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Draco stared at his signet ring until he couldn’t take it anymore, then glanced at the Leaky Cauldron’s door.
Empty.
Across from him, Blaise sighed, then pushed his chair back. They both winced at the grating screech of iron on wood.
“That’s it, Draco. We’re switching spots.”
“But…” Compulsively, Draco’s eyes darted toward the Leaky’s door yet again. Nothing.
A navy and silver embroidered waistcoat attached to a long body invaded his line of sight. Draco jerked his head sideways to peer around the obstruction, but Blaise moved accordingly. Irritated, Draco let his head fall back and looked up into his friend’s face.
Blaise’s brows were drawn together impatiently. The normally jewel undertones of his brown skin were flushed from the drinks, as if he’d run laps around the bar. “If you keep staring like that, you’ll seem like a creep. Get up.”
With a grimace, Draco stood, trying to ignore the way his groin lurched. It was just nerves.
“So, be honest,” Blaise started as they each settled into their new seats. “How long did you spend on your hair, mate? And stop that, I’ll tell you when she’s here,” he added.
Draco was twitching his neck, fighting the impulse not to turn around in his chair. Sulkily, he drew a meaningless shape on the table with his fingers.
“Not that long,” Draco muttered petulantly. “Five minutes, tops. A dash of Sleekeazy on the tips of the fingers, a quick drag through my hair, and it fell right into place. I barely adjusted.”
Blaise tsked and sipped his firewhiskey. “If mine did that, I wouldn’t keep it so short.”
Draco nodded glumly and continued to trace patterns on the table. In reality, it had taken him nearly an hour to get his hair perfect, but it was going to be worth it.
Because tonight was the last Friday of the month, and that meant Hermione Granger would be here.
Discreetly, he flipped open his compact mirror and admired himself. Hair—fabulous. Eyes—magnetic. Skin—flawless. He might have a shady family and a troubled past, but at least he had the face. If he planned to woo Granger, he would use the cards he was given.
Blaise kicked him under the table. “You’re not going to talk to me at all? It’s dirty in here, you know. I didn’t have to come when I could have been at the rooftop gardens.” He paused, then added, “You didn’t have to come either, by the way.”
Draco snapped his compact shut. “I did have to come, because Potter said she thinks it’s weird to be asked out at work, I can’t show up at her bloody flat, and clearly I can’t put it in a letter, I’ve got no idea what she thinks—”
“No, certainly not a letter,” Blaise agreed.
They’d both learned from a very young age to never reveal any form of emotional admittance in writing, especially if the writing would then be sent away into the hands of someone else. Simple blackmail 101.
Draco opened the compact one more time for a quick peek, inspecting his nose. Was he too pasty? Were his pores too big? He’d heard about a service that could shrink them for a hefty sum of Galleons. Would it be worth it, or too risky? He brought the compact closer.
“Draco! Put that away,” Blaise hissed. “She’s here.”
Draco scrambled to push the little mirror into his coat pocket. It took every bit of self control in his body not to turn around and stare.
“She’s talking to Boot… Oh good, she wants to get rid of him, there you go… Now she’s whispered something to Potter—It doesn’t matter which Potter, Draco—okay, okay, wait, I think she’s headed for the bar. No, sorry mate, she’s stopped… Merlin, get out of the way, you gangly lump, she isn’t interested…”
Sitting through Blaise’s narration was simultaneously helpful and horrifying. He fiddled with his shirtsleeves, rolling them up enough so that his forearm muscle was showing. If he couldn’t show off his biceps, he needed to have some kind of enticing arm exposure, right? He curled his hands into a fist and flexed.
But what if the view reminded her of where his Dark Mark had been? Should he unroll?
Before he could change his mind, Blaise whispered quickly, “Right, she’s nearly there! No obstacles in sight. Go get your girl.”
Not wasting another moment, Draco straightened up to his full height. He was nervous—he had a bit of a pain in his lower abdomen, in fact. A pretty bad pain, really.
He shook it off. Nerves.
