Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Draco was fairly familiar with punishment. He had gone from being a generic misbehaving rich kid, to (in his father's opinion) an academic failure, to a pretty lousy Death Eater, to a convicted war criminal. He knew punishments. Good ones, bad ones, insufficient ones, excessive ones. And these chairs.

These stupid bloody pieces of hard plastic, lined up in their pathetic rows like it would bring some semblance of order to this chaotic room; they were the cruel and unusual kind of punishment. The kind the Wizengamot had very purposely outlawed only after they had finished sentencing all the Death Eaters, which Draco had been quick to point out to Blaise, but no one else. He had escaped jail time by a kneazle whisker, and he wasn't going to risk being portrayed as a sympathiser over his disdain for creative lawmaking by a bunch of old farts who had looked down their noses at him.

Draco tried to shift his weight, desperate to make the chair more comfortable, but even the tiniest movement made his arm ache relentlessly. With an irritated sigh Draco relaxed back into the torture device and readjusted his hold on on his left elbow, trying not to let his right hand fall asleep. The pain of the snapped bone had settled down at a comfortable six out of ten a while ago (provided he didn't jostle it too much) but having to sit for three hours in the St Mungo's A&E waiting room on Satan's throne of discomfort, with nothing but a wall of information pamphlets and a revolving door of wizards and witches sporting some of the most odd maladies he had ever seen to keep him company was beginning to grate on his nerves.

A petite healer with a clipboard appeared for the left hallway, and Draco crossed his imaginary fingers that the next name she would call would be his, and he could finally get out of here and go back to work.

“Euan Moore?”

The portly wizard three chairs down from Draco stood with a gravelly grunt, toddling off after the healer. Draco tried not to be annoyed, after all, the strange green goo he had been dripping onto the floor did look a little more pressing than his own simple broken arm. He returned to amusing himself by studying his surroundings and the people in them, anything to take his mind off the fact he couldn’t feel his left foot anymore.

The waiting room was fairly plain, square, with white walls and beige linoleum floors. Behind him were the doors and the floo entry he had arrived through, and in front of him was the intake desk, staffed by a single, somewhat rude young wizard, and the two mystery hallways splitting off left and right from the desk, through which healers appeared and whisked patients away to those magical rooms which probably didn’t have stupid plastic chairs in them.

Draco watched the wizard behind the desk, scribbling information onto parchment that would get thrown into the air to zip off down the hallways, probably finding the stupid healer who was making him wait. Occasionally a healer would appear from the hallway to talk to the intake guy, but they always disappeared without even looking at the patient in the waiting room, so he had stopped getting his hopes up when a green-clad or white-coated healer stopped to chat.

Draco started feeling that annoying urge to go to the intake desk and demand to be seen next, so he ripped his eyes away from the busy wizard and let his eyes rove the other two walls instead. Both were covered in posters and pamphlets, most some flavour of ‘Don’t Cast A Spell On Yourself You Bloody Idiot’, but usually worded nicer and with a smiling picture of a blandly attractive healer on it. A few posters informed Draco to ‘Keep Wands Away From Children’ and to ‘Ensure Your Dragonpox Charms Are Up To Date’, but he’d looked at them so many times in the past three hours he had their colour schemes memorised, so his eyes moved on. Then his gaze snagged on something new.

Three seats to his left, sitting next to a puddle of green goo, a folded up newspaper.

Usually Draco wasn’t hugely into print media, except the gossip magazines he used to keep track of his mother’s social calendar, but in this windowless room where comfort went to die it was like someone had plopped a juicy steak in front of a starving dog.

Broken arm be damned Draco leaned over, rescuing the paper from its gooey fate with two careful fingers. Slowly unfolding it, he surveyed the state of the newspaper. A little stained, but largely readable. A perfect distraction.

