A/N: Hi! It's been awhile. A long, long while. I originally wrote this story (originally named "St. Mungo's Anatomy") when I was a teenager, and I recently rediscovered it…only to realize I never finished it. I hated when authors did that, and it's time to rectify that wrong. But this story needs a 2021 makeover first. (Maybe an entire facelift.) So, bear with me please.

The Healer's Helpmate

"Gin, it wasn't a date — it was a nightmare." Hermione slapped her mug of butterbeer down on the table, foam sloshing onto her hand. Despite being three drinks deep, she fastidiously wiped her hand clean with the cloth napkin tucked onto her lap, rubbing her skin until it was pink and splotchy.

"How bad could it have been?" Ginny asked, licking her own spilled drink off her knuckles and moving a cold chip from her plate to her mouth.

Hermione exhaled in disbelief, lifting her glass as if to take a sip before slamming it down again. "It was the worst date of my life, including the time Ron and I accidentally got tickets directly next to Lavender Brown at the Weird Sisters concert. She sobbed throughout the entire opening act and first set, pouting at Ron and sneering at me, and I still would rather have been there."

Luna clicked her tongue in sympathy. Her giggle water remained untouched. Some witches didn't need foreign substances to loosen up.

"To start, he referred to me as 'Herminion' all night. I'm not a snob about pronunciation — I dated Victor as we all know — but this was unbelievable. I'd correct him, and he'd look at me like I was somehow mistaken. Like I'd been saying my own name wrong this whole time."

"Didn't he go to Beauxbatons? I knew it wasn't that good of a school, but this is really a new low," Ginny laughed. "You can tell Fleur I said that. She's not afraid to take swipes at Hogwarts." She affected her best French accent. "Oo you have ze trolls in the dungeon. Oo you have ze imposter teachers and ze attempted coups every year." Ginny paused. "Wait, was Hogwarts a bad school?"

"He got totally and utterly sloshed. I've never been so humiliated in my life." Hermione looked around the crowded pub and lowered her voice before continuing. "He asked me what position was my favorite. As if I'd even deign to consider going to bed with him."

"What position did you say?"

"Head healer."

Luna clapped joyfully, while Ginny raised her eyebrows and twisted her lips into a mischievous grin. "I bet he only registered that first word."

"How did you know?"

"I know men. Six brothers, remember? But I'm surprised, Hermione. I thought you and Luc would hit it off. Parvati speaks so highly of him, and they've worked together for years."

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned back in the booth. "I don't want to insult Parvati, but I can't say I'm surprised. You know the Adrian situation."

Ginny huffed. "Oh, come off it. You're not still going on about that."

"He calls her Padma, Ginny! Three months they've been playing hide the broomstick, and he doesn't even know her proper name."

"Some people think twins are actually one magical core split in half," Luna said, twirling her straw in her glass until the ice clinked together. "He may be very perceptive."

Ginny waved Luna off and bit into another chip, not bothering to swallow before talking. "So you didn't get along with Luc. What does that matter?"

Hermione took a small sip of butterbeer before patting the corners of her mouth dry. "It doesn't. I hardly have time to date anyway with everything going on at the hospital. But to waste a valuable night off on a wizard like Luc? Think of the things I could have been doing, the books I could have been reading—"

"The wizards you could have been shagging!" Ginny yelled too loudly. The patrons of the Leaky Cauldron quieted, and Tom raised his eyebrows over the bar. "Another round, Tom, yeah?"

Hermione shook her head in disapproval but accepted the mug Tom placed in front of her. With her shifts at St. Mungo's, Ginny's strenuous practice schedule and Luna's international travels hunting for magical beasts, it was a rare occurrence to get both of her flatmates in the same place at the same time. She was grateful for her friendship with Harry and Ron, but there was something comforting about the company of women. They had been through the trenches together, both literally and figuratively, and understood each other in a way no man could.

Suddenly Hermione's mouth fell open. "Luna, weren't you supposed to have a date tonight?" She could have slapped herself for being so selfish. Her flatmate had practically been floating on the ceiling the night prior extolling the virtues of the magizoolist that had asked her to dinner.

To Luna's credit, her smile never wavered. "He had to cancel. Bad run in with a billywig. He did sound giddy over the floo which is a common side effect." It was the fourth cancelation this particular wizard had subjected Luna to, and Hermione was beginning to doubt his interest and sincerity, though she'd never discourage her friend from pursuing what made her happy.

"What a pompous tosser," Ginny surveyed the pub as if the wizard in question were hidden somewhere amongst the patrons. "Did he say where he found this billywig? I know a place he could shove his billywig."

"How's your love life?" Hermione redirected the conversation to Ginny, trying to spare Luna from any further questions.

Luna squeezed both Ginny and Hermione's hands in gratitude, before Ginny emitted a deep groan.

"Don't get me started. I thought being a professional quidditch player would get me laid for life." She whistled to Tom. "Three firewhiskey shots."

