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Perhaps she had stared into the flames of the fireplace for too long, Hermione thought hopefully as she squinted around a purplish blob blocking her vision, trying to read the essay she was currently grading. Realistically though, she knew that was unlikely. The blob blocking her vision wasn’t shaped like a flame, as it would be if this were just an afterimage. No, this purple blob seemed to move every time her eyes did, shifting colors from purple to green and back again, dividing into smaller blobs when she refocused her gaze and then sifting together again.
An aura, the doctor had called it. It was a warning that a migraine was coming.
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, hoping that if she reduced the strain, the visual disturbance might clear. But to no avail.
With a frustrated groan, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and slipped the partially graded stack of essays into the appropriate file. Or at least, she hoped it was the right file, as she couldn’t currently read the label and was going off a count of file ridges alone. Best be getting back to her room.
Hermione walked quickly through the halls from her office to the faculty tower of Hogwarts. Perhaps if she took pain medication fast enough, she could prevent the migraine from hitting full force. Sometimes it worked.
She pulled a compact from the pocket of her robes as she traversed the familiar corridors. It glowed faintly when she flicked it open, and she had to resist the urge to snap her eyes shut at the intrusion. “Neville Longbottom,” she commanded, her voice trembling slightly.
Her own reflection in the mirror shimmered away, replaced by the familiar face of her best friend and now colleague, grinning happily.
“Hey, Herms! I was just about to reach out to see if you wanted to skip out to Hogsmeade for dinner tonight and—” His brow wrinkled. “Are you alright? You don’t look so good.”
“Can you meet me in my quarters please?”
She saw the background behind him shift and the movement made her a bit dizzy. Shutting her eyes tight, she leant against the wall to steady herself, breathing slowly through the sudden nausea.
“I’m on my way. But I can tell you’re walking right now so please be careful,” Neville’s voice echoed through the hall.
The compact went silent and when Hermione opened her eyes once more, Neville’s face had disappeared, replaced again with her own.
She was thankfully only steps away from her quarters and equally relieved that her door was charmed to open when it detected her magical signature, no key or spell needed. Because she wasn’t sure she would have been able to make a key or a spell work.
Hermione dropped her purse on the floor and made a beeline for the medicine cabinet in her room’s kitchenette. She rummaged through the cabinet, feeling for the bottle. Paracetamol.
“Here, let me help with that,” Neville’s voice interrupted as Hermione struggled with the lid.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, taking the two red pills Neville passed her. She swallowed them dry, wincing at the discomfort.
“I’m not sure that’s going to help though, Herms.”
She massaged her temples, closing her eyes. “It’s about all I can do at the moment.”
Neville guided her to the sofa with a hand on her back. “At least sit. I don’t need you passing out.”
Sit. That was a good idea.
Neville was well versed in helping Hermione with migraines at this point, so once she had settled herself on the couch, he conjured an ice pack to wrap around her head and neck. Then he removed her shoes and placed her feet in a basin of warm water. Whether this remedy did anything useful, he wasn’t sure. But it was something she insisted on trying.
He would have preferred dragging her to the hospital right then and there.
He was just feeling for her radial pulse, noting that it was rather elevated, when she started heaving. There wasn’t enough time to get a bucket. The contents of her stomach was now in her lap, including the two pills she’d just swallowed.
With a wave of his wand, Neville had her cleaned up. “We’re not doing this, Hermione. You need a healer. Now.”
“It’ll go away,” she insisted stubbornly. “Just need rest.”
“And medicine you can’t vomit. You’re going to the hospital. And I’m apparating us both. So, hang on.”
The pain increased, a throbbing throughout her entire body. Until she wasn’t at Hogwarts anymore. But she wasn’t at the hospital either. She was wearing a white dress, barefoot, standing on a quiet beach. The dress was simple but elegant. Definitely something she’d wear.
“You look gorgeous, Hermione,” a familiar, yet unrecognizable voice spoke up next to her. “And I’m the luckiest man in the world to call you mine.”
A hand reached towards hers and she took it, but not without looking at the hand she held. The hand was fair-skinned, with slender fingers that wove between her own. And on his fingers were two rings; the first a gold band with an infinity symbol etched elegantly around it, and the second, a signet ring.
