Archive of Our Own

How to Literally Knock Draco Malfoy Off His Broom

"Are you ready?" 

With a firm tug, he tightened the forearm pads of his Quidditch kit, then turned his head to look at his coach and nodded, an anticipatory grin playing around the corners of his mouth.

"Ready as I can be." 

And that was the truth. Draco was in top form, but even more in high spirits.

The day promised to be a good one, as the Chudley Cannons stadium was not only packed but also bathed in glistening sunlight. Perfect weather conditions. There was no wind and the azure blue sky made you want to get the best out of yourself and give the spectators what they were hoping for: an exciting match.

For the two years that Draco had been playing Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons, the team had consistently been at the top of the British Quidditch League. This year, he not only planned to end up on the podium, but to become champion. Nothing would stop him from catching the Snitch today and thus catapulting his team from third to first place — preferably before the Cannons managed to get a single Quaffle through his Keeper's hoops.

His unexpected entry and subsequent success in the wizarding world's most popular sport was a dream come true, there was no other way to put it. He may have already been an excellent Seeker in his school days, but the fact that he had been scouted by a professional team after graduation, despite his post-war trial before the full Wizengamot, was nothing short of a miracle. Even as a natural without a dark past, the chances of ever playing League-Quidditch were slim, as vacant positions didn't grow on trees, but Draco had made it anyway.

It was okay to be proud of that, he thought. There wasn't much in his life to be proud of, but his career was one of those few things. 

As he slammed the door of his locker shut, grabbed his broom and left the visiting team's changing room, the usual adrenaline began to rush through his body. It had been two weeks since the last match and he couldn't wait to get back in the air and be cheered on by the fans.

The latter was almost the best. Not because he had always dreamed of being famous, but because it felt so good to be accepted as part of society again. People didn't spit at you if you sweetened their time by catching a little ball at least every other weekend. They didn't shun you in public or call you names if you were their star player.

Nope, those days were over.

As Draco turned the next corner, he bumped into Blaise. They shook hands and walked the rest of the way together.

"How are you feeling?" Blaise asked, grinning excitedly.

"Couldn't be better," Draco replied with a wink.

"Glad to hear it."

Blaise was a loyal and enthusiastic visitor to all Falmouth Falcons matches, and Draco quite enjoyed chatting to him for a bit before he took to the air. Secretly, he even regarded his best friend as a personal lucky charm of sorts. Not that he would ever tell him that — the bloke didn't need to become any more arrogant than he already was.

"I've had a look at the Cannons' line-up for today," Blaise began their usual pre-match ritual. "They're even fielding two subs. One of their Beaters and their Seeker were injured in the last match against the Harpies. It'll be a breeze for you — the substitute Seeker is shit. I've seen him in action before and he plays like a girl."

"You shouldn't say things like that out loud, you chauvinist," Draco scoffed. "Ginny Weasley is the highest scoring Chaser in the league." 

"I said girl, not woman," Blaise clarified with a suggestive wink. "Ginny Weasley is definitely a woman. And what a woman! Too bad the Chosen One has her wrapped around his little finger. I wouldn't mind taking a peek under her Quidditch unifo—"

"Do me a favor and keep your smut to yourself," Draco interjected, signaling Blaise to continue with his player analysis, which he dutifully did.

It was only when they left the last underground corridor and entered the room where the teams were waiting to be let into the stadium that Draco's attention was drawn to something else. Or rather, someone else.

Next to the coaches and referees, who had positioned themselves near the exit as they would be the first to enter the pitch, stood the Mediwizards. They carried the distinctive first aid kits of St Mungo's Hospital, which Draco knew from personal experience contained healing essences and potions used for the primary care of sports injuries, and their robes were mint green with three fiery red letters embroidered at chest height.

MMM - Mungo-Medi-Magic

There were three of them, and the middle one — a slim, short Mediwitch with curly brown hair — had her back turned to him. He recognized her anyway. 

Granger. 

Of course, Draco knew what Hermione-idol-of-a-whole-nation-Granger was up to these days. Although years had passed since the war, there was still so much media coverage of the famous Golden Trio that it was impossible not to know that Granger had applied to St Mungo's to train as a healer after graduating. (And had, naturally, been accepted with the greatest pleasure.)

It made sense somehow, after all she was the brightest witch of her age and healer was by far the most demanding profession one could choose. It had been a bit of a surprise, though, as Draco would have bet a few Galleons that she would be joining Potter and the Weasel in the DMLE's Auror training programme. He probably should have known better. Granger had never been one to stay in the box she had been put in.

Anyway, it was unexpected (and strange) that she was here. He couldn't remember ever seeing her at any of the league matches, and she certainly would have caught his eye, not least because of that one fateful night in eighth year. 

The images he usually kept carefully locked away popped into his head unbidden, and Draco stopped dead in his tracks.

—

Blaise inviting him to the head boy's common room. Granger turning up there shortly afterwards. His annoyance when he remembers that she lives there, too.

Blaise's voice, "Drink with us, Granger."

"Is that supposed to be a challenge, Zabini?"

"It sure as hell is." 

An empty Firewhisky bottle. A gramophone. Three crystal glasses on the table.

"Do you know the Muggle version of the game?"

A flickering fireplace. A spinning bottle.

"Truth or dare, Malfoy?"

"Dare."

"Take off your shirt." 

Granger in front of the fireplace. Swaying hips. Soft music.

His hand lifting from his knee as if of its own accord and reaching out for her.

Blaise leaving the room with a chuckle.

Granger, tipsy, naked, on his lap. Her gasp as he buries his head between her legs. Her face as she straddles him. Her snuggling up to him as he carries her to her bed after their shared shower. 

