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Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Hermione had been invited to dinner at Harry and Ginny's house. Harry had spent hours, Ron and Hermione alongside him, cleaning up Grimmauld Place following the war. Despite repeated assurances that Ron would not be there, she felt nervous given that he still hadn't let up with the owls.

But she appreciated the offer and decided to go. She had hardly been anywhere but home and St. Mungo's for weeks and it was nice to have something else to do.

At the same time, she hadn't seen Harry since she had left Ron; she hadn't found it in herself. She didn't think he would be upset with her but him and Ron were best mates and she could only imagine the side of the story which Harry might have heard.

She Apparated in at half six, offering a bottle of wine to her hosts as they greeted and hugged her.

"It's good to see you, Hermione," Harry said, embracing her tightly. "You know you should have come to see me sooner."

"I know," she said, sheepish.

She looked up at Harry and despite knowing him so many years, she still sometimes found herself intimidated by him since the war had ended. He was a very successful Auror now and many cells in Azkaban were occupied because of him.

"How is work?" she asked, smiling at Harry.

"It's been quiet. Makes me nervous," he replied with a grin. "And you? Saving lives daily?"

"More like removing boils and unwanted appendages," she said, laughing. "They are starting to give me more responsibility though, which is good. The hospital is looking to promote a new Senior Healer so I've been working extra lately."

"Good," Harry responded, "I hope you get it. They'd be crazy not to give it to you."

"I hope so too," she said, smiling as she followed Ginny into the kitchen, "can I help?"

"Of course," Ginny waved a hand.

The two girls completed supper, chatting about things of little consequence until Ginny looked pointedly to the living room where Harry was and then back to Hermione.

"Anything new with... you know?" she asked, in a low tone so as not to be overheard.

"Nothing," Hermione said, flushing lightly. She didn't imagine he would be too happy if she told Ginny what he had shared with her in confidence. "He's very busy, I haven't seen him much."

"Maybe that isn't a bad thing," Ginny said, biting her lip. Hermione felt a flash of annoyance. "Not that you can't look out for yourself, I just don't want to see you get hurt again."

"I'll be fine," she assured her friend, feeling as if they had had this conversation before.

"Of course you will," Ginny agreed, casting off the subject.

"What are you two talking about?" Harry asked, walking into the kitchen moments later. "Smells great."

"Nothing that would interest you," Ginny said flippantly. "Set the table, will you?"

Harry planted a kiss on Ginny's cheek and floated off to do as she asked.

Dinner was delicious but uneventful. The three discussed many things, but the topic of Ron was noticeably absent, for which Hermione was grateful. She did not want to talk about him.

As the night wound down and Hermione was preparing to take her leave, there was a pop and Ron Apparated in. He stared blankly for a moment as he realized Hermione was there.

"Hey," he said, looking uncomfortable.

"Hello," she replied, not looking at him.

"They didn't tell me you were here," he said, glaring at Harry and Ginny.

"With reason, Ron, so please go," Ginny said, approaching him.

"No, I think I'll stay," he said, loudly. "She won't return my owls or talk to me so this feels like a good time to talk."

"I don't want to talk, Ron," Hermione said softly, trying to keep a level head. The last thing she needed was another argument. "I've said all I needed to."

"I don't care," he said, stepping closer. Hermione suspected he had been drinking and her pulse started to race. "I haven't!"

"Ron, leave," Harry said, his voice low and dangerous.

"I think I'm just going to go home, Harry, Ginny, thanks for supper, it was lovely," Hermione said, frantically wanting to get away from him.

"No you aren't," Ron said angrily, grabbing her wrist.

"Yes," she snapped, drawing her wand instantly. "I am."

"Fine, run home. Got someone waiting on you then? Dirty slag," Ron sneered.

"Isn't that hypocritical," she threw back, desperately trying not to cry in front of him. "You are horrible, Ronald."

With that she Apparated home, briefly meeting Ginny's eyes, seeing the pity in them mixed with anger.

She collapsed in an exhausted heap on the couch, feeling the built up tears of frustration and hurt break loose and, unable to hold it back, found herself sobbing.

A few minutes later there was a soft knock at her door. Hastily wiping at her eyes, she checked the peephole then opened the door just a crack.

"Thin walls," Malfoy said by way of explanation. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said half-heartedly. "I went to Harry and Gin's for dinner and Ron showed up."

She noticed him visibly tense, his grey eyes hard and distant.