It was then that she noticed her own fingers, and that her hand was not bare either. Three rings were stacked on her own ring finger, the most ornate a claddagh-like design, with a diamond heart and a Celtic knot where hands would traditionally be. It was gorgeous. But it meant she was married. And judging by the dress, very recently so.
“Seizure activity has stopped,” a voice called out.
“Should I cancel the call for neurology then?” someone else asked.
“That would be a moronic choice, given her state,” the same familiar voice from her vision answered. “And besides, I’m already here. What have we got?”
“It’s Professor Granger, I’d recognize her anywhere. Brought in by Professor Longbottom. Sudden onset migraine, attempted to treat with a muggle medication, but couldn’t keep it down. Apparated in, started seizing soon after.”
“I really don’t care who she is at the moment. What assessments have you done? And did you rule out spinal meningitis?” the familiar voice asked. He spoke in a quick staccato, a clipped, dangerous tone that would have once made her cower.
“Someone make the pain stop,” Hermione screamed, once again aware of what was going on around her.
“That’s what I’m here for, Hermione,” the voice spoke to her in a more soothing tone than he’d used with the others.
Voices buzzed around her yelling out verbiage she couldn’t understand. Light flashed in her eyes momentarily, bringing back the nausea full force. Then a sharp pain in her lower back.
“You’re safe Hermione. I’ve giving you an injection of pain medication. It’s going to make you tired. Don’t fight it.”
There was another sharp sting in her hip and then the world went black.
It had long since felt like a cruel sense of irony, the fact that every one of Hermione’s migraines was accompanied by vivid, almost tangible visions. She’d dropped out of Divination classes as a teenager after Trelawney had told her she had no signs of ‘the gift’. Clearly, she’d just been a late bloomer in developing her stupid ‘gift’. Because so far, every vision she’d seen during a migraine had remarkably come true.
So, she suspected this one would be no different.
She was sitting on a couch in a small living room, her foot propped up on a small table of some sort. Her foot had a long gash across it, an open wound.
“Hermione, love. How many times do I have to tell you to ask for help if you’re going to be rearranging furniture? Even with magic, you really shouldn’t be doing it yourself.”
Her own voice mumbled back, as if she were reciting a script she didn’t know. “But if I wait for you to help, you’re going to try to talk me out of it.”
She still couldn’t see the man’s face, which was extremely frustrating. Was her brain trying to protect her from something?
The man chuckled. “While that may be true, it doesn’t change the fact that I’d rather you ask for help than do something that can get you hurt. I’m going to numb you up. You’ll feel a pinch and then some burning. Just sit tight and breathe.”
Luckily, she couldn’t feel the sensations of the vision, but her vision-self could, evidenced by the sound of herself inhaling sharply before hissing out, “fuck you, that hurts!”
“I know it does, darling. But you’re almost done. And then I’ll get this wound closed up. But closing it without anesthetics is much worse.”
The man placed the medical syringe aside and picked up his wand, waving it over the cut on her foot, reciting a melodic chant.
The gash on her foot seemed to weave itself together, shrinking beneath a blue glow until all that remained was a tiny scar.
“There. All better. But I want you to keep weight off of it for the rest of the day, just to ensure it heals properly.”
“It can’t heal without a feel-better kiss,” her voice pouted.
The man picked up her foot gently and bent over it, gently pressing his lips to the tender flesh he’d just healed. Though she still could not make out his face, he had long blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.
Who did she know with long blond hair? Absolutely nobody. But the voice was painfully familiar.
There was a beeping coming from somewhere. And it was getting louder. And a bit faster. And bloody annoying.
“Somebody make the beeping stop!” she groaned, moving her hands up to cover her ears.
She felt a pair of hands gripping her wrists, but the texture didn’t feel like skin. Then a voice whispering a spell. The beeping stopped.
“It’s just a heart monitor. I had it set to alert when you awoke. You’re in the hospital, Hermione, but you’re safe.”
The same voice from the ER. The same voice from both visions. “How is your pain level right now?” the voice asked, followed by the sound of stretching latex.
“We’re getting married,” she mumbled.
Silence.
“She has visions when she gets migraines,” Neville’s voice explained. “But that one… that one is unexpected.”
“Alright, well focus on the wedding later, love. Pain?”
“Bad.”
“Can you open your eyes for me?”
She shook her head no.