"Peace for tonight, all right, Draco?" 

Her flushed face the next morning. The snowflakes melting in her curls as he leans in to kiss her one last time...

—

It had been over four years now, and you'd think Draco would have had enough new sexual experiences with his groupies to overshadow those memories.

Well, the exact opposite was the case. 

Not the groupie part, of course, but the overshadowing part. 

The images haunted him at regular intervals. At night. In his dreams. And each time he woke up drenched in sweat and with a massive erection. Which was crazy, after all he hadn't liked Granger back then, and he was pretty sure the feeling had been mutual. 

An alcohol-induced faux pas, that's all it had been. A schoolboy folly, fueled by the urge to prove to himself that despite his past, he could have someone like Granger, even if it was just a one-off. It had had nothing to do with the fact that he had suddenly realized how pretty she was. Or how much her boldness had impressed him that night. Her courage. Her wit. Her brightness. Nope.

And, of course, it had remained a one-off. They had parted quite peacefully the morning after their little 'accident', that much was true, but everyday school life had quickly confirmed to Draco that it would never happen again. (Not that he had hoped it would. Nope.)

Granger had made herself scarce. In class and in the corridors, she had always been flanked by girls (since Potter and Weasley hadn't returned to Hogwarts for their final year) and miraculously, she had never been in the Head Boy's tower when he had visited Blaise. The message had been clear, and so Draco had begun to avoid her again, as he had done all those years before, with the subtle difference that he had stopped insulting her once and for all. 

They had pretended it had never happened, and after graduation they had gone their separate ways. And that had been the right thing to do, or at least that's what he had been telling himself ever since.

"Earth to Draco." 

Blaise, who had noticed that Draco was no longer listening to him recite his diligently researched information, clicked his tongue impatiently. 

"What's she doing here?" Draco asked, ignoring his friend.

He nodded in the direction of the Mediwizards, whereupon Blaise turned his head to follow his gaze.

In the meantime, Granger had turned around. Her expression was tense and her eyes were darting nervously around the room, as if she was afraid of spotting someone she didn't want to see. Draco had a faint idea who that someone was. 

Then, suddenly, as if she had heard his thoughts, she turned her head a little further and their eyes met. She looked at him, startled; he stared back stoically.

Even over the distance between them, he could see a blush creeping up her neck, but she lifted her chin and gave him a curt nod anyway. Ever the Gryffindor. 

Draco gave her the once-over, savouring for a moment how much it seemed to unsettle her as she began to squirm under his gaze, then he turned away.

"No idea," Blaise said when he spotted Granger. "Probably part of her training. I haven't seen her in ages. Damn, she looks good, don't you think?"

Draco, knowing what his friend was trying to do, merely rolled his eyes. Blaise was not innocent of what had happened in the Head Boy's common room all those years ago, and he had never fully let go of the belief that Draco and Granger were an exceptionally good match. Which was, of course, utter bollocks. 

"She looks the same as ever," he grumbled dismissively.

Blaise arched an eyebrow, but thankfully didn't pursue the subject, instead continuing to philosophize about the Cannons' current strategy.

Draco tried to refocus on the words, but his mind kept wandering. The sight of Granger had thrown him off track, and that was more than unwelcome. He needed a clear head for the match, for fuck's sake.

As he joined the queue that the players had formed at the exit to the pitch, he mentally scolded himself. If Granger wasn't present at every league match from now on, he wouldn't see her again for a long time anyway. He could count on one hand the number of times he had been able to catch a glimpse of her from afar since graduating, as they rarely attended the same events. Ergo, everything was fine. Absolutely brilliant, in fact.

The gong sounded, whereupon Blaise took his leave with a final pat on Draco's shoulder. 

Draco winked at him, shouldered his broom and followed his teammates with determined steps — up the stairs, through the pennant-draped passageway and onto the lush green grass of the pitch. He didn't notice the thoughtful look that followed him from hazel eyes.

As he stepped onto the pitch to the rapturous applause of the white-and-blue-clad Falcon fans, the memories of the night in the Head Boy's tower faded. And that was a good thing. He had, after all, a match to win.

The commentator called out his name and shirt number (Seekers always first), whereupon Draco mounted his broomstick and soared into the warm summer air. 

For a few seconds, he whizzed past the stands with his hand raised, basking in the adulation of the crowd, then dashed off and took up his usual starting position — as high as possible, with a full view of the action and the players of both teams.

The whistle blew and the game quickly picked up speed. 

The Falcons were good, the Cannons were at least trying. It soon became apparent that Blaise had been right. The backup Seeker the opposing team had chosen for this match was not nearly as good as McKinnon, who normally held the position. How utterly unfortunate.

Draco circled high above the pitch, looking out for the Snitch and only occasionally glancing at the action below him. 

Less than thirty minutes into the game, the Falcons were leading by fifty points, and all he wanted to do was catch the Snitch as quickly as possible to secure his teammates the victory they deserved.

A good quarter of an hour later, he saw the object of his desire for the first time. 

The small, golden ball was hovering motionless, albeit with rapidly fluttering wings, between two stand posts a few feet above the heads of the Mediwizards, who were standing by on the edge of the pitch in case of an emergency. The opposing Seeker had not yet spotted it.

Draco rolled off to the side and dropped into a breakneck dive, leaning forward on his broom to be as aerodynamic as possible. The ground was getting closer by the second and the frenetic chants of the fans became a monotonous roar in his ears thanks to the headwind.

As the Snitch had so far made no move to take flight, Draco was certain of his victory — he was already too close.

