Chapter Twenty

SIDE EFFECTS

January 6, 2002

Draco could've hoped for a better day.

He knew that this day would come. It was inevitable, unspoken yet predetermined - but he couldn't help but wish he'd been prepared more than he was now.

If only he knew better…

Of course, Draco had spoken to Blaise about this. The inevitability – as though it was a door waiting to be opened, taunting and teasing a child with the promise of paradise. The world, like the child, is a fool to open the door and let the truth enter in invitation.

It would be the same as asking the hurricane to spare your house, Draco thought.

Insanely stupid.

St Mungo's was heavily populated by the time they Apparated right into the front lobby. The crowd was composed of journalists from various newspapers and magazines, and bystanders who wanted to know what the hell was happening. The atmosphere felt so thin – sucked out by all of these people cramped in such a small space.

Cutting their way through the mob, a sudden wave of nausea washed over Draco. He struggled to keep himself upright, attempting to steady himself against the people he came across with. The mob crushed him further in; shoulders to shoulders, arms to arms, legs to legs, and he could feel his stomach churning - the claustrophobic environment finally taking a toll on him, and he hated it.

What he hated the most was he couldn't control it.

To be honest, he was never fond of crowds. It only reminded him of tight spaces with so little amount of air to breathe and so little space to move. Even the walls of his chest began to contract, the tight shape of his ribcage closing in as if being swallowed by a black hole - what is this?

Draco shook his head, shielding his face from the flashing cameras.

His brain swirled as memories returned to him; a hundred-foot wave of sheer force, crashing itself into the crevice of his skull, shaking his entire consciousness until he physically felt his own feet wobble. He nearly fell, but somehow, he managed to stay still -

"Mr Malfoy!" He heard, somewhere behind him.

It came out a slur like an echo from a distant dream - or maybe it came from different people, he wasn't sure. He knew that he couldn't trust his senses anymore - failing to maintain his balance, his control, as the world began to spin before him.

It didn't take long for his sight to blur - a misty hallucination clouding his vision, blinded by the blinking lights everywhere. He fluttered his eyelids shut. "What are your comments regarding Miss Granger's accusation of sexual harassment toward Charlie Weasley?" A female reporter questioned in confidence and perfect clarity, pointing her mic to his mouth.

Was that Rita Skeeter? Salazar's sake, he didn't know anymore.

More questions came like the tail of a storm rampaging in destruction, causing his head to spin faster: What can you tell us about Miss Granger's present condition? Why would she attempt suicide? Can you tell us why she kept it a secret for so long? What is your relationship with Miss Granger –

And so much more.

The answers nearly slipped off Draco's tongue. Biting the inside of his cheek, he fought hard against the sudden urge to say something. Anything. His teeth clamped around his lower lip so hard, it almost drew blood – but he didn't care.

Pain is something that can be found anywhere, if one were to look close enough – and he needed it now, to remember that he couldn't, he shouldn't, because it wasn't his fight. This wasn't about him - this was about Granger, and he didn't need to fight for her.

She -

"As the new Head of the Malfoy house, how well are you coping with this new changes – now that Lucius is sentenced to a life imprisonment in Azkaban?"

Draco's ears perked up at that statement. What the… He stopped pushing himself forward; instead, his head spun around to search for that reporter. He balled his hands hard enough to break his thumbs, and that was when he heard a soft whimper next to him. Looking down, an ageing woman clutched the end of his sleeve and tugged him in despair -

No - mouth slightly agape, a series of ragged breaths escaped him. "Draco," the woman almost begged, "please take me home - "

He didn't need to look close enough to know. The crinkles in either corner of her eyes were softer, even smoother than they had been this morning. If she had any makeup on, she kept it light - for her lips look uncharacteristically swollen and chapped… and dead. Her eyes - those orbs he'd memorized in all these years of living together - seemed lost and lifeless.

"Mother - "

How did she… no, this isn't real, he told himself. He'd been here before. He'd been trapped here before, and he remembered how his mother clung to his arm as the press hounded them with questions about the verdict. Though it had happened two years ago, he knew that he'd never completely left that place. A piece of him was still tied to that memory - holding, waiting, remembering…

This wasn't real. It can't be.

Draco hardened his face into a scowl, mustering up the rest of his strength to feign indifference, when a hand grasped the sleeve of his robes. He snapped his head forward in defence and saw Blaise grabbing him toward the end of the crowd.