“Alright, I’ll leave it for now. I’m wrapping your left hand around my finger. Can you squeeze it?” She felt something warm in her fist, so she gave it a squeeze.
“Good. Can you do the same thing with your right hand?” She squeezed her hand around the warm thing, apparently a finger.
“Good. I’ll let you rest for a little while longer, hopefully that will knock it out of your system. I’m going to give you another shot of the nerve pain medication.”
She shook her head no. “No shots.”
“Surely the migraine hurts more than a needle poke,” the voice reasoned from somewhere near her shoulder.
“Maybe.”
She was suddenly exposed to the chill of the hospital room and she shivered. “I know, it’s a bit cold in here. I’ll cover you back up in a moment. I’m administering the injection in your hip, the ventrogluteal muscle.”
A cold, wet sensation brushed against the bare skin of her hip. Then a soft beeping sound. “Breathe, love. Your pulse just shot up so I know you’re panicking. But you’re okay. I’m using a larger muscle to minimize discomfort.”
The cold was replaced by a warm hand. “Pinch and then pressure.”
She felt the sharp pinch. And then a dull pressure. And then blackness.
“Miss Granger, you look simply ravishing in that gown. But I know where I’d prefer to see it.”
She turned on her toe, eyes wide. “We are chaperoning a school dance, for Christ’s sake. Get your mind out of the gutter!” Her voice raised in pitch, the other occupant of the room chuckling low.
Her husband, whoever he turned out to be, was wearing a silver and gold masquerade mask, so she still couldn’t see his face. But he was dressed in deep blue dress robes, and his hair was pulled back into a partial braid that ended in the typical ponytail. And she had to admit. He was handsome as hell, even without seeing his face.
She approached him, fidgeting with a clasp behind her head. “Can you help me please? I can’t get this stupid necklace to hook.”
“No need to get so stressed, Professor. Relax. The stress isn’t good for your health. Besides, you’re supposed to have fun tonight, too. It’s the Yule Ball. Tonight, I get to whisk you away on a surprise holiday and tomorrow morning is Christmas. Enjoy it.” He clasped the necklace into place, before sliding his hands down the curves of her body, leaning forward and kissing just below her ear, bringing goose pimples to the surface of her arms.
Hermione could see her future-self’s reflection in the mirror, and she truly liked what she saw. She wore a deep blue floor-length gown with silver embroidered detailing, matching the man’s behind her. The trio of rings glistened on her fingers, as did the gold and diamond necklace he’d just secured around her neck. Her curls were tamed into a half-up style.
She twisted in the man’s grasp and gazed up into a set of piercing silver eyes, as she was about a head shorter than he. “But this dance is…” her voice trailed off. “It’s more than just a dance. It’s a political statement. There are photographers here, reporters, ministry guests—”
The man bent down to kiss her gently, cutting off her tangent. “And you can do nothing to control whatever narrative they choose to paint.”
“But I’m more than just a professor now. I’ve made so many changes to the academic structure and curriculum and it’s not popular with a lot of the Sacred 28 and if tonight goes horribly, I just know I’m going to be blamed for it.”
Her husband smirked. “You are a highly educated professional, the ‘Sacred 28’ is a group of bigoted numbskulls, aside from myself of course, and the population you’re overseeing are teenagers. Do you not remember what we were like at our own Yule Ball?”
She smiled back at him. “I was dating a professional Quidditch player, you were using any opportunity available to antagonize me and my friends, and my crush ruined my night.”
“Then we’ll make this Yule Ball have an even happier ending.” He pulled back, grabbed a gold mask from a table behind him and placed it over her eyes. “With that dress on the floor.”
The way he’d growled it in her ear had made her heart skip a beat.
And the heart monitor chime.
“Turn it off!” she grumbled, pulling the pillow up to engulf her ears.
“I’ll go find the healer, I don’t know how,” Neville said. Aww, Neville was still here?
Then she heard a new voice, a female’s. “Don’t worry, Professor Longbottom. I’ve got it.” The beeping stopped. “I’ll send him in. Hope you’re feeling better Professor Granger.”
Slowly, Hermione let the pillow fall and opened her eyes. “Neville, you’re still here?”
“Hermione!” Neville jumped up from the visitor’s chair, rushing to her side. “You’re awake. How are you?”
“Why didn’t you go home?” she asked, her voice aching, ignoring the question.
