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“Dr. Granger, your next patient is ready for you.”
Dr. John Granger looked up from where he was knuckles deep in a patient’s mouth.
“Thank you, Monica,” he replied, giving his dental assistant a broad smile. “Mr. Nicholls here is almost done. And he’s promised to start flossing again. Isn’t that right, Mr. Nicholls?”
“Errmahheah,” the man said, his tongue lolling before the shrill sound of Dr. Granger’s drill filled the air.
Pleased with his work (and Mr. Nicholls’ somewhat unintelligible promise to floss), he stripped off his gloves and made a note in the man’s file to keep an eye on the upper left third molar. He then strolled over to his next patient, who was waiting — well, patiently — in the next exam room.
“Good afternoon, Mr. —” He consulted his clipboard, scanning over the patient’s details. “Malfoy,” John finished, looking down at the blond man over the rim of his glasses.
“Yes, Draco Malfoy, sir,” the young man said, paper bib flying as he jumped up from the pleather chair to greet him. “Pleased to meet you.”
Draco extended one hand, which John shook heartily before patting him on the back. He found that the young man had a firm handshake, despite the fact that he was clearly nervous.
“What brings you in today, Draco?” John asked.
While Draco resettled himself in the chair, John looked through his dental assistant’s notes and examined the X-rays. Both told him what he already knew from the moment Draco had opened his mouth: this was a man who flossed. In fact, with Draco’s striking blond hair and radiant smile, he could likely blind an innocent bystander if he wasn’t careful, John thought wryly.
“I thought it might be a good idea to come in… get things checked out. People do that, don’t they?” Draco asked, foot bouncing.
Dr. Granger nodded as he gestured for Draco to open his mouth. The young man hesitated for only a moment before doing so, gray eyes fixed on the ceiling as he breathed heavily through his nose.
John poked and prodded for a few moments before rolling back his chair. “Your chompers are in fine shape, young man. Why, it’s an absolute pleasure to see someone who takes their oral hygiene seriously.”
“Chompers?” Draco repeated, rubbing a hand along his jaw. He eyed the set of tools on the tray beside him warily — particularly the drill.
“Your teeth,” Dr Granger clarified. “Best set I’ve seen in a while. No plaque. No tartar. Healthy gums. And most importantly, no cavities.”
Draco looked pleased, the nervous energy he’d had earlier fading fast as he glanced around the office curiously.
“People don’t always take care of their teeth,” John found himself saying, quick to lecture anyone — even those who didn’t need the reminder — on the importance of his work. “Now, I realize life is busy and oral hygiene isn’t exactly at the top of people’s to-do lists, but it’s important,” John admonished. He half-glanced over at Draco, remembering himself. “You get it, of course.”
Draco nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets as he listened intently to John’s impassioned speech.
“Is this your daughter?” Draco asked politely, gesturing to the small framed photograph propped up next to a jar of toothbrushes.
There were very few things that could pause John Granger’s lectures on the importance of oral hygiene: bragging about his daughter happened to be one of them (along with trail running and his wife’s research on periodontal disease).
“Yes, it is,” John beamed, forgetting all about oral hygiene — well, almost. “That’s my Hermione. She graduated from Cambridge last spring,” he informed Draco, who likely could have guessed as much from the cap and gown. “Top of her class, with honors. Well on her way to changing the world, as per usual.”
Draco smirked. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” John boasted. “She’s my prodigy. Well, all credit should really go to her mother.”
“I understand what you mean. If there’s any good in me, it’s due to my mother,” Draco shared.
The quiet sincerity in the boy’s voice made him pause once more. He pursed his lips, considering. “You know, Draco, you can tell a lot about a person by how they take care of their teeth — more than you’d think, actually.”
Draco tilted his head with interest.
John's eyes rested on the photo of his daughter. Hermione looked just like his wife Helen, except for her brown eyes. She had John’s eyes — warm and curious, especially when an idea struck.
