Chapter Text
Everyday at 7 am, Hermione enters St. Mungo's to start a day of rounds, check-up appointments, and research in her beloved lab. The work is rewarding yet challenging - something Hermione is pleased to note is exactly what she wanted from her life after Hogwarts. St. Mungo's lets Hermione take creative license with her medical research... after all, she is a war heroine and holds the support of not just Harry and Ron, but the Minister for Magic and the worldwide Wizarding communities. As much as Hermione found she hated the overblown media circus after the war, she was a big enough person to admit that a small part of her found a thrill in partaking in her share of the spoils. If that included direct admission to the St. Mungo's training program (her NEWTS did qualify her, mind you) and a state of the art laboratory, who was she to complain?
There were so many things she loved about her work as a healer, especially since she was saving lives and coming into contact with the most intellectually stimulating magical diseases and curses daily. The fast paced, adrenaline-rush inducing work Hermione found herself doing was occasionally tempered by one thing. Actually two things if she was honest.
The first was Harry and Ron’s persistent penchant for getting into scrapes during fieldwork and raids. A few months after the Battle of Hogwarts, she and the boys had discussed their plans for the future, and while hers differed greatly from theirs, all three plans involved peaceful, normal careers and relationships.
What fucking bullshit. Harry lasted four months before he took Kingsley’s offer to join the Auror program, Ron right on his heels. She knew her own path would not follow theirs, but it did work out in her favor. She and Ron spent less than a year together romantically before they realized that their feelings followed that of siblings rather than lovers.
It had been a hard pill to swallow, especially since the Prophet had heralded their love story as one for the ages, but the decision was mutual and their friendship left off as it had been before the mess of the war turned everything on its head. Skeeter, quite predictably, painted her as a shrew following her amicable breakup, which left Hermione feeling both pissed off and relieved to find an excuse to avoid the dating scene for a while. There simply wasn’t anyone who made her heart sing, and now that all the fighting was over, Hermione wanted to settle down and enjoy her slice of life on her own terms. Nothing less than perfect would turn her head. She deserved it. Ginny told her this, as did her mum and dad, Mrs. Weasley, Andromeda, Luna, and – of all the people in the world – Theodore Nott.
Theo was a welcome addition to her little found family, fitting in perfectly with Ginny’s witty personality and Harry’s newfound love of cooking while more than keeping up with Ron’s Quidditch obsession. Out of the three of them, Hermione assumed Ron would take the longest to come around to the Slytherin, but he had actually been the first. There was something to be said about Theo’s charm, Hermione supposed, and it was only too much of a shock to hear of the spread of her “clandestine relationship with the son of notorious Death Eater Thoros Nott”.
Hermione made sure to send Rita Skeeter a strongly worded letter, reminding her of certain… details she knew about the slimy reporter.
If she was any good in her occupation at all , she would’ve known how impossible that kind of relationship between her and Theo was – Theo and any her really. Charlie Weasley didn’t take those news stories very well, considering the fact he’d slid a platinum ring on Theo’s finger not a year into knowing the man. Charlie was back from Romania permanently, unable to leave home for the second time now that Theo decided to use his family fortune to start a new dragon reserve on the British Isle. The two men made the most sickeningly perfect couple Wizarding Britain had ever seen, and the publicity they garnered was second only to Harry and Ginny’s.
Hermione was content with her friendships, her work, and her little flat in London. But what was that second thing that just bothered her to no fucking end?
Oh, yes. The constant headache that was Draco Lucius Malfoy. Auror Draco Lucius Malfoy, he would surely remind her. Ugh.
After his year-long probation and confinement at home, Malfoy had passed his NEWTS with flying colors, and they apparently flew so far as to reward him with a coveted spot in the Auror training program. It was a rigorous program and saw more than half its recruits cut by the final week, but Malfoy was not among them. His scores tied even with Harry’s which was a record in its own right, and she had to give him credit for his dueling capabilities. She assumed he faced enough vitriol from the rest of the DMLE without having her glowering at him.
Oddly enough, however, she didn’t find herself too upset with him for the things people thought she ought to be upset about – namely his treatment of her at Hogwarts and the time she spent under Bellatrix’s knife while he stood by. She was bitter, oh yes, just not anymore. She could not find the time to care all too much about Draco Malfoy beyond the countless hours she labored over him St. Mungo’s, fixing some body part or other.
You see, Draco Malfoy had this incredible ability to find wayward curses, poisoned knives, and ancient artefacts that sent him to the hospital a few times a month. His name popped up in the discharge files a good 42 times this year alone! It wasn’t that he’d injure himself terribly or anything, but he always needed some bone regrown or some odd hex removed. His antics got to the point that Narcissa Malfoy decided to fund a whole new wing at the hospital in exchange for a private Malfoy-only room. Absolutely ludicrous.