Neville rolled his eyes. “What kind of friend would I be if I left you alone in the hospital?”
“The kind with professional responsibilities,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the harsh hospital lighting.
She heard him scoff. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? I contacted Harry and Ginny; they’re away for one of the Harpies’ games. They said to keep them updated on your condition. I left Ron out of it for now.”
“Thank you. For leaving him out of it.”
There came a soft knock on the door. “I’ve been told my patient is awake.” It was the silky-smooth voice of the man from her vision. And her heart raced at the thought of her most recent vision. This healer, in her future, would be saying dirty things to her. Thank Merlin, Ron didn’t know of her condition.
The alarm sounded again, but this time, she hardly cared.
Hermione sat up expectantly, eager to find out whom the voice belonged to.
“Miss Granger. How are you?”
The healer approaching was tall and slender, wearing the standard, hideous green robes of St. Mungo’s. She searched his hands first, noticing the same silver signet ring from her visions. But only that ring. The wedding band was nowhere to be found. Of course, she didn’t have any of her rings either.
His blond hair was about shoulder length, not long enough for a ponytail and instead pulled into a top knot, out of his face, which revealed the same silver eyes.
Yes. He was very familiar.
Hermione fell back into the pillows. “Oh no! Not you!”
“Good to see you, too,” he answered sarcastically with a roll of his eye. “Obviously you know me, but in a professional capacity, I’m Healer Draco Malfoy, Director of Neurological Healing. Your heart monitor keeps going off, so I’m going to take a listen.”
So that’s what the beeping was. Shit! That’s what the beeping was.
“It’s nothing, I swear. Just…dreams.”
“Dreams? Or visions?” he asked with an eyebrow raised. “Nonetheless, it’s best I check. But I’m using a muggle stethoscope. It’s more accurate that a cardiac diagnostic charm.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mumbled as he stepped closer, pulling a stethoscope from an inside pocket of his robes. He donned it, and placed the chest piece against her bare skin, slipping it just beneath the edge of her hospital gown.
The heart monitor started beeping again. “Fuck that thing,” Hermione muttered, closing her eyes so she couldn’t see Malfoy’s face.
The beeping stopped. “I’ve turned it off. It’ll stop tattling on you, now.” She heard the smirk in his tone.
As the chest piece moved around her chest, she opened her eyes again to watch him. He was handsome. “You look better in blue,” she whispered before she could think it through.
He met her gaze as he removed his stethoscope and draped it behind his neck. “Really? I’m partial to green. Though admittedly in a shade other than this one.”
“Now that I’ve made a fool of myself… How much longer am I stuck here?”
“Provided your pain is under control, I expect to discharge you tonight, pending a final set of blood tests,” he spoke cooly as he pulled out a pen light from his breast pocket.
Malfoy took her chin in the palm of his free hand, turning her face to meet his. He shone the light in her right eye first, then the left. She squinted her eyes shut at the intrusion. “Still sensitive, then. But your pupils are responsive.”
He pocketed the flashlight then held out his hands in front of her, pointer finger extended on both. “Squeeze my fingers.”
She took one finger in each of her hands and squeezed them.
“Good. Can you close your eyes and touch your nose for me?”
“I feel ridiculous,” she admitted, following his ask.
“You shouldn’t. I’m simply assessing the state of your neurological system. How is your pain, love?”
So, he really had called her love, earlier. It wasn’t her imagination. “It’s better. Moving my eyes hurts and everything is still too bright, loud, smelly, and so on. I don’t know. I still feel off. But less pain. Love?”
“Terms of endearment are disarming. Most of the time,” he smirked. “I just try to set the tone from the start that I’m here to help you, not to ruin your life. Anyway, happy to hear the pain is decreasing. Are you up to moving? To test your motor function.”
She glanced over at Neville. “I’m not going anywhere, Herms. You’re okay.” He gave her a smile. “If this is your future husband, you should be more than okay.”
“Shut up,” she mumbled, before turning back to Malfoy, feeling a heat creeping up in her ears and face. How mortifying.
Malfoy smirked, but it wasn’t unkind. “We’ll get to that. In the meantime, I need you to sit up and bring your legs off the bed, facing me. Good. Lift your arms above your head? Excellent. Stand up please? Good.”
Hermione hissed. “Why the hell does my back hurt?” Her voice came out in a whimper.