Before he approached the bar, Draco stopped for a moment to admire Granger’s form. Her glorious curves wrapped up in that tight skirt, that cascade of brown curls that he longed to run his fingers through… But no. He couldn't get too distracted.
He inched toward her, unusually hesitant. Would it be sexier to lean over her shoulder and press against her back? The bar was crowded enough, but suppose she found it off-putting— Or, what if he were to play it cool and ignore her entirely? Maybe he should just order and feign shock to see her there? Only no, that would be idiotic… Everyone noticed when Granger walked into a room, didn’t they?
He would simply lean on one elbow right next to her, no chest contact. And he’d suavely tell the bartender to put her drinks on his tab. A perfect plan. That decided, he leaned in, elbow dropping toward that hallowed spot at Granger’s side…
And some nameless, peasant witch ruined everything.
Evidently, this invaderess had some kind of life-or-death need to stand in the exact spot that Draco sought to occupy. Ruthlessly, she knocked his elbow out of the way and bodychecked him with her busty form.
With the support of the bartop gone, he spiralled into a stupid twirl and toppled over, slamming hard into a bar stool as he went down.
And that was how instead of a suave, sexy greeting, Draco found himself kneeling Granger’s feet, doubled over in pain. “Merlin,” he groaned.
“Oh my God! Malfoy! Are you okay?” The pain was so bad that his vision was fuzzy, but her eyes were impossible to miss, wide, deep brown, framed with the longest lashes, and staring down at him as he sunk to the floor—
This was not the entrance he had planned. On the ground, like some bumbling fool—Fuck, he hoped his hair still looked good, at least.
“Granger… Drinks on me?” he moaned, running his fingers through his hair in what he hoped was a suave, debonair way.
She waved her wand over him and gasped.
“Everybody back!” Granger shouted, before crouching down and running her tanned fingers down his chest. It… couldn’t have possibly worked, could it? Had he somehow enticed her? She drew the top of his trouser down. This was it—
“Are you trying to get me undressed, you naughty— Merlin’s tits! FUCK!” She had touched the odd protuberance by his pelvic bone, the one he’d been ignoring, and he nearly blacked out with the pain.
“Malfoy! Holy shit, how long has this been here? Oh, it’s become incarcerated… We need to get you to St Mungo’s…”
“But…” Draco protested. Hermione hefted him up, strong and sure against his body. “I had a plan…”
She dragged him outside, and they Apparated with a crack.
One Hour Later
What an embarrassing night.
Draco lay on the hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling in utter despondency. The events of the evening played across his mind, over and over, like he was stuck in a Pensieve.
Him approaching, him tripping over himself, his pitiful journey to St Mungo’s—then she’d given him a pain potion and the Twilight Charm, and who knew what he’d said then.
He was humiliated. Ruined.
His brain played out the disastrous train of events one more time. Each playthrough revealed a worse realisation, emphasised yet another detail of his total abasement. Her face had been so close to his, but with a Healer’s eye, not out of desire— Had she seen his nose pores?
The click clack of heels startled Draco out of his reverie. Granger was still dressed in the outfit that had stunned and enticed him, but it was mostly covered by her green Healer’s robe. She wore the professional attire like a Queen, powerful and commanding. And here he lay like some pathetic nincompoop, ensconced in these unsightly garments.
Granger bit her lip as she read the charts hovering above his head. “Are you feeling any better, Malfoy?”
“Maybe,” he muttered. Her eyes tracked up and down his body, and he felt a flutter of hope and fear. Did he still have a chance? “I’m better now that you’re here,” he tried.
She tapped her foot. Pursed her lips.
He disgusted her.
“Do you know what happened after we left the bar, Malfoy?”
“I don’t,” he admitted. “I know you gave me potions…”
Granger inspected her wand idly. “Yes, I suppose you were rather out of it.” She turned the wand over in her hand. “But it’s no matter… I’ll fill you in.”
Dread pooled in Draco’s gut.
“First of all, you had an inguinal hernia. You’ve likely had it for a while… You ought to have taken care of it before it strangled, which is an indication for an emergency procedure.” She frowned at him in a way that reminded him rather unpleasantly of Professor McGonagall.
