Chapter 4
The walk from the entrance parlour of St Mungo’s to the rehabilitation centre was not nearly long enough. He walked slower than normal, his right light still twinging a little with his full weight on it. He had been at training three times a week – half the normal amount and all he allowed himself to miss. Having a day rest in between was hopefully doing something good.
He made his way to the front desk, not knowing who his physical therapist was going to be.
“How can I help?” The woman behind the desk was far too excited for 08:45 in the morning.
“Draco Malfoy. Here to see a physical therapist,” he answered.
“Ah, the quidditch prodigy! My son loves you,” she smiled. “I’ll mark you as here, the doctor will come get you. If it’s not too much trouble, could I have your autograph?”
Draco let out a little laugh. “Of course, do you have a quill?” He signed the notepad she passed through the glass, laughing inside at the absurdity of the situation. Ten years ago people flinched at the name Malfoy. He passed it back to her, giving her a nod and took a seat along the wall. He looked around at nothing in particular until a few minutes later, a sweet voice called his name.
His head shot up as Hermione stood, waiting at her office door. Confused, he stood and took the few steps towards her. She gestured to enter the office. He didn’t know why he felt the urge to open his mouth and question his being there, but he did. Because Draco Malfoy apparently didn’t make good decisions. “Why am I here?”
Hermione closed the door and sat behind her desk, reading over her notes. “You are here because you got injured, again, and everyone else is full. Quite literally no one else could fit you in on their bloody busy schedules. So, he we are. Stuck with you,” Hermione scoffed. Off to a great start then, Draco. Five stars.
“I’m happy about it, for what it’s worth.”
“It’s not worth much,” she snapped. Yikes, this was going to be a long hour.
Hermione stood and came to stand round by the bed, observing his leg. She cast a few diagnostics that appeared, floating above his head in different colours. A heart rate was the only one that he could make out. “Everything looks good inside you.”
“Thank you?” He suppressed the urge to be a crude joke. He was on thin ice already and that thin ice was melting away into water by the second.
“Come over here and hold onto the railing. Stand on your right leg only. Does it still feel tight?” Hermione commanded.
Draco did as he was told, walking over to the parallel bars. Slightly holding onto the bar for a bit of balance he lifted his good and working leg. “A little, feels like it will give way after a few minutes.”
“Okay. Walk to the window and back for me, like the last time.” Draco walked, still that twinging feeling in his thigh. “You’re still feeling something off aren’t you?”
“Slightly, just like a pulling. I don’t know if it’s the bone or the muscle. Was hoping you could tell me that.”
“When you walk? When you sit? Obviously you won’t know how it feels to fly yet.” Hermione stood with her notepad and writing utensil that was much easier than a quill. A pen? He couldn’t be sure, but the entire idea was exceptional.
Draco looked immediately guilty. “When I’m walking, it’s just the pulling like I said. In the morning, it’s stiff. I do those stretches you recommended first thing when I wake but it still takes an extra fifteen minutes to get out of bed. Sitting is fine.” He sat back on the bed. “And I have been flying but just round the pitch,” he added as an afterthought.
“Malfoy! You should not be flying,” Hermione chastised.
“It’s not playing, and I’m only three feet off the ground, observing,” he defended.
Hermione scoffed, not believing him in the slightest. “Looking over your x-rays and scans, the bone’s fully grown back. The muscle is what we’re focusing on because it will have taken a hit that we can’t just re-grow. You have to build it back up. That’s why I’m here.”
Draco nodded, unsure of what else to say. Hermione asked him to do the same stretches as the previous appointment, slowly warming the muscle up. He felt ridiculous, doing what she was making him do and overall doing it in silence. Even more ridiculous because she was holding his leg, and the silence was getting loud.
“Can I ask you something?” Draco cut through the silence like a steak knife.
Hermione’s head looked up from watching his leg, her brows furrowed. She looked to be fighting a war within herself. He couldn’t exactly blame her. “I can’t guarantee that I’ll answer, but you can ask.”
He took a breath, a deep one, before opening his mouth. “How are you?” Her arm dropped from his leg, as she herself took a breath.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly. She placed her arm back on his leg. “How are you?” It was added as an afterthought, but it was nice to hear anyway.
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” I’m not fine, I’m drowning. But I’ll say I’m fine because you don’t want to hear anything else.
“Good. Can y-you sit on this chair here?” Hermione asked. Draco picked up the stutter, hoping he hadn’t made her wild brain run rampant. He sat, while Hermione went into a set of drawers and picked out three coloured bands. “These are resistance bands; I’ll wrap them just above your knee and then I’ll get you to do some squats or lunges as we work up.”