Draco was about to flip the paper over to start with whatever article the editor deemed important enough for the front page when the sound of footsteps made his head snap upwards. They were quick, panicked. Someone was running. And it wasn’t the squeak of those flashy muggle sneakers most of the male healers wore, or the clack of the businesslike heels favoured by some of the witches. That distinctive ‘clomp-clomp’ was made by boots, heavy ones. Tactical grade ones.

He watched as a healer in a long white coat came flying from the right hallway, dashing past the desk so fast Draco couldn’t even get a good look. All he caught was a flash of black combat boots poking out from underneath pink trousers before the healer disappeared into the other hallway, followed by a long braid slapping against her back with each stride. Her sudden entrance had even drawn the attention of the intake wizard, but when he went back to his work without even a flicker of concern Draco took it to mean he didn’t need to be worried. Still, a healer in such heavy-duty footwear? It was an interesting choice for sure, especially since shoe comfort charms had come so far that even his middle aged mother still got around in her five-inch stilettos.

He cast a glance downward at the boots on his own feet, standard issue as part of the auror department’s tactical uniform. He didn’t find them particularly stylish, so he only wore them when strictly necessary and absolutely hated the hassle of cleaning them after missions. But if some of the recent high fashion he had seen making the rounds in the wizarding world was any indication, there was never any accounting for taste.

With the thumping of boots faded into the distance Draco returned to his borrowed newspaper, turning it over while being careful not to touch any of the weird goo. You never knew what was contagious. His good hand went back to supporting his aching arm, now at an eight out of ten from being pressed against the armrest of the chair, and he began scanning the first article.

WAR HEROINE BACK IN TOWN? HERMIONE GRANGER’S MYSTERIOUS RETURN TO LONDON

That was enough to make Draco’s eyebrows raise. Last he had heard Granger had been traipsing across Europe doing something impressive with that irritating intelligence of hers. He hadn’t seen her since his trial, where she had sat three rows back with the Weasley clan and a few other Hogwarts buddies, watching Harry testify in his favour. A small part of him had always wondered what the brilliant witch had ended up doing with her life. So he kept reading.

Spotted in Diagon Alley dining with Harry Potter, Hermione Granger is back in London for the first time since her graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The famous healer attained her healer certification in record time, and reportedly also achieved a similar muggle certification, studying across Europe. For the past year Granger occupied a research role in the Københavns Institut for Magisk Medicinsk Forskning (Copenhagen Institute of Magical Medicine Research), reportedly working on a privately funded medical study.
The details of her return are shrouded in mystery, although her sightings with the famous auror have sparked rumours of a growing romance between the two. Reporters witnessed the pair attending dinner at La Vigne, a favourite of wizarding couples everywhere since the restaurant opened its doors two years ago-

“-alfoy? Draco Malfoy?”

Draco’s head snapped up to find the entire waiting room staring at him, including the diminutive healer with the clipboard.

“Right, sorry.” He apologised, sneaking one last glance at the newspaper article, at the photo below the title which showed Harry holding a menu over the face of the woman he was with as she turned away from the camera lens, before standing and moving to follow the woman.

“We apologise for the wait.” The healer said, taking off at a brisk pace down the left hallway.

“No problem.” Draco said, trying to ignore that tingling sensation in his feet that promised pins and needles later, and the four out of ten ache in his knee and hip joints, irritated by how quickly he had stood. Honestly, the pain in his left arm was feeling pretty unimportant at the moment.

“Just a few quick questions, you said this was a training injury, correct?”

“Yep.” Draco nodded, following the quick-footed healer as she wended her way through crowded hallways.

“And was there a reason the healers at the auror facilities were unable to treat it?” She asked, dodging a screaming child and a wispy white parrot patronus without even looking up from her clipboard. Draco flinched at the parrot fluttering past his face, and had to jog on his protesting legs to catch up.

“Uh, they weren’t in the building today. It was an unscheduled training session.”

“I see.” The nurse pulled up at an open door, and gestured inside. “Please wait here, your healer will be with you shortly.”