But lately his daughter had been in a rut.
She’d just come out of a three-year relationship, claiming she no longer had the time or energy for dating. He couldn’t blame her; that Weasley boy had been as high maintenance as they came — clingy and always complaining that Hermione’s academic endeavors interfered with their relationship. John had always known the boy hadn’t been right for her (and he highly doubted the lad brushed twice a day for the recommended two minutes).
As Hermione had said herself, she didn’t have the time or energy to date, let alone look for the rare man worthy of her. If any existed at all, John harrumphed.
But John had time. John had energy. And so he'd recently dedicated himself to finding suitable candidates for his precious daughter.
First, there had been the neighbor boy from down the street — a mechanical engineer out of Oxford. Then the accomplished grand pianist, the son of an old friend from dental school. Yet even they hadn’t been right.
He gave Draco another once-over, mentally ticking off the items as he went:
- Well-groomed — check ✔️
- Respected his mother — check ✔️
- Firm handshake — check ✔️
- Brilliant smile — gold star ⭐️
“Say, Draco,” Dr. Granger said, his inquisitive brown eyes flashing with something — an idea. “Are you single?”
Draco’s face broke out into a charming grin.
ᰔᰔᰔ
“Morning, Dad,” Hermione greeted. She gave her father a kiss on the cheek and handed him a to-go cup of coffee.
It was their standard weekly park date at Weaver’s Field. They’d been meeting there for years, ever since Hermione’s days at Cambridge. Every Saturday morning, she’d sneak away to see her dear old dad and the family dog, Pip, who was very lively despite his old age (and short Corgi legs).
“You didn’t add sugar, did you?” John asked sternly, lips hovering over the lid.
“I would never,” Hermione balked, taking a sip of her own coffee innocently.
They both watched from a park bench as Pip gallivanted about, sniffing happily at this and that.
“Well, you have before,” John accused, remembering the ‘Pumpkin Spice Latte’ she’d offered him one chilly autumn morning. He may as well have spooned sugar right into his mouth.
“That was one time,” Hermione huffed, crossing one leg over the other. “And you kept moaning about how your throat was scratchy. You practically begged for a sip.”
“I think you’re exaggerating,” John remarked. “I never moan. I merely elucidate.”
A laugh burst from his daughter’s lips. “Well, you elucidate often, Daddy dear, but we still love you all the same.” She patted him encouragingly on the knee in the same manner she often patted Pip.
Hermione had just gone off in search of a sturdy stick to keep the Good Boy busy, when Pip ran over to a man walking along the trail holding a bundle of flowers.
“Hello there,” the man said cordially (or rather, corgi-ally), bending down to give Pip a scratch behind the ears.
John watched from the comfort of his bench as his daughter’s head turned, jaw dropping.
That’s interesting, John thought. He noted that Hermione had found a proper stick and was now whacking it against her palm as she stomped across the grass.
“Malfoy!” Hermione squeaked. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”
Draco looked up, grinning widely as he continued to pet Pip like they were old friends.
And there it was, John thought, chuckling. That smile. He knew it’d be blinding, but out in the wild, it really was something.
“Good morning, Dr. Granger. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Draco called, raising a courteous hand in his direction.
John tipped his head, wishing he had a sugar-free biscuit to dip in his coffee as he watched the scene unfold.
“Dr. Granger?” Hermione repeated, voice still unnaturally high. The stick dropped from her hand into the grass, long forgotten. “Do you two—” she turned to her father, eyes wide “—know each other?”
Draco picked up the stick she’d discarded. “We recently became acquainted,” he drawled, leisurely arcing his arm back to launch the stick deep into the park green.
Pip barked happily, trotting off in search of it.
John’s eyes glinted with delight. The air between the two of them was practically snapping — the sort of tension he could admit now had been missing with the mechanical engineer and the pianist.
