Hello all,

Thought I'd take a moment to introduce myself and this story. I'm Cherry and I love the universe Rowling has so kindly gifted the world. That being said, I don't think I'm quite ready to let go of it all, so I've decided to try something out. Something that I didn't know I even wanted until rereading some of the earlier books recently.

So this story is most definitely a Dramione fic. There'll be some other pairings as they come naturally, but the intent and focus is on the Hermione/Malfoy pair. The goal is to stay true to the characters, so don't be disappointed if things aren't as quick or straightforward as they could be, and let me know if I'm doing the characters justice/where I could improve.

Two quick notes before beginning: 1) backstory has been pulled both from the books and the movies, and if something is contradictory to either one, then it's intentional, and 2) I'm American, so while I did my best to stay true to British spellings and slang, there might be some errors. Feel free to call me out if you see any.

Lastly, please review! I want to know if anyone's interested. And I'm pathetically insecure and like the feedback.

Love,

Cherry

P.S. There's a little preview of the next chapter at the end of this one. Call it incentive to leave a review ;)

If asked about her plans for Christmas Eve, Hermione would have described a mild, pleasant evening in her flat with her fiancé. Never would she have said the night would be interrupted by an emergency call from the Ministry, requiring Ron's presence.

"I'll come with you." She spoke, standing from the table.

"No, don't waste your time. It's probably nothing." Ron shrugged on his coat, Hermione meeting him at the fireplace.

"Right. Well be safe." Hermione adjusted the lapels of his peacoat, something she often did when she was nervous. She didn't like that Ron had chosen to be an Auror. She understood it, of course, she had almost done it herself, but after the war, after all that she had seen...she didn't like the work Ron had signed up for.

"Always am." He offered her a crooked smile, recognizing her behavior, and Hermione reciprocated, though hers was straighter and less enthusiastic. "I'll see you at the Burrow in the morning, yeah?"

Hermione nodded silently, receiving a quick peck on the lips before Ron stepped into the hearth, disappearing in a burst of green flames. She exhaled deeply as she returned to the dinner table, which had been set for two with the nicest china she owned; one of the few items she had been able to retrieve from her parents' home before the estate was auctioned off. She didn't like to think of them, believing their deaths to be on her conscience even after all this time, but nonetheless, she tried to pay homage to them when she could, even if it only meant making use of their dishes once a year.

Hermione cleared the table and slowly washed the dishes, letting the familiar task absorb her time. Ron had commented once on the way she insisted on washing dishes by hand, but she argued that he would understand if he'd grown up like her. Some things felt natural compared to the magic equivalent of waving a wand and having the work done for you.

When the dishes were cleaned, dried, and back in the cabinet with the rest of the set, she changed from her plain, black dress and flats into a pair of socks, soft leggings and a long sleeved shirt of Ron's he'd insisted he wanted, though he didn't know who the muggle band was the shirt was displaying. Hermione snagged the item from his care one morning, justifying that she looked better in it anyway. Ron didn't argue that point.

She curled onto the sofa with a cup of tea and her patient folders, knowing that while she wouldn't be back at St. Mungo's until after the New Year, the cases needed studying, especially the man who woke up every morning with no memory and a small animal bite on his hand. No one had cracked that case yet, and Hermione intended to be the one to do it.

She was dozing when she heard the loud pop of someone Apparating into her living room, and her hand immediately shot to the wand she kept on her hip, her heart racing. She relaxed infinitesimally when she saw it was only Ron, but her anxiety returned when she saw the blood covering his clothes.

"Ron?" She stood, approaching him quickly, searching for wounds. "What happened? Are you hurt? Who was it?"

"No time to explain, we've got to go." He grabbed her hands and Disapparated, pulling Hermione with him. She tensed at the feeling, never having been a fan of the uncomfortable process. When they landed, it was in the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic, though the usually relaxed environment had been replaced with tension and the bustle of working Aurors. Hermione followed Ron through the office to where the centre of action seemed to be. She spotted Harry, who looked better than Ron, and went to call out to him, pausing when she saw who he was talking to. Sitting at the chair in Harry's cubicle was none other than Draco Malfoy, covered in more blood than anyone else in the room, hand clutched to his side. She and Ron slowed to a stop in front of the pair, Harry standing to meet them.

