Paging Healer Malfoy // Chapter Three - How To Save A Life (D.M.)
A/N: CHAPTER THREE! This is a loaded chapter. We see a lot of Draco’s centre as a Healer through this; we see just how his job affects him. So there’s a lot in this. This, so far, is my favourite chapter and I know I say that about everything I write, but I am so ridiculously happy with how this has turned out. So please, if you read, like/reblog/comment - let me know what you think whether it’s just a keyboard smash or a whole essay, I eat that stuff for breakfast, dinner, tea.
Summary: A promise Draco made to himself when he first became a Healer is broken - smashed to pieces in front of him, and he doesn't think he can fix it.
Warnings: angst, death, grief, a large time skip - looking at months, arguments, feelings, crying.
Word count: 4.3k
Prologue// Chapter One// Chapter Two
January gets off to an interesting start. It always does when Draco works the New Year’s shift; drunk witches and wizards entering the emergency room with alcohol poisoning or injuries they have no recollection of getting. (Y/N) had covered Christmas Day so he could spend it with his family, as per demanded by Narcissa, but he had covered Boxing Day and New Year’s to repay for that favour. He doesn’t mind it either; he would rather be working than sitting in his empty flat with nothing but his insomnia to keep him company.
Draco has always liked January; the idea of new beginnings sits with him, offering him the opportunity to start again from scratch and build himself up.
His New Year’s Resolution for this year is for him to finally be honest with (Y/N) about his feelings.
-------
January always brings with it the coldest weather despite the knowledge that spring is just around the corner. It brings with it red noses, warm scarves, and dragon’s breath.
He stands with Vera at the admit desk; going through their latest stock intake and what they would need to order more of if the flu season should continue well into February.
“Is that my favourite Healer?” A feminine voice sings out from behind them.
Draco spins around; a smile already crossing his face, “Violet! What are you doing here? Is isn’t a dialysis day?”
She shakes her head; holding up the pager she has carried with her since she was nineteen years of age, “I was sitting down to breakfast and this went off.”
Draco’s eyes grow wide, “It went off?”
Violet nods rapidly, “It went off, so I pushed my breakfast away, grabbed my suitcase and rang Jonathan from the tube.”
Draco claps his hands together in delight, “That’s great news. Did they say you were to get prepped down here?”
She nods, “A Dean Thomas rang me as I was on my way here. Told me to get the initial tests done here and then he’ll come fetch me when the kidney has arrived.”
Draco makes his way around the desk; holding out a hand for her to shake, “I’m so happy for you, Violet.”
“Thank you, Draco.”
He leads Violet into an empty exam room; making sure that there would be no-one to bother her as she waits for the green light to be taken upstairs.
“How are you feeling?” Draco asks quietly; calculating Violet’s blood pressure.
Violet releases a long sigh of relief, “Happy. Scared. Relieved. Nervous.”
Draco laughs, “That’s a lot for one person to be feeling.”
She smiles; eyes shining with unshed tears, “We’ve just been waiting for so long.”
And she has. Draco had treated her all those years ago when she was rushed in by her then-boyfriend Jonathan. Violet had been feeling ill for over a month; it had started with shortness of breath, and then she started losing weight but retaining water in her ankles and feet leaving them swollen as well as complaining about blood in her urine.
Having had enough, Jonathan rushed her to St. Mungo’s where Draco saw her and diagnosed her with kidney failure. She hadn’t even known she had kidney disease; feeling well enough to continue her active lifestyle and her work as a teacher.
From there, Draco had placed her on the transplant list – desperate for a match for a nineteen year old who still had her whole life to live. She hadn’t been out of Hogwarts a year; still very much a Ravenclaw through and through. After that, Draco had her assigned to dialysis which was where he saw her so often that a friendship struck up between him, her and Jonathan.
Draco finishes his examination of Violet; sending off samples of her blood to the lab to be checked for anything he hadn’t picked up. He smiles down at her, “I think you’re getting a new kidney today.”
The smile that breaks out across Violet’s face is blinding; pure happiness personified as if the very sun was sitting in this very exam room.
“Have you told Jonathan?”
Violet nods; her curls bouncing with the movement of her head, “He’s on his way. I think he’s more excited than I am.”
Draco laughs, “I can believe it. Alright, I’ll let you get settled whilst I go ring surgery and see how long it’s going to take.”