“I had to rule out Meningitis when you arrived in the Emergency Room. Diagnostic charms were inconclusive, so I verified with a Lumbar Puncture. The good news is you don’t have meningitis. The bad news is spinal taps are uncomfortable. And speaking of, if I can get you to turn around, I want to check the puncture site.”
She slowly turned so her back was facing him and she was now facing Neville. “You scared the shit out of me this time,” he admitted quietly. “You’ve never had a migraine that bad before.”
“No, I know. Nor that long. Nor that many visions in one go.” She could feel Malfoy’s fingers ghosting across the skin of her lower back, sending a shiver up her spine.
“I’m dying to ask about that,” Neville smiled.
“I have been, too,” Malfoy chimed in from behind her. “I’m going to whisper something to you; I just need you to repeat it back to me.”
He moved to her right side, but still behind her. “Blue,” he whispered.
She rolled her eyes, though it was uncomfortable to do so. “Blue.”
“Excellent.” Then he was on her left side. “Wedding,” he whispered.
“You’re antagonizing me now. That’s not very professional, Healer Malfoy. Wedding.”
He chuckled. The nerve!
“You can sit back down, Hermione.”
She sat back on the hospital bed, making herself comfortable once more. Which included pulling one blanket up to her hips and a second over her shoulders like a mantle. The hospital was freezing with nothing but a paper-thin gown to cover her.
As she made herself comfortable, Malfoy lowered himself onto a stool. “Migraines. How long have you had them?”
Hermione shrugged. “All my life. Or at least as long as I can remember.”
Neville gasped from the visitor’s chair on the other side of her. “All your life? I thought this was a new thing!”
She huffed a laugh. “No, the visions are a new thing. The migraines have always been there. When I was a student, they were about once a month and could last days at a time. It’s actually better than they used to be.”
“You went about your day as usual then,” Malfoy noted.
“Downed a pain potion during an episode and went about my day as normal. Back then, if I would have dropped everything every time I had a migraine, I probably would have never been in class.”
“When did the visions become a part of it?”
“Seventh year. Or, what would have been seventh year. At the time, I thought it was just because…”
She didn’t want to continue. Most everyone knew exactly what she’d been up to during that infamous year. But to speak it aloud, to Malfoy of all people, felt like a violation of some kind.
“You don’t need to protect my feelings here. To be perfectly frank, I fucked up in school and I realize that now. But the better I understand your medical history, the better I can treat you.”
Hermione dropped her gaze. “When we were on the run, hunting for horcruxes. That’s when the visions started. I thought they were just bad dreams. Because the first one… the first vision was of Bellatrix Lestrange carving words into my arm.”
She cleared her throat, trying to pull herself back from the precipice of the terrible memory. “In the past when I had them, I’d experience really weird, uh, visual disturbances, I guess you could call them. My limbs would disappear, or Harry’s head would be twice the size of his body, or Crookshanks would start talking to me, or my cauldron in potions was too small to use. Weird stuff like that. So, I thought the dreams were just a new weird side effect. Until I started realizing everything I’d seen during a migraine ended up coming true.”
“Hmm. Alice in Wonderland Syndrome turned psychic energy.”
“Explains why Crooks had a striking familiarity to the Cheshire Cat,” Hermione muttered, reflecting on this new bit of information.
She pushed this thought to the back of her mind for later. “I actually. I don’t have it here with me. But I keep a journal. I write down the visions with as much detail as possible once I recover.” She let out a small giggle. “Started dating them. And then going back and adding the date of real-life occurrence in the margins. Every single vision has been so vivid, it’s like I’m living it in real time. And every single one of them has come true.”
Hermione sat back and closed her eyes. “But if you’re a neurologist, are you even allowed to close up a wound on my foot?”
“Neurology is just my specialty. I’ve done all of the standard training for healers and for nurse practitioners. I can fix a foot, but I would do it off record.”
At this, she bolted upright. “Nurse practitioner?”
“Methods for managing chronic conditions with magic are nearly non-existent.”
“Well, you might as well put a ring on it because my migraine says we’re getting married. In three different tales.” She was handling this just fine. No sarcasm here.
Malfoy chuckled. “I prefer to court before I propose for marriage, especially seeing as my last relationship ended so horribly. But enough about that for now. You’ve had migraines all your life. Have they been managed?”
