The Changing Lights by lazywonderland

chapter twenty four

The Healer who had been in charge of Draco's case since the very beginning was a woman named Zenira Penbroke; at first, when his diagnostics had only been twice a month, she had been the one to come to Hogwarts and do her tests on him in the Infirmary. Ever since his mother had interfered, however, and the visits had been upped to twice a week, it had usually been other Healers that came by. If the letter he had received hadn't been enough of a warning sign that something was going on, Penbroke's presence now would have tipped him off, not to mention being asked to go to St Mungo's.

It was Slughorn who had escorted him, because his mother had not been granted another day of freedom. Harry had not been permitted to join him either, and while a part of him had wanted Harry to be there, another part had been glad for an excuse to make him stay behind at Hogwarts. It wasn't as if he thought Harry had been lying when he had said this body didn't have anything to do with his feelings - it was just that Draco felt quite certain a claim like that couldn't be made truthfully ahead of time.

He meant it now. There had been nothing but sincerity in Harry's eyes when he said it. The issue was whether or not he would still find his way into meaning it once it actually happened.

If it actually happened.

"Thank you for waiting, Draco." The door to the little office in which Draco had been waiting, stripped down and forced into a hospital gown, opened up on Healer Penbroke clutching a thick wad of files and wearing a slight frown. Draco shifted anxiously where he sat on the examination table, barely able to meet her gaze. When she looked at him, her eyes were as warm and understanding as always, but something troubled had clouded them over. "Hop on down from there and have a seat with me."

She gestured to a chair near her desk. Draco, throat dry, fingers trembling now, did as he was bid. It was bad news - he felt it in his bones. Nothing but bad news could put a look like that on his Healer's face. Tears of exhaustion, confusion, fear, torment prickled at his eyes and Draco didn't bother wiping them away.

"You've been incredibly brave, Draco," Penbroke said softly. He dropped his gaze and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the hot trickle of a tear roll down one cheek. "I've seen more than my fair share of witches and wizards come through here with any number of ailments and disfigurations, but what you've gone through these last five months has been a test of character not many people could have endured so gracefully. Before I say anything else, I want to make sure you know how far you've come, and how proud of you I am."

He looked up with wet eyes and felt his chest clench.

"Thank you," he croaked.

"I mean it. Now, earlier, when you came in, I didn't tell you much because I didn't want to get your hopes up." Draco's heart skipped. "We needed to do a few tests - what we discovered yesterday seemed relatively conclusive, but I would never give you false hope, not in a situation like this."

"What did you find?" he pressed; his pulse had gained speed and suddenly his fingers felt numb. The hope he had been furiously repressing ever since he had walked in two hours ago and been told urgent tests had to be performed swelled like a balloon. "What is it?"

Penbroke studied his face carefully before she spoke: "It's good news, Draco. But there's been an unexpected complication we've discovered that ... changes the situation."

Draco stared, wide-eyed, waiting. Good news. That's what she had said. "What ... what is the good news?" he rasped.

Penbroke looked as if whatever answer she was about to give him caused her great pain. He could not imagine why this could be, for if they had discovered a cure, there was no complication in the world that could dampen that joy.