Violet smiles, and Draco briefly wonders whether her cheeks already hurt from the happiness shown on her face. “I’ll be back to see you soon,” He says as goodbye; heading straight for the nearest phone to pester Dean Thomas.
(Y/N) joins him at the admit desk a short while after Draco has left Violet.
“Will Dean be coming down to get her himself?,” A pause, “Thank you, Shirley,” Draco answers, putting down the phone.
“I see Violet is finally getting her transplant.”
Draco smiles; eyes flashing towards Violet in exam room four, “She’s been on the waiting list for over three years.”
“You’re happy for her?”
“I was the one to diagnose the kidney failure. She has been through numerous false alarms; the false hope of getting a kidney to find out its been donated elsewhere. I have sat with her through her dialysis when her fiancée couldn’t make it because of work. Yes, you could say I am happy for her.”
“You seem to have struck up quite a friendship,” She comments lightly; reading over an old chart.
Draco rolls his eyes, “It’s hard not when I see her so often and I’m her primary physician.”
(Y/N) sighs; not missing the undercurrent of warning in Draco’s tone, “Well I wish her all the best.”
---------
Dean Thomas had trained with Draco, but rather than continuing in the emergency room, Dean had chosen to go into surgery. He had done well for himself; he had quickly risen through the ranks on the surgical floor, having a knack for putting people back together again.
Arriving in the emergency room, Dean greets Draco with a large smile and a handshake, “It’s been too long, Malfoy. When are you next coming out with the lads?”
Draco laughs, “When Weasley can admit he can’t handle his firewhisky.”
“So never then?”
Both men laugh. Thinking back to the same night where Ron had gotten so drunk on the stuff that he performed his and Hermione’s song outside their window at nearing three in the morning. Other than disturbing the nightlife of urban London, Ron had woken up a very sleep-deprived Hermione.
Dean shakes his head; still chuckling, “How’s our patient?”
Draco smiles, “Brilliant. The perfect candidate; all her tests came back with no signs of trouble.”
Dean rubs his hands together, “That’s what I like to hear. Where is she?”
“Exam room four. I’ll take you there now.”
In the time that Draco has made his phone calls and seen other patients, Violet’s fiancée, Jonathan has arrived with a bouquet of pale pink roses, it seems. He stands upon the entrance of Dean and Draco but does not let his hand leave Violet’s. He smiles at both of them, “Draco, Healer Thomas – this is it, huh?”
Dean nods; smiling, “This is it,” He looks towards Violet, “How are we feeling? Are you ready?”
Violet nods once; firm, decided, “I’m ready.”
-----
Dean helps the porters move Violet to the surgical floor; Jonathan following with his bouquet of pale pink roses, whispering words of luck quietly. It’s a touching sight to see; the love they feel for each other written so clearly over their faces.
Draco knows (Y/N) joins him to watch them take Violet up; it’s hard to ignore her presence, the usual scent of lilies and citrus wafting over him, sending his heart racing.
“She’ll be okay, Draco,” (Y/N) murmurs; her eyes on the couple waiting to get into the lift.
Draco nods; turning to face (Y/N), “I know she will.”
(Y/N) reaches out to poke his cheek, “Then look like you believe it.”
Draco catches her finger with his hand; holding onto it for a minute, “I do believe it.”
Something passes over (Y/N)’s face that Draco can’t define; he drops her finger, clearing his throat at the strange atmosphere that has settled over them. “How busy are you today?” He asks, in the hopes of dispelling the awkward fog between them.
(Y/N) shakes her head as if coming out of a trance, “Not overly. Four patients so far and a capable trainee not demanding my attention every minute. Why do you ask?”
Draco shrugs, “Wanted to see if you would be free for lunch in an hour or two.”
(Y/N) smiles, “I’ll make time for you, Draco.”
Draco places a hand on his heart, “Then I should be so grateful as to buy the lunch.”
(Y/N) grins wickedly, “If you’re paying then I’m definitely making time.”
Draco gasps and (Y/N) starts to laugh in earnest; covering her mouth as she snorts. She shakes her head, laughing fit subsiding, “Let me know when you’re free and we’ll grab some food.”
He smiles at her, “Sounds like a plan.”