And still, Draco gazed longingly into her eyes.
“Draco?”
He snapped himself out of it and shifted under the covers. “I’ve got no idea what any of that means, Granger.”
“Alright. In an inguinal hernia, a certain amount of tissue is poking through a weak spot in your abdominal muscles—”
“My abdominal muscles are not weak, Granger! Here, let me show—”
Granger put a placating (beautifully ringless) hand up and he fell silent. “I’m sure they’re very robust, Malfoy. But I am talking about the abdominal wall. In this case, along the inguinal canal, which carries the spermatic cord. It probably explains any pain or swelling you may have had around your testicles—”
Malfoy gasped and choked. Granger waited patiently for him to stop coughing, but his mind was whirling. Spermatic cord. Sperm. Granger said sperm. Did he like that? Would he still have sperm? Had she seen… anything?
“Sperm?” he finally managed.
“Oh, Malfoy.” She smiled gently. “Don’t worry, you’ll still be able to have children. This is a very common procedure.”
A tightness in his chest loosened, but he was still reeling. “What—How—”
Granger sighed. “Have you had any chronic coughing or sneezing? No? Alright, have you been straining, at all? On the loo? During urination or bowel movements… if you’ve been constipat—”
“No—I—certainly not!” Draco cried. “I—NO!”
Granger eyed him speculatively. “Well, there are other ways, of course. I suppose—”
With dawning horror, Draco realised he was inviting a conversation into speculative thoughts on his body, the kind he very much did not want Granger ruminating on. He’d already disgusted her and survived a very un-sexual discussion about swollen testicles. His humiliation had certain bounds… He’d rather not find out what he was able to survive.
He scrambled to course correct. “Actually, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to hear.” Draco crossed his arms. “So you’ve fixed it, then? And I’ve been healed?”
“I did fix it, yes.” Granger ran her long fingers through her wild hair, and Draco followed the soft movements greedily. “You should be all better.”
“Then, just—” Draco tried to push himself up.
Granger rushed to push him back down, and his cheeks flushed at her simple touch. “No no— the procedure was safe, and I am finished, but I can’t let you go yet.”
Could it be?
“Oh?” Draco raised his eyebrows and smoothed his hair back, then settled himself up higher against his pillows. “Whyever not?”
Granger sighed. “I need you to pass gas.”
Draco froze. She wanted him to do what? His heart raced, and a cold, tingling fear shivered across his skin.
Because, no. No, he would absolutely not be doing that in front of Hermione Jean Granger.
“You… Want me to…” His hand clenched against the sheets. The cool edge of his signet ring dug into his fingers. The one that reminded him of who he was, and the dignity he sought to uphold.
“No.” He pressed his lips together firmly.
She tilted her head to the side. “Yes.”
“Absolutely not, Granger! It simply isn’t done!—”
The scoffiest of scoffs followed his pronouncement. “What do you mean, it simply isn’t done? Of course it is, Malfoy, and it really isn’t a big deal.”
But it was a big deal to him. Tonight, he had tripped, fallen, been subjected to an unsexy sperm talk, discussed theoretical constipation, been accused of having weak ab muscles, and oh, that’s right—he had royally botched his attempt to ask out Granger. So badly, in fact, that she’d had to quit her night out and come back to work.
She levitated a tray of food. “Here for you we have some beans, water with gas, cruciferous vegetables…” The levitating tray nudged his hand, and he smacked it away.
She fixed her gaze upon him expectantly and he forgot about the food, couldn't help but stare back. Glowing, olive skin, a beauty mark right along her strong jaw... A long nose, like the iconography of the ancients... And those eyes. Warm brown pools of wit and wisdom. He could fall into them forever.
Why wasn’t she saying anything?
Wait, did she expect him to just… let loose while gazing into her eyes?
He couldn’t… He just couldn’t. Not in front of her.
So, he doubled down.
“It simply isn’t done, Granger, because Purebloods…” he looked around. “Purebloods do not pass gas.”
