Love or Death || Drarry

Chapter thirty-one

Before I continue this chapter I would like to say thank you to anyone reading this, as I know I have very slow updates. So thank you to anyone who has stuck around, and I ask you to please bare with me. Anyways, continue on with the chapter if you're still here by some miracle :)

Draco and Harry make their way out from the kitchens. When they had got there the house elves had been more than accommodating, Draco was sure they had loved helping the boy who lived and his death eater friend. They had all types of meat shoved under their noses, sandwiches, roasted vegetables and all kinds of pudding arranged in front of them haphazardly. It was a nightmare for the Slytherin. All those smells made him queasy, but not as queasy as it used to make him. So he had eaten some roast beef, two roasted potato pieces and a few greens. But of course Harry had insisted on him also having some treacle tart, which he did. A few bites, but still.

They had snuck out after thanking the house elves and were now walking towards the infirmary. Either dinner wasn't over, (which if that was the case then it went on for longer than either boy had realised) or it was later than they had known. But probably just the first one. Which was why the two of them were walking very fast down the corridor, they didn't want people catching them together. Well, Harry didn't mind one bit, it was Draco that had proposed they keep their whole friendship (whatever they were, they still hadn't discussed that yet) a secret.

But Draco was thinking. Why would Harry lie about spraining his wrist? Why couldn't he just tell Draco the truth? What could Harry possibly be hiding? Draco was completely confused.

They eventually made it to the infirmary and Harry pushed open the door for them as they walked inside. Madam Pomfrey turned towards he noise and nodded her head at them, putting down her clipboard at the end of a bed where a young witch was sleeping, she had terrible purple welts across her neck and Draco flinched back. They better not be contagious.

"Follow me boys, we need to talk." She says sternly, gesturing then towards her office at the end of the long room.

Draco had never been in her office before and he shared a confused, slightly worried, look with Harry as they followed close behind the healer. Had they done something that merited a lecture? Because that's what looked like was going to happen. By habit Draco wracked his brain to remember anything he had done wrong since hey had last been there, or even since he came back to Hogwarts, but came up blank. And by the looks of it, Harry was just as confused as he was. And anyway, if they had done something truly horrible than why was Madam Pomfrey of all people talking to them?

Draco's cut off from his musings when he steps into her office and jumps slightly as she shuts the door behind them. There was a desk opposite them with two chairs in front of it. Madam Pomfrey walks behind her desk and smiles in a way that had Draco raising an eyebrow. That wasn't a lecture look. That was a pity look. Draco suddenly found himself becoming nervous in a whole other kind of way, his palms began to get sticky. Was this the moment she was about to tell Draco that he was suffering from a fatal disease that there was no cure for?

"Please, take a seat, boys," she gestures towards the two armchairs in front of her desk, as she takes a seat in her own chair.

Draco shares a look with harry before they both do as they're told.

"What's this about?" Harry asks, completely forgetting to be formal with the healer. But she doesn't seem to mind, in fact, she looks quite sorrowful. The pity in her eyes heightening.

She clears her throat and clasps her hands together on her desk. But just as she is about to open her mouth, there's a brief knock on the door. She yells out a 'come in' and the door opens to reveal none other than the headmistress.
Now Draco really was worried.
The cat-like woman makes her way behind madam Pomfrey's desk and nods at the twos very confused boys.

The healer clears her throat again and Draco looks back at her. "Misters Malfoy And Potter, it is my belief that I—we— have figured out what is wrong with you both." She says sternly.

Draco looks over at Harry with a hopeful look that quickly dissolves when seeing the look on the gryffindors face. His eyes were slits, and if looks could kill madam Pomfrey would surely be dead.

"What do you mean you both? Draco's the one who needs help, not me," he asks through somewhat clenched teeth.

The headmistress steps forward and raises her hand in a silent demand for silence. Draco leans back in the cushions of his chair as he hears he click of Harry's mouth closing. She peers pincer-like at the gryffindor over her glasses, and he looks right back at her. "We are no fools, Mister Potter. I can surely see when there is something wrong with one of my students. Especially a student, that you so kindly pointed out earlier today, I have known for eight consecutive years and fought a war beside. A war, it's seems, that had a more lasting effects than we had originally thought. Not only for you but Mister Malfoy here, and I'm in no doubt many others as well. So, if you'd be so kind, I'd ask you to please refrain from opening your mouth until Madam Pomfrey is finished." She says sternly, but not unkindly. "And do not pretend that there is nothing wrong, because you would be lying to everyone in this room, including yourself."

When she was done, you could hear a pin drop. Draco blinks and takes in the words, looking over at Harry and seeing that the angry look that had previously been adorning his face, was replaced by a blank stare. The Gryffindor blinks slowly and swallows, not saying anything but looking back at the healer with a frown. He wasn't going to argue, so Draco stays quiet too. So whatever Draco was suffering from Harry was also suffering from? That didn't make sense, Harry wasn't throwing up every meal he eats....

"The new minister for magic, as you might already know if you read the daily prophet, has created a new department in the ministry of magic nicknamed the Post War Clean-Up. The wizards and witches that are in the department are mostly muggle-borns trained in... psychology... and they, along with most of the wizarding world have now recognised what mental illnesses are — as they haven't been recognised as real things before now — and have implemented methods to help those affected by the war in a non-physical aspect," she explains. Draco stays quiet, there was a whole lot of words in her speech that he didn't understand one bit. "I, for one, have only ever heard of these after being sent a list of mental illnesses that I have been studying. I have been in contact with a muggle-born therapist, who's been recently appointed to the ministry, and with the help of headmistress McGonagall here, have narrowed down both of your symptoms to one probable cause,"
She pauses and watches both of their faces for any sign of a reaction, but finds none, so she continues. "Post traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, is a mental health condition, as mentioned before, that's triggered by a terrifying event — either by direct experience or witnessing said event. Symptoms include flashbacks, nightmares and severe anxiety, nausea when eating or persistent bouts of being sick, as well as uncontrollable and often times intrusive thoughts about the event, that come and go either by being triggered into reliving the memories, or are sometimes completely unprovoked. I, as a healer, have the certification to diagnose you with any conditions, mental or otherwise, that I think you might need help with, and I most certainly believe that you Mister Malfoy And Mister Potter, need very urgent help."

Draco was confused, but with the confusion was also the overwhelming, weight lifting, feeling of relief. Finally, finally a name for what was happening to him. Not just conjured up names, or guesses about what was wrong with him. Finally, a proper name.
Post traumatic stress disorder.
Draco would normally not be the happiest with being diagnosed with such an illness, nor being labeled with a muggle-found disease. But he also didn't give a shit, because he could finally—hopefully— get the help he needed. And Harry... Harry could get the help he deserved, they could help each other, sure, but the promise of medical help was just as assuring as Harry making sure he was eating. He might not have to rely so fully on the Gryffindor anymore, because he was sure he was suffocating the boy.

Harry could get help. The help he so deserved, and so could Draco.