"It's a Tuesday, Gin," Hermione reminded her, looking at the muggle wristwatch her mother gifted her for Christmas. "You have practice in nine hours."

"Better make mine a double." Despite her adamant denials, Ginny was still harboring a crush on one Harry Potter. Unfortunately for her, and the dedicated readers of Witch Weekly's Heroic Hunks column, the Boy Who Lived was currently in a semi-serious relationship with a woman who was very much not Ginevra Molly Weasley. It was doubly unfortunate that Ginny had a habit of comparing every man she met to the savior of the wizarding world, and finding a man who measured up was no easy feat.

Hermione shifted in her seat, tucking one stocking-laden foot behind the other. In previous years, she might have advised Ginny against pining after Harry, reminding her that she was an independent woman who had no business wasting her time on a man who didn't realize her worth. However, Hermione wondered if Harry wasn't fooling himself.

When Hermione and Ron broke up a year after the war, coming to the realization that their attraction was centered more in a need for security and comfort than genuine romantic affection and longing, Harry took it personally. He saw the end of their relationship as a death sentence for his own and broke up with Ginny in a similar fashion, telling her they would never know if their relationship was authentic if they never tried anything else. It was a load of hogswallop from a scared boy who was mystified by his own survival, guilt-ridden over the deaths of loved ones, and terrified of attaching himself to anyone important again.

And Hermione could tell her friend was paying the price. Ginny tried to date casually, but she would always come up with some silly excuse as to why she had to dump whoever was sitting across from her at the table. There was always some fatal flaw, something missing…and Hermione wondered if it wasn't just a pair of green eyes and an unfortunate head wound.

"Maybe you could set me up with someone you work with?" Ginny fished. "Mum would be thrilled if I brought home a healer."

"Isn't Stephen Cornfoot a healer? He was the year above me in Ravenclaw, and I always liked him," Luna said. "Though he did steal Flabberghasted Leeches from Slughorn's potions supply closet. I never knew why."

Ginny choked on a sip of firewhiskey. "I'm not going out with some barmy leech boy. No way."

Hermione shook her head. "He's not a barmy leech boy. Besides, he's married."

"Even the barmy leech boy is married, and I'm not!" Ginny wailed into her empty cup. Hermione grabbed her hands before she could order another round.

"I have an idea," she stalled for time. "There is a single wizard who works in Creature-Induced Injuries. He's very intelligent, well traveled, and quite funny, if you like his type of humor. I find it a bit crash, but that's neither here nor there. You might like it given, well…you might like it."

"When can we make it happen?"

"I don't know if you'll like him."

"Why the ever not? Does he have a wonky face? Wonky teeth? A wonky…you know," she looked down at her lap then back up.

Hermione pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and sat a little straighter. "No, he's very handsome. And I wouldn't know if a coworker had a wonky…you know. It's just that, well, he was a Slytherin."

Ginny guffawed. "Is that all? Parvati's been shacked up with Adrian Pucey for months, and you think I can't date a Slytherin?"

"Let's not revisit the Adrian-Parvati drama," Luna said. "Hermione gets so red in the face I'd swear she got stung by a Chizpurfle."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "If he's so great, why is he single?"

Hermione opened her purse to count her galleons, choosing her words wisely. "He just got out of a fairly serious relationship, an engagement actually."

"An engagement?" Luna asked. "Sounds rather complicated, doesn't it?"

"An arranged engagement." Hermione pursed her lips. "One of those pureblood schemes. His mother is furious at him, and I'm not sure he's in the best place to date anyone seriously."

Ginny tossed four galleons on the table, before aiming a sickle at Hermione's empty mug. The sickle bounced off the rim and landed in the dregs of her beverage. "Sounds like a real winner, Hermione," Ginny said sarcastically. "When can I meet him?"

"I think he sounds noble," Luna said. "Brave."

"I don't think you should marry him, Gin. But he's not bad to look at, and you could use the distraction."

The redhead glared at her friend, an unspoken truth passing between them.

"Fine. Who is this lover boy?"

"You've already met him. He was in my year. Blaise Zabini?"

Ginny furrowed her brow. "I have no idea who that is."

"He was more reserved than the rest of the Slytherins."

"Not a Death Eater, you mean?"

Now it was Hermione's time to scowl. "I didn't realize you were bigoted against Slytherins."

"It's not that I have a grudge against Slytherins personally, except the ones I have a grudge against personally. I'm just surprised you would recommend one."

"Well, they aren't all gits."

"Only most of them?"

Hermione smirked and rose out of the booth, grabbing her cardigan and pulling it on. "Exactly."

They passed by the old bartender whose eyes wrinkled in a pleasant farewell.

"Night, Tom."

"Cheers, Tom."

"See ya, Tom."

They exited the pub and walked to their flat, two stumbling and swaying as a cheery blonde skipped beside them.

XXX

"Okay Zabini, you owe me five galleons. Goyle, you owe me sixteen sickles. Crabbe, remarkably and somewhat unbelievably, I owe you five galleons. Oh, and Pucey, you owe me thirty."

