The Plight- Malfoy x Reader

St. Mungos

Lucius POV

St. Mungo's emergency department was chaotic, even at this hour—the noise of it hitting me in full force as I apparated into the busy lobby with Y/N unconscious in my arms.

Her body was relaxed as I held her tight against my chest.

She was still—too still.

Fear clutched me. The only reassurance being the lift and fall of her chest.

This place, and her closed eyes, it was too familiar.

A reminder—metal handles, labored breathing, sheets too white, of waiting waiting waiting...

And death.

No.

Not again. Not this time.

I hurried to the front desk and demanded, "I  need to see the specialist, Dr. Harper—"

"Is she breathing?" The witch cut me off, her eyes going to Y/N.

"Yes, but I need to—" I began, the witch relaxed  slightly at my answer, as she interrupted again.

"Your name?" she asked too calmly, papers and forms beginning to fly on the table in front of her.

Her enchanted quill stared at me, waiting for me to speak.

"Lucius Malfoy." I emphasized and the quill began scribbling madly on the different forms.

The witches eyes flickered in recognition and before she could respond I interjected.

"This matter is urgent—I need to see Dr. Harper immediately," I insisted more forcefully.

"We can place her in a bed to see a healer but there is a queue for those who need more immediate attention. Since she's stable and breathing I'm afraid you'll both have to wait a while for someone to take a look—and Dr. Harper won't be here till the morning."

"Then wake him up and get him here now." I demanded.

The quill stopped writing and looked over at the witch, as if waiting for a response.

"With all due respect, Mr. Malfoy, it's the middle of the night—"

My patience broke.

"How much have I donated to St. Mungos—are you aware? How much to keep this ruddy place going?! How many treatments can now be administered at a lower cost because of my monthly donations—"

The quill began taking notes—probably documenting this whole interaction.

"There are protocols Mr. Mal—"

"I don't care about your damned protocols! I demand to see the Dr. Harper now! Call him and tell him just who is requesting his presence and remind the man the reason for his increased salary the past ten years."

The witch's lips tightened into a line as she clasped her hands together on the table.

The quill still scribbled on.

I knew I was drawing attention but I couldn't care less.

"Mr. Malf—" she began to object in a lowered voice.

"Please," the word came out desperate and terrified as I grasped Y/N tighter in my arms.

A momentary slip of my mask.

The girl I held—her life too precious to me.

The witch was stunned enough by that granule of emotion that her expression softened and she considered me—the wheels in her mind beginning to turn.