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Summary
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
She stood over him, a glorious vision in lime green robes and sentient frizz. Just like always.
“Say the word, and I’ll take you on a date, Granger,” he replied, mustering his trademark smirk despite the pain of two cracked ribs and a burn on his shoulder.
“Malfoy.” Her rebuke was half-hearted as she set to work peeling back his dragonhide armor.
Draco Malfoy had few regrets in life—other than the years he’d spent being a bully and a prat, his brief stint as a Death Eater, and a particularly horrifying night in his Manor—other than those times, his biggest regret was that the only times Granger had ever seen him shirtless, it had been because he very unsexily needed her to heal him, and never from a romantic ailment—like tuberculosis.
OR—Draco attempts many times to woo Hermione. She is (mostly) unconvinced.