Draco found himself left alone in a small room, the only furnishings a collection of cabinets against the walls, and an examination table in the centre of the room. At least there was a window. He eyed the table carefully, desperate to lie down and give his aching body a rest but knowing he probably wouldn’t be able to get back up if he did. Moving to the window, Draco used the elbow of his good hand to nudge open the sheer curtains, finding himself looking out over a grass courtyard, rimmed with neat hedges and decorated with brick paths, benches, and a central fountain.

People in white hospital gowns milled around, some with other people, some with healers, a few by themselves, taking in the early afternoon sun. In an attempt to block out the hustle and bustle of the hospital filtering in through the door, Draco tried to pretend he was outside too, listening to the fountain, feeling the sun, with the pain and the pins and needles far far away.

He didn’t know how long he stood like that, staring at the fountain and straining to hear running water, before he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Mr Malfoy?”

Draco whirled, embarrassed to have been caught so off guard. “That’s me.”

The healer paused in the doorway, staring at him for a moment as if waiting for something else. Draco stared at her blankly, trying to work out what it was he had forgotten to say.

“Do you really not recognise me, or is this some kind of joke?” The healer asked.

Draco took another look at the healer, noting the long brown braid trailing over her shoulder, the narrow rectangular glasses dominating her face, her thin frame clad in a grey shirt and pink pants, almost hidden by the white coat popularised by muggle born healers over the usual lime green robes. His brain made the connection when his eyes reached her feet, and the huge black boots that completely clashed with her otherwise normal outfit.

“You ran past the waiting room like you were being chased by a banshee a few minutes ago, right?”

“Malfoy, it’s me.” The healer lifted her hands and pushed her glasses onto her head. Draco stared a moment longer, and then realisation dawned.

“Granger?”

The witch’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You really didn’t recognise me?”

“Well it’s been like eight years.” Draco said defensively, feeling more than a little embarrassed. “Plus, you changed your hair. And you have glasses now.”

“Right,” Granger said, “I guess I have changed a bit. You look the same though.”

“Thanks, I think?” Draco replied as she stepped into the room and drew the door shut behind her, muffling the hospital noise.

“If you sit on the table I can examine you.” Granger indicated with a tilt of her head. Draco obediently moved over to the wooden table, sliding carefully on to the smooth black leather top since both of his hands were out of commission.

“What are you doing here in St Mungos? I thought you didn’t live in London anymore.” He said, trying to fill the awkward gap as he struggled to get comfortable on the table.

“I recently moved back.”

“I see.” Draco pressed his lips together, cowed into silence by Granger’s clipped answer. Thankfully the witch didn’t make him suffer much longer, pulling a clipboard out from under her arm and beginning perusing the parchment on it, sliding her glasses back down onto her nose.

“Right, so we have a broken left arm I see.” She looked up, and then let out a low whistle. “That’s broken alright.”

Draco watched as she put the clipboard on one end of the examination table, fixating on his broken arm like a wild animal locking onto their prey.

“It looks like a clean break, which is good news, about midway up the humerus… can I move your arm?”

“Sure.” Draco gave her a lopsided shrug, before removing his supporting right arm.

“If it hurts at all, tell me to stop.”

Granger slowly maneuvered his arm, one hand on his wrist and one cradling the broken bone, slowly rolling up the sleeve of Draco’s auror robes. It definitely wasn’t a painless process, but Draco was eager to get the repair over with so he kept quiet and focused on the braid swinging between them, Granger’s famously unruly locks now all lying perfectly straight in their smooth plait.

To be honest it was the main reason he hadn’t recognised her immediately. He had always associated the witch most closely with her crazy curls. He used to stare at the back of her head in Charms at school, watching the curls bounce and sway as she took notes or practised wand movements. In some of the more boring classes he had actually tried counting each individual lock, a rare entertainment in what he had otherwise found an incredibly boring class. In fact, he could almost say that he misse-

“How did you manage this?” Granger asked, studying his arm closely, snapping him out of his nostalgic haze. “Harry didn’t mention a raid today.”