He readjusted his broom once more, took one hand off the broomstick and then — the mint-robed Mediwizards scattered — his fingers closed tightly and unyieldingly around the little ball.

Draco yanked his broom around and threw his fist in the air. The stadium exploded and the commentator joined in with the cheers of the crowd. As he held up the Snitch for the fans to see, he allowed himself a quick glance down. 

And there she was. 

She had pressed herself against the wooden wall of the stand, presumably fearing a collision. One hand was on her heart, the other was clutching her first aid kit. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes were wide and she looked a little... impressed?

When their eyes met, Draco's heart skipped a beat. 

What the fuck. Why? With pride? 

He simply couldn't look away, barely even registering the frantic wriggling of the little ball in his hand as it tried with all its might to free itself from his tight grip. And as his ears were still ringing, albeit now for a different reason, he also failed to notice the danger approaching from the side.

Granger took a step forward and raised a trembling hand.

"Draco!" 

The sound of his given name coming out of her mouth, which he had only heard once in his life (and which he had been convinced he would never hear again), made him realize the panic in her voice far too late. 

The Bludger, which one of the Cannons' Beaters must have batted in his direction before the final whistle, struck him on the temple without further warning. There was a disgusting cracking sound, then Draco slipped off his broom and plummeted four meters unchecked.

The Snitch, on the other hand, buzzed away happily, buoyed by his newfound freedom.

When he regained consciousness, he felt like his skull was going to explode. 

He blinked and instantly groaned as the blindingly bright light that fell into his eyes sent pinprick waves of pain from his retinas to every cell in his body.

Draco corrected himself. He felt like his skull had already exploded.

"—needs rest now," a stern voice reached his ear, followed by unintelligible mumbling from various people.

His throat was dry as sandpaper and his ears were still ringing. Everything fucking hurt. 

"—definitely not—I'll let you know when—really have everything under control—" 

More scraps of words he couldn't make sense of. But it was the same voice as at the beginning: authoritarian, self-confident, bossy.

First Draco heard footsteps, then a door slamming shut, and finally a soft rustling sound, as if someone was rummaging through a bag. He plucked up all his courage and hesitantly opened one of his eyes again.

Oh, fuck's sake. Ouch.

It took him a few seconds to get used to the unpleasant lighting conditions in the changing room, which was obviously where he was. He saw lockers, spare jerseys and brooms lined up against the wall, albeit blurred, as if there was a veil over everything.

Then he felt it: quick, gentle touches on his head from steady hands that seemed to know exactly what they were doing. 

Several Latin words were muttered, presumably for healing purposes, for Draco didn't recognize a single incantation. (Admittedly, he had never been much interested in healing magic.)

Slowly, carefully, he turned his head and finally caught a glimpse of the face of the person whose nimble hands were busy applying a cooling, viscous tincture to his temple. A thumb gently traced his cheekbone. It felt incredibly good. Like the touch of an angel.

"Are you real?" he asked stupidly.

"I am." 

"So not a dream this time?" 

"This time, huh? No, definitely not a dream." 

"Are you sure?" he croaked.

"As sure as I can be." 

"Prove it."

The tender hand pinched his cheek and pain shot through him. 

"Fuck, Granger," he cursed. "Fuck." 

"Ah, welcome back to the land of the living, Malfoy," she said, relief slightly outweighing the sarcasm in her voice.

Common sense alone prevented Draco from pulling his head out from under her hands so that he could sulk in peace. The persistent throbbing in his skull told him all he needed to know about his condition: no jerky movements unless you want to lose consciousness again, you fool.

Granger took a step to the side so that her whole face appeared in his field of vision. Her eyes flickered with a mixture of embarrassment, concern and cool professionalism — an unusual combination. Draco surmised that it must be a classic female thing to be able to contain such contrasting emotions in a single facial expression. 

"Shit, it's really her," he informed himself and quickly closed his eyes.

Granger must have misinterpreted his tone, because she let out an irritated snort. Nevertheless, she placed her fingers on his temple again and massaged the rest of the jelly-like substance into his battered skin. A few seconds later, he felt the opening of a vial against his lips.

"Drink," she ordered, and Draco did as he was told. (He would have done just about anything to make the pain behind his forehead subside.)

Fortunately, the potion quickly took effect and after a few beats of silence he felt far better. He opened his eyes and realized that his vision had sharpened, which made him sigh with relief. The throbbing in his head also disappeared a little more with every breath he took, so he propped himself up on his elbows and raised his eyes.

"Are you even authorized to tamper with me, Granger?" he asked. "Should I call in my lawyers? Prepare for the worst, perhaps?"  

She acknowledged his quip with both an extensive roll of her eyes and an exasperated wrinkling of her nose. Ah, good to know that he still had the same effect on her as he'd had at Hogwarts.

"I should have gone with my gut and let you bleed to death on the pitch," she retorted, shaking her head with mock remorse. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Oh," Draco purred with a fake nostalgic smile. "I guess I could say the same about you. Figures you'd insist on treating me yourself instead of consulting the professionals. After all, you've always been convinced that you're the best at absolutely everything, haven't you, Granger?" 

She merely crossed her arms and gave him an unimpressed look.

"For your information — I'm only a few weeks away from my exams, and right here and now I'm even the Mediwitch with the most experience, so you're damn lucky I was standing right next to you when you fell off your broom just like that."  

When you fell off your broom just like that. 

That really was the understatement of the century.

Draco didn't fall off his broom just like that, and thank you very much. As a matter of fact, he couldn't remember ever falling off his broom without some massive external force being involved. Not at Hogwarts, not at a single Falcons practice, and certainly not at a league match. Apart from that, it had been her bloody fault that the Bludger had hit him in the first place. Tsk, leave it to Granger to literally knock him off his broom for the first time in his life.