"Do I need to kick his arse?" he asked, so matter-of-factly that Hermione laughed.

"No," she said, biting her lip. "I hadn't seen him since I moved out. He was drunk and nasty and I left."

"Good," he murmured, "you don't deserve that."

After a moments' hesitation, he lifted a hand, wiping a tear from her cheek. He stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then he kissed her, a soft kiss to the lips, briefly before he pulled back.

"Don't cry, Granger," he said. He met her eyes. "You're so much better than him. You'll find someone who knows how to treat women. I'm around if you need anything."

She wanted to say she needed him. But then he turned and was gone.

He was so confusing. Hermione thought he quite knew how to treat women but he wasn't interested in her. The thought certainly did nothing to make her feel better.

And if he wasn't interested in her, why had he kissed her? Furthermore, why had he left? He had never been shy about engaging her in sex; between last night and now he hadn't twice – she didn't know what had changed.

She shook her head, remembering what Mandy had said; don't try to understand them.

Draco wasn't entirely certain what was the matter with him.

He had definitely crossed some sort of unwritten line with Granger the other night when he had kissed her after she had come home from Potter's and he had heard her crying. She probably thought he was a total sap and was ruining their arrangement.

He just hadn't been able to stop himself – knowing that it had been Weasley to upset her. His blood boiled just a little at the thought that the daft redhead was still going out of his way to make her life miserable.

Then there was the occurrence where he had shared with her about Scorpius and Astoria and he had convinced her to stay with him and they had fallen asleep on the couch.

Draco supposed he had been shocked and a little relieved that she hadn't been overly concerned with what he had shared. Most women he knew would have been running for the hills at the thought that he had been married before and sired another woman's child, which was part of the reason he usually didn't bother himself with trivial things like dating. Granger had literally not batted an eye.

Out of nowhere a Quaffle hit him in the face. He looked around, blinking. Without thinking he dropped his broom into a dive and recovered the ball he had presumably been meant to catch.

"Focus, Malfoy!" his coach, Ken Carrington, called from the sidelines.

"Sorry, Draco!" another voice called. That was Cassie Tiggs, one of his fellow Chasers on the Falcons. Draco shook his head at the thought.

He and Cass had gone for a romp once – close to two years prior, shortly after Draco had transferred from the Appleby Arrows to the Falmouth Falcons. The team had been out for some celebratory whiskys following a big win and one thing had led to another.

While he had found Cassie attractive, and most certainly a great Chaser and teammate, Draco found her otherwise shallow and a bit vapid and had instantly put on the brakes after she had approached him the following week.

Things had been a little awkward between them for a few weeks but eventually they had simply put it aside without discussion for the sake of the team. Every so often, however, Draco still noticed her looking at him as more than a teammate and it made him uncomfortable if he was honest.

Draco fell back into formation with Tiggs and the team's third chaser, a woman named Lizzie Halcombe who had only ever been sweet to Draco, as they began a new practice drill.

Draco willed himself to focus and carefully stowed his thoughts about Granger to a compartment at the back of his mind for the time being. They were to play the Arrows the following day and Draco definitely wanted to finish ahead of his old team.

Draco went home to shower immediately after practice, having made plans to meet Theo for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron. He had been pushing himself harder than ever lately and it was taking a toll. He was definitely ready for a drink – or a few. If it happened to keep the thoughts about his new curly-haired neighbour to a minimum, then all the better.

Word of the new Senior Healer position had spread through St. Mungo's and Hermione found herself most definitely not the only person interested in the position.

The hospital administrators had decided interested and eligible Healers could submit an application for the position and all applicants would be closely monitored over a certain period of time.

As a result, much of the idle chatter and gossip that usually occurred around Mungo's was absent, replaced with abnormally attentive and efficient Junior Healers.

Hermione really wanted the position and had been working more hours than anyone, picking up extra shifts and staying later than required almost every day.

Senior Healers were afforded much more respect and authority as well as given the more important work. Hermione had never wanted to be a Healer so she could drain pus from boils and other similarly unappealing jobs. She wanted to actually help people, to save lives and make a real difference.

Furthermore, a position as a Senior Healer would allow Hermione her own office – many advanced Healers pursued their own research or potions development or the like. She was very interested in medical research and had a significant interest in potioneering as well, to a certain extent.

After the war she had decided to go into healing after seeing the devastation and loss first hand. Healing was a sadly under-respected profession but so vital and she so badly wanted to do something worthwhile.