“Combat training.” Draco replied automatically, gaze still locked on her hair as he tried to distract himself from her gentle hands on his arm, being so careful and yet making the pain worse with every small poke and prod. “An arm-bar gone wrong.”

“Seems extreme for a failed arm-bar, usually those just result in dislocations.” Granger mused.

“I didn’t realise you and Harry stayed in touch.” Draco said, changing the subject from the brutal sparring match that had landed him here. He would rather not relive the sound of his arm bone snapping, thank you very much. “He doesn’t mention you often. Or, like, at all.”

“Yeah, well, there wasn’t much to mention if I’m being honest.” Granger shrugged. "But we talk pretty regularly. I worried about him and Ron going into auror service, so I would call or text him weekly when I first moved away to make sure they hadn't died in training. Then the habit stuck.”

“Does texting have something to do with that little buzzing thing he has? The mibo… mocel… gramophone whatsit?” Draco asked, interest piqued. Harry had tried to explain the muggle device to him once, called it ‘more efficient owl mail’, but he had lost Draco at the concept of a screen and had never reattempted the explanation.

“Mobile phone?” Granger let out a suppressed chuckle at Draco’s question. “Yes. Basically we can talk or write to each other instantly. Sometimes I regretted buying him one, he called me to rant for forty five minutes after you stole Ginny from him in that fantasy quidditch league thing you aurors are running.”

“Ah, yes.” Draco smiled fondly at the fateful draw night where he had snatched the talented chaser. “She was a brilliant investment. Her and Freidrich Schneider are basically carrying my team right now.”

“Oh trust me, I know. Every time Harry loses to you I get a sad phone call about it.” Granger allowed herself a full laugh this time, and Draco couldn’t help but smile as well.

“You must get a lot of calls then.”

“My phone bill is astronomical.” The healer rotated his arm a little bit to get a look at the underside of his arm, and Draco couldn’t help the hiss of pain that escaped his mouth at the rotational movement.

“Sorry about that, I’m almost done.” Granger apologised immediately. She studied his arm for a few moments longer, and then gently returned his arm to the right angle position he had been cradling it in. “You handled that better than I thought you would. Most guys usually tear up or yell at me when I do stuff like that.”

“I’m good with pain.” Draco shrugged. He had every right to the subtle brag, since the tolerance was hard won.

“Well, I can now confidently say you have a simple oblique fracture, with minimal nerve and vessel damage.” Granger made a quick note on the clipboard, before producing her wand from the sleeve of her coat. “It will be a quick reset, and then a short repair charm and you will be on your way. Do you want a pain potion before we start?”

“Get it over with.” Draco shook his head.

“Ok, tough guy.” Granger took a step back so she could trace a wand movement between them, and then with a flick of her wrist and a muttered spell Draco’s arm snapped back into place with a crunching noise not unlike the one it had made when it first broke.

The pain was blindingly white hot for a moment, and Draco’s breath hitched in his throat as he fought the urge to yell; but in two breaths the pain had faded back down to a six out of ten and he could breathe normally again.

“Impressive.” Granger murmured as she began weaving the repair enchantment, eyes focused on the magic between them and not on Draco.

He studied the healer's face, at once achingly familiar and totally alien to him, someone who knew so much about him when he hadn’t heard a word about her in almost eight years. He thought about Harry, once his mortal enemy now his partner in the auror department despite the eyebrows that had been raised at their pairing. He considered Harry one of his closest friends, and yet he had never mentioned this woman, someone Harry supposedly spoke regularly. Was it his fault? Draco felt curiosity rising, and before he could stop himself, he spoke.

“Do you disapprove?”

“Disapprove of what?” Granger asked, not looking up from her casting.

“Me and Harry. As partners. As friends.”

“What?” That broke her concentration, eyes snapping up to Draco’s face for a second before returning to her spell. “No, of course not. Harry trusts you to have his back, so I trust you too.”

“Really?” Draco asked, unconvinced. He had received his fair share of fearful looks and judgemental stares since he was released from custody. He knew not everyone agreed with his not guilty verdict.