Maybe it was a bit unfair, because now that he remembered what had happened on the pitch, he realized that she had tried to warn him — but hey, when was life ever fair?

No, it had been her fault, full stop. She had distracted him. With her fawn eyes, her slightly parted lips, her windswept curls, her admiring gaze and, above all, the stupid way she had drawn out the last syllable of his given name — just like four years ago, when she had fucked him into the sofa in the Head Boy's common room.

'When you fell off your broom just like that', my arse, he thought.

"As soon as I'm done and you feel able to Apparate, you'll be transferred to St Mungo's for further examination," Granger continued, interrupting his train of thought about what was probably the most humiliating moment of his career. "The healers know you're coming, so you won't even have to deal with the mob in the waiting room. Satisfied, Your Majesty?" 

Draco gave her a frosty look, swung his legs off the stretcher he had been lying on and carefully brought himself to a sitting position. 

"Take off your shirt," Granger demanded imperiously.

He let out a fervent snort, giving her a look that was as cocky as it was pitying. 

"And why the hippogriff would I do that?" he asked.

"Because I said so," she replied drily.

"Really hasn't changed a bit," Draco muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." 

Granger huffed, but then seemed to decide that there was no point in arguing with him.

"Well, if you must know — because you fell four meters and didn't just hit your head. I've performed a diagnostic spell and found that at least three of your ribs are broken. I want to make sure you turn up at St Mungo's in the best possible condition. It's good for my CV."

Draco was tempted to tell her what an incorrigible swot she still was, but bit his tongue as it wouldn't change anything. Granger always got her way, that much he remembered. 

She made no move to turn away and give him some privacy, so with a resigned sigh, he began to peel himself out of the top half of his Quidditch uniform, dropping one article of clothing after another on the floor beside him.

Undressing took longer than usual, because although he no longer felt any pain, his fingers were still trembling. He assumed it was the after-effects of the physical shock. When he finally raised his arms to pull the long-sleeved top he had been wearing under his pads over his head, a hiss escaped him. 

Yep, his ribs must indeed be broken, as his flank hurt with every movement. 

It took another good minute before he was finally naked from the waist up.

Granger hadn't made a sound during the whole procedure, which made Draco look up at her with a skeptical frown. He was surprised to see that she wasn't returning his gaze, but was instead staring at his chest, her eyes darting over the muscles he owed to his hard training. Furthermore, her cheeks were slightly flushed. What the—

"Like what you see?" he asked, abandoning himself to an impulse.

She winced and cleared her throat. Without responding to his comment, she raised her wand and cast another diagnostic spell, both her hand and voice shaking slightly. After analyzing the glowing diagrams and some incomprehensible data, she leaned forward and placed her fingertips on the area of his ribcage where she apparently suspected the fractures.

Draco shuddered, but had to admit to himself that it had nothing to do with the pain, but rather with the fact that he hadn't expected her to touch him. 

He allowed his gaze to wander over her guarded face. Her long eyelashes, her cute button nose, the countless freckles on her cheeks and her full, pink lips. And he remembered. The only time he had been allowed to look at her from such close quarters had been over four years ago, and yet every detail was astonishingly familiar to him.

Granger must have sensed his scrutiny, because her gaze shifted from his ribcage to his face. When their eyes met, Draco's breath hitched.

And once again, the images attacked him out of nowhere.

—

Granger beneath him. Her hair, spread across the sofa cushions. Her smile as he sinks into her, breathing heavily. The soft, encouraging noises she's making. 

"Yes, right there. Gods, Draco." 

Then her on top of him, her hands on his chest, riding him hard. Her face as she comes for the second time. 

And then the next morning.

Her entering the Head Boy's quarters after an early walk. The look on her face — slightly exhausted and hungover, but satisfied nonetheless.

The surprise in her eyes when he kisses her. The gentle pressure with which she returns the gesture. The way he holds her hand a little longer than necessary.

"I'll see you in Transfiguration, Granger."

"Well, bye then, Draco."

—

Draco averted his eyes and took a shaky breath. 

Granger's fingers were still gently probing his torso, and that was beginning to be a problem. Broken ribs or not, the renewed onslaught of his (still very vivid) memories while they were so close had got his blood pumping. He even had to resist the urge to lean into her touch.

What the fuck was wrong with him? She was just a Mediwitch doing her goddamn job. Their one-night stand was buried four years deep in the past and had probably only been half as good as his cock was still trying to make him believe. His reaction to the feel of her hands on his body was ridiculous. Juvenile even. They were slender, sensual, healing hands, granted, but still...

Hoping to be able to distract himself, he let his gaze flit over the rest of her. He only needed one thing. An imperfection, a little flaw, something repulsive or grotesque. 

But there was nothing. Of course there wasn't.

Under her mint green robes, she was wearing tight black denims and a top of the same color. As he was still sitting on the stretcher and she had to bend down towards him, the latter offered him a rather tantalizing view of her cleavage. Perfect distraction indeed.

Draco swallowed hard. He knew what was hiding under the dark fabric because he had seen it, touched it and put his lips on it. He even remembered how her skin had tasted when he had nipped it. Strangely enough, it was this last thought that tipped him over the edge. Despite his injury and the awkward situation, he grew hard.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

If Granger realized what was going on, she was pragmatic enough not to let it show. She merely muttered one last spell, whereupon medi-magical tape began to wrap itself around his torso, and stepped back to inspect her handiwork. Then she nodded to herself, obviously satisfied.