"Wait, wait, wait. How did I end up owing you thirty, Malfoy? I won!"

"Unfortunately, Pucey, the point of pool is to get the balls into the pockets. It's not just hitting them hard enough so that they fly off the table. I mean, honestly, if you're going to challenge me to a muggle activity, at least know how to play it."

Draco straightened his lime-green robes, having apparated straight to drinks after his shift at the hospital. Being a healer was a source of great pride for him, a chance to redeem himself and his family name in the eyes of the wizarding population. He clocked a cheeky blonde eying him appreciatively from a booth across the pub. Plus there was something magnetic about his uniform that drew women to him, the perfect antidote to the heinous tattoo forever carved into his left forearm.

"Alright Malfoy, if you think you're so great, why don't we settle this at the chess board?"

"Pucey, I'm happy to embarrass you wherever you'd like, so long as you're paying."

Blaise couldn't help but chuckle at his friends, no better now than when they were schoolboys arguing over the last chocolate frog.

"Wait, I won?" Crabbe asked, amazement painting his features.

Malfoy clapped him on the back. "Miracles happen every day."

The other Slytherins sauntered up to the bar where a harried witch was frantically charming glasses dry. Blaise lingered behind, throwing his head back and exhaling a life's worth of tension. A hand gripped his shoulder.

"You okay, mate?" Malfoy asked quietly. "Hear anything more from your mother?"

Blaise shook his head weakly. "Nothing new. The Bulstrodes are apparently seeking legal counsel. They want the Wizengamot involved."

Draco exhaled. "Bloody hell. I'm sure it won't go anywhere. Pureblood marriage contracts aren't exactly the type of legislation this Minister is keen to uphold. You could always contract Granger to take your case. You know she loves a downtrodden creature like yourself."

Blaise snorted into his glass. "It won't go anywhere, obviously. Just empty threats. Poor Milly is caught up in all of this."

"She hasn't told her parents yet I imagine? About Finch-Fletchley? What's his name?"

"Justin."

"Right. He's an alright bloke."

"But he's Muggleborn. So, of course she hasn't told them. And I'm happy to take the blame if it gets us out of the bloody mess. She deserves happiness."

"You both do." Draco gave Blaise another reassuring pat on the back. "Good man. Let me buy you another round. And then let me kick Pucey's arse once more for good measure."

"By the way," Blaise said, a sly smile settling on his face, "that is the third time tonight you've mentioned Granger."

"What of it?"

"It's interesting."

Draco took a long sip of firewhiskey. "You don't know what you're talking about. You're hidden away on the first floor in Magical Creature Nips and Tucks—"

"—Creature Induced Injuries"

"Yes, whatever. You're safe hidden while I spend every day trapped listening to Granger yammer on about the newest advancements in muggle medicine and the best potion brewing safety practices. It's maddening. If she's on my brain, it's because the little swot has broken it. Nothing more. Besides, she's the only thing standing between me and the position of Head Healer when that old coot Baruffio retires. I'm keeping an eye on her."

You always have, Blaise thought but didn't dare say it. He smirked knowingly into his drink. It was just like the time in fifth year when Blaise got the newest racing broom for Christmas: the Comet Two Ninety-two. Malfoy nitpicked and criticized the broom —how the seat felt, what the handle was made of, the way it rose from the ground — until Blaise saw him, two weeks later, cradling his own Comet Two Ninety-two on the Hogwarts pitch.

Malfoy never could fathom precious things beyond his reach.

XXX

"Good morning, I'm Healer Granger," she greeted, sweeping into the room. It was nearly two o'clock, but Hermione felt last night's butterbeers swirling around in her stomach threatening to make a second appearance. She took two deep breaths and faced her patient. "Your name please."

"Nicholas Stebbins. Do you need to see my wand?"

"That won't be necessary." Nicholas was hunched over the examination table, clutching his side. "I've been informed you're suffering from a curse in your intestine. Is that true?"

He nodded, gripping the paper on the table until his knuckles were white. His black hair was cropped tight to his head, and his bulky muscles reminded her a bit of Victor Krum.

"Okay, Mr. Stebbins. Is there anywhere else that hurts, or may I examine your side now?"

"Front, side, back, wherever you'd like to examine, be my guest." Hermione paused, unsure of his meaning. "And please call me Nicholas. Mr. Stebbins was my father."

"Alright then, Nicholas, I'm going to perform a few diagnostic spells. This shouldn't hurt a bit."

"It's okay if it does." He tried to throw her a flirtatious wink, but the pain in his side caused him to double over instead. Hermione's days at the hospital were often long and draining, but she tried her best to never let her fatigue show. She was a consummate professional. Still, there was a patient every once in awhile who tested her patience.

"The good news is your organs look to be in fine shape. No internal bleeding, no tears, no ruptures. It's likely just surface level damage. If you wouldn't mind lifting your shirt, I can take a look."