“Really. Now shush.” Granger’s brow furrowed as the spell came together, golden threads of magic forming in their air between them. With another flick of her wrist and an incantation, the threads wrapped around Draco’s arm and disappeared beneath his skin, and there was a smaller spike of pain before the throbbing in his upper arm vanished completely.

Draco slowly lifted his arm, and then rotated it around his shoulder, testing for residual pain; but it was as if he had never fallen victim to McLaggen’s brutal jiu jitsu.

Granger was watching him, waiting to hear the review of her work, but instead Draco blurted out something else entirely.

“I’m sorry.”

Granger’s face fell into a confused frown, but Draco plowed on, the floodgates open.

“I’m sorry for everything. For always addressing you with that horrible slur, for making your life hell in school, for working with Voldesnot, for being the reason Dumbledore died, everything. I’m so, so sorry. I know words can’t fix any of it, but you deserve the apology.”

He waited for her reaction, the two seconds it took Granger to process his word-vomit somehow seeming longer than the almost four hours he had already spent in the hospital. Then one of her eyebrows arched.

“Voldesnot?”

Draco let out a choked laugh, relief flooding his body that she hadn’t hexed him to kingdom come for thinking a babbled apology was good enough to repair eight years of mistakes. “It’s an exercise my therapist suggested, to help me get over my fear of him. It actually really helps, I recommend it.”

“You go to therapy?”

“Government mandated.” Draco replied dryly, rolling his sleeve down. “Part of our ‘social retraining’, remember?”

“Oh,” Granger had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “Right.”

An awkward silence stretched between them, Draco fiddling with his sleeve as he fought the urge to punch himself for bringing up the trial again. Way to remind Granger he was technically a war criminal right after apologising for it.

“You didn’t need to apologise.”

Draco’s head snapped up. “Huh?”

“Your apology. It was unnecessary. I forgave you years ago.” Granger put away her wand and gathered the clipboard from the exam table. “We were kids. You were forced into it. I’d be a monster to hold a grudge.”

“Oh…” Draco was practically tonguetied. He hadn’t expected such a positive reaction, even Harry had been awkward about the apology Draco offered him and they had been on good terms for a while before Draco worked up the courage to say sorry. “Well, thank you. And thank you for fixing my arm.”

“No problem.” Granger said with an easy smile. “You’re a model patient. And you’re good to go. Take a pain potion if there’s any soreness tomorrow, and come back if there are any issues. And don’t get caught in an arm bar again.”

“I won’t, I promise. Lesson learned.” Draco returned her smile.

“Well, I’ll see you around.” The healer turned to leave.

“Wait!” Draco said quickly, and Granger turned back, eyebrow raised again.

“Yes?”

“You never said why you were here in St. Mungos. Last I heard you were working some fancy job in Denmark, so why come back? Someone like you is wasted here, fixing broken bones in the local A&E.”

Granger’s face fell, a flat expression snapping into place over her polite smile.

“I hit a snag in my research.”

“I see.” Draco said when the witch failed to elaborate. He had clearly hit a nerve.

“I better go.” Granger spun on her heel and left the room, leaving the door open in a clear indication that Draco should leave as well.

“Idiot.” He muttered to himself, running his hands down his face as exhaustion hit like a punch to the chest. Without Granger’s conversation or the pain in his arm to distract him, the soreness that constantly plagued him had retaken its position at the top of the list of things taking up his thoughts, and his elbows and right hand were letting him know they were unimpressed with having to stay in one position for so long by way of stabbing, five out of ten pain.

Draco flexed his sore fingers pulling out his wand to make sure he could still force his hand to hold the thin shaft. It felt a little bit like plunging his hand into a bucket of fire, but he could cast a spell if he needed, which is all he needed to be able to work.

Sliding off the table he took a moment to gather himself, banishing thoughts of Granger from his mind. He just needed to pay his bill and get back to work. That would help distract him from the pain and the guilt. It always helped.