"I can't heal your ribs," she explained, avoiding his gaze. "They're clean fractures, so they'll have to remove the bones at St Mungo's and let them regrow. The tape will stabilize them temporarily, so hopefully you won't splinch yourself while you're Apparating. That's all I can do." 

Draco just hummed because the statement didn't worry him. Skele-Gro was firmly integrated into his everyday life — the pitfalls of being a professional player.

To make sure his legs wouldn't let him down, he stood up slowly. He could do without being wheeled into St Mungo's on a stretcher and under her watchful gaze, thank you. His legs carried him like the reliable limbs they were. Perfect.

In his periphery, he saw Granger fidgeting and wringing her hands. Her gaze was wandering over his body again, which almost made Draco smirk.

"Do you ever think back to that one night?" he asked, not sure himself if it was a genuinely sentimental question or if he was just trying to get a rise out of her.

She froze, her eyes snapping to his.

"What are you talking about?"

Yep, definitely trying to get a rise out of her.

Draco stepped a little closer.

"The night we sha—"

"I haven't forgotten." 

"There you go," he said with a patronizing air. "Well? Do you ever think back to it?" 

"I honestly don't know what you're getting at, Malfoy."

"Didn't think answering such a simple question would be so difficult for that brilliant mind of yours, Granger." 

"You're wasting our time," she spat irritably, "and that of the healers waiting for you to arrive at the hospital." 

"Ah, and we can't have that, can we?" he scoffed. "Sorry for trying to make small talk."

"That was hardly small talk." 

"Semantics. Although, come to think of it — it was probably more like big talk, you're right."

"Gross," she sniffed.

Draco smirked. 

"So you're not going to answer my question?" he made sure.

"I still have no idea what you want to hear from me."

"Whether you sometimes think back to how it felt. My body. On top of yours, beneath yours, all the ways you wanted it back then."

Draco had no idea where these words came from. Maybe it was the pain potion clouding his brain, or maybe it was the arousal that had been pulsing through his body ever since she had placed her fingertips on his ribs. 

Granger gaped at him, looking as shocked as he felt thanks to his own audacity. 

"You are—this is so—"

He never found out exactly what this was, because before Granger could finish her sentence, the door to the changing room flew open.

In came Blaise, followed closely (and much to Draco's chagrin) by a hysteria-feigning Astoria, who even let out a little shriek when she caught sight of him. 

Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from Granger's appetizingly flushed cheeks and took a quick step back.

"Oh Merlin, Draco, you're fine." 

Astoria rushed towards him and threw her arms around his neck, eliciting a low groan from him as the unexpected impact did his damaged ribs no favors. At least the renewed pain had the advantage that the last remnants of his spontaneous erection beat a hasty retreat.

Blaise, who was now standing next to Granger, rolled his eyes at the fuss. He didn't think much of their 'relationship' and Draco couldn't even blame him. Astoria was pretty to look at, knew how to behave in public and came from a family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but apart from that they had nothing in common, and their entire circle of friends knew it.

There were days when Draco wondered how he had lasted so long in this bond of convenience they had once formed to burnish their respective reputations. At the end of the day, it was a relationship for the press that had nothing to do with genuine affection, which was why Astoria's current behavior was rather unnecessary.

He pushed her away gingerly but firmly.

"It's all right, Ria," he said, rolling his shoulders. "It's just a few scratches." 

By now, Blaise had become aware of Granger's presence. He had tilted his head and was eyeing her curiously.

"Hermione," he greeted her, making her flinch.

Her eyes had been on Draco and Astoria, but now she turned her head quickly. When she recognized the former Head Boy, a genuinely pleased smile spread across her face.

"Blaise," she replied a little breathlessly. 

Draco remembered that Blaise and Granger had actually hit it off in their last year at Hogwarts — despite or perhaps even because of the fact that they had had to share quarters, he wasn't sure. He had never been able to understand why they had got on so well, as the two of them couldn't have been more different in his eyes, but apparently the mutual sympathy was still there.

"Is he fit to travel?" Blaise enquired.

Granger nodded curtly and reached for her first aid kit.

"As fit to travel as I can be under the circumstances. A few ribs are broken. I've healed the head injury, but the healers will have another look at it. It's lucky he has such a thick skull."

She gave Draco a disdainful look, which made Blaise chuckle.

In response to Granger's inappropriate comment, Astoria grabbed Draco's arm and planted what she probably hoped was a comforting kiss on the corner of his mouth. He quickly turned his head away, but Granger had seen it. For a brief moment, her eyes flickered with something he couldn't quite place, then she turned away.

"I'm done here," she announced and reached for the door handle. "I'll let the others know."

With those words, she was gone.

And all of a sudden, Draco was in an incredibly bad mood.

Disorientated, he let his gaze wander over the nameplates attached to the doors of the offices and treatment rooms. He had already roamed two floors, pretending to know exactly where he was going when in truth he had no idea where to look for her, and this was the third.

But Merlin finally seemed to be on his side, because after a few more minutes of uncoordinated wandering, he happened to spot her name on a polished brass plaque.

Granger, Hermione
5th Year Healer Programme

He frowned at the nameplate. So she already had her own little office. Unbelievable. She still seemed to be enjoying the special status she had been given at school. 

For a few seconds, Draco loitered outside the door, not knowing why he was there in the first place. 

No, that was a lie. He knew exactly why he was there, he just didn't know if it was a good idea.

He took a deep breath, pulled himself together, hesitantly raised a hand and knocked.

The "Come in!" that promptly followed made him flinch. Secretly, he had hoped that she simply wasn't there; that she was on holiday and would therefore unwittingly spare him from making himself what was probably the biggest idiot of all time. But now that he had knocked, he could hardly leave, so he bravely opened the door and stepped into the room.

