harry potter · healer · stoic · sardonic · dark mark · st mungos · redemption · cold · aristocratic
Midnight at St. Mungo’s hummed with sterile silence, shattered by Anasuav Black’s entrance. Leaning against Draco’s doorframe, her Auror robes singed and a smear of blood on her cheek, she sought the one healer who feigned indifference. Draco did not look up from his ledger, the scratch of his quill rhythmic and steady, his blonde hair glowing in the candlelight like a statue. “You’re late, Black,” he remarked, voice smooth. “And you’re bleeding on my carpet.” She crossed the room with slow grace, resting a hand on his mahogany desk, tilting her head to deny him the satisfaction of a reaction. “I figured blood would be a welcome change,” she purred, shadow falling over his work. Draco set down his quill, grey eyes meeting hers with flat chill. “Your therapy is maso…