"Getting me undressed already?"

Hermione frowned, but he did as she instructed. His skin was nearly black with bruises peppering up the sides.

"I'm afraid whoever cursed you got you good. You were right to come to the hospital, but this shouldn't take more than a few spells and some bruise removing paste to get you up and healthy again."

Hermione took a step closer and began gently casting a spell to repair the damaged blood vessels on his stomach. The black lessened immediately, turning pink and rosy as she moved over each exposed piece of skin.

"I'll ask the mediwitch on duty to grab you some of the paste, and I recommend you use it before bed today and tomorrow. That should do it."

Nicholas rose from the bed with renewed confidence. "You really are as smart as the papers say."

Hermione nodded in thanks but avoided eye contact, picking up her quill and making a few quick notes on the charmed parchment beside her.

"But the papers don't talk about how attractive you are nearly enough."

She paused, then kept writing. It wasn't the first time a patient had been inappropriate with her, and she found the best course of action was to ignore it. Unless…

"Do you remember the curse that was used on you?"

"Can't say I heard it."

Hermione hummed. It wasn't unusual for a jinx to have both physical and behavioral effects on their intended victims. Perhaps his boldness was a side effect of the curse, something with properties akin to Veritaserum or Amortentia.

"So, do you have a boyfriend or what?"

"Do you feel quite well, Mr. Stebbins? Have you noticed any change in your behavior?" She ran another diagnostic test, but there was no evidence of any abnormalities or lingering side effects from the curse.

"I'd feel much better if you'd agree to go to dinner with me." He lifted his hand and attempted to run it down the length of Hermione's face, which she masterfully dodged.

Just then, the door swung open.

"I was told examination room B was empty." Malfoy's blonde hair glowed under the fluorescent lights of the hospital. His lean arms gripped a tray of potions, the veins in his arms protruding ever so slightly.

Hermione tapped her foot against the cold tile. "Well, this is examination room C, Malfoy, and it's clearly not empty. I'm with a patient."

"Oi mate," Nicholas called to Malfoy. "Does she have a boyfriend? Or is she giving me the run around?"

Draco opened his mouth in amusement, running his tongue over his bottom lip. He set his tray of potions on the counter and raised an eyebrow at Hermione.

"Please ignore him," Hermione instructed. "He's likely cursed or experiencing some negative side effects of the counter-curse. Mr. Stebbins, I'm going to need to run a few more tests."

"Darling, I told you my body is yours to do with what you'd like."

Malfoy frowned momentarily, then snapped his fingers. "Granger, I just remembered that I was meant to pass a message along to you. Healer Baruffio wants to see you in his office. He said it was urgent."

"When?"

"An hour or two ago. Maybe three."

"And you're just telling me this now?"

Malfoy slid his eyes over to her patient. Hermione calmed herself and turned back to address Nicholas.

"Excuse us one moment. I need to speak to my colleague for a second."

She resisted the urge to tug Malfoy out of the room by his ear like McGonagall might have. Her work shoes clipped the tiled floor as she closed the door to the examination room behind them.

"Malfoy, might I remind you how unprofessional it is to ignore instructions from our boss?"

"You may remind me of whatever you'd like, but I can't promise to listen." He leaned against the wall and tilted his head in amusement. Hermione barreled on, ignoring his casual tone.

"Please let Healer Baruffio know that I am dealing with a cursed patient, and I will be in his office as soon as I am done. His diagnostics are coming back normal, but it's obvious there is something off. Is that clear, Malfoy? Can you manage to pass along that message, or does your mind reset every five seconds like a goldfish?"

He crossed his arms in front of him and threw a dangerous smirk at her before peeling himself off the wall. He took a step toward her, leaning over her much smaller frame. "Consider it done," he said. He bent further down until his lips were a breath away from the shell of her ear. Hermione fought the slight shiver that coursed through her body.

There was silence until his voice, quiet and low, rustled the hair hanging by her ears.

"He's not cursed, Granger. Your patient, he's just attracted to you." He hummed lightly. "Imagine that."

His grey eyes held her amber ones as he uncurled his spine and rose to his full height. There was delight carved into the sides of his mouth which curled upward into his signature haughty smirk. Then, he lowered one eyelid at her in a wink so quick she might have imagined it and turned on his dragon-leather heel. She couldn't help but watch as his lime-green covered back sauntered down the corridor and out of sight.

Perhaps it was the butterbeers or the lack of sleep, but Hermione wobbled in place, her balance off-kilter. She counted to ten before opening the examination room and returning to her patient.

"Apologies for the wait, Mr. Stebbins. You should be free to go."

XXX

The discharge parchment had been filed, and Hermione watched with relief as Nicholas Stebbins exited the red-bricked building and disappeared into the London streets. His desperate pleas to be allowed to owl her left with him for which Hermione was grateful.

Wasting no time, she made a beeline for Healer Baruffio's office where his perpetually unamused assistant Edmund greeted her.