Silence followed his pronouncement. Draco fiddled with his signet ring.
“Bollocks.”
He gasped.
“No, Malfoy, don’t you start with me. I’m trying to be professional, but you—oh, you’re being absurd!”
Well, in for a knut, in for a Galleon. “They don’t, Granger…”
She threw her head back and groaned. “Yes they do, Malfoy. I need to know that everything is in order and I can’t do that until you fart!” She was getting louder as she spoke.
Draco scanned the room wildly, and though the beds were mostly empty, he hissed, “Keep your voice down!”
“No! Malfoy, you’re being ridiculous! We both know—”
“Just go away, then,” he interrupted, jaw tight. “I’ll… do the deed, and then I’ll let you know.”
“If it were a Muggle procedure, I could, but because I did the procedure magically, as it states that you prefer on your records,” Granger said, “I have to be here to do a charm check. I can’t leave until you do it.”
“No, Granger!” She looked at him with pity.
“Malfoy—”
“You’re a savage!” Draco cried. He knew he was crumbling into a full meltdown, but it was hard to stop. “You just want to humiliate me! Can’t you just leave! Isn’t there a child’s balloon you need to go pop somewhere?”
She raised her voice. “No, I had friends to drink with tonight! But instead, I’m waiting here for you, so you’re just going to have to blast a stinker—”
“MERLIN!” He tore his gaze away and looked down at his knees, suddenly furious.
She smoothed down her robes. “I’m sorry, that was unprofessional. But I will sit here all night if I have to.” She conjured a chair. “And I don’t know what’s crawled up your arse, but I am only here to help, you know.”
Draco burned. “Don’t you have other patients?”
“They’ll call if they need me.”
They stared at each other. She, her dark eyes blazing and full of righteous confidence, his likely pained and weary. He could feel the beginnings of… something, and he squirmed.
Her eyebrows rose. “Something the matter?”
“I’m perfectly at ease.”
“Let it rip, Malfoy.”
Draco looked away, begging that his stomach not gurgle. “I want a different Healer.”
Hermione stiffened in her seat. “Well, there isn’t another one. I let the other Healer off when I volunteered to look after you.” Her voice was tight, as if her teeth were clenched. She sounded hurt. “I can’t believe, after all this time. And I thought…”
His gut writhed with guilt and excess air, and his gaze snapped back to her. She was wringing her hands.
“No, Granger, that isn’t…” Draco gazed helplessly at Hermione. “I can’t.”
She drew her brows together, lifted her chin. “Why not?”
He wanted to die. He felt sweaty and sick with humiliation. “Not in front of you,” he whispered.
Her eyes lit with understanding and sympathy. “I promise it’s alright, Malfoy.” She reached out and squeezed his hand.
He looked down at their joined fingers helplessly.
“Blow me away,” she whispered.
Draco closed his eyes, like one who had just been fatally struck and knew he was falling to his doom, and dropped his chin.
A tiny toot, almost just a squeak, emitted from his derriere. It smelt of money and repression.
She waved her wand. “You’re free to go.”
He could never face her again. He’d lost his chance. What a grand humiliation. He tightened his coat around himself as he stepped out into the chilly air.
He would go lay in the gardens at the Manor and contemplate his grim fate of a life alone.
His heart sunk at the sound of heels on pavement. “Malfoy! Stop! Why are you still walking, I told you to stop!”
Malfoy came to a halt but didn’t turn around.
“Look, I didn’t really realise why you were making this so difficult, but… Do you like me?” Without turning around, he nodded.
“Go ahead. Laugh.”
“I’m not laughing, Draco. Look at me.” When he didn’t, she went on, “I ran out here to see if you’d like to take me out—”
Draco whipped around. “NO!”
Hermione stepped back, affronted. “No?”
“You can’t ask me out here, right now… Let me come ask you tomorrow. This fart story… it can't be what we tell our children—”
She broke into a wide smile. “Draco…” she paused. “Our children are definitely going to know, no matter what. So just kiss me, you daft man.”
As their lips met, Draco thought the night hadn’t turned out so bad.