Granger sat hunched over at her desk, busily scribbling in a patient file. Her white coat was draped over the back of her office chair and there were parchments and books scattered all around her.

As he stepped closer, Draco glanced at the titles. 

Magical Lung Diseases and their Pitfalls
Badly Aimed? Harmless Spells that Cause Damage in the Wrong Places!
The Encyclopedia of Diagnostic Spells

They were all thick healer tomes.

He was almost standing next to her when she finally managed to take her eyes off her notes and look up. When she recognized him, she jumped up so abruptly that the chair she had been sitting on tipped over with a loud bang.

"Malfoy!" she gasped in surprise, pressing a hand to her chest.

Draco idly raised an eyebrow at her overly dramatic reaction. 

"Granger," he replied.

His eyes flicked to her ever untamable hair. She had tried to force it into a tight bun, her curls already fighting against the scrunchie. Gods, he had missed the sight of this disaster.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in alarm.

"I wish I knew," he mumbled.

She frowned deeply. 

"Excuse me?"

Draco cleared his throat and raised his voice.

"Nothing in particular. I was in London today, so I thought I'd pop in."

Granger didn't look convinced, but didn't inquire further. Instead, she looked him over; seemed to intuitively convince herself that there was nothing wrong with him. 

Always so conscientious.

"Is everything all right? Have you recovered from the accident?"

And as predictable as ever.

"More or less," he replied with a casual wave of his hand.

It was the truth, even if it wasn't a real answer to Granger's question. As soon as his ribs had fully regrown, Draco had felt like a new man. Two months ago, just a few days after the incident, the healers had assured him that his fall hadn't caused any permanent damage that would affect his career and that he could resume training. 

Granger had done a great job on his head. He had overheard the healers talking about what an exemplary and gifted student she was. Not that it had really surprised him.

What Draco hadn't recovered from at all, however, was their unexpected encounter at the Chudley Cannons' stadium. Ever since Granger had left that blasted changing room, leaving him with a nerve-wracking Astoria and an unusually quiet Blaise, his thoughts had been constantly revolving around her. Her, her and her again. Granger.

The sight of her haunted him during training, in everyday life, in his dreams and even when he slept with other women. The latter had never happened to him before. Normally, he was in the moment, so to speak — at least as soon as the clothes came off. But meeting Granger again after all these years had triggered something in him that made him only see her face and body as soon as he was even remotely aroused. Not to mention the memories of their one night together.

Draco simply could no longer deny that he had it bad for her. Still, or again, whatever. He was addicted to that fantasy again. The very one he had been feeding on for months back at Hogwarts after they had shagged in the Head Boy's common room. With her flippant answers, her tender touches and her tight Mediwitch robes, she had virtually infiltrated his mind — just like back then. And all his resolutions to never think of her in this way again had vanished into thin air. 

If he was honest with himself, he had never been able to forget her. All he had done since that one night was cowardly lie to himself. Old habits died hard, it seemed.

The prevailing silence seemed to make Granger uncomfortable, as she began to squirm and finally cleared her throat.

"So then, Draco, what are you doing here?" she repeated her question.

She eyed him carefully, nibbling her lower lip uncertainly.

"I had to see you," he said honestly.

"Why?" she asked, almost anxiously. "What do you need?"

He let out a strained, desperate laugh.

"What do I need, what do I need," he mused, pressing his tongue against a canine. "Well, for starters, I need to do some things I've stopped telling myself I don't want to do."

When she did nothing but look at him with those big, fawn eyes that danced behind his closed lids almost every night, Draco relented. Nothing worse could happen than her pushing him away and scolding him, right?

So he bent down and kissed her. Just like that. Right on the mouth.

The moment their lips touched, it was already over for him. A rumbly, longing moan escaped him and he put a hand on the back of her neck to pull her closer, which Granger acknowledged with a surprised squeak.

She made no move to return the kiss, but she didn't resist him either, which ignited a small spark of hope in him. Her chest rose and fell quickly against his, and this minimal physical contact alone almost made him lose his temper.

"Been thinking about this," he breathed. "Day and night. Over and over again."

After another soft kiss, Draco broke away from her lips to say his piece, which he almost knew by heart, he had gone over it so often in his mind. He kept his mouth hovering in front of hers, though, so that it was available to her at all times. (He was, if nothing else, a practical man.)

"It's killing me, Granger," he muttered. "I swear to Merlin, I'm going mad. You can't just walk back into my life and expect me to make the same mistake I made back then and let you walk right back out. All I'm asking you for is a chance. To prove myself, to show you who I am today, to really get to know you. Ah, sorry, I suppose I'm rambling. You can probably do without me baring my fucking soul straightaway—"

Granger's small hand came to rest on his shoulder and gently pushed him back. Draco complied immediately, but blinked down at her in frustration.

It didn't take a genius to know what that meant. She would send him away, life would go on and the night in the Head Boy's tower would remain what it had always been: a far too brief, unrepeatable taste of something wonderful.

Oh, fate was a rotten arsehole. He would have to ask Blaise to Obliviate him and rid him off the memories of this failure of a conversation, preferably even along with the memories of the night four years ago.

When Granger looked up at him, her eyes flickered and her lips quivered. And then she said something he hadn't expected in the slightest, catching him as off guard as the Bludger had two months ago. 

"So you feel it, too?"

Draco returned her gaze, slightly confused. Her whole body was shaking and it took him a moment to realize why.

He was not alone in this.

Sweet fucking Circe. Maybe it was his lucky day.

"What do I feel, too?" he asked anyway, because he had to be sure; needed to hear it.

Granger took a shaky breath.