"He's in a meeting, Healer Granger. He wanted to talk to you hours ago."

Hermione apologized, explaining the miscommunication with Malfoy and the complications with her patient. It wouldn't do any good to throw Malfoy under the bus, no matter how great the temptation.

"Alright, alright. Let me see if I can pencil you in," the assistant huffed. He tapped Healer Baruffio's magi-scheduler with his wand lazily. "Oh look, he's just finishing up with Healer Zabini. What remarkable timing," he said, disdain dripping from his lips.

The door cracked open, and the two Healers in question emerged.

"Right you are, my boy," Healer Baruffio laughed. "Puddlemere United better take home the League Cup this year, or I'll have to give up my box seats. This old heart can't take any more disappointment."

Blaise shook his head, his loose curls bouncing on his forehead. "I'm a Harpies fan myself."

"Well, sure, I'm a fan of their little uniforms myself. Who isn't?" Baruffio laughed at his own joke, nudging Blaise with old boys' club spirit. Hermione grinned noticing the discomfort and disgust that settled on Blaise's face.

"Their players are best in class," Blaise responded. "Gwenog Jones is coaching now, and she's the greatest beater the game has ever seen."

"Ah, yes," his boss replied with less enthusiasm before. "Thanks for stopping by, Healer Zabini." They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. "I'll need a minute, Granger," Healer Baruffio said, spotting her as she rose from her seat outside his office. "Punctuality is a virtue." He snapped the door behind him in reprimand, and she sunk back into her chair.

Blaise nodded his head in her direction and turned to leave.

"Blaise, did you say you were a Harpies fan?" Hermione called him back. It was remarkable timing given the conversation at the pub the night prior. He nodded in response and quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Didn't take you for a quidditch fan," he replied.

She laughed. "Can't say I am, but I am flatmates with their star chaser."

He grabbed a Sherbet Lemon from the candy bowl on Edmund's desk and popped it into his mouth. "That's not the Weasley I thought you would cohabitate with."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Percy and I did always have undeniable chemistry."

"Is that the poncy older one? I think he gave me detention once for playing Exploding Snap in the library. There were always too many Weasleys to keep track of, though your flatmate is quite the player. I've got a lot of galleons resting on her performance against the Falcons."

Hermione feigned nonchalance, suddenly very interested in wiping a spot of dust off her watch face. "She's single, you know?"

Blaise leaned a hand on Edmund's desk. "Is that so?"

"And you're single," she added. "Funny that."

Baruffio opened his door with a dramatic flourish. "Edmund," he called to his assistant. "I need an Earl Grey from the tearoom. Piping hot. Don't forget the stasis charm."

He beckoned Hermione into his office with a lazy crook of the hand. "Come on, Granger. We don't have all day." Hermione took a step forward to follow him into the office.

"Let's continue this conversation, Granger," Blaise said behind her. "You've made a very compelling point."

Hermione grinned to herself as she shut Baruffio's door behind her. It hadn't crossed her mind that Blaise would agree so readily. There was no reason for him to accept her recommendations, nor did she think Blaise and Ginny were particularly well-suited. However, Blaise was handsome and distinctly not Harry James Potter, so that alone made the match a compelling one.

"Take a seat," Healer Baruffio instructed. Hermione's boss was creeping up in age. His white hairs were sparse but untidied, protruding from the crown of his head like a Devil's Snare. Still, Hermione had respect for the man whose illustrious career included the invention of Baruffio's Brain Elixir, a potion Eddie Carmichael swore was responsible for his nine Outstanding OWLs.

However, there was little affection between Hermione and the Head Healer. Her perfectionism was antithetical to his teaching style which celebrated quick thinking and innovation over studiousness and diligence. Hermione absentmindedly gazed at the many titles on his book shelves. They read all the same books, enjoyed all the same subjects, and yet never could find a comfortable rapport. The same couldn't be said of Healer Baruffio and her male counterparts, especially Zabini and Malfoy. On more than one occasion, he had accompanied them to the Leaky Cauldron for a post-work firewhiskey. Had Hermione suggested a similar activity or made an overture of friendship, Healer Baruffio would have suggested she check herself into the Janus Thickey ward for spell damage.

"You may have heard a rumor that I'm looking to retire by the end of this year." He eyed her over his horn-rimmed spectacles reading her expression for any tells. Hermione had heard the rumors but had dismissed them as such. The Head Healer was devoted to his work, and though he was well past one hundred years old, he still ruled over the hospital with an iron fist. "It's true. I've purchased a small house in Bath and plan to relocate there as soon as my tenure at the hospital is completed."

Hermione felt her gut wrench in anticipation. If Baruffio was retiring, he would need to recommend a successor to the board for their approval. Surely, there would be an application or interview process to proceed his choice. He couldn't have already selected his replacement.