"You okay?" Blaise asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Did you – " Draco panted, throwing a glance down to the woman on his side - but, she had disappeared. He blinked in confusion. Her presence lingered, yet he felt nothing but air in his hands. Was it only in his mind? Was it an imagination, a mere illusion or a memory?

Blaise frowned and looked at him in question.

But Draco had no words. It seemed that all of his thoughts rolled themselves into one giant ball of string with no beginning and end - making it hard for him to trace its origin. What would he say?

Surprisingly, Draco managed to hear Blaise repeating his question over the voices in his head. It echoed in the back of his mind – but he heard it. He heard it loud enough to push him back to reality.

As his mouth failed to elicit an answer, alongside fatigue and stress draining him more and more, Draco nodded and exhaled out of exertion.

Blaise eyed him closely, a look of disbelief painted over his face. He pressed his lips together, nodding, "Alright, then. Come on." The two wizards continued their way down the less crowded corridor, leaving the infuriated mob down the lobby.

Healers and medi-witches ran about as they attended to their patients, ignoring their arrival – obviously not caring about their identities. Draco, still bothered by today's expected yet exhaustive events, walked behind Blaise down the long hall.

As they walked, Draco glanced around the place. He had only visited this place a few times; not even any of those coming close to how he felt right now. Even he couldn't put a name on what he felt because not one word can describe this… this… gut-wrenching void forming inside of him, ready to suck him in until he was nothing.

He wondered – why did he have to be here? How did he manage to get mixed up in this discombobulated tangle of mess Granger had trapped herself in? He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be a part of this. He didn't want to know her, to carry her secrets like a cross. But now that he'd fallen in the same hole she was in, he couldn't even dig his way out.

Potter had asked him, why him? A snort escapes Draco's mouth – fuck if he knew. He couldn't tell Potter the truth, not even a lie, because even he had asked himself the same question for months now and still came up empty-handed. He didn't know – but did he even want to know?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Draco cursed himself for being a hypocrite. What in Merlin's name was wrong with him?

Shaking his head, Draco straightened his posture and followed Blaise to the end of the hall. It didn't take long for him to catch sight of an agitated blonde witch crouched down outside the emergency ward, and even from afar he could easily deduce that she, too, was having an awful day.

Luna must've sensed their presence and looked up, tears in her eyes. She jumped off the bench and ran to Blaise's arms, to which he returned the embrace without reluctance. The blonde placed her head on his shoulders and let out a sob, holding him tight as though she might fall once she let him go.

Draco stood within a small distance – not too far, not too close – and noticed the witch's hand smudged with dried blood. Red as his own, remembering it oozing out of his wounds when he was a child; even the whiff of its scent, the same metallic odour so strong he could almost taste it – and he reminded himself that it wasn't about him anymore.

He shrugged it off.

He observed her closely. Her naturally pale skin shaded with a pinkish hue, unable to completely wash off the blood; even the right side of her clothes smeared with massive splotches of blood. He thought - she must've been the one who found Granger, not that he'd been informed of what happened, but judging by the amount of blood, he couldn't mistake it for anything good.

But what did happen? He wanted to ask. He almost said it, but somehow, managed to stuff it back down to his throat. The itch made the inner walls of his mouth somewhat viscous, and Draco craved for that unpleasant, yet friendly aftertaste of alcohol to keep his nerves at bay.

Luna stood still next to Blaise after she pulled back. Her bloodshot eyes fleeted all over the place, looking everywhere and nowhere in particular, heavily lidded with exhaustion - and Draco thought she needed a drink more than he does. He noted how her fingers attempted to calm its trembling by fidgeting the hem of her bloodied cardigan.

Draco, unable to stand the quiet any longer, asked: "Any news?"

Blaise shifted his gaze to Luna, who simply responded by shaking her head in solemn defeat. She sniffed, "No - the Healers won't tell me anything because I'm not family. Have you check the flat again? There's a lot of blood… o-on the bathroom floor - "

Draco frowned, wondering who she was asking.

"I know," Blaise sighed. He threw a glance at Draco and soothed her back with a hand. "We'll take a look once they get here."

His frown deepened, echoing, "They...?"

Blaise tilted his head in attention and mumbled, "We asked Daphne to pick up Mrs Granger. She's family, and apparently, the only one the Healers will talk to."

A pregnant pause fell between the three of them; and after a minute of dreadful silence, Draco asked boldly, "Does she know?"