"Hermione." Harry greeted, turning to Ron. "Have you told her anything yet?"

"Didn't have the chance." Ron answered. "Are we heading back?"

"Under Whitby's orders." Harry nodded.

"All right." Ron turned to leave with Harry and Hermione stopped him, grabbing him by the sleeve.

"What's going on, Ronald?" She demanded weakly, confused and scared. She didn't like feeling scared.

"Attack on the Malfoys." Ron explained, glancing at the Malfoy behind her. "We have to go back to the scene for cleanup." He gestured to himself and Harry, who was already halfway to the door. "Just fix him up, all right?"

"Oh." Hermione said quietly. "Okay. Take care."

Ron gave her a reassuring pat on her hand before taking off after Harry, trying to catch up. When they were alone, Hermione turned back to Draco, looking him up and down.

"So I'm to clean you up." She looked for confirmation, but Draco only shrugged, his focus on the floor. "Helpful." She mumbled, rolling her eyes. "Well do you think you can move? You're awfully...dirty, and the Ministry doesn't really have a proper setup to get you healed."

"Sure." He wheezed, and she wondered if his lung was punctured. She'd have to check as soon as she got him cleaned up.

"Right. Well come on then." She gestured for him to stand and when he did, it was weak and wobbly. As much as she didn't want to, she stepped under the arm not pressed to his side, and let him displace some of his weight onto her. He nearly collapsed onto her shoulders and Hermione grunted to keep him upright, suspicious that he was milking the injuries he had. Though he was doused in blood, there were few visible wounds, and it wasn't outside of the realm of possibility that Draco Malfoy was being a bit dramatic. In fact, it was highly likely that he was being dramatic.

They had gotten three steps when Draco ran into the wall of a cubicle, cursing under his breath.

"You know, you could make a little effort to make things easier on me, Malfoy. You're not exactly light." Hermione groaned under his weight and height, unsurprised that the once spoilt pure-blood still acted as though he owned half the world.

"Oh brilliant, Granger, why hadn't I considered that? Forgive my indiscretions for having so negatively effected you, I'm only blind but I'll try harder not to inconvenience you." His voice was laden with sarcasm, and at the blind comment, Hermione looked up at his face, noting for the first time that his gaze was indeed not focused on her, or anything else in the room.

"Y-you're blind?" She asked, pausing mid step. "How long have you been blind?"

"Since whoever broke into the manor decided that I shouldn't be privy to the crimes they planned to commit against my parents." Again, the retort was sarcastic. "Or me, for that matter." He adjusted his stance and winced. "Are you planning to stand here all night, or are we going to get me to St. Mungo's?"

"St. Mungo's." Hermione repeated. "Yes." She walked him out to the elevators and when they got to the main floor, they used an empty fireplace to Floo to the hospital, Hermione guiding Draco to an open bed on the fourth floor. She sat him down, handed him a hospital gown, and went off in search of healing supplies. She didn't know the extent of his injuries, but being magically blinded could be cured with a simple Now You See Me potion, so she mixed it up quickly, returning with it and several bottles of cleaning solution and gauze. The rest she could figure out as she went.

Draco was lying in bed in his gown like a good patient when she got back, and with the efficiency of a seasoned healer, she fed him the potion and a tonic to dull the pain, sitting to clean the blood from Draco's skin methodically. When he was satisfactorily clean, she moved his gown enough to see the side he refused to let go of, finally convincing him to move his hand once the pain tonic had begun to work. After cleaning that injury, too, Hermione focused on the cut, which looked shallow, but was turning the skin grey around the affected area. She noted that the skin was dying, and pulled her wand from her waistband, trying several incantations before one finally took, the flesh shifting back to a normal, albeit pale, skin colour. She applied a healing salve to the scrapes and cuts littering his torso around the injury, pulling small bits of glass from some of the wounds. When the largest piece of glass was removed from his abdomen, Hermione looked up to see if Draco was unconscious, since he didn't react to the distinctly unpleasant feeling. His eyes met hers and he smiled dryly.