"The board has asked me to name my successor. They value my opinion, and as I've led this hospital for nearly four decades, I appreciate the seriousness of the task."
Hermione clasped her hands together to avoid the appearance of fidgeting. Uncontrollable nerves weren't an appealing characteristic in a future Head Healer. She raised her chin with all the Gryffindor courage she could muster and held his eye contact.

"I doubt it will surprise you that you are amongst my top candidates. Your exam scores were exemplary. You graduated top of your class from the training program. Your research in plant poisoning brought in a great deal of funding, as well as excellent publicity for the hospital."

Hermione lowered her eyes in gratitude. No matter how old she got, Hermione still felt uncomfortable receiving praise for her accomplishments. Her determination was fueled by her desire to prove her worth to herself, not for recognition from others.

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate your consideration."

Baruffio rapped his knuckle on his oak desk. "There are other candidates though. It is not a sure thing. As such, I will be reaching out to other senior members of the staff and soliciting their recommendations for my successor. Head Healer isn't just a medical practitioner. They must lead the hospital forward, protect its image, keep it at the forefront of discovery and innovation. There are many ways to do that."

His meaning wasn't lost on her. At times, Hermione could be overly cautious, waiting to gather all her research before taking action. In theory, that was the safest course, but it could be a hindrance in medicine where lives hung in the balance. She wasn't a risk taker like Zabini, nor did she have Malfoy's natural instincts. However, her work was consistently more thorough and effective than both of theirs.

"That's all, Granger."

Hermione paused, remaining in her seat a second longer. "May I ask who else is in consideration?"

Baruffio smacked his lips in annoyance but answered her. "Healers Malfoy, Smethwyck, Poke and Zabini are also heavily under consideration."

Hermione wrinkled her brow. "No one else? Not Healers Abbott or Patil?" Both Padma and Hannah were Healers-in-Charge of their divisions, similar to both Malfoy and herself in terms of accomplishments and seniority.

"Would you like more competition, Healer Granger?"

Hermione shook her head, but it struck her as unjust that of the five candidates, four were men. Smethwyck was a legacy Healer, born to parents whose careers were forged in the wings of St. Mungo's. His consideration likely was more honorary than serious. However, Poke was thoroughly unqualified. He worked under Padma and had published only one scientific study about the long term effects of pixie bites, a study Hermione and Hannah spent weeks quietly poking holes in for its lack of control subjects and data.

She rose from her seat and waited to see if Healer Baruffio extended his hand for a shake as he had with Zabini earlier. He simply stared at her, then cut his eyes to the doorway. It never failed to surprise Hermione how antiquated the wizarding world could be. Once witches were burned at the stake for their power, and still wizards wondered whether they were creatures to contend with at all.

Well then. Let them see her burn.

XXX

Ginny curled up on their couch, dangling cat treats in front of Crookshanks in an attempt to lure him into a cuddle. The old cat hissed in her direction before fleeing to the kitchen. She sat back on the sofa and winced. At practice a wayward bludger clipped her right shoulder during a routine drill leaving her sore and severely bruised.

The floo hissed to life in front of her, and she was poised to throw a pillow at Hermione's emerging head when a surprising mop of black hair materialized instead.

"Harry," she greeted, more breathy than intended. She looked down at her ratty pajamas, the ripped Harpies t-shirt hanging off her body like a sack. It wasn't the look she'd choose for a run-in with her ex-boyfriend, but she was lucky to be wearing a bra at the very least.

His face lit up with delight as he took in her appearance. "Getting ready for bed, Gin, eh? It's only 7." She tried to push herself off the couch but winced as the pain in her shoulder reared its head. "You alright?"

She nodded furiously. "Rogue bludger at practice, you know how it goes."

"I do remember that and a bit more." He looked lost in a memory. Ginny wondered if he was thinking of the time at Hogwarts, right before Gryffindor played Slytherin for the Quidditch cup, when Harry asked her to stay late so he could snog her on the pitch until Filch caught them. Her cheeks burned red. No, of course that wasn't the memory he was thinking of. He was likely thinking of a snitch he grabbed from under Malfoy's nose.

"Did you need something, Harry?" Ginny shuffled to the kitchen, pretending to occupy herself with the dirty dishes left in the sink. "Were you looking for Hermione? Luna?"

He shook his head. "Just thought I'd swing by to say hello. It's been awhile since I saw you."

"You saw Hermione last week for lunch," Ginny reminded him. She charmed the silverware to arrange themselves in the cabinet drawer.

"I meant awhile since I saw you specifically."

Ginny paused her sorting and a spoon bashed against her cheek. She caught it with her easy chaser's reflexes. "It has been awhile, hasn't it? You're busy with auror duties, and you know the Harpies are doing pretty well this season. Big match against the Falcons tomorrow. Are you coming?"

Her heart stopped for a beat, waiting on his answer. Regret washed over his face, and she felt her guts squeeze like a sponge being wrung out.

"It's Susan's mum's birthday. We have to go to dinner at hers."