Thankfully, pursuing the position meant much less time for Hermione to be caught up thinking about men. She felt more like herself – she had never been one to pine and lately she had been pining more than enough.

When she stopped to think about it, Hermione hadn't seen Malfoy in over a week. He had stopped coming by and, feeling as if she might have done something wrong, she hadn't gone over either. But she didn't know what she had done to push him away.

As far as she was aware, he enjoyed their little habit as much as she did.

She hadn't so much as run into him since he had come by after her dinner at Harry and Ginny's. She told herself that it was loneliness but suspected she might have actually missed having him to talk to.

Then one day as she arrived home, late after a long day, she saw him in the hallway, Quidditch robes on and broom in hand. She tensed for a moment.

"Did you have a game tonight?" she asked, breaking the slightly awkward silence.

"Yes, I did," he replied, somewhat stiffly.

"How did it go?" she asked, walking alongside him down the hall toward their flats.

"Good, we won." He grinned, relaxing. "It was a big match, too. Against the Arrows."

"Congratulations," she said, smiling in return. She didn't know anything about the Arrows, or the Falcons particularly for that matter.

"Thanks," he said, rubbing his eyes. "The extra practice has been paying off, but fuck am I tired."

"I can imagine," she said, feeling uncomfortable as they stopped outside his flat. She felt the same way lately.

"Granger, I've been meaning to ask you something," he said, glancing at her sideways. "You're fine with how things are, yeah? With us?"

"Yes," she said, confused. "Compared to what?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Last week, things felt a bit... blurry." He gave her a funny look. "I just want to be sure we're okay. Not growing any feelings or anything. Because we can call it off, if you're uncomfortable. Or anything like that."

"Not growing any feelings," she repeated, smiling. She didn't want to lose him. She ignored her pounding heart. "You?"

"I think you're great," he shrugged. "Maybe that's what worries me. The more I get to know you the more I think it would be easy to fall for you if I were to let myself. I don't want to put you in a compromising position given that you're just out of a relationship. But I can make sure no more weird situations happen."

Her eyes widened at his admission, so easy and honest.

She wanted to say she didn't mind the weird situations. But she didn't want to push him away.

She also knew he wouldn't want to fall for her. He had all he wanted in his life; that much he had made clear.

So why were his words so confusing?

"That's fine," she heard herself saying.

"Good," he said, his voice low. "Come over in fifteen? I need to shower. Sweaty."

He wrinkled his nose, meeting her eyes. Only he could make being sweaty from a Quidditch match sound so sexy.

"Or I could join you in the shower," she said casually. His eyes darkened with lust, the way she liked them.

"I like that plan way better," he murmured, tugging her by the wrist into his flat.

So things had gone back to normal – whatever normal was for them. True to his word, there had been no more weird situations; no more cuddling, no more spontaneous kisses. Though she would have denied it to him, she secretly wished there had been something.

Not that it would be good for either of them.

She suspected somewhere along the line she had started to consider him a friend. So maybe that was the reason she found herself thinking of him in that way and she was simply mixing up the signals.

"Healer Granger!" someone called and Hermione's head snapped up. It was one of the younger healers on duty. "You're needed in room fifteen."

"Right," she murmured, casting off her personal thoughts and drawing her wand, hurrying to room fifteen.

Room fifteen was an emergency room – maybe someone had noticed her hard work of late and assigned her something more complex. The thought made Hermione nervous and excited.

"What's the diagnosis?" she asked as she walked into the room, two bewildered looking healers-in-training staring at her.

"Quidditch accident," one of them informed her. "Bludger to the broom. Multiple contusions and broken bones."

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face as she looked down at her patient for the first time. It was him. An image of a small blond boy proudly holding a Quaffle flashed behind her brain. She swallowed heavily.

"Has he been given anything?" she requested.

"Calming draught," one of the training healers responded, "and a potion for the pain."

As Hermione stared at the two young healers, both looking in awe at Malfoy's prone form, she realized they were starstruck. She shook her head, trying to calm her nerves.

There was another man looming over him, a sturdy, intimidating looking man.

"My name is Ken Carrington," the man said gruffly, briefly shaking Hermione's hand. "Head coach of the Falmouth Falcons."