Hermione scoffed. “Popping paracetamol and ibuprofen count? Or a pain potion?”
“That’s treating, not managing. How strong of a pain potion?”
“What’s the strongest I can get without a prescription from a healer?”
“Granger,” Draco admonished lightly. “Not a good answer. When was the last time you’ve seen a healer for general health?”
She scoffed. “General healer? What’s a general healer?”
He gave her a stern gaze, which she felt herself cowering beneath. That was a first. Hermione was stubborn to a dangerous degree. To feel chastised by Draco bloody Malfoy of all people was a mildly uncomfortable reality to live in.
“Then we’re fixing that today. I’m not discharging you until you’ve had a full work up. I can do that for you, or I can bring in a general specialist. But you’re not leaving today until you are cleared on a full physical.”
“What is going to get me out of here faster?”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Fastest way to get out of here is to allow me to perform the exam. But we’re not there yet. Migraines. The good news is, knowing the migraines are not new for you, that settles my biggest concern. If the visions were leading to the migraine, we could have a different problem. But thankfully, it seems like the migraines are leading to the visions, so we have a bit more flexibility in prevention and treatment. And again, because chronic condition management in magic is shit, we’re discussing non-magical options. Say the ones I would recommend as a nurse.”
He shifted forward. “Prevention medications are a newer option but studies on their effectiveness are promising. It’s not my job to pass judgement, only to recommend based on best practices. Likely unsurprising, I think divination is a bit of bullshit. But if your Sight is important to you, this may not be a good choice. Because if the medication does what it’s supposed to do, the frequency of attacks will decrease and therefore so will the visions.”
Hermione laughed. “You’re willing to let me choose suffering for divination? Surprising.”
“Not my job to pass judgement. My job is to educate and treat. I would like to see your migraine diary for the sake of being thorough. But because you self-report a history of accurate visions, which is rare, I’m more inclined to accept that this is an ability you may not want to give up.”
She’d never considered this before. Having visions at first had seemed like a cruel irony and she’d complained plenty about it. But with the option to stop them completely a real possibility, now she wasn’t so sure.
“I honestly don’t know,” she whispered. “I’ve always thought divination was stupid. But now…”
“You don’t have to decide today. I understand it’s a big choice to make. However, there are other treatment options aside from prevention. I’m going to highly recommend a triptan, which is a medication that works to stop migraines in their tracks by narrowing blood vessels, essentially blocking the brain’s pain signals. I typically prescribe it as an injection, for the sake of reliability, but they are available as oral medications. I can also prescribe stronger NSAIDs like the ibuprofen you’re already taking.”
“You’re not giving me a shot,” Hermione declared, folding her arms across her chest. As if she were intimidating in a stupid hospital bed with IV tubes keeping her functioning.
“I wouldn’t be. You’d either self-inject or have a friend administer it to you. Unless of course, we’re married. Then I’d make you take it. Out of love, of course.”
Hermione scrubbed at her face with the palms of her hands. “This is so mortifying.”
“Teasing aside, I’ve done my due diligence in going over options so now I’ll give you time to consider them, discuss them with friends, whatever. For now, I need to take blood, and you need a full workup.”
He stood from the stool and busied himself with his healer’s bag. He pulled from it a packaged phlebotomy kit, then grabbed a pair of gloves from the wall behind her bed.”
Hermione felt her heartbeat quicken and once again the monitor beeped, ratting her out. He told her he’d shut it off, the liar.
But this time, the monitor wasn’t laying bare her romantic attention, if it could be called that. This time it was laying bare her fear. Which might have been more embarrassing.
“Draco,” she whined. “I have an IV already. Why are you poking me again?”
“Blood in an IV catheter isn’t fresh and may not give accurate measurements. It’s not just my choice; it’s also hospital protocol.”
“Please.” She was betrayed by her tears.
He set the supplies aside and resumed his seat on the stool. “I know you’re tired of this. You’re so close to being on the other side of this, you just have to stick it out a little while longer. So, unfortunately, there will be a poke, love. But it should be the last one. I’m trained in nursing so I’m better at it than most healers. And I can apply a bit of numbing potion before the stick.”
“I’m so glad I don’t remember having a giant needle jammed into my back,” she whispered, blinking back tears.