None of them had to clarify who he referred to.

Blaise exhaled, glancing down to his fiancee; Luna took a hint and said, "I don't think so. From what I know, Hermione and her mum aren't exactly on best terms. She rarely visits her parents; she doesn't like talking about them, and I've never seen her receive a mail from her mum. Or anyone, really. So I… I'm not sure - but I don't think so." She looked up to Blaise with a sorrowful smile, which his friend returned with a nod.

Everything had gone quiet from there.

Time dragged on, painfully slow as if the world itself has been held back on a tight leash, unable to spin to its natural pace, and the three of them could only do so much other than wait.

Blaise leaned himself against the wall; Luna sat in the middle of the bench, shaking her leg impatiently; and Draco paced the length of the hall in an attempt to keep his rage inside the ball of his fists and hid it inside his pockets.

But neither spoke to one another. All that they could do was count their breaths and wait. Just wait - for time to move again, for someone to tell them something, for someone to barge in and disrupt the quiet, for… this to be over.

Hell - they all wanted the same thing but nowhere near reaching it.

Suddenly, the rhythmic cackle of heels pulled them out of their reveries, and all heads turned up to see Daphne half-running in their direction.

Even from afar, Draco could easily see the unwiped tear tracks on her swollen cheeks. Her lips turned a shade darker by how hard she'd nibbled them. Her shoulders looked stiff, her back straight as a post, as if she tried hard to keep herself standing. He wondered if she could still breathe, but he knew, somehow, that once she releases the pressure, she'd fall.

Just like Granger.

Fuck, he cursed inwardly. Why did it always come back to her?

Draco straightened himself up and cleared his throat - and that was when he noticed a familiar-looking woman following Daphne. He stood stiff, his nerves set aflame as the two women neared the end of the hall.
This must be her mother, he thought.

The woman – probably in her late forties or early fifties – looked ordinary. Her features almost the same as Granger's, albeit their age difference, and he wondered if this was how Granger would look once she reaches that age. A haze of exhaustion clouded her brown eyes, a look that Draco had seen all too often with Granger.

To be honest, he decided that he'd seen enough of Granger to last a lifetime. But as he stared at this aged woman, a swell began to spread across his chest, knowing that at some point, Granger might not reach this age as her mother.

"Draco?"

He blinked when he heard his name.

Looking up, Draco found all of them watching him with concern as though he'd sprouted another head - which he ignored - and hummed in question.

Daphne said, despite the worried look in her eyes, "This is Hermione's mum - Helena."

He turned to the woman - Helena - and offered a hand. The woman took it without hesitation - and the feeling of her hand reminded him so much of Granger's but he shook the thought away. He slightly bent his lips to a tight-lipped smile and released her hand from his own.

"Is there any news?" Helena asked, her hand returning to grip her handbag - containing the pressure in the middle of her palms. "What did the… um, the doctors say?"

None of them had any words; not even a term to label whatever it was that swelled inside their chests. It felt unnatural - to be unable to speak their minds, fearing that they might stumble into the unknown. No - because it wasn't their place, or their fight, or their life.

It was still Granger's.

And after everything that had happened, she deserved that choice - the decency to decide and act on her own without the influence of anything else except what she wanted.

"Well," Luna inhaled, her hands trembling as she spoke in regret, "the Healers haven't told us anything yet. She's still being treated."

"Who found her? What happened? Daphne only told me that Hermione has been in an accident."

Draco detected the slight panic raised in the older woman's voice. He glanced across the group, flitting his grey eyes carefully as he watched them - Blaise's hand rested on Luna's back for support, Luna stood as if she might fall, Daphne lowered her eyes, and the mother searched them for anything but received nothing.
Luna faltered, "I… I - "

"Luna found her on the bathroom floor," Blaise interjected, providing the strength that Luna needed but had lost in her constant battle to hold herself together. "We returned to flat right after lunch, and she saw Hermione lying in a pool of her own blood - barely breathing. So we… um, rushed here - and well, now here we are. We still don't know what exactly happened, but we hope that the Healers might give us a possible explanation."

"Oh god - I… was she drinking?"

Everything fell silent.

Draco could hear nothing but his slow, pounding heartbeat in shock; the rest of the group looked at one another with a familiar sense of uncertainty stirring in their eyes.