“What are the colours for? Sorry, I er just haven’t seen these before.” He rubbed the back of his head nervously.
Hermione let out a small laugh. “Yeah you probably haven’t. They are muggle things. It really works though; I use them in the house when I feel the need to pretend I work out. It makes your leg work a little harder to pull it apart, and there’s stages. The green one is the least resistant, it won’t feel too much different, but you’ll feel it. The yellow is a step up from that, you’ll feel that a little more. Orange is the quote-on-quote hardest. It’s the strongest band and it will work against you. That will be used in the final week and not a moment before.” She handed Draco the bands. “Here, pull them a little and see what I’m on about.”
He took the bands, pulling them apart one by one. “They’re kind of—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the orange band had pinged out of his hands, Hermione only just being able to duck. “Fucking hell!” Hermione squeaked.
Draco took a second or two to comprehend what had just happened. His reflexes were usually right on point but given that he had just nearly decapitated his ex-wife, and his thoughts were a little too concerned with whether or not he would be going into Azkaban. He had barely avoided it when he forced to have a stupid mark on his arm. He was shot back down to earth with Hermione’s screech.
“Draco! You nearly took my fucking head off!”
“I’m sorry!” His voice was almost as high as hers. “I didn’t know they were dangerous!”
“You pinged it right for my face!”
“You gave me these, t-these murder weapons!”
Hermione let out a laugh, a wonderful, actually happy laugh. The few seconds it lasted; Draco felt happy. Genuinely happy. Seeing her smile, seeing those tiny dimples in her cheeks appear again. And he laughed, for the first time in what seemed like forever, he properly laughed. Guffawed would probably be the term.
It healed something inside of him.
She seemed to gain her composure, seemed to remember just who she was laughing with. As if she couldn’t allow herself. If he was being honest, he didn’t completely blame her.
“I’m sorry, that was so unprofessional. At-at least you know how the bands work,” she said quietly.
Draco shook his head. “Don’t apologise for laughing. Ever. Please.”
Hermione nodded. “Well, come on. Put the bands on and I’ll set you to work.” Draco looked confused; he didn’t know how to put the things on. She caught on, clearing up the situation. “You have to stand and out your feet into them and sit it above your knee. I would do it but kneeling in front of you right now doesn’t really seem like a situation I want to be in.”
Draco mentally slapped himself across the face to stop his mind imagining how good it would be to see her knelt in front—Draco stop it. For the second time, a crude joke was avoided like the plague.
“Ah yes, of course. Let me.”
Thankfully by the time he had positioned the deathly weapons, they only had less than half an hour left in the session. He didn’t feel the relief he felt leaving her office the second time around. He felt – just simply happy. A rather foreign concept to him by now.
“I spoke to the Daily Prophet yesterday. They wouldn’t provide me with an appointment without saying what it was I was calling about so; I wasn’t specific and just said I believed they could use my services. They asked me a few questions, but I gave nothing away,” Blaise said through the phone.
“Sweet Salazar, this is not going to go well Blaise.”
“It will, just trust me. Enjoy training,” Blaise said with a snort.
Draco walked out of the cloakroom, dressed in his training gear and carrying his broom. Once he was on the pitch and doing some flying drills, he felt good. Great even. His leg was even more relaxed, no cramping or tensing yet. He flew up through the hoops, spinning back and pretending that he had just scored for England again. He craved the roar of the crowd.
If he thought about it more, it was probably the acceptance he adored. The fact people knew he wasn’t just a follower of some mad raving lunatic without a nose.
“Oi, Ferret!”
Draco groaned internally before turning round in the air, facing Ginny Weasley. “What is it, Red?”
“You shouldn’t be flying. I believe that was explicitly mentioned in the doctor’s notes and Hermione’s professional opinion?” She flew past him and landed on the edge of the pitch, dropping her broom and walking towards the water coolers at the benches.
Draco had a problem with her attitude and so, jumped off his broom at the benches as well. Jumped was not accurate, hobbled was. “Has Granger been breaking patient confidentiality?” He grabbed a bottle of water and took a seat on the bench with her. Adequate distance between them of course.
“She has not. Not a secret you shouldn’t be flying, Malfoy.”
“Careful, sounds like you don’t hate me as much as you should.” The sentence was a mistake, he knew it as soon as it was spoken. You like to push your limits don’t you.
