Chapter image by the amazing Apocalypse at TDA!


"Granger?"

The door closed behind her with a sharp click. The witch merely glanced up from his chart before moving to the other side of the room to get supplies, the sound of her white Healer shoes tapping with each step as her soft chestnut brown curls bouncing behind her.

Draco would've noticed her trademark hair anywhere.

"Granger," He repeated, scowling.

He hated to be ignored and it didn't help he had been stuck in this room forever. The air was sterile and clean and the noise around him was irritating. The whole day had been frustrating in general.

"Malfoy," She said, eyebrows furrowed, taking a few potions and wraps out of the drawer.

She moved towards the sink to wash her hands, dry them with a paper towel, and put gloves on. She finally met his eyes as she came to stand in front of him.

Brown collided with grey.

Draco would be lying to himself if he said his heart didn't skip a beat, but he'd blamed it on the pain in his leg.

"The bloody hell are you doing?" He winced as she grabbed his leg, observing it. His pain had increased during the hour he waited for a Healer and it was sore to the touch.

"Checking out your wound," Hermione replied smartly, rolling her chocolate brown eyes.

Draco huffed and crossed his arms, finally giving the witch in front of him a glance over.

Hermione's face was still pretty, smart, and soft. Her curls were long down the middle of her back, halfway pinned up. She was the same height as before, but thicker and fuller like a woman. She wore a white Healer dress, stockings, and shoes.

"When did you become a Healer?" He asked curiously. He really hadn't known. He'd only seen her a handful of times in the past few years.

She ignored him once more, handing him a pain potion instead, "Drink this, it's going to sting when I start to clean your wound."

Draco rolled his eyes and did as he was told. Trust Granger to keep it professional and right to the point, even after all these years, that hadn't changed.

Hermione pulled out a chair to sit down and started cleaning his leg. He finally looked down and regretted it. His leg looked worse than it felt. A long gash from his ankle to his knee look angry, nasty, and bloody.

'Stupid Potter,' Draco thought.

All his damn fault. The messy haired fool was the whole reason Draco was in this mess. Potter could never just sit and wait. He always had to rush in head first, waving his wand around like a bloody hero trying to save the day. Draco inwardly rolled his eyes at his partner.

"How'd you do this?" Hermione asked, finally speaking again as she finished up cleaning his wound.

A few loose curls fell in front of her brown eyes. It was almost mesmerizing.

He knew the incident report was probably in his medical charts, but he decided to entertain her anyway. It wasn't every day he was in a room alone with Hermione Granger and she wasn't ignoring him. It was a start, at least.

Draco scowled, "Your precious Gryffindor golden boy, must save everyone Potter had me chase after him and I fell through the second story floor," He muttered the last part, but caught Hermione's small smile.

The brightest witch of their age did have a sense of humor. A sick one, at that.

"I forgot Harry mentioned to me you were working with him," Hermione mumbled, rubbing a sticky menthol smelling goo over his leg, her touch soft and gentle.

Draco's eyebrow twitched. He really did try not to think about that part of his life.

After the War, The Malfoy's struggled to pick up the broken pieces. With Harry's help, Draco and his father were spared for their crimes. Draco had spent the first year after the war in the Manor with his family, away from friends and the public. While Narcissa worked hard on their public image on the outside, Draco and his father tried to find some sort of peace and understanding on the inside. It was hard at first. There was so much anger and resentment from Draco.

He was so sodding angry. At the world, at Voldemort, at his father for allowing him and his mother to be exposed to such danger and dark magic. He felt hot rage every time he looked down at his arm, angry he never stood up for his own beliefs, mad he had blindly followed his father, and he felt remorse for all the victims. Eventually, however, they had came to a mutual understanding. They had too, after months of hostile silence and Narcissa's guilty stares. His father was never going to be the talkative type, nor he, but in his own ways, he proved to Draco and his mother how sorry he really was.

The second year after the war, Draco was sick and tired of being isolated. Tired of feeling guilty, he wanted to find his purpose in life. He had caused so much harm and horror during his younger years, he had to redeem himself for his soul. He didn't want to do bad, he wanted to do good. Make a difference in the world, something that would make a difference to him.

So, he became an Auror. And of course, fate had a sick sense of humor, and Draco's was paired with Harry bloody fucking Potter.

They weren't enemies, but it didn't mean Draco wanted to work next to the bloke much less be partners. But in the end, it wasn't bad and he never questioned Moody's decisions again. Everything Harry wasn't, Draco was. They were ying and yang, black and white, but they made one hell of a Auror team.

Draco looked down at his leg and winced. That, of course, was when Harry wasn't trying to be a damn hero all the time.

It had been three years now since the defeat of Voldemort and Draco could count on one hand how many times he had seen Granger.

They've never spoke, merely exchanged polite nods. She really had taken him by surprised when she walked in his room at St Mungo's.

"When did you become a Healer, Granger?" He asked once more, his curiousity finally getting the better of him.

Hermione bit her lip, wrapping his leg up in gauze with soft hands. She was so focused and gentle, he couldn't help but stare. She did look older; the war had done a number on her, he knew. All the running, death, and despair could do that to a person.

He could tell she was debating on answering him. He could practically hear her thoughts churning in that brilliant brain of hers.

"Right after the war," she finally said, finishing up the his leg wrap. Standing up, she patted his leg, smirking when he winced.

"Okay," she said, picking up his chart, writing notes down.

"You'll be fine. We're going to keep you over night for observation to make sure the swelling goes down and you don't get an infection. I gave you a pain potion mixed with sleeping draught, so you should be asleep within the hour. Keep your leg up and don't move too much. I'll be back to check on your vitals in a few hours."

She put the supplies up and threw away the trash, glancing at him once more before she started to head towards the door.

"Granger, wait," Draco reached out, grabbing her hand.

It was so impulsive, out of character and reckless of him, he almost snatched his own hand back. The hell was wrong with him? It was sodding Granger!

Hermione stopped, stunned by his out of character affection, but she didn't remove her hand. His hand was so much bigger than hers, almost swallowing her hand whole. Glancing down at the blonde haired man on the hospital bed, she opened her mouth to speak but Draco spoke first.

"May we do lunch?"

Hermione tried to remove the shock from her face with a stare of indifference. Draco suddenly remembered who and what they both were. He masked his own surprised, drawing his hand back like something burned him. This was Granger. And Draco would blame it on curiosity, stupidity, sheer impulse, and pain potions before he'd ever admit he found Hermione Granger attractive in her damn Healer outfit.

"Okay." Hermione nodded briskly, turning on her heel, her soft curls bouncing as she walked out the door.

Fate's sense of humor was becoming sickier by the second. Of all the healers, he had to have Hermione Granger, war heroine and brightest witch of the century.

Fate even met ironic, when Granger agreed to go to lunch with him.

The Granger he remembered and knew, would have hexed him and wore his ear off with her know-it-all mouth.

'Yes,' Draco thought sleepily, his body reclining against the medical bed, his eyelids betraying him, it was definitely the pain potions and Potter's fault for landing him in this situation.

Stupid Potter.

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