Drarry - It Was All Just a Game (REWRITE - MATURE VERSION)

CHAPTER 64 - A NEW LIFE

TW: description of self harm scars but no one actually self-harms; anorexia, suicidal ideation

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When Draco woke, everything was heavy, including his eyelids. It took him several moments for his body to be able to move, and when he was able to, he still couldn't quite open them. Instead, he reached out to his side, feeling for Harry's body. Instead of hitting Harry's back or his waist, his hands went off the bed, meaning he was in a single one, not their usual queen or king at Grimmauld Place.

Simultaneously, he felt a pull on his veins, and he furrowed his eyebrows, confused. He tried blinking for several moments, but they were still too heavy. The room wasn't particularly bright, but it seemed different.

When he could open his eyes, he saw there was a spell pulling at his arm and wrapped around his wrist. The blue beam followed up to a screen, which read his heartbeat and other vitals.

This wasn't Grimmauld Place. This was St. Mungo's.

It took him several moments to sort through his last memories: Harry was yelling at him, not wanting to go get treatment for his panic attacks, him insisting they ran away instead. After that, everything was blurry.

Oh no, that must've meant that Harry had bad enough anxiety to end up here. And maybe Draco couldn't calm him down—wait, why was he in also bed? Why was he wearing a gown?

He must've wanted treatment, too? Maybe he'd gotten bad, too? Quite frankly, with how bad everything had been at the Manor for quite some time living in a torture chamber. It wouldn't surprise him if he had a mental breakdown, though he just couldn't quite recall it.

Then he looked around the room. There was no other bed in there. It was just him, all alone.

Where's Harry?

Draco sat up, though his body felt heavy, and then he realized the pit in his stomach, the danger he felt.

Where's Harry?

He debated for several moments, looking at the spell on his arm and breaking it. All he knew was he needed to see Harry. It was like a tug on his soul.

Slowly, he stood, his body feeling like there were anchors attached to his limbs. And then, realizing that his Dark Mark was visible in his gown.

How did he not have handcuffs on? Maybe Harry talked to the head of St. Mungo's?

Merlin, why was all of this so bloody confusing?

But then Draco took a double take, realizing there were scars over his Dark Mark. They were somewhat healed, but they weren't old. Where did these come from? Why would he do that to himself—he hadn't in Seventh Year? Why now?

Did he have a mental crisis too?

What the hell was going on?

Harry. He needed to find Harry.

Slowly, he walked outside the door to find the hallway empty, and a window at the end of the hall revealed it was nighttime. Draco followed along the hall slowly, looking back as he did so in case someone else saw him, though no one did, until he met a small lobby.

There was one nurse who was looking through pages and pages of paper, her face bent in concentration.

"Er..." Draco started. He held his Dark Mark to his chest so she couldn't see.

Still, the nurse jumped. "Hi there. Er... Dr. Barmer is home right now and my supervisor just took a break. Can I help you?"

"Yeah, er... Can you tell me what room Harry Potter is in?"