Hermione nodded, getting to work. She waved her wand over him, detecting several broken ribs and many other broken bones on his left side, his collarbone, down his arm. She exhaled a breath she hadn't realized was caught. Trying her best to remain clinical, she quickly announced her findings and the two training healers assembled the potions she requested.

With numerous complicated spells and potions all of his bones had begun to mend themselves but it would be a long process. The cuts, scrapes and bruises would be somewhat easier. The training healers hurried away to assist in another room.

Suddenly he stirred, his eyes fluttered open and he grabbed her hand with surprising strength. Hermione froze, meeting his gaze.

"Oh, here's my princess," he murmured, a lazy smile slipping over his features, his eyes glazed. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise.

"Clearly the potions are working," she said with a nervous laugh. The coach was eyeing her suspiciously. She quickly drew her hand back out from his grasp.

"Did we win, coach?" he asked, turning to the older man.

"You're alive," the coach grunted. "That's what matters."

Malfoy stared at his coach, deadpan.

"Did we win?" he repeated then winced.

"Yes, we won," Carrington affirmed.

"Good," he murmured, eyes slipping shut again.

"He will need to stay overnight, at least tonight, possibly more. I will need to keep a close eye on his condition," Hermione informed Coach Carrington. "He has taken extensive damage."

Hermione swallowed. She could only imagine the pain he was in, despite the potions he had been given. She had seen many Quidditch injuries come in, of course, but not usually this bad. And no one she personally knew.

"So long as he can fly again," the coach grumbled. "Those Cannons beaters are vicious. I will personally be sure his accident gets reviewed."

"You don't think it was an accident?" she intoned, glancing sharply at the man.

"No, I don't," Carrington replied. "He's very good. To the point where he has a permanent target on his back. His name doesn't help his case any, despite his efforts to change that."

Hermione could tell the coach genuinely cared for his star chaser.

"I understand," she agreed, nodding. She looked down at his unconscious form, feeling a surge of respect and maybe something else. "I knew him in school, and I know him now. If I didn't know better I wouldn't have recognized him as the same person."

The coach stared at her for a long moment.

"You're the healer neighbour." It wasn't a question. Hermione stared at Carrington, taken aback.

"Yes," she replied softly, feeling quite smaller than herself.

"The kid spends an awful lot of time on the pitch," the coach said by way of explanation. "He's mentioned you a time or two."

"That's interesting," she stated, unsure what to say. He had mentioned her at Quidditch practice? To his coach?

"Between you and me, he needs to find a woman," the coach said gruffly, a trace of a smile evident. "But that isn't my business."

"He's very stubborn," she murmured softly, feeling uncomfortable.

"That he is. Well, I would say take care of him but I already know you will." The older man shot her a wink and Hermione felt herself flush. Did he know?

Coach Carrington turned from the room and was gone. How odd.

Though it was late and Hermione's shift had ended she felt no great desire to leave Malfoy's side and go home. She worked on some of his superficial injuries, healing the cuts and scrapes.

She laid a hand on his forehead to be sure he didn't have a high temperature and her hand lingered over his cheekbone, his jaw. The sharp features that made him so attractive. His face was relaxed in sleep and Hermione found herself staring at him far longer than necessary.

She could admit she had been quite scared when she first saw him at Mungo's. He was certainly in rough shape but it could have been worse. A fall like that could have potentially killed him.

He stirred in his sleep and smirked.

"Stop checking me out," he murmured, one eye cracked open and then the other.

"Hey," she said softly, smiling. "You should sleep."

"My entire body feels on fire," he said, irritably, "you try sleeping."

"That's normal," she assured him. "It will hurt for a while. Your bones are fixing themselves. You must have had some fall."

"I remember being hit and being thrown off – my broom splintered from the impact – and that's it. I was quite high up," he said. He met her gaze. "I'm glad you're my healer. I trust you."

"You might be here for a couple days," she informed him. "I'll come in early tomorrow to check on you. You might not be back flying right away."

"Sure I will," he scoffed, "I've got matches to play."

"Not until you're healed, you won't," she said sharply, eyes flashing.

"Good luck stopping me," he murmured but there was no malice in his tone. He grinned tiredly, his eyes fluttering. Then he winced again, clearly feeling the pain of the healing process.

"Sleep," she reminded him.

He reached for her hand and Hermione acquiesced. He entwined his fingers with hers, his expression thoughtful.

Then his eyes fell shut again, his breathing light and consistent. Hermione waited a few more minutes then carefully drew her hand from his relaxed grip and went home.