The Implications of Forever

Fight or Flight

-- Chapter 7: Fight or Flight--

The impact of her feet hitting solid ground was enough to reverse the stun charm. Hermione promptly keeled over to empty whatever was left in her stomach onto the floor beneath her.

Draco groaned, gripping Hermione's shoulder to keep her upright. "I should've let the nurses knock you out." He scoffed.

Hermione's throat stung from the foul taste of the liver healing potions. She opened her mouth to defend herself, but another voice rang through the air before she could make a sound. "What is she doing here, Draco?"

It was Harry.

Hermione shifted her gaze from the floor to where Harry stood, pushing himself from the cushions of a black velvet couch with a look of pure confusion on his face. She scowled. You put me there. You sent me to rot in a mind ward, you prick.

"Well, Harry." Draco responded drily. "I had a therapy appointment today. Imagine my surprise when I found Hermione Granger sitting in the chair I was scheduled to be in at exactly 2 P.M.–over 48 hours after you told me you would be taking her to St. Mungos–looking like the pure image of death."

"Draco–" Harry cautioned with his mouth agape.

Draco didn't allow his husband to finish. "You put her in a mind ward? After she was clearly malnourished and unconscious–you lied, and took her for psychological treatment rather than real medical assistance?" He seethed.

Harry attempted to interject, but Draco waved his free hand to stop him. "I'm not finished, Harry!" He barked, raising his voice. The pounding in Hermione's head returned. "Not only did you fail to take her to St. Mungos, you ordered my employees to allow her to remain unconscious for over 48 hours. And then , you instructed them–with absolutely no authority except my last name – to take her to a mind healer the second she awoke–if she were to wake at all!–rather than treating her for the obvious injuries she sustained while drinking herself to the brink of death in a foreign country?"

Hermione glared at Draco– she was not drinking herself to death– but he wasn't looking in her direction.

"Look at her, Draco–" Harry contested, waving his hands in Hermione's direction. "She needed help! I couldn't risk her escaping St. Mungos–going Gods know where to hide away from the world again–and we would lose her all over again."

Hermione seethed at the gall of both of them, but still, neither were looking at her. It was as if she wasn't there at all. As always. She hoped their argument might keep them distracted enough to shrug off Draco's arm and shrink away before anyone might notice. Harry was right–she would be gone the first chance she got. They would lose her–and she would be happy. Damn their concerns. She needed to be free. She'd have to steady herself, but she could run. She really could.

"Allowing a patient to remain unconscious for any period of time over 24 hours is a violation of human rights!" Draco scoffed. "Or have you forgotten basic Auror training?"

"Don't be daft." Harry shook his head. "She wasn't unconscious, she was sleeping. She probably hasn't had a night's rest without a drink in years."

I'm right here! Hermione wanted to scream. Stop talking about me as if I am a child.

"People do not sleep for more than two days!" Draco returned.

"How was I to know she would sleep for that long?" Harry shrugged with exasperation. "I told them to let her sleep, not to commit a war crime!"