shut up! His ego snapped.
Draco on his turn was busy with trying to decide whether Finch-Fletchley had done him a favour or not. The bloke had entered the Floo Hall in a highly inappropriate moment. But he had given Draco a perfect excuse to break the kiss, wish Granger a good night and enter the nearest fireplace before she could say or do anything. So, in a way, Finch-Fletchley had saved him from a potentially embarrassing post-kiss situation.
Of course, Draco would still have to face Granger the next day. Both were scheduled to spend half a shift in the Janus Thickey Ward.
In spite of his negative feelings towards that place, Draco tried not to lose heart and hope for a good day.
All he needed was a few hours of rest. The next morning, he would be less confused, and less vulnerable to perturbing ideas in general. With some luck, he might even realise that his convictions remained unharmed. He would then stop thinking things that he couldn't dare mention to his parents. He would stop thinking of aunt Andromeda as a person who might be able to understand him. Oh, and most importantly, he would stop thinking that Granger was attractive in her own distinctive way after all.
*
Draco had been right to think that what he needed was some rest. After some struggle, he had finally managed to fall asleep, hence feeling considerably better by the time he had to floo back to St Mungo's.
But he had been totally wrong to think that some hours of sleep would bring back his previous convictions. They grew more and more distant from him, whereas fresh thoughts made unabashed attempts to steal their place.
What about Granger? As he met her in the Janus Thickey Ward, he recognised that she hadn't become any less interesting during the hours spent away from him.
Draco greeted Professor Spleen first, and then turned to his colleague:
"Good morning, Granger."
"Good morning, Malfoy. Ready for a new day?"
Draco tried to fight his stubborn lips, but they insisted in curling into a smile. He was pleased to see her smile back at him.
"Of course. I always am," he lied.
Actually, he wasn't quite sure he was ready for anything that would happen in his life from that point on. Asking himself inconvenient questions, finding harsh answers, learning to live with new beliefs, hiding them from his parents for as long as he could... He felt dizzy and worn out just to think about it all. So, he decided that he was going to put his concerns aside for the time being, and try to have a normal day. He'd bemoan some patients, taunt Granger over her supposed lack of talent for Healing, bemoan other patients, pretend that he'd got no other reason to watch Granger than to find excuses to criticise her, and bemoan a few more patients.
"Good. I hope you're also ready for the conversation that we're going to have tonight, before we go home," Granger whispered, and there seemed to be some friendly defiance in her tone.
"Oh... yes. Sure," Draco whispered as well, understanding that he would have to add one more task to his to-do list. A rather unnerving one, although he couldn't honestly say that he hadn't liked Granger's invitation.
Well, if things with her go wrong later, I can always lift my spirits afterwards with an extra round of patient bemoaning.
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