What was even more ludicrous was the way she always seemed to end up as his primary caregiver. She’d heard the rumors that he only ever requested her, but that was bullshit. It was more likely his mummy (and gods did she just adore Narcissa) included this in the terms for her very public post-war donation, since Draco was churlish enough to scare most other staff members away. He once sent Padma Patil out the door crying after she’d attempted to fix a particularly nasty hair growth curse, and only permitted himself to be checked out once Hermione went in to investigate.
The rumors were interesting though. Some of the orderlies liked to gossip that he fancied her, going so far as to ask Narcissa to pull strings in order to keep himself in close proximity as often as he could. Others who were less accepting of the Malfoys tended to believe he took every chance he got in order to finish what his aunt began four years ago… as if he didn’t have over a hundred missed opportunities.
Malfoy apologized to her after his sixth visit. The first five were awkward if she was honest with herself, but they weren’t hostile by any stretch of the imagination. They’d just been rather stilted. His apology was sincere and heartfelt, offering true remorse and promises to treat her and other Muggleborns better now that he’d seen how foolish the lies his Father had fed him were. To her knowledge, he’d kept that promise, but he was still a right snarky little prat around her. She could only figure that stemmed from his upbringing and the Slytherin personality type that Theo also exhibited (although he did it with grace and cheekiness that Malfoy only wished he could have).
This new Draco Malfoy was intriguing. Hermione found herself excited to discuss his cases while he rested after each visit to St. Mungo’s, and he was always willing to oblige her inquiries concerning the who and what and where of his many magical injuries.
He annoyed her, thank you very much. He was useful in the sense that the information he provided her medical studies with was helpful, but he was annoying and took up much of her valuable time. If only he wasn’t so childish as to let other healers look at his injuries. Harry and Ron let just about anyone treat them! Whatever. It seems that Malfoy’s medical problems were her own for the foreseeable future.
~~~~~
Draco Malfoy loves when his work as an Auror calls him to the field. The rush of pleasure he feels at catching his father’s old friends and associates in the act of one illegal potion ring or another, or in a creature trafficking case, or in a plot to murder the Minister, or literally any fucking ridiculous thing that the magical idiots put themselves up to never got old.
He was good at his work, and he was proud of himself for finally finding a way to separate himself from his father. Working in a field where he found fulfillment let him be his own person., and he’d never been his own person before. He quite liked it.
The first year was hard, and not because he was incompetent. Merlin no. Draco supposed he only had himself to thank for that, with half the office made up of bloody Gryffindors who either knew him from school, knew his father, or had simply been alive within the last fucking decade to hear about the typical Malfoy family antics.
It was difficult work to change people’s minds, but he did just that through his willingness to be a team player (shudder), the many apologies he made to those he either saw in the Ministry hallways one day or who he had to track down, and thanks to a healthy dose of Mum’s philanthropic magic. Now, four years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco could say that he felt as though he belonged in this new world of magical inclusivity, and that he even… got… along with… Potter and Weasley. At work. Only at work. To even think about being invited to a good old Gryffindor drinking party was… brain melting.
Not that Theo hadn’t jumped ship, abandoning Draco in favor of his redheaded husband and in-laws. Seeing Theo and Charlie Weasley made him want to Avada himself sometimes. Their sheer existence was living proof that people could be too perfect for each other.
While, yes, Theo was still Draco’s closest friend thank you very much, much of the old Slytherin gang had drifted over the years. Blaise, ever the chameleon, got off without a single charge due to his extremely intelligent avoidance of all things Death Eater-related. He and Daphne Greengrass had immediately fucked off to the Zabini family vineyards, eloping not a year later and immersing themselves completely into Italian Wizarding society. With Crabbe dying after his misuse of Fiendfyre, Goyle had willingly answered for his crimes and was, according to the papers, just a year away from completing his stint in Azkaban. Draco didn’t think he’d be seeing much of his former friend ever again, and he understood that. Some things were better left alone. Pansy was… somewhere in Asia. She’d found a nice older man to marry in a country that didn’t bother expediting her for her heavy use of Cruciatus during their Seventh Year. Fucking bitch.
The whole post-Hogwarts experience had been eye-opening for him in ways that he was beyond thankful for. Every day spent in the real world beyond the magical boundaries of that bloody bubble was a day Draco counted well spent. He held little love for Hogwarts nowadays.
Mum was quite happy of late, but she would not stop bugging him about Hermione Granger.