“I’m happy you don’t either. I’ll numb you up, alright?”
She nodded.
“Your job right now is to focus on breathing. Calm your nerves,” he coached as he slipped his slender fingers into a glove, the signet ring disappearing beneath the black latex.
Hermione watched as Malfoy pressed his fingers against her inner elbow. “Good thing is, the IV has kept you hydrated so it’ll be an easy stick,” he explained as he began massaging a pale blue potion into the skin, leaving a cool tingly feeling behind.
“Alright, love, I’m going to change my gloves and get it done. It will be easier for you if you close your eyes and talk through it.”
She caught a glimpse of the ring again as he changed gloves. Then he was slipping a bracelet from his wrist off his own hand and up her arm, stopping just above her elbow and tightening it. Ah, a tourniquet.
Hermione closed her eyes. “Can you tell me about your ring?” she whispered.
“It’s a signet ring. Of the Malfoy family crest. Sometimes I’m not sure why I still wear it. It’s not necessarily a name I’m proud of holding. Needle is in. Sit tight, you’re almost done.”
“I know I probably sound crazy,” Hermione whispered. “But you wore that ring in all three visions.”
She felt the band around her arm loosen as Malfoy hummed. “Perhaps I’ll keep it then. Give it a new meaning. Blood draw is over though. You did well.”
“And you’re really not going to let me leave without a physical?”
“No ma’am, I am not. So, make your choice if you want me to do it or send in someone else.”
Hermione met his gaze with a small smile. “I don’t suppose it’s a familial issue if we’re only married in my visions?”
Neville coughed, startling both of them. “If this now counts as a date, I can leave. Don’t want to intrude on the happy couple,” he finished, standing and walking toward the door to the room. “I’ll give you some privacy for the checkup. I think you’re in good hands, Herms.” He left the hospital room, shutting the door behind him.
Draco gave her a small smile in return. Not a smirk. A smile. “Future relationships don’t count. But if that’s the case, is the first date a blood draw and physical?”
She shook her head, the pain thankfully minimal. “I hope you can do better than that as a first date, Draco.”
Hermione was reading through the narrative of her three most recent visions when she heard a tapping on her bedroom window. She glanced up to see an eagle-owl tapping the glass.
She approached the window with a growing curiosity. This owl wasn’t one she recognized but it didn’t have the telltale markings of a post owl either. So, he or she was someone’s personal owl.
After unlatching the lock, the bird swooped in and landed on her desk, holding out its leg expectantly. “Who sent you, I wonder?” Hermione asked the bird as she resumed her seat at the desk. “You’re very cute. And you look quite young.”
She took the scroll from the owl’s leg, and it hooted happily, hopping to the corner and then folding its wings to wait. So, the person was expecting a quick response.
Hermione opened the note and skimmed it briefly, smiling at the signature. Her eyes darted back to the top to read.
Hermione,
I’ve filled the prescriptions we agreed upon for you. I know the idea of an injection makes you a bit nervous, but I’ll show you how to do it with minimal discomfort.
But I could have told you that with a hospital owl. If your visions seem to suggest we’re meant to be together, who am I to argue with fate? I wanted to give you a few more days to rest and recover but if you’re free on Friday night, I’d love to take you to dinner. So we can have a date that isn’t in a hospital room with you at my mercy.
Athena was told to stay until you write back. So you best get on it, Granger. And regardless, I need to get your medication to you and I’m not sending it via owl.
Healer Draco Malfoy
Hermione smiled, smoothing the note flat on the desk. “Athena then?”
The owl hooted happily.
“You’re a sweet girl. I don’t suppose you have any advice about dating your human? Because this is apparently happening.”
Athena nipped gently at her finger, then at Hermione’s quill.
Hermione laughed. “You’re just as impatient and demanding as your human, I see. Alright, alright, I’ll write him back. Be patient.”
She grabbed a fresh note of parchment, picked up her quill, and wrote her reply.
Healer Malfoy
I don’t need you to show me how to do the shot. I’m going to assume you’ll be free to do it yourself, since my migraine says we’re dating now.
Friday evening is perfect. And I’ve just finished documenting the last three visions in my migraine diary. Perhaps you might enjoy a small glimpse at our future.
Looking forward to seeing you. I promise to dress up this time. And if you can, please wear something other than lime green.
Hermione