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The winds howled like wailing spirits against the sturdy walls of St. Mungo's, each gust rattling the laminated glass, which seemed too thin to contain the storm's fury. The air in the hospital felt charged, heavy with something more than the storm. Healers and patients scurried through the halls, their hurried steps a contrast to the unnatural stillness creeping into forgotten corners of the building.To the side of the main floor was the cracked door to an office. One would believe it to be empty at first glance. The room itself was dark and held little to no personal flair. Tchotchkes were absent as well as any photographs of loved ones. It would seem the office was uninhabited, not a permanent office for a healer but instead one set aside for emergencies or a last minute hire.It wouldn’t be until one pushed open the door and stepped in that they would find a tenured healer.Draco Malfoy sat hunched over at his desk, his white coat wrinkled and stained by the various fluids he encountered over the course of the day. His face illuminated only by the lights of his Lumos as he worked.
Fwooper Song Madness.
When one hears the haunting song of the Fwooper, they risk the possibility of impending insanity. While the symptoms of the song fade with time, the melody lingers in the back of their head until one becomes permanently mad.It was a recurring malady that continued to plague his desk for the past two years. All of his patients passed with no cure. The dark circles under his eyes held the weight of one hundred and thirty-two deaths and counting. This group would be no different.
As he sat hunched, the shadows of countless failures loomed over him, echoing the melancholic whispers of the Fwooper's melody. Each note felt like a taunt, reminding him of the minds shattered. He could almost hear their ghostly cries, drifting through the air like the remnants of a haunting lullaby.He ran his hand through his hair as he heard a knock on his office door. It was forceful, completely different from the timid knock he would receive from the receptionist at this hour. His jump at the intrusive noise was delayed, reflecting the hours of sleep lost.He sat up and smoothed out what wrinkles he could from his robes before calling out in an authoritative voice, “Come in.”The door creaked open, releasing a whisper of musty air, and in walked a grim-looking Harry Potter. His dishevelled hair clung to his forehead like the shadows of his past, and the weight of unshed tears seemed to hang in the air between them. As he took a seat, the silence enveloped them, heavy and foreboding. It was as if the very walls were listening to the secrets they dared not speak.Potter scratched the scruff that layered itself on his jaw, eyeing the scene before him warily, “You’re tired.”Draco scoffed, “Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Potter.”Potter rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I need to ask a favour.”“Because we offer ourselves to each other all the time.”“There’s a house out in the country. Sirius left it to me when he passed. We’re housing some children who lost their parents during the war.”Of course Potter would find solace in working with orphans. Draco smirked, “Still playing hero for little yous, eh Potter?”Potter continued to stare directly behind him, “Everything went well at first. That was, until we found out, one of them has a malady.” Potter looked, his eyes storming with uncertainty, “A blood curse.”Draco’s face dropped and his eyes hardened. “No.”“You’re a brilliant healer.”
“No.”“Malfoy. They’re vulnerable.”“No.”“They’re the same age Scorpius was.”Draco stilled. His jaw clenched as he looked down at the piles of patient files before him. All bound to pass within the next two weeks, if not sooner. He looked back up at Potter. Potter had not aged well. He had wrinkles and frown lines already peaking through. His hair was greying and he looked five days from a full night’s sleep.Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just give me the address.”The sky was filled with heavy, grey clouds. It was almost as if the sky were waiting for just the right moment to spill tears upon the ground below it. The waves crashed against the base of the cliff, waters restless in its quest for chaos and abandon. Draco was not foreign to the concept of abandonment. No. Far from it.Draco apparated directly to the location Potter listed. As soon as he dropped in, he could feel the sound of wind and waves seeping into his bones and telling them to rest. He was at peace.
He had arrived, at last, in a deep, cool, sweet solitude, a place of unbroken quiet, of unutterable rest. The mansion, at the top of the hill, showed bright amongst the dark clouds.He started up the hill.The wind caught it in hair, not gelled as it once was back in his days at Hogwarts. He fought the urge to flip the strands off of his face, but that would cause him to have to put his luggage down and he had no time for that.Each step up the hill felt like a step closer to his fate. His destiny lay at the top. He knew it. But how could that possibly be true?He could see, through the strands of his hair, he was almost to the house. It stood grande up close, not quite as daunting.“Can’t catch me, Desmond!”“Bea! Stop running away from me!”Draco nearly tripped as two children ran past him. He wasn’t annoyed at the intrusion. Instead, he grew melancholy. He missed the ruckus a young child can bring to the world.
“Draco! You’re here!”
He knew that shriek from anywhere. Pansy Parkinson, dressed head to toe in black Ghospell clothes, didn’t look a day over thirty. Her french bob now sat in a french twist and she was glowing. She ran up to Draco and pulled him into a hug that lasted far longer than it should.
As she pulled back, she smiled, “Potter told us a healer was coming, but he never mentioned it would be you!”Draco sighed, the wind and his breath intermingling as it blew through her hair. “It just was decided.”Pansy's face softened, a rare occurrence indeed, before giving a single nod and gesturing for him to follow her into the estate. “I'm certain you're famished. I'll set you up in your room and then we can have supper.”Pansy led Draco into the house. Brick by brick, the home held decades if not centuries of history. Aged stone and weathered rock surrounded the estate as a testament to its resilience throughout its life. The interior was regal in its subtlety. The wall adorned by well maintained paint and portraits of, whom Draco assumed to be, previous residents.
Up the stairs and directly to the right led to Draco's suite during his stay. The room was plain. No artwork on the walls. All that lay was a bed and a dresser. Draco smiled. This could be home for now.