Chapter Text
DRAMIONE
They faced each other in the damp, secluded office provided by the Ministry.
His uniform was a crumbled, bloody mess on the chair in the corner. Blood stains could be seen in the path he had taken to pace across the floor. It was a while before his laboured breathing settled as he came down from the rush of his latest assignment.
The icy air singed the cuts and bruises on his skin. He cracked his neck when a fresh gush of air sliced through the room. He didn’t have to watch her enter. The rush of cold pulled a hiss from him.
“Fucking cold,” he grumbled, shifting to perch on the table, waiting for the Healer to approach like the good Auror he pretended to be.
He could hear her surprised breathing before he turned to face her and-
“Granger?”
“Malfoy?” She breathed, shock evident on her stunned face, before she schooled herself to something close to neutrality. She shook out her wand, slowly stepping closer. “What ha- happened?”
He scoffed into a laugh, ignoring her raised brow and eyes that were close to breaking him with a single look. He blinked and turned away.
“Same as always, bad guy tried to do a runner.” She didn’t need to know the names of those bad guys or the reasons he was after them. He had taken care of them; that was all that mattered, and they would never bother her - anyone ever again.
She nodded, understanding. Silently, she raised her wand, and Draco nodded for her to carry on. She was here to heal him, he reminded himself; that was all. Everything was standard procedure, no matter how much his entire being screamed for something else. He bit the inside of his cheek as she slowly mended the large cut on his left shoulder. Flesh stitched itself together under her careful tending. She hadn’t touched him yet and probably wouldn’t.
This was why he was so much more surprised when he felt the cool pads of her fingers press into his shoulder blade.
“I have a salve that will prevent too much scarring,” her soft voice sounded from beside him.
The softness of her touch as she washed away the remaining blood had him bending forward, curling in on himself. Her touch was torture in the way he recognised every part of it.
“That sounds… fine,” he said in a husky tone, shutting his eyes. With little difficulty, he tried to ignore the subtle brush of her fingers as she felt around his bone structure, no doubt looking for fractures or bruises or whatever it was she was assigned to heal. If he closed his eyes, maybe he could pretend it was someone else’s fingers lingering on his bare skin.
“May I ask-“
“No, it’s a classified case, Granger, you know the-“
“That’s not what I was going to ask.” The brisk affront in her voice had him flinching. He sighed, but then inclined his head for her to ask whatever question she had in mind. He knew from past experiences that he wouldn’t have peace from her until she got the answers she wanted.
Her fingers traced a familiar shape over his shoulder, pausing in recognisable shapes.
“When did you get this one?” Her touch stopped on a spot that traced across his spine. He should’ve asked for a different Healer the moment she entered the room.
Of course, she would single out the tattoo that started across his spine and wrapped further around his torso, ending over his heart. She would never have seen it before. Not like the others that were scattered across his body.
It hurt to swallow, but not because of the bruises.
“Year after Potter’s stupid wedding,” he admitted and heard more than felt the hitch in her breath.
“Draco, I-“
“Have you finished?” He couldn’t let her say anything else. It wouldn’t matter. Not yet. He couldn’t-
None of it mattered the way it used to.
“What? Yes, I- I mean-“
“Great,” he tore away.
Away from her touch.
Away from her warmth.
Away from all the things he still couldn’t have with her.
Not until he was done.
“I’ll see you the next time, I suppose.” Not caring about the lack of clothes, he headed for the door.
“Draco, wait-“
He was out of the door before he gave her a chance to explain why he needed a tattoo to keep his heart locked inside his chest.
If he was lucky, she hadn’t noticed that the key to his heart had been tattooed with her initials.