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Hermione knew it was irrational, seeing as she had caught chickenpox well over a decade ago, and it was improbable that the rash would be shingles, but she had to make sure. As much as she enjoyed the ease and availability of magical remedies, sometimes the muggle-born in her would only rest if she sought medical advice the muggle way.
So she bundled up, and headed off to Boots, following the directions on her phone. It was quite the inconvenience, as she had so much to do, having just moved into her new townhouse less than two weeks ago. There were still at least a dozen boxes to unpack, and she had yet to receive the furniture she had ordered.
There was a store closer to her, but she opted to walk the few extra minutes there because the reviews were more favourable. She spotted the sign above the store, and sighed in relief, hoping the pharmacist was in store and free. This rash had been the cause of a niggling doubt for the past week, and her regular antihistamines and healing salve hadn't worked.
She headed right towards the pharmacist's counter, grimacing when she saw that a few others were already queued up. She waited her turn, perusing through a health magazine off the rack on her left. Two pharmacists were dispensing advice and barely fifteen minutes later she made her way up.
A blonde head attached to a very fit body was bowed over, scribbling something on a notepad. She cleared her throat, and he pointed a pen over his shoulder, indicating her to walk into the curtained-off room. How rude, to not even acknowledge her properly, she thought. Maybe she should have tried the other location.
Settling herself into the chair, Hermione looked around the room, when a familiar voice welcomed her. Her head snapped around, and her jaw dropped as Draco Malfoy stood before her, a little oval badge pinned to his tie denoting his name and role as a pharmacist. Her eyes bugged out and she blurted out a slightly shrill “What are you doing here?”
“Good afternoon, Granger, what ailment may I assist you with today?” He took his seat behind the table, peering at her over his glasses, mirth colouring his voice.
“You work for Boots? In Muggle London? As a Pharmacist?” Hermione had forgotten the reason she was here and was instead trying to unravel the mystery behind Malfoy working a Muggle job.
Malfoy removed his glasses, gingerly placing them on the desk, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, yes, and yes.” He didn't seem inclined to expand further, sounding less amused and more exasperated. “Now, since that is out of your system, pray tell, what brought you here?”
“But, you, — you’ve been —” she stumbled over her words. “All this time the daily prophet was theorising that you were off running a —” she blushed, avoiding his eyes, then shook her head, “You were here?”
“Granger, I never thought you'd be the type to indulge in gossip,” Malfoy smirked, lifting his chin slightly. “But I am flattered to find out you've been keeping tabs on me — even if I must disappoint you — the rumours of my exclusive club for immoral activity aren't wholly true. It’s run by a friend.”
“I’m not keeping tabs — never mind —” Hermione corrected snippily, fidgeting with her beaded bag, feeling exposed as a result of her reddened cheeks. She had been keeping an eye on Malfoy, who hadn't, really, with how he looked whenever he appeared long enough in public to be photographed.
“I have a rash on the left side of my abdomen that hasn't responded to muggle or magical over-the-counter treatment.” She conceded, brushing away a few stray curls from her face.
Malfoy leaned back, tapping a pen on his notepad. “Right, I’ve got other patients waiting, so let me take a look at your issue — see what I can do about it.” he motioned her towards the cot in the corner partially covered by a curtain, standing up as he did so.
“If you still have questions about my involvement in the House of Depravity, as the Prophet calls it,” Malfoy waggled his eyebrows, simultaneously pulling on a pair of disposable gloves, “and want details on my choice in employment, I clock out at 6.”
Hermione lay on the cot, lifting her t-shirt to reveal the angry skin, and nodded meekly in response to his implied question.
“Right, leave your address, and I will pick you up for dinner at 7. I hope I can satiate your curiosity tonight.” he winked salaciously before gently prodding her abdomen.
“And before you get worried enough to report me, I am very much the professional with other patients. This special treatment is a one-time, one-person occurrence, especially for you Granger,” he added as an afterthought a slight frown furrowing his forehead.