(Y/N) touches his shoulder, her fingers lingering, before leaving; needing to see patients and catch up on charts as well as keeping an eye on her trainee. A simple touch and it sends Draco’s heart rate through the roof; such a gentle touch but one that felt like it held so much promise. It had lingered slightly, and Draco wondered whether that was how lovers touched each other when saying goodbye. Either way, he so desperately wanted to know. He thinks back to his New Year’s Resolution; beginning to think that just maybe it’s time to tell the truth.
Draco shakes his head at the plan starting to form in his head; of questions and answers, of dimly lit restaurants and kisses against front doors. With a yearning filled sigh, he goes in search of a trainee, needing a distraction from his wandering mind.
Jude Prewett had proved herself highly independent within her first week of working in the emergency room; having hailed from a long line of Healers, she understood the role she played, but also lived with a huge weight on her shoulders in trying to fill shoes that had been worn so many times before.
Draco finds her with a patient; gathering their history before asking any further questions for their visiting St. Mungo’s today.
She startles slightly at his presence in the room, but soon settles quickly. “What do we have, Healer Prewett?”
“Jonah Ashford, 67 years old. He complains of shortness of breath upon initial examination.”
Draco nods; happy so far, “What have you gathered from his history?”
Jude raises an eyebrow, but nevertheless, continues, “Mr. Ashford has a history of asthma along with brief spells of dizziness that come on suddenly. These spells tend to last fifteen minutes each time and come and go when they please.”
Draco leans against the wall; happy to let Jude continue, “What are you thinking first?”
“He isn’t having an asthma attack though he does need a refill of his medication which I will give him a prescription for. I am concerned about the dizziness and how often it comes on.”
Draco looks towards the patient, “When was your last dizzy spell, Mr. Ashford?”
Mr. Ashford frowns; thinking back, “Last night.”
Draco nods, “Are you getting enough to eat and drink?”
Mr. Ashford looks down, “I try, but I find it hard to remember. My wife, Lacey, used to cook and clean. I lost her last year, and it’s been hard to find a routine when everything reminds me of her.”
Both Draco and Jude nod understandingly; both sad at Mr. Ashford’s story though it’s something they see often. Widows who simply desire company; who can no longer sit in their empty houses and watch time tick by.
“Have you got this?” Draco asks Jude. She nods; eyebrows furrowed as if to say she had this before he interrupted.
“Excuse me, Mr. Ashford,” Draco hears Jude say, “I won’t be a moment.”
Draco pauses outside the exam room; letting Jude catch-up to him. “Healer Malfoy?” She asks.
“Yes, Jude?”
“Is it just me you’re checking in on?” Jude asks; concern lacing her voice.
Draco shakes his head with a smile, “I check in on everyone. I’m checking on Healer Shannon after this. Don’t worry, Jude. You’re doing well.”
Jude relaxes and smiles; relief now evident in her tone, “Alright. Thanks, Healer Malfoy.”
Draco laughs, “It’s fine, Jude. Go,” He nods towards Mr. Ashford, “Continue with your patient.”
Making his rounds of the floor, Draco is relieved to see that the trainees are more than content to work with supervision from their assigned attendings. No complaints from either parties which makes Draco’s life a little easier when it comes to the reviews in just a couple of weeks.
He starts to collect patients to keep his mind off ringing the surgical floor immediately. He rings once, and they update him – Violet has just gone in, it looks to be going to fine, and then he makes himself wait to ring again.
“Draco,” Her voice sings; pulling him from his daydreaming as he sits at the admit desk.
He checks his watch, then checks the clock hung on the wall, “Is it that time already?”
(Y/N) nods; a large smile on her face, “And I do believe you said you would pay.”
He pats his pocket, checking for his wallet, “I do believe I said that. Come on then, let’s go eat.”
She hooks her arm through his. Draco has to resist the urge to pull her in further; to kiss her senseless. “I’m fancying chips, what about you?” She asks; ripping him from his yearning.
He shrugs, “I’ll have to have a look when we get there.”
She frowns, “Are you still worried?”
Draco shakes his head, “No. I’m not,” Then he smiles, “But I am hungry, so hurry your butt up, will you?”
(Y/N) snorts but fastens her pace, nonetheless.
--------
After the third time, Draco rang the surgical floor, they refused to accept any calls from him. Instead, ghosting his calls in order to annoy him further. Draco hadn’t worried; not through lunch with (Y/N) and not as he continues to see patients.
