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It’s an interesting thing, being an Auror. The rush of adrenaline when you know you’re closing in on the criminal you’ve been chasing, the elation to that they’ve been sentenced to a prison sentence that is both appropriately long and depressingly short, even the frustrated, sleepless nights. But for any Auror worth their weight in Galleons, they’ll tell you that there are very few things they would give it up for. Even if there were beds in St. Mungo’s on permanent reservation for them.
Much to her friends’ dismay, Hermione Granger spent more than her fair share of time in bespoke beds. Aurors lived dangerous lives, it was expected that they’d be more than a little roughed up on occasion. Jumping in front of hexes meant for her partner seemed to be her favorite ticket to St. Mungo’s. Every time, her friends would feel that burst of thought that this was going to be it for her. She wouldn't wake up this time. The final curse to bring down the Brightest Witch in an Age.
But when the healers finally came pouring out of the hospital room and she was allowed visitors, the anxiousness would leave their bodies. When the sleeping potions wore off, but the pain potions still clung to her bloodstream they would find themselves on the other side of the door, sharing knowing smiles.
“Draco? Are you alright?”
That was their cue to leave the two Auror partners to themselves.
“What about the kids? Are they alright?”
By that time, they would be alone.
“I have to see them. They’ll be worried about me.”
Malfoy would take her hand and meet her eyes. Years of practice had not changed the script that he knew practically by heart.
“I’m alright. They’re fine, Mother has them.”
She would breathe out a sigh of relief and settle more comfortably in the hospital bed.
“Good. Pansy always gives them too much sugar and then complains when they won’t go to sleep.”
“I know.”
She’d pull their clasped hands to her mouth and kiss his knuckles.
“I’m sorry to worry you, I know how you get.”
“You’re safe now.”
She would close her eyes and hum with satisfaction, like those were the magic words to set her at ease.
“Mother has the children and I’m not going anywhere.”
After a few more minutes, she would fall into a natural sleep. When she woke, she had no memories of their conversation. She wouldn’t recall being worried over their imaginary children. But Draco remembered. Even if sometimes he wished he wouldn’t, he would remember.
On the strong pain potions, they were together and had children and were happy. Off of them? He was her Auror partner, her friend, and nothing more. But, oh, how he wished he could tell her about how much he wished that they were together and did have children and were so happy.
*** *** ***
Being an Auror was exciting. Draco loved nearly every minute of being an Auror. The justice of setting the world to rights, the accomplishment of winning, nearly every bit he loved. Even the dangerous bit got his blood rushing in a most enjoyable way.
What Draco Malfoy did not like was hospital beds. But for one who did not like hospital beds, he spent more than his fair share in one. Other than the usual bumps and bruises and scrapes, he was constantly moving in front of curses that a shield charm would be too slow to stop. It wasn’t that he liked the pain or got a good feeling about the accommodations. Rather he would rather be in the hospital bed than beside it.
Hermione felt quite differently, but seeing as he was the one for whom he was always jumping in front of hexes for, her protests did little to deter him. Her scoldings were legendary in length, vocabulary, and full to bursting with source material. Pansy and Harry and Blaise all had similar protests, but when the sleeping potions wore off and the pain potions clung to his blood, they would file out of the room.
“Hermione?”
That single word would have them bustling out the room.
“Yes? I’m here.”
“Are you okay? You’re not hurt are you?”
At this, he would always try to get up. How successful he was depended on the injury, but he never managed to get a foot on the ground before she stopped him.
“I’m alright, I’m safe. Everything is okay.”
He would capture the hands that were gently pressing him back onto the mattress and kiss them. And for a second, he would relax. Then he’d start as though just remembering something.
“What about the babies? Are they okay? They’ll miss you if you're gone for too long.”
The first times she had heard this line, it had been a shock. Now, it sent a pang of hurt through her chest. He was so worried about ‘the babies’.
“They’re fine.”
The worry in his voice lessened, but did not disappear from his face.
“Does Mother have them? You know how Harry never wants to put them down long enough for a nap.”
Not just ‘the babies’, their babies. Ones that Harry was obsessed with holding.
“Narcissa has them, they’re okay.”
He would nod, deeming it an acceptable response, and relax back into the hospital bed. He’d hold her hands tightly until a natural sleep fell back over him. His grip would loosen only a fraction, but Hermione wouldn’t let go.
When he woke, they’d be partners again. Just friends and not the parents of babies that needed to be sent to stay with Narcissa while their parents were away. He wouldn’t remember any of what happened or what he’d said. It pained Hermione to think that she could be with him in the few minutes that the pain potion had his mind, but not in the moments that he could remember and hold as close as she did.
Partners. Friends.