St. Mungo's is for wimps; Day 3.
Draco had finally managed to send a hysterical Narcissa away, and safely back toward psychiatrics. They had just left family counseling, and that seemed to make her cry more than usual, which Draco had thought was damned near impossible, but they had managed it
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But she took her time.
A day to be exact.
She inhaled a sharp breath as she hovered outside the door of his room, her hand hovering over the knob as she tried to steady her heartbeat. She had to remember that it was just Draco in there. Lucius was no longer a presence, no longer a threat. At least, for now.
She pushed open the door, knocking gently on the door jam.
"I'm sure you're rather sick of people knocking on your door but I figured I ought to stop by-"
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He dropped the pillow and fell back onto it, "I've seen every other kind of healer, I suppose it was only a matter of time before they sent in maternity."
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"Consider yourself lucky I'm here personally," she said, reaching his bedside. She tucked herself into the chair as she looked up at him. "You don't want to undergo my kind of check-ups."
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"I do," he said a little too seriously for Draco Malfoy, "consider myself lucky, that is."
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She knew he had been hearing the same question over and over again for the past few days. She knew Narcissa was probably wrecked with guilt. But she still had to ask.
Even if it was difficult to look at him, the images of what happened that morning still floating in her memory, the way he- well, it was going to take some time for Cecilia to really compartmentalize, to understand that it was Lucius and not Draco.
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His wounds were dressed and healing, his blood replenished. They had drained the excess electric current wreaking havoc on his internal organs- and those were also, for the most part, running properly again. Physically, he would be alright.
The healers had made it very clear that his mind was not- and would not be for quite some time. But that it was normal for what had happened to him. He would have hallucinations and night terrors for a while. That he might wake up unsure of where he was, or just feel general fear and confusion at times. For no apparent reason. But, eventually, those would pass. With time and effort.
He looked over at Cecilia, completely blown away at the memories he had- of what he did to her, of what he had done on the street that night...
"I'm sorry, Cessy," he said barely able to maintain eye contact, casting his eyes down to her hands.
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She didn't quite look at him directly when she said it, instead focusing on the hem of her robes, picking at the frayed edge. It crushed her to think that she was actually afraid of him, a little, considering all that he had done to her- even if it was Lucius, it was still his hands, his voice- his eyes.
She felt so angry that this was where Lucius left them.
He'd done so well to ruin so much.
"You remember everything, don't you?"
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Draco's chest rose high as he took in a deep breath. There were so many things to be said between them, but he hardly knew where to start. He wanted to get really angry about all his father had done to him, and to Cecilia. But he feared of scaring Cecilia, so he put his mind elsewhere.
"Mother thinks she can get rid of these things," he said lightly indicating toward his right forearm. He didn't even know how to use it without his father's influence. Now, it was just an ugly reminder of the horrific things he had committed.
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Cecilia leaned forward, her eyes drifting to the ugly, wretched thing that was a constant reminder of what had happened. It looked so different on his arm for some reason, though she knew the tattoos were exactly the same. She ran her fingers over her skin, the mark bubbled slightly.
She frowned.
"Really? Is that possible?"
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"I'm sure you recall the flooding book?" Draco was careful not to say much else about that night, just thinking about it made his blood pressure rise. "She believes he found the mark in the same book. I never got a good look at it, so I can't say if she's right for sure."
While Draco's memory was more clear than not, he only remembered the book he had used the night he had marked Cecilia (and himself) was that it was old and in some ancient language. And they had a room full of those kinds of books.
"She's just desperate to make up for being such a..." a slew of horrible names came to mind, but he resisted, "a neglectful mother."
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Cecilia said the words perhaps a bit more harshly than she intended. She knew Narcissa was just as much a victim as Draco- abused throughout her marriage. Still, she knew Draco well enough that Narcissa wasn't the mother he deserved.
It seemed to be a common theme among her friends - completely useless parental figures.
"When are they letting you out of here?" she asked suddenly.
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Her question hit him hard in the gut, wondering the same thing himself. "As long as I go along with everything, I suppose it could be very soon."
His body stiffened remembering everything the healers had been telling him the last few days. There was only so much they could do, they could only really teach him how to deal with his hallucinations, it's just a side effect from the curse.
While he was not all that accustomed to sharing how he was feeling, or what he was thinking- it was Cecilia. Also, he had been in some practice as of late. He squared his jaw and looked away, "I've got to control these apparitions I've been seeing, first."
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Her voice was soft, curious- Cecilia leaning forward in her seat as she looked up at him. He had been through so much in the last few months, his body and mind completely out of his control. She knew what that felt like, but only for the few moments she'd been under the curse- nothing that could compare to how long Lucius had been controlling him. It was terrifying to think about, sent a chill right through her.
She could cry at that moment, seeing the way he looked in that bed.
But she knew that would drive him mad.
"Draco, let me help you."
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"I see these.. visions, apparitions, hallucinations..." his throat was tight, remembering them as he was trying to describe them. "I did terrible things, Cess."
He suddenly wished he wasn't lying in a hospital bed. He felt so pathetic and helpless in this position, he turned his body to the opposite side of the bed and placed his feet on the cold floor, "First, it was dementors in Azkaban," he started bitterly, "Weasley loved that one, for sure."
Draco lifted himself up and started walking toward the other end of the room, just for something to do, "Then... then I started seeing the people I killed."
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She shifted in her chair, unsure of what to do with her body at that moment, her first instinct to go toward him- do something.
"They say that happens," she said lamely, wringing her hands in her lap. "Merlin, Draco- I am so sorry-"
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"Oh, I know. I am an expert on the subject now," his tone drenched in sarcasm and despair.
He turned to press his back against the wall and let himself slid down into a squat, his elbows resting on his knees, hands in his hair.
"Not much anyone can do either way. It either goes away or it doesn't."
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