Already this was going smashingly, John thought smugly, taking another sip of his black coffee.
He decided he needed to get closer; there was only so much he could do from a park bench. With a wave of his arm, he beckoned them over.
As the two traipsed through the grass, he watched as they glanced at each other out of the corner of their eye. A pink blush had fanned itself across Hermione’s cheeks, and the barest smirk tugged up one corner of Draco’s mouth.
“Mr. Malfoy is a new patient of mine,” John informed his daughter. “I mentioned how Pip and I regularly go on walks here on Saturday mornings. But it’s pure coincidence seeing you here today, son. And with flowers, too.”
John winked, gesturing to the pink and white roses in Draco’s hand. Another thing he could check off the list: the young man had the good sense not to bring something ridiculous like chocolate or sweets to woo his daughter.
“Yes, except it wasn’t a coincidence,” Draco admitted, wiping a sweaty palm on his trousers.
Hermione’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“I knew you’d be here this morning, Granger,” Draco admitted, keeping his head lowered but his gaze fixed on her. “It was a setup.”
He pressed the bundle of flowers into her hands. “These are for you,” he said. “They’re from my mother’s rose garden.”
Draco turned to John. “I apologize for any deceit on my part, sir,” he said, flashing him a regretful smile, as though he knew the way to John’s heart was to strategically flash his pearly whites.
“I overheard you and Potter in line at the Ministry canteen the other week,” Draco revealed, turning back to Hermione. “You were moaning about all the boring blokes your father has been setting you up with.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed. She ignored Pip pawing at her leg, having now returned with the stick and raring for another go.
“I wasn’t moaning,” Hermione clarified, addressing her father.
“Of course not,” John replied, eyes sparkling. “You elucidate, like me.”
“Yes, I elucidate,” Hermione agreed. Her gaze flickered back to Draco, curious. “But what has that to do with you?”
John watched as color crept across Draco’s neck and into his pale cheeks. The poor lad looked even more nervous than he had during his dental exam, John thought.
“I’ve liked you for ages, Granger. Ever since Eighth Year when Slughorn made us potions partners,” Draco confessed, running a tense hand through his hair. “But I never thought you’d give me a proper chance.”
John watched as his daughter’s bottom lip dropped open in surprise.
“And I figured if there was going to be competition, I might as well get scouted by the man himself,” Draco said with a burst of confidence. “I know how much his good opinion matters to you.”
“You can’t be serious,” Hermione moaned (err, elucidated), picking up the stick Pip had dropped at her feet to thwack Draco across the arm.
“I’m very serious,” Draco returned, rubbing at his shoulder. “Serious enough I subjected myself — and my fine set of chompers — to being scraped by Muggle torture devices.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but John watched as the distance between them closed. Draco’s fingers gave the barest brush against Hermione’s.
Pip had the audacity to bark then, upset no one was paying him any attention.
John bent down, ruffling Pip’s fur. “Shush, old boy. The youngins’ are sweet on each other, can’t you tell?”
He felt a surge of pride as Draco and Hermione’s pinky fingers interlocked at last — hooking around one another, not unlike the dental probe he used to detect cavities.
“Would you like to get some ice cream?” Draco asked, and Hermione nodded, her face half-buried in the flowers.
John couldn’t help but intervene. “Ice cream? How about you take her out for a nice dinner — but no red wine,” he cautioned. “It’s terrible for the enamel.”
“Dinner would be great,” Hermione agreed, hand fully threaded together with Draco’s now.
The late morning sun peeked out from behind the clouds, mirroring the shy smiles on their young faces. John sat back, pleased as the two of them took turns throwing the stick for Pip, a natural synchronicity between them.
“Maybe you should go out for ice cream,” John amended over the tinkle of his daughter’s laughter. He watched as Pip — a cannonball of ankle-high enthusiasm — nearly toppled Draco. “I suppose there's nothing wrong with indulging your sweet tooth every now and then.”