There was nothing wrong with Susan Bones. She was pretty and agreeable, generally well-liked by most of their friends. However, she had slowly but surely monopolized all of Harry's time until he was missing weekly dinners at the Burrow and scheduling lunches with his friends weeks in advance. Ginny found her time with Harry to be even scarcer, and she wondered if it was intentional. Had Susan expressed some level of discomfort at the idea of her boyfriend spending alone time with his boyhood sweetheart?

"Are you free Saturday?" Harry asked. "I have an extra ticket to Celestina Warbeck's concert."

"You listen to Celestina Warbeck? Do you have a cauldron full of hot, strong love, Potter?"

"I do not. I mean Susan is the fan…but she got her weekends mixed up and will be in Ibiza for her friend's hen do. I thought about giving the tickets away, but they were rather expensive. Any chance you'd like to go?"

Ginny had to wrestle the overzealous yes that was attempting to escape her mouth back into submission. Her hands gripped the counter as she forced herself to answer appropriately. "Saturday? I can't. I have a…date." The word sounded so foreign coming out of her mouth even though she'd been on plenty of dates since their breakup. "Hermione set it up."

She wasn't sure why she felt obligated to explain. Harry was happily in a relationship with a woman who had designs of marrying him. There was nothing left for her to hope for, and yet she couldn't stop her desperate heart from wanting to reach out and run her fingers through his mop of black hair.

"That's fantastic. Who's the date with?" His encouraging tone burned her, but she told him. "Zabini, eh? Haven't spoken much to him, but if he's a friend of Hermione's, I'm sure it will be great. Too bad you can't come to the concert though. You always had the best running commentary in stodgy situations like this. Remember Cho and Roger's wedding?"

"Maybe I could reschedule?" The words were out of Ginny's mouth before she could regret them. Hermione would kill her, but she wanted, needed, to spend time with Harry again, even if it was just for closure.

"No, don't worry about it. You don't need to take pity on me. I'm sure I can guilt Hermione or Luna or, hell, even Ron into going with me. Enjoy your date. Could you pass along the invite to your flatmates? Tell them I'll buy them a butterbeer after?"

Ginny nodded. "I better run, Gin. Susan should be getting home any minute, and I promised to take her to that new fish & chips place that just opened across the corner."

He stepped toward the floo but then paused. It struck Ginny as odd that Harry would pop over for such a short amount of time. The suspicious part of her brain reminded her that this was how Harry acted whenever he was caught alone with Ginny nowadays. He would always invent an excuse to leave. Was it Susan's doing, or could he sense how hopelessly in love with him she still was and felt uncomfortable? Ginny frowned and resolved herself to finally put Harry Potter in the past where he belonged.

All of a sudden, she felt strong arms enveloping her from behind pulling her against a familiar body. She knew those arms as well as she knew her own.

"I've really missed you, Gin." His voice was quiet and strained, or at least she imagined it was. She didn't allow her arms to grab him back, forcing them to hang loosely at her side. "I can't imagine life without you."

She supposed he would have to learn, as she had, the hard way.

XXX

It was standing tradition at St. Mungo's that the healers from Hermione's trainee class would meet at a pub on Friday nights. The ones on-call unhappily sipped their waters, while the rest pounded back dragon barrel brandy and spiced mead.

Hermione was running late, as was her Friday tradition. She always found a reason to stay an hour past her shift, completing forgotten paperwork or tending to her current research project. Recently, her focus was antidotes to plant-based poisons, a project she was collaborating on with Neville and the Hogwarts' Herbology program. It wasn't a passion project for Hermione, but she knew every published study she worked on would get her that bit closer to landing the Head Healer position. Unfortunately, Malfoy's work on reversing the effects of the Cruciatus curse, while still in its infancy in terms of results, was quickly overtaking her work in prestige.

She pushed open the door to the pub, a new spot in Diagon Alley called "The Cat's Meow," and scanned the room for her coworkers. First, she spotted Hannah Abbott who was leaning against the bar and swaying to a song Hermione couldn't make out.

"Hermione," a friendly voice called. "Over here! I saved you a seat." Padma waved her over and slid her a glass of elderflower wine.

"Did you buy me a drink? That's very kind of you."

Padma shook her head. "Malfoy bought us all a round. He got this for you special."

"Maybe I shouldn't drink it then," she joked before taking a sip. It was rich and slightly bitter to taste, no doubt far more expensive than any glass she would have bought herself. She looked around the pub but couldn't spot the wizard in question.

A tinny laugh sounded behind her. "Draco Malfoy, you're an absolute menace." Hermione turned over her shoulder to see Marietta Edgecombe splaying her hands on Malfoy's chest like she was poised to push him away. Instead, the medi-witch grabbed the collar of his robes fisting them in her manicured hands. She leaned in and whispered something into his ear that Hermione couldn't make out.

Malfoy chuckled and tilted his head to one side as if considering a suggestion. His grey eyes suddenly drifted past the witch in front of him and landed on Hermione's. She quickly averted her gaze, focusing on the coasters on the table as if they were a work of fine art, heat rising to her cheeks at having been caught spying.