"Nice to see you, Granger." He drawled lazily, likely a bit high from the pain tonic. "I do say, do you normally work barefoot? I mean, I won't complain, a healer is a healer, but still. Is that sanitary?"

Hermione glanced down, remembering that when Ron pulled her from her flat, she didn't have a chance to change or at least put on shoes, and tucked her feet under her chair.

"I take it you're feeling better." She ignored the jab, covering the larger wounds with gauze and tape before pulling his gown back up to cover his shoulders. "That was a mortuus textus hex you were hit with." She gestured to his side as she wiped off her hands. "Can't say that's a very enjoyable hex to be on the receiving end of."

"What would you know of it?" Draco asked, watching her as she cleaned up the tray she'd brought over. He didn't particularly trust that the Hermione Granger would be treating him as she would any other patient - which he would have completely understood, given their sordid past - but she was quite knowledgeable (about a plethora of subjects) and her treatment thus far was superior even to that which his family healer had provided when he was a child, and that healer had trained in Italy with some of the best. Not that he would ever pay Hermione a compliment for her quick work and gentle touch.

"I read about it once." She explained. "Not very common anymore; it's a rather antiquated curse, but the longer the affected suffers from it, the more likely it is to attack the organs in the area around the hit. Without treatment, it's a slow death." When Draco didn't respond, she continued. "So you're welcome."

He chuckled lightly, as though the motion hurt. It probably did. "Yes, thank you, Granger. I don't know where I would be without your care and consideration. You have my utmost gratitude."

"Arse." She grumbled, having been on the receiving end of Draco's sarcasm far more than once in her life. She gathered everything onto the tray before picking it up and it to the back room, clearing the tray of its contents before tossing it into the dirty pile that needed a proper cleaning before they could be used again. Ignoring Draco as she walked back through the room, Hermione walked to the front desk to let an employee know they had a new patient, and took the necessary forms on a clipboard back to Draco.

"You'll have to fill these out if you plan to stay the night." She explained, glancing at her watch. "And given that it's almost four in the morning and your house is a crime scene, I imagine you'll be staying here at least until dawn." Hermione set the clipboard on the nightstand after filling out her section as healer, dating the paperwork 25 December, sighing when she saw the date. "Happy Christmas to me." She muttered, knowing she had to be up and at the Burrow in only five hours. With the time she had to take showering and getting ready, that only left her three hours of sleep if she Apparated home immediately, and she hated Apparating.

"Do they know I'm here?" Draco asked, interrupting Hermione's mental planning. "The Aurors. I was being interrogated by Potter when you showed up."

"I'll be sure to pass along the message." Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, deducting another half hour of sleep. "Just call for a healer if you need anything." She turned to leave, hearing Draco call for her when she reached the door.

"Granger?"

Hermione turned, sparing Draco a tired look. "Hmm?"

"Happy Christmas." He offered, surprising Hermione. It was the first thing he'd said all night that wasn't sarcastic.

"Happy Christmas, Malfoy." She responded, turning to continue through the doors. She Flooed to the Ministry of Magic to quickly inform someone of Draco's current location, and - on weak legs - finally returned home after five hours she could've spent asleep. She crawled into bed without changing, too tired to remove even her socks, in which she had walked across both government and hospital floors that night, though sleep evaded her. Instead, she lied in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Draco. Where were his parents? Ron and Harry hadn't made any mention of them. Were they fine? Injured? Dead? She supposed it must've been the last, since she hadn't seen them at the Auror Department, and Ron hadn't brought them to her for treatment. She shuddered briefly at the realisation. Terribly enough, she couldn't say she was displeased. She hated the Malfoys. They were cruel, and conniving, and their defection had been a cowardly attempt at avoiding serving time in Azkaban. It had worked, of course, and in return for protection at the end of the war, they offered the locations of many Death Eaters still following in the footsteps of their slain leader, but that didn't change what they had done during the war, both the first and the second.