“Hermione Granger this and Hermione told me that ” she would say to him… gods was it annoying to know his own mother had better success talking to the witch than he did. His mother made an effort to invite Granger to all of her charity balls, tea at the Manor, and the like, but Draco seemed to lack that old Slytherin confidence he'd exuded in his youth. He was suddenly busy when Granger was over for tea, and any charity ball she attended was a night he served at the DMLE. Just why he had to make his life harder by avoiding her in any non-work related capacity was beyond him, because he desperately wanted her to hold, to touch, to converse with, to love.
He needed to get a fucking grip.
At this point, he found himself stepping in the path of an interesting curse every now and then just so he could be near her. He craved it – her proximity. There was just something about her that he failed to notice in Hogwarts and found himself falling over himself to appreciate now. He thought it had something to do with the way her position as a healer permitted her to be swotty without the know-it-all quality, and now… Salazar was it sexy as hell .
He could spend hours listening to her explain how the curse that hit his right elbow was designed to spread when he applied standard healing spells to it, effectively a death sentence to anyone who panicked and didn’t notice or didn’t make it to St. Mungos on time, or, or, or – as long as she spoke, he was listening. There was this glint in her eyes whenever she found something particularly complex that made him absolutely barmy. The way she fit into those hideous St. Mungo’s robes left him with a fucking hard-on. She had no idea what she did to him, and they hadn’t held a conversation beyond the walls of the Malfoy suite, but Draco knew that they would click. He just had to find a way to let her see that, yes, he might be a poncy little brat, but he would be her poncy little brat most willingly.
Maybe Mum would know what to do?
~~~~~
“Alright we have less than four hours to finish preparation for the Bilwick raid you idiots, so let's get a move on!” Nymphadora Lupin, formerly Nymphadora Tonks barked at her Aurors, eyes scanning the full room. The Bilwick family had risen from it’s otherwise underground notoriety to become one of the most prominent niffler-trafficking rings on the planet at a time where many of the old families found themselves forced to redistribute their wealth due to most of it being either illegally acquired, or because the heads of many of the houses found themselves locked up in Azkaban.
The Malfoy wealth remained intact thanks to careful planning on Lucius’s part and Narcissa’s incredible ability to donate to all the right causes, cementing her socialite status for a good while longer. Actually, probably until the end of time if Narcissa had anything to say about it. She had long despised Voldemort and found that fitting in with the new Wizarding society was easier, lighter than she thought it would be. People still ate out of the Black sister’s hand, only this time they did it because of their adoration for the woman who lied to Voldemort and befriended the Brightest Witch of Her Age rather publicly.
Draco happily followed his mother’s example, albeit a bit cautious at first – one with a Dark Mark could never really walk with their back completely turned – and went to all the charity events she asked of him when he could slip out of the bullpen. Becoming an Auror had been a decision that made Mum cry, the fear she’d held since his Sixth Year never fading now that he willingly placed himself in danger a few times a week. She found some solace from his decision with her sister Andromeda, whom she’d been able to reconnect with after the dust had settled. It must have helped just the teeniest bit that his cousin was the current Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, although Tonks made sure Draco received no preferential treatment (not that he’d expected it coming from all three of the interactions he’d had with her prior to working under her).
The room had cleared and Draco, lost in his thoughts, sat there like a fucking dunce. “Malfoy, are you even listening to me?” Tonks shrieked, clearly needing that vacation she booked last month and still hadn’t taken.
“Yes, cousin,” he rolled his eyes, “I’m with Potter and Weasley this time around, as per usual-”
“Well you three make the best team, you know-”
“Ahem!” he scoffed, “Do you want me to finish relaying the instructions or not, dearest Nymphadora?”
Tonks glared at him before cuffing him upside the head, “Don’t Nymphadora me you little brat, or I’ll be sure to tell Aunt Cissa about your constant cheek. I have a feeling she’ll be disappointed you’re not presenting yourself very well in public.”
Their eyes met and a low chuckle passed between them, “I’ll be sure to check in with Potter and Weasley.”
“Good. I need this to go perfectly otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it from Kingsley. Martin Bilwick has been a pain in his arse and the Austrian Ministry won’t stop breathing down our necks after that stint his little cronies pulled in Vienna.” His cousin’s shoulders slumped, the worry evident from her now-grayish hair.
A malicious glint came into Draco’s eyes and he laughed outright, “Bilwick thinks he’s untouchable, but even he is susceptible when it comes to accepting Mum’s party invitations. You know the information we got from the Solstice Ball is better than a goldmine. That fucker is as good as ours, and we can get the Viennese their galleons back while we’re at it. Or, if you would like to go home early and put your bloody feet up for once, I could just pay them myself.”