If memory served correctly, he remembered her telling him that she'd thrown away her stash of alcohol and emptied her cigarette packs. He even recalled the guilt and the shame masking her gaunt face, deprived of her vices. And now, as Draco thought about it, it made so much sense that he couldn't even deny the possibility. He shook his head - no, it was the most logical explanation, and regardless of how much he hated to admit it, he knew that he had to.

Has she started drinking again? But why? Fuck - his temples throbbed painfully as he asked himself the questions that all of them were afraid to speak out.

When none of them answered, the woman went on: "She was, wasn't she? She hides it, but I'm old enough to know the difference between water and vodka. She must've slipped and hit her head."

Draco wanted to say something - but what? He didn't know. He was lost for words.

"I know that all of these must be new to you," Daphne said, taking the woman's hand in her hand. "Believe me, we were all in the same position as you are now - but… well, I'm sure the Healers will know what to do. She'll be fine."

Draco noted the unshakable quiver in his friend's words as though she, too, needed some comforting herself.

Will she? How sure are you? He wanted to ask, but of course, he knew that he would only make things worse - so he swallowed it down.

The two witches accompanied the Muggle woman, sharing a thread of familiar comfort that all of them sought. They sat on the bench and talked in hushed voices as Draco retreated to his corner, allowing his brain to finally take a break.

Blaise stood next to him and said: "She was drinking. The whole bathroom reeked of alcohol when Luna came in. I could even smell it from the hall."

Draco remained silent, allowing this new information to sink in deeper into the back of his brain. Taking a glance at his friend, he could see the exhaustion on his friend's face - the deepened lines, the clenched jaw, the tired eyes - and there was nothing he could do but sympathize.

"Did she see it? The article?"
The question came out of his mouth so fast that it caught him off guard. But Draco tried to keep his composure, waiting.

"Merlin, I hope not," Blaise said with a dejected sigh. "But if she did… I don't know anymore. I can't even begin to think about it, and I know that it's very likely she'd seen it. But I don't want to think that - for Luna's sake, at least. I can't think that."

The quiet began to set in again.

And so, time went by slowly – dragged with a heavy ball wrapped around its ankles. Draco could hear the loud ticking of the clock in the back of his head. He could also remember sitting on the floor for about half an hour before he stood to walk around and stretch his legs. Luna had fallen asleep against Blaise's shoulders after a long while of convincing her to rest. Daphne remained to be seated with the Muggle woman, making sure that neither of them were alone.

Draco had lost track of the time when he heard the familiar sound of heels cackling against the floor – walking in a loud and confident manner – causing all of them to look up. And soon, it was followed by a voice, saying: "Well, isn't this a party?"

Uncontrollably, his hands began to ball into a fist. He straightened himself in defence, as did the others, and they looked at Rita Skeeter beaming at them.

Daphne came up behind Draco, drawing as much courage to speak up, and said: "What are you doing here, Rita? The press is not allowed in here. Only family - "

"And you aren't, I believe, family, isn't that right?" Rita pointed out, smirking as though she has caught a huge fish using only her hands. "Mrs Granger," she greeted, shoving her way through them and extending a hand for a firm shake, "My name is Rita Skeeter. I'm a journalist, and I'm here to write about your daughter's current situation - "

"What... why - " Mrs Granger faltered in confusion, glancing at the rest of them with so much question in her eyes that all could Draco do was look away. "Why are you going to write about this? It was only an accident, wasn't it?"

"Oh, is that what they've told you?" Rita spun around, her eyes sparkling with delight, and smirked at the woman. "I thought you were her friends. I wonder why you didn't want her mother to know the truth."

Mrs Granger snapped her head at Daphne, frowning.

Even behind him, Draco could sense the tension around his friend. He didn't need to look, knowing that her body had frozen from where she stood, fighting its way out of paralysis.

"We are her friends, and that also means that we have to keep her safe - "

"And you think, she isn't safe from her own mother?" Rita said, happily poking their patience with needles, "Well, I guess you wouldn't know about mothers wanting their daughters safe since your own left you alone during the war - "

"This isn't about me, Rita!" Daphna screeched.

Draco took a side-glance, seeing his friends on the edge of their seats. The atmosphere surrounding them began to thicken. He saw Daphne reach for the hilt of her wand, a curse tasting so venomously on her tongue, and from afar, he could also see Blaise guard his fiancee.

"This is about Hermione! And by publishing this, you'll ruin her even more!"

"There's nothing left to ruin, Ms Greengrass. She did that all by herself. She slept with everything that moved, and she felt no remorse for the families she tore apart - "

"NO – SHE ONLY DID THAT BECAUSE HE RAPED HER!"