"This longing that just won't stop? This feeling of having lost something you never had? Like there's a hole inside you that no one can fill? Oh god, that came out wrong. I didn't mean—"

Draco cut her off with a breathy laugh and another kiss — this time more insistent, more passionate, more unrestrained. He groped blindly for his wand, pointed it just as blindly at the office door and just managed to cast a nonverbal locking spell and a Silencio before it slipped from his hand and clattered across the pale grey linoleum.

"Draco, wait. We can't—"

"Four years, Granger," he growled, taking her face between his hands and giving her a beseeching look that would hopefully make her realize just how much the fucking longing she'd just spoken of hadn't stopped for him. "Four bloody years." 

She let out a soft sound — a mixture of a laugh and a sob. And then, finally, her arms were around his neck and she melted into him. She even stood on tiptoe so that she could kiss him properly while her fingers ran greedily through the hair at the back of his head. Draco groaned in relief.

"Gods, I want you," Granger panted out as she sucked on his bottom lip. "I almost jumped you in that bloody changing room. So fucking inappropriate."

Oh, that mouth of hers. 

"I knew you objectified me that day," he said smugly between kisses.

She rasped out a laugh.

"That's not what I meant. This, right here, right now, is inappropriate, too. We're in a public building and I'm once again at work. It's totally unprofessional." 

It was a very feeble attempt on her part to prevent what was inevitably going to happen, because if the way she was pulling his hair was anything to go by, she wanted it at least as much as he did.

"It's not," he replied hoarsely. "A bit naughty, perhaps, but all's fair in war and love."

She shivered and Draco wasn't sure if it was a reaction to the word 'naughty' or the word 'love' coming out of his mouth. He didn't get a chance to ask, though, as her hands immediately dropped to his waistband and started tugging at his belt.

He decided to go one better.

"That being said, you like to bend the rules, don't you? You've always liked it. Drinking alcohol at school and seducing the most unpopular student in the whole year after you've practically forced him to take his clothes off."

Granger had managed to undo his trousers and now slipped a hand inside to palm his cock, making him hiss.

"I recall you being an extremely willing participant," she breathed. "Just like you are now, aren't you, Draco?"

"Fuck yes," he grunted, pulling her closer.

He allowed his own hands to roam and explore her waist, her hips and the curve of her breasts, all of which he remembered as imperceptibly smaller and less supple. He liked the way she felt these days even better, he realized. Granger moaned, and he took the opportunity to lick into her mouth and stroke his tongue against hers. 

Suddenly a jolt went through her body and she pushed him away for the second time.

No, no, no. If she had just changed her mind, then he was going to die, Draco was sure of it. He was on the verge of fucking begging. 

"What about your fiancée?" she whispered, a worried look on her face and her eyes flickering with uncertainty.

The question made him chuckle. He was instantly grateful that he had solved this problem before he had decided to come here. In fact, he had almost forgotten about it.

"She was only my fiancée on paper, and she's not anymore," he said truthfully and, he hoped, reassuringly. "It wasn't a romantic relationship — or any real relationship, for that matter."

Granger's surprised but, above all, relieved expression told him everything he needed to know. For a moment, they just looked at each other silently, then her lips curved into a small smile that made his heart thud violently against his ribs. 

"Thank God," she breathed at last.

Draco took that as an invitation to pick her up and carry her to her desk, where he set her down gently after roughly wiping a few patient files off of it. She would have to forgive him for that, because his self-control was gone for good.

He quickly undid her blouse, one button at a time, and slipped the white fabric off her shoulders. One glance at her tits, which were more or less covered by a semi-transparent white lace bra, was enough to make his knees weak with anticipation. She would keep this pretty, cheeky touch of nothing on, he decided.

For a brief moment, he took the liberty of raking his gaze over her entire upper body. 

Fuck, she was so pretty. 

He told her in a raspy voice, which made Granger whimper.

When he pressed his mouth to her throat next, she submissively dropped her head back and arched her upper body, offering herself to him. As he attacked the soft skin with his teeth and tongue — biting, sucking, licking — she began to pant. He lavished open-mouthed kisses along her neck, below her ear, above her collarbone, until she was writhing on the desk, making soft, pleading noises.

"Yes, gods, Draco." 

Draco groaned at the sound of his given name. She had already said it a few times today, so it probably shouldn't affect him that much, but the effect was the same as it had been four years ago. He felt a drop of pre-cum leaking from his cock.

Things were getting frantic.

Despite their height difference, Granger managed to push his trousers down until they fell to the hollows of his knees. Just as impatiently, he tugged at her own (damn tight) white trousers and pulled them down her arse. She wriggled and kicked her legs to get rid of the offending fabric, which might have made him laugh if his need hadn't been so great.

Draco wanted her. He wanted her so badly that it almost physically hurt. Every single day for the last eight weeks he had fantasized about what it would be like to see her again, to kiss her again, to feel her again, but those sweet daydreams were nothing compared to what she was doing to him now.

He paused and took in the sight of her. 

Even though the youthful features he remembered had disappeared and her face had become a little narrower and more angular over the years, Granger was undeniably beautiful. She wore no make-up, which pleased him because there was already so much to look at and admire. The warm brown-gold of her eyes, the bronze-colored freckles scattered across her nose as if stardust had been sprinkled on her face with a brush, the absolutely kissable pink of her lips.

Oh yes, he had it bad.

"Come on, Malfoy, what are you waiting for?" she provoked him with a challenging smirk. "You'll have plenty of time to look at me. I'm not going to vanish into thin air as soon as we're done."

Draco cocked his head and lifted an eyebrow.

"You say that like it's not exactly what happened four years ago."