“Gods, I still cannot believe you actually have enough money to pay reparations if it came down to it. Do shut up about it though, you know Weasley would ream you for it for days if he could,” she shuddered, “make yourself useful and contact Hermione before you get geared up.”
“I- what? Hermione? Who?” he stuttered awkwardly. What the fuck? WHO? That was mortifying.
Tonks looked at him with a knowing smirk – one it seemed came from his Black genes, not the Malfoy ones as he’d always assumed – and pinched his cheek, “We need to have her on retainer at St. Mungo's. I know it’s her week off, but we need her ready if anything happens to you, since you seem to be the only one who ever comes out injured anymore. You might as well be the one to contact her if you plan on throwing yourself into some idiotic situation again. It’ll save me the time, at least.”
“Literally everyone has gotten injured on the job you daft bint! It’s not just me and you know it. Your lack of faith in me is wounding.”
“Oh, my mistake,” she grinned, “you’re the only one to get injured with that much consistency . You should just ask her out if you’re this determined to see her.”
Brain-melting, heart-stopping, vein-freezing, eye-twitching panic was what that sentence incurred. The fuck did she say out loud? In the middle of the bullpen? With Potter and Weasley likely on the other side of the wall?
He schooled his features quickly, “I have no clue what you mean, Nymphadora.”
“And you only call me that when you want to piss me off or when you’re nervous. It’s not becoming of you, dearest” she retorted.
“Have you been talking to Mum?”
“Aha – admitting it, are you? Well this is just glorious. I must owl Aunt Cissa and Mum and Theo while I’m at it!”
“Wait… Theo? What has Theo got to do with any of-”
“Hush,” she whispered, “just send Hermione a patronus and let me do my non-work related tasks before we break into that bastard’s house with wands blazing, yes?”
And with that, a very dazed Draco Malfoy sent a slightly breathless patronus to one Hermione Granger, asking her to be ready to floo to St. Mungo’s in case any of the Aurors suffered injuries on their latest raid.
~~~~~
A soft bluish glow lit up Hermione’s bedroom just as she was about to get into bed early for the first time in over a month. Of all the times in the world for anyone to want to contact her… this one might finally result in an Unforgivable.
The patronus in front of her gave her pause. She’d never seen this one before, and it looked as if it was almost nervous, fidgeting and lost in the space, quite odd for the elegant panther. If anything, Hermione assumed this type of patronus would belong to a person who relied greatly on their pride, not some shuffling idiot who was ruining her night .
“Uh… hi, Granger. This is Draco Malfoy,” the patronus spoke, somewhat quietly, “Tonks wanted to notify you of a DMLE raid occurring in about, um, three hours. It’s a big one… uh, yeah… and we will likely need your assistance as soon as we wrap up. Tonks was… occupied… and asked me to send you the message. I’ll see you soon.”
Well then. Hermione didn’t think she’d ever hear that many words from Draco at once again, and she had to giggle a bit at his obvious embarrassment. She could almost envision him, shifting awkwardly as his cousin sent him to fulfill what was likely a menial task. Perhaps he’d rolled his eyes at her and grumbled under his breath as he’d cast the patronus…
She shook herself at that thought, a bit confused, and decided to lay down for a quick nap before she made her way to the hospital to ready her station.
~
Two hours later, Hermione flooed into her lab at St. Mungo’s and sent a charmed memo to the head of staff, explaining the DMLE raid and her presence at the hospital during her time off. She set about readying her equipment, fussing with her current research into a new strain of Dragon Pox, reorganizing her pen and quill collections, and beginning her next report on a blood malediction vaccine that was plaguing several inbred Pureblood families at the moment.
She felt nervous . Nervous in a way that she hadn’t felt in years. Maybe not Seventh Year nervous, but more of a ‘something awful is going to happen’ way. Merlin , if only Trelawney could hear her now.
Casting a tempus charm, she realized that the raid had likely started not more than ten minutes before as long as Tonks’s punctual nature rang true. She couldn’t help the odd quickening of her step as she traveled from her lab in the east wing to the Emergency Wing on the opposite end of the building. Hermione was no Seer, and she despised Divination with her whole being, but an itch in the back of her mind left her all but convinced that something dreadful was about to happen. What if Harry or Ron was seriously hurt? What if Draco got unlucky for the first time and caught a curse that did real , lasting damage. She couldn’t imagine having to look Narcissa in the eyes to tell her about her son. Fuck .
And that was indeed the word Hermione uttered a few minutes later when Harry’s stag bounded past a group of mediwitches in the hall, his voice emanating from the silvery wisp in a panicked voice, “Hermione! We’re coming through in a minute with Malfoy. He’s- he’s really done it this time. Oh, gods … please be ready Mione. Tonks is going to k- kill us.”