And then, the entire hall began to move in slow motion. So slow, it might've stopped.

Draco froze. His entire body had gone frigid, hearing that deafening silence penetrating through the entire hall. The walls of his chest started to collapse, crumbling and crumpling at once; his lungs shrunk into airless balloons; his muscles flexed tightly that it hurt to move.

He stayed like this for a moment. Until Daphne stumbled back once she realised what she said, her back colliding with his chest, shaking him out of his trance. He caught her by the elbows before she fell to the ground. He heard her choke back a sob behind her hand -

"What did you say?" Mrs Granger mumbled, panic rising at the top of her throat, "What do you mean? What does she mean?"

"Well - "

"Choose your words, Skeeter. They could be your last words," Draco spoke for the first time, his words laced with poison. His hands grasped around Daphne's elbows to steady her; even his own hands trembled against her skin, agitation pulsing all over his body.

Rita let out a maniacal laugh. She giggled in amusement, shaking her head at him, before replying: "Oh – what a bold move, Mr Malfoy, but sadly, I'm not scared. Your word means nothing in the Wizarding World anymore. Not after your participation in the war. Or did you forget that it was your family who tortured Ms Granger in your own house?"

Draco inhaled sharply as though he was breathing her words. And so, he wasn't there anymore; he left and went to another place, a place which was narrow and dark – almost pitch black – and no light could show him the way out. The walls seemed to close around him, inching further and further in, until the air in his lungs began to smell of smoke.

Then, he heard it.

Her screams splitting through the ice-cold silence. Its pitch almost tangible enough to send chills up his spine, as he stood there, and he wondered if it was only in his head -

It was one of the things that kept him wide awake most nights. Even though, the war had been over; somehow, in his subconscious, another war began to stir with explosive thoughts loud enough to wake his sleeping nerves. He could hear everything, even if he couldn't see it, and when he closes his eyes, all he could smell was death.

And he knew that Granger, having to fight a war of her own, also made a deal with Death a long time ago. Just as he did.

What came next was unexpected; he wasn't sure how long he'd stood there, with his hands still holding Daphne's, and whether it was his hands shaking or her elbows, he didn't know.

Luna, who managed to step forward from behind Blaise, hardened her face in defiance before saying, "Then, take my word for it; I fought in the war, and trust me, they will believe me. So, in this order: get out, leave us alone, go to hell."

Rita gaped at Luna's threat. She glanced from her to the rest of them, her mouth still hanging open, panic hinted in her eyes, before she managed to turn her shock into a scowl. She sighed heavily in defeat and stomped out of the hospital.

Blaise started, "Babe, that was - "

"What do you mean?" Mrs Granger asked quietly. Her voice cracked, nearly breaking into sobs but managing to keep it together for one more second – a kind of strength that Draco wished he had right then. "Can somebody tell me what's going on? What does that woman mean? What do I need to know?"

"Mrs Granger," Luna called, and Draco could hear her – begging in silence not to ask what they couldn't answer.

"No, you tell me what that means - " Mrs Granger croaked, followed by tears falling down her gaunt face. "Please, tell me what that means. I have to know. Is she okay? Is my daughter okay?"

Daphne cried, shaking her head. Draco heard her muttering apologies into the thin air that she has been gasping for. Luna reached out her hands to hold Mrs Granger's, but the Muggle woman pulled hers back, and Luna was left standing there with nothing to cling onto -

With a sigh, Luna conjured the latest edition of the Prophet in her hands. Her fingers curled tightly on the edges of the newspaper, breathing in heavily, before she gave it to the Muggle woman.

Mrs Granger snatched the paper, immediately scanning her eyes across the front page, and released a loud cry of distress. Her knees buckled and crumbled; whatever strength she had had been drained, stomped by a fist down her throat, which kept her from saying something.

Draco exhaled. He turned and decided to leave them alone; and as he walked away, all he could hear was a wail fading behind him.

A/N: Aww! Yes! Finally, I've posted this. This chapter has been rotting in my drive. And the past few months have been hell. I've had several mental breakdowns, and I've been prescribed some anti-depressants. In addition, work is not that stressful, but I barely manage to write anything. But I am trying, guys, so much - so please bear with me! Thank you so much for waiting. And I apologize for taking so long to update this story. I hope you enjoyed this one. 'Til next time! xoxo