Draco can’t help but continue to glance at the clock; it has been well over the allotted time to complete a kidney transplant. Worry now settles deep within Draco’s gut, but he tries to remain positive as he flits about the emergency room; taking on as many cases as possible in order to keep the worry at bay.
It’s when he sees Dean get off the lift that Draco has any idea what’s happened. Dean looks tired and beaten down; as if all the fight has left him through the last few hours. With a nod of his head, Dean gestures to an empty exam room for Draco to join him in.
Taking a deep breath, Draco steels himself for what he’s about to hear. He knew Dean’s tactics from training and from seeing him work on the surgical floor; he would never let anyone else deliver the news of a patient to friends and family.
From the expression on Dean’s face, it doesn’t look to be good news, “Draco, I’m sorry.”
Draco nods; sadness settling like a boulder in his gut, “What happened?”
Dean looks reluctant to say, but he sighs and replies, “Cardiac arrest two hours in. We tried for half an hour to bring her back.”
All his life, Draco had seen signs that witches and wizards were not immortal – he had survived a devastating war; he worked in a profession where death stalked the halls like a hunter finding its prey. And yet, he had hope for Violet. He had hope that the transplant would be a success and she would go on to live a long and healthier life with her fiancée.
In the span of a single surgery; the hope had been crushed by the skeletal hands of the reaper that wanders the halls of the hospital, collecting souls.
Dean claps Draco on the shoulder in what is supposed to be an offer of comfort, but it does little to quash the growing sense of loss Draco feels.
“If you need anything,” Dean starts in kindness before giving up and saying, “I knew you two had a friendship.”
Draco nods silently; watching Dean had for the stairs. Throughout his career, Draco had never let himself get close to a patient. Sure, there were those who he saw regularly. The frequent flyers, the pain potion seekers, Mrs Larkin – a widow who needed company more than she needed medical treatment. However, Violet came in so frequently for dialysis that it felt almost inevitable they would end up on friendly terms.
Draco rubs a hand down his face; feeling almost devastated at this loss of such a young life.
Needing to be alone – if only for a moment – Draco enters the break room, taking calming breaths. He feels ridiculous; letting a patient’s death affect him this much when he had been at the deathbed for so many – young, old, infant.
He’s so caught up in his emotions, he doesn’t hear the door open. Draco startles slightly at the sound of her voice calling his name.
“I heard what happened,” She murmurs comfortingly – her hand outstretched as if to offer support.
Draco clears his throat; dislodging the lump that has taken root there, “Yes. It’s a sad loss.”
“Are you okay though? I know that you two were close.”
Draco looks down to the chart in his hands; a patient still needing to be seen. He smiles humourlessly, “It’s always sad to lose a patient, no matter how long you’ve been doing this.”
(Y/N) frowns, “That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.”
Draco throws his arms wide; emotions bubbling to the surface, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
She throws her hands up in surrender. Her voice is laced with frustration as she answers, “Fine. Keep it bottled up.”
(Y/N) slams the door as she leaves the break room; making her anger known. Draco, for a brief moment, loses his temper, sending his fist into the door of his locker. It does a little to curb the wave of grief submerging him, but the wave doesn’t ebb. Draco rests his head against the cool, gunmetal grey door of his locker, taking in deep breaths.
He gives himself a minute.
One minute. That’s all he gets to feel it all; to let the loss consume him. To feel the guilt and the sadness.
The minute passes and Draco stands straight. He pushes his hair back from his face and straightens his lab coat.
Clearing his throat, Draco leaves the break room, needing to continue working.
-------
It’s hard to miss the pitying look from the nurses as Draco continues to work; as if the entire floor has decided to walk on eggshells around him.
He continues to work because he needs to; he has no grounds to leave work – it wasn’t a family member he had lost; it was a patient. That was how he was rationalising it in his head. It was just that Violet had been his patient for three years; seeing her so frequently.
Draco shakes his head; ridding himself of the dark thoughts that threaten to break through.
He continues to work because that’s who he is. Through Draco’s adolescence, he found himself being defined by what others thought of him and his family. He was bending to a self-fulfilling prophecy that he didn’t want thrust upon him.
Through his first week as a trainee Healer, Draco found himself redefining every aspect of himself. He did not have to present the hard, touch exterior that his family and fellow students expected of him at Hogwarts. Rather, Draco found himself to be someone who could be soft; who could laugh and joke with the best of them. He found himself to be someone who wanted to help people in their time of need; in their most vulnerable state when all they need is someone to trust and someone to listen.