Granger grew serious, her brow furrowing. Something flickered in her eyes again, but this time he recognized what it was, because he felt exactly the same. Sorrow, regret, remorse. 

"It'll be different this time," she said, "I promise."

Relief flooded through Draco and his shoulders relaxed, which surprised him, as he hadn't even realized how tense he had been since he had uttered his (admittedly slightly reproachful) words.

"Careful, Granger, I can think of a lot of ways to make sure you don't break that promise," he said teasingly, trying to take the sudden heaviness out of the conversation.

She sucked in a breath and shivered, her eyes flashing.

Draco leaned in and pressed his hands to the tabletop on either side of her thighs. Again, he let his mouth hover in front of hers and gave her a roguish smirk.

"So what do you need?" he asked. "My mouth, my fingers?" 

Her lips twitched and the playful glint in her eyes returned.

"None of that," she purred, "not right now, anyway."

"Oh?"

"Four years, Malfoy," she repeated his words solemnly. "Four bloody years." 

He chuckled and raised a questioning eyebrow. Granger immediately latched on.

"I need you inside me. Right now. No more negotiations, please." 

Draco didn't need to be told twice.

He spread her legs a little wider, freed his cock from his boxers and pushed her knickers aside. Then, with a single powerful stroke, he was inside her. And it was pure fucking bliss. Despite the lack of foreplay, Granger was more than wet, which told him that she must be feeling the same way. He couldn't remember ever feeling anything like this with another woman, and he really had had enough in bed over the last few years.

Draco groaned deeply, pulled her closer to the edge of the desk and began to thrust in earnest.

She whimpered softly and put a hand on the back of his neck to hold on, her eyes falling shut. Her body arched towards him, so he quickly wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from slipping off the tabletop.

Their lips found each other and he kissed her hungrily.

It wasn't quite like that one night at Hogwarts when they had practically eaten each other alive in a frenzy thanks to several glasses of Firewhisky and that ridiculous game with the bottle. Back then, he hadn't known what was happening to him, and his overwhelmed, pubescent hormones had played their part in making it seem unreal in retrospect. 

This was something else entirely. 

He had chosen it. Fully aware of what he wanted. Who he wanted. And the adult Granger willingly let him shag her. On her desk. In the middle of St Mungo's Hospital. During her shift.

Draco let out a sort of desperate moan, quickening his pace and sliding his free hand between their bodies. His thumb found Granger's clit and began a steady rhythm, causing her to whine, dig her hands even harder into his shoulders and eagerly thrust her hips towards him.

He only broke away from her mouth because he didn't want to miss it; needed to watch Hermione Granger lose control because of him; needed to see if the sight was still as pretty. He wasn't disappointed.

Her face contorted with pleasure and a narrow, strangely attractive furrow formed between her eyebrows. As he felt her begin to flutter around him, Draco cursed under his breath.

Just a few more seconds, just a few more... 

He intensified his efforts by drawing smaller and faster circles around her clit, pinching it every now and then. Finally, Granger's whole body began to shake and she clenched down on him, holding him inside her.

"That's it, love," he growled. "So good for me. Fucking missed this, missed you. You feel fantastic. Fuck, you're gonna make me come." 

His words were what made her shatter, and she keened. 

Only when the trembling in her thighs subsided, her face relaxed and her body went limp in his arms, did Draco let go. His thrusts became feverish as his hand wandered greedily up her naked torso, finally coming to rest on her breast in that damn hot lace bra.

He helped her lean back, bent over her and pounded her into the desk, deeply sucking in her seductive scent. She made soft, cheering noises and ran her hands tenderly down his back.

Draco's orgasm almost made him fall to his knees in front of her. 

He spilled into her with four mind-boggling spurts, then slowed down to savour the sensation, half-heartedly propping himself up on the desk so as not to crush her with his weight. He groaned one last time as a full-body shiver shook him.

They breathed together in the same frenetic rhythm, Draco nuzzling her neck with his nose. For the first time in two months, his mind was blissfully blank. 

Granger came to first and slowly sat up, pushing him into a standing position.

She gave him a look that was as sheepish as it was sly, and Draco couldn't help but puff out a laugh. Oh, those mixed feelings. Only women could do that, he was still sure of it.

As he slowly but surely softened inside her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggled up to him and let her lips wander from the corner of his mouth along his jawbone to his ear.

"Well?" she whispered. "What else are you up to today? Practicing dodging Bludgers perhaps?"

Draco gave her a glare with no heat to it.

"I know how to dodge Bludgers," he replied arrogantly. He leaned back a little, raised a hand and gently weaved a curl out of her face. "In fact, I'm a fucking expert at it. And believe it or not, I've never been knocked off my broom before. That was entirely your fault." 

"My fault?" she repeated, batting her eyelashes and sucking her lower lip between her teeth.

The innocent expression on her face was so unconvincing that Draco snorted through his nose in amusement. The minx knew exactly why he had 'fallen' off his broom. 

"Why did you ask what else I'm up to today?" he asked, bringing them back to the topic at hand.

Granger glanced at the clock on the wall, then shrugged nonchalantly.

"I'm free in ten minutes. I thought you could take me out to dinner. And if you're good, I might let you come home with me afterwards, because I certainly won't be sated just because I've eaten."

She said it so lightly, casually and confidently, as if it wasn't a suggestive remark at all. Once again, a wave of admiration for her cheekiness washed over Draco.

Some things really never changed.

He was actually someone with a quick tongue, but he couldn't think of an answer to this bold and self-assured statement, so he simply leaned in and sealed her lips with another searing kiss. 

And everything was fine. Absolutely brilliant, in fact.