When Hermione saw the sun rising through her window, she climbed out of bed, dragging herself to the bathroom to shower. She stood under the hot water until it ran cool, finally stepping out and beginning her morning routine. She put on her usual makeup (just mascara and lip balm), and began styling her hair. Her once bushy hair had grown (somewhat) tame, and - save for days when the humidity was high - she no longer needed Sleekeazy's Hair Potion to calm her mane. She pulled back her dried locks into a low bun and headed to her closet, pulling out her undergarments, a thick turtleneck jumper and a pair of wool trousers. She brewed a pot of coffee while she dressed, sliding on a pair of boots before filling her mug. She drank the caffeine like her life depended on it, supplementing the meal with only toast because she knew Mrs. Weasley would have a full English breakfast prepared for her when she got to the Burrow. Not that she didn't love Mrs. Weasley, but a girl could only eat so much, and Hermione's threshold was not nearly at the level Mrs. Weasley expected it to be, and she let Hermione know that. Often.

Filled with the mild energy the coffee brought on, Hermione gathered her gifts for the Weasleys and stepped into the fireplace, Flooing to the Burrow at exactly nine.

When she got there, Hermione was greeted with the expected cacophony of the home's residents, dragging her gifts to the large, lopsided tree across the room.

"Oh Hermione, dear!" Mrs. Weasley greeted, spotting the girl as she made her way down the stairs. "You're here!"

"I am." Hermione confirmed. "Lovely to see you."

"You as well. Come help me in the kitchen, breakfast isn't quite ready."

Hermione followed the jubilant hostess to the kitchen and cooked mushrooms and tomatoes while Mrs. Weasley waved her wand about, commanding the rest of the dishes to do their jobs. Mrs. Weasley disappeared upstairs to find her children and rouse them awake, leaving Hermione to herself. She yawned as she used her wand to flip the tomatoes, her attention slowly fading away the more tired she grew.

"What a sight."

She jumped at the voice, spotting Ron standing in the doorway. She rolled her eyes. "You know me, the pinnacle of housewife material."

Ron laughed and came up behind her, resting his hands loosely on her hips, perching his chin on her shoulder. "It's nice."

"You're nice." Hermione corrected, knowing she wasn't domestic in the slightest bit. She had spent all her energy taking care of Ron and Harry during school.

"I meant it, I promise." He yawned dramatically, cluing Hermione into the fact that he hadn't slept either.

"So what happened?" She asked, washing her hands after charming the cooked food so it would stay warm. "With the Malfoys, I mean."

Ron let out a breath and sat at the kitchen table, resting his head in his hand. "It was a bloodbath, Mione. An absolute bloodbath."

She winced and sat next to him, rubbing her hand across his shoulder comfortingly.

"We got there after whoever had done it had left; Malfoy sent out the distress call. He was locked in his room, stray hexes and shattered mirror covering every surface, and they were in their bedroom. They were tortured, Hermione." He quieted his voice, knowing the talk wasn't for public consumption. "Ripped limb from limb in the end. We still haven't recovered Lucius' left arm."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "The Dark Mark?" She asked, knowing very well where on the body the Mark resided.

Ron nodded silently, both left wondering what it all meant.

"Morning, Hermione." Harry greeted as he walked into the kitchen, looking just as beat as Ron.

"Morning, Harry." Hermione took her hand off Ron's shoulder, greeting her friend. "Long night?"

"Incredibly long." He nodded, making his way to the kettle on the stove. He grimaced at the weak tea, searching the cabinets for coffee. "Ginny's looking for you, by the way." He commented. "Imagine the surprise she'll get when she sees you in the kitchen."

"Ha ha. Very funny." Hermione deadpanned. "I'll go find her, thank you for letting me know." She spared Ron a weak smile and stood, finding Ginny in the den, changing the diaper of her youngest son.

"My, my, he looks more like Harry every day." Hermione pointed out, noting the black hair that seemed to have grown in overnight.