As he takes on more and more patients, it’s because he needs to work. He has to work through this; he doesn’t often show how death affects him so, but on some level, he had known Violet. He just didn’t expect her death so soon.
Focusing intently on the charts in his hand, Draco blinks away the tears threatening to fall. With a deep breath and a fake smile, he enters exam room two, ready to meet another patient.
--------
Violet’s fiancée, Jonathan, approaches him a few hours after her death. His face is tear stained and puffy as he clears his throat to gain Draco’s attention from a conversation with Nurse Janice.
“Jonathan,” Draco greets, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Jonathan nods wordlessly; blinking fast to get ready of the already building tears. He clears his throat again, “I just,” He takes a deep breath, “I just came down to thank you.”
“For what?” Draco asks; confused.
Jonathan lets his tears fall, saying, “For sitting with her when the dialysis was draining her, and for helping her laugh. For keeping her company when I couldn’t be there because of work.”
A lump forms in Draco’s throat, “That isn’t something you have to thank me for.”
Jonathan shrugs, “Regardless, thank you.” He turns to walk away but he pauses at the last minute, “Would you come to the memorial? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I think it would mean to a lot to her family if they met you.”
Draco nods; not even second-guessing his answer, “Of course. Let me know the details and I’ll get it off work.”
Jonathan nods; his face puffier than before from the freshly fallen tears. He holds his hand up in a wave before leaving St. Mungo’s.
-----
How Draco makes his way home is beyond him. He works the rest of his shift in a stupor; the all too familiar heaviness of grief settling over him for which he feels foolish and ridiculous.
He doesn’t feel the rain that soaks him through to the bone. He doesn’t remember entering his flat; doesn’t remember shedding his coat, letting his bag fall to the floor. Sitting on the couch, Draco submits to the grief. He submits to overwhelming sense of loss battering his walls; demanding to be felt.
On the inside, Draco is a storm; raging, raging, raging.
On the outside, he’s as calm as anything, staring at the mantle piece as he lets himself finally feel.
---------
Draco’s building was one of the many converted mills in London; brown bricked and grand, it stood proudly on its street, wearing its history like a badge of honour. His flat is on the fifth floor; one of the largest in the building – a gift from his parents after completing his training with high honours. He had lived there ever since, and (Y/N) had visited often over the years of their friendship.
(Y/N) knocks three times, calling his name with each one before she tries the door.
Entering his flat, (Y/N) always takes a moment to admire the pictures that line the wall. Admiring the beauty of Draco’s mother, and almost flinching at the imposing figure his father presents.
This time, however, she marches straight past them, calling Draco’s name for him not to reply. She only knew to come over here when he hadn’t met her to catch the tube together like they usually did when their shifts coincided. The words she flung at him earlier, she hadn’t meant. They had settled in her bones with an uncomfortable feeling; leaving a sour taste in her mouth. Truthfully, she had been worried about Draco since the news of Violet’s death had made its way to her ears; the gossip chain of the emergency room never one to falter.
She finds Draco on his couch; still wearing the clothes he left work in. Dropping her bag and shrugging off her coat, (Y/N) takes a seat next to Draco on the couch. He barely registers her presence; barely even blinking at the change of weight. She tries not to let it hurt her, but it does. Seeing him like this… it was something she hadn’t ever seen before.
Draco always presented himself as collected. The most dishevelled he ever got was whenever he worked nights and for most of the week, he would sport stubble. However, that was always gone by the time he came back onto day.
This was something new, though. His grief wasn’t anything she had encountered, and though they spoke often and told each other they cared for one another, they had never truly spoken about the feelings between them.
She coaxes his head onto her shoulder, and it’s there that Draco lets the first of his tears fall and the first of his sobs escape his chest.
He has seen death. He’s courted it for years – through the war, through his job. He has had patients die om him and had mourned each of their deaths, but he had never felt loss this keenly before. He felt scrubbed raw from the inside out.
He doesn’t know how long he cries for; he doesn’t know how long she holds him for but somewhere in between in it all, he manages to choke out his thanks which she hurriedly hushes. Her response being to hold onto him tighter.
Time passes, and his sobs start to slow, but they do not let go of the other, needing their anchors more than anything in this moment. In the pain of it all, Draco finds solace in sleep.
**********
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