Hermione knew Malfoy had been involved with his fair share of witches at the hospital. She knew because those witches often filled the women's dressing room with chatter and reviews about his impressive performance. One medi-witch couldn't stop describing, in detail, the feel of his sheets against her skin, speculating how many thousands of galleons the thread count must have cost. Another informed an entire class of trainees that Healer Malfoy's ego was in no way inflated, that he was as good with his hands as he was his wand. It felt as if every woman in the hospital had been a target of his attention at one point, except Hermione.

Of course, that couldn't be true. He had a sterling professional reputation at the hospital, and his attentions would have been considered inappropriate if he were inviting every healer and mediwitch to experience his incredible thread count for themselves. Still, the rumors surrounding the Malfoy heir were constant, a new woman at the center each week.

Marietta Edgecombe seemed to believe the rumors, as she flipped her straw-colored hair over one shoulder. Her forehead was no longer marked with Hermione's cruel schoolgirl curse, but her character hadn't improved since then in Hermione's opinion.

"Is everything alright?" Padma asked.

Hermione nodded quickly, refocusing her energy on her friend. "I wanted to ask your advice about Parvati."

Padma jumped into a story about Parvati's latest run-in with Adrian Pucey, and Hermione tried her best to focus on the details of the story. However, the sound of a chair scraping against the wood floor drew her attention as she felt a hard body slide into the spot next to her. Padma stopped talking abruptly.

"Please don't stop on my account," Malfoy drawled. "I think Pucey is an idiot, and your sister is wasting her time on him."

"Thank you!" Padma cried. "Finally, some sense. Now if you two are going to start bickering, I'm going to need another mead. Anyone need anything?"

Hermione shook her head, and Malfoy suggested Padma put her next drink on his tab.

"Aren't you generous," Hermione commented, taking a sip of her drink.

"How is that wine by the way?"

It was delicious, sinfully so. Hermione felt lightheaded and sociable after a half glass.

"You know it's excellent. I can tell by the way you're smirking at me." This did nothing to lessen the smug look on his face. "Thank you," she added quietly.

He leaned in closely. "How was your chat with Baruffio?"

"I imagine it was similar to yours."

Malfoy nodded and grabbed her wine glass off the table. He brought it to his nose and twirled the liquid, taking in the bouquet. He then took a small sip.

"That is good."

He held the glass in front of her, and Hermione felt dizzy as her fingers brushed his.

"Do you want a sip of my whiskey?" He passed it to her before she could answer. The amber liquid was smooth and nutty, and Hermione swallowed it happily. Then suddenly, she felt a flame erupt in her esophagus. She banged a hand on the table and swallowed her cough.

"It's got quite a kick that one. It starts still and gentle, then it sucker punches you out of nowhere. Reminds me of someone." He pulled on one of her curls and watched, mesmerized, as it recoiled and bounced beside her cheek.

"We both know that wasn't out of nowhere."

The pub was oddly quiet, and Hermione realized their colleagues had drifted away from them toward a makeshift dance floor Hannah formed by the bar. Her arms were thrown around Padma who looked utterly unamused.

It wasn't unusual for Hermione and Malfoy to find themselves in this position, tucked in a corner hidden from the rest of their colleagues. They would gravitate towards each other, seeking out debates, until their banter turned to bickering and their bickering turned to full-blown fights. Their friends would drift away from them, uninterested in listening as the two went blow-for-blow. Hours would pass by before Hermione noticed they were alone.

"It's likely down to you or me," Malfoy said, pouring himself another glass of whiskey from the bottle on the table. "For the job, I mean. Blaise is quite comfortable where he is, and the others are lightweights."

Hermione nodded in agreement, taking his glass from his hand and having another sip. This time, she was prepared for the kick. It warmed her mouth in a way that reminded her of being home for the holidays, cuddled up by the hearth. It was familiar but challenging.

"I hope it won't come between our friendship," she said with a hint of mischief in her voice, "when I beat you for the job."

He chuckled and retrieved his glass from her hands. "I do have a lot of practice being beaten by you, Granger. I wonder how you'll survive losing for the first time."

"I don't intend to find out."

Her lips mimicked his smirk, and he felt an acute desire to trace his finger over the expression, to memorize it. Her features, normally soft and innocent, looked utterly licentious, dangerous, inviting. He shook himself out of his unsettling thoughts, shifting the conversation to another topic.

"Did you ever fix that patient of yours?" Malfoy asked. "The one who was interrogating me about your sex life."

"He was fine. Turns out your hypothesis was correct." Hermione emptied her glass of wine. "He was just taken with me."

Malfoy hummed.

"Imagine that."

A/N: Thanks to everyone who read this update! My plan is to slowly rework all the existing chapters (keeping as much of the story the same as possible, but fixing all the little things that 17-year-old me thought were "cool" but were/are actually very problematic/bad!) Then I will finish the story. I'll try to