Ginny looked up and grinned, readjusting her son's clothing before picking him up. "I know. I saw myself in James when he was born, but Albus, I don't think there's a trace of Weasley blood in him." The two shared a laugh. "Would you like to hold him? He's nothing like James, you don't have to worry that you'll drop this one." Ginny amended, seeing the look in Hermione's eyes.

"All right then." Hermione stretched her arms out, awkwardly receiving the child.

"Hold his head." Ginny warned, watching Hermione try to balance the baby. She laughed pleasantly, helping her friend position the newborn in her arms, cradling him gently. "You know, Ron's going to be thrilled to see you carrying him." Ginny brushed the hair out of Albus' eyes. "He's more than ready for you two to get married and start popping out your own red headed babies." She razzed Hermione, who laughed uncomfortably. Since the time Ron proposed to her, Harry had proposed to Ginny, the two had gotten married, and they were already on their second child. If things went Ronald's way, Hermione would already be pregnant with at least her third Weasley child. Obviously, she felt differently. The disagreement often led to arguments, Ron frustrated that Hermione wouldn't make the next step in their relationship despite years together already. She always told him it was because her parents hadn't married until they were in their early thirties, and that she needed time to adjust to Ron's world, where his mother were only twenty when she popped out Bill. In reality, Hermione didn't know why she wasn't ready to marry Ron. She loved him, very much so, but something held her back when she thought about becoming his wife. It must've been nerves.

"Auntie Ginny, Grandmummy says breakfast is ready." The melodic voice of Victoire, Bill and Fleur's oldest daughter, rang from the doorway. "Oh hi Aunt Hermione." She greeted Hermione, who responded with a clumsy wave, her focus on the child in her arms.

"We'll be there in a minute, thanks Victoire." Ginny answered, receiving Albus from Hermione's arms like the professional she was. "Well, I guess it's time to get going." She beamed, leading the way back to the kitchen. Hermione followed, wincing at the volume. The entire Weasley clan was packed into the space, the children of the next generation already helping themselves to the trays of food. Hermione sat next to Ron, who had already filled her plate with eggs, mushrooms, and beans, trying to serve her some black pudding as she sat. She gave him a look and he smiled sheepishly under her stare, banishing the black pudding to the other end of the table.

Hermione listened as she ate, responding when she needed to, though it was infrequently since there were so many others willing to tell their own stories. Instead, she thought of Draco, wondering if he was still in the hospital. Did he know about his parents? Did he have anyone who would help him through this time? Hermione attributed her sanity only to Ron and Harry, who checked on her far too frequently for her to have time to truly dwell on her own parents' deaths.

"Hermione?"

Hermione looked up at her name, making eye contact with Percy, who stood by the window with an owl.

"Yes?" She asked, standing to meet him.

"Letter for you." Percy handed her the note and she opened it, biting her cheek at the message within.

From the Desk of Bitsy Smetham

Receptionist

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

Fourth Floor - Spell Damage

Miss Granger,

Please return to St. Mungo post-haste. Your patient by the name of Draco Malfoy has caused a scene. Your presence and care is required.

Sincerely,

Bitsy

Hermione gave the owl a small treat of sausage before it flew away, having completed its job. She returned to the table and explained the situation to Ron, who cast her a foul glance.

"You'll miss presents." He complained and she shrugged.

"Not much I can do about that when I've got a belligerent patient." She kissed him on the cheek. "You'd do the same if you got an owl, yes?"

He nodded begrudgingly, taking a swig of tea. "Yeah, yeah, use my work against me. I'll see you tonight, though?"

"I don't see why not." She responded. "That's hours away. You'll explain Audrey's gift to her, won't you?"

"I will." Ron agreed. "See you later."

Hermione explained the situation quickly to Harry, who wished her luck with a terrible patient, and when she stepped into the fireplace, part of her was ashamed to admit that she felt some relief stepping away from the Weasley family and the happy home that surrounded them.

She pushed the thought away, refusing to let herself feed into her fears, and with a gust of green fire, she disappeared from the Burrow into the Floo Network.

"It's rather ugly, isn't it?" He asked, lifting his arm for Hermione to view. She spared a glance at it, looking back to the mortar and pestle in her hands.

"I've seen uglier."