“Careful, Malfoy,” his name was almost spat out. “You’re treading on thin ice here. She’s my best friend, if you speak against her or bad mouth her, I’ll have to have a problem with you. Quite frankly, I cannot be arsed to put the energy into hating you and then having to abide by your rules as law for the team. That will take up entirely too much of my time and it would be a waste.”
Draco visibly recoiled, being smacked in the face with Ginny’s carefreeness. “Noted.”
“Good.”
They sat in slightly amiable, slightly hostile environment while rehydrating. She had obviously been working hard, going through two bottles of water. When the third was opened he finally spoke.
“Does she bad mouth me?” The question was almost whispered, like he didn’t really want to ask it. Like he was afraid of the truth? He didn’t really know.
“She thinks you cheated on her and didn’t have the balls to come to her about it before it was plastered for all of wizarding Britain to see. She’s hurt, embarrassed. She- She carries the betrayal of that with her every day, Malfoy. Not only your betrayal but the betrayal of trust the two of you took part in. Can you not understand the heartbreak of that?”
“I fine well understand the heartbreak of that! I visit that article in my memory quite literally every day. When shit went sideways. I bloody well understand it. She knew we didn’t betray anyone’s trust, she knew that.” Draco thought over her words, the icy cold of them piercing his heart. When he realised… “Wait, you said she thinks. Do you think?”
Ginny sighed, like it was troubling for her to think about. “Look, it’s not my relationship and I don’t know what went on behind closed doors. But – and I hate to say this I really, really do – I don’t think you did. I don’t know how else to look at it, but I don’t believe you spent a night with another woman. And me, myself, and I know the previous situation to her wasn’t a betrayal of trust, but I hate to break it to you – she does and always will. You won’t ever change her mind on that one.” Draco relaxed his shoulders, not even realising how high up to his ears they were. “You’re not my favourite person on this earth, Draco Malfoy, but I know you loved – love – my sister.”
“And you couldn’t just tell Granger this?” I mean really, how hard could it be.
“The evidence was pretty damning, don’t you think? We can’t tell her what to believe or think or whatever other power you think her friends have over her. We just have to be there for her.” Ginny stood, ensuring her laces were tight before turning back to him. “You didn’t help your case by not even offering an apology.”
“I told her, there was no immediate apology because I had nothing to be sorry for. Fucking hell, Red,” he muttered.
“You could have tried harder.”
With that last sentence, Draco saw red. Could’ve tried harder? It was outrageous of her to even think about that. To think he hadn’t tried everything to save his marriage? He stormed off the pitch, not even listening to the new substitute player who called him back. He didn’t even know his name and quite frankly he did not care what it was.
His chest was heaving with anger by the time he had made it back to the locker rooms. Changing faster than humanly possible, he walked out the stadium and apparated to the middle of his living room. He collapsed into the couch, throwing his head back against the back of it. Merlin, his life was a mess.
His mind kept taking him back to Hermione’s smile. How he had longed to witness that again. The idea of him being the cause of that wonderful smile made his cold heart begin to thaw. Naturally, he was an arse so that would take a while.
Something clicked, something that was not of impending doom. Blaise was a man of many talents, some weird and some brilliant. One of the brilliant ones was the fact he was devastatingly charming and nine times out of ten, he would get what he wants one way or the other.
Draco pulled his phone out, momentarily thankful for Hermione meddling in his life and convincing everyone he knew to get a mobile phone. Apart from his mother – she was very set in her ways. Dialling Blaise, he didn’t even wait for a hello.
“Let me know when the Prophet gives you a time. I’m coming.”
Again not waiting for a goodbye, he picked up a jacket and apparated to an alley behind the bakers in the closest village to them. Adjusting his jacket as if he didn’t just magically appear, he sauntered down the main street with his dragonhide boots clicking rhythmically on the cobbles.
He would find the culprit. The culprit who so royally messed his life up.
He would win his wife back and he would undo every ounce of mistrust their relationship ever had.
“Dr Granger, delivery for you!” Sandra announced as she burst into her office.
“Oh! Wow!” Hermione’s eyebrows raised as she took in the massive bouquet of chrysanthemums.
“Who are they from?”
“Let me check the card.” Hermione fished it out of the petals it was sitting in. Her eyes squinted in confusion.
“Not expected?” Sandra questioned.
“No, no not at all. Thank you.” As Sandra exited the room, a small smile played on her lips. The card was simple, straight to the point and no question who it was from. The signature gave it straight away.
Thank you for letting yourself smile again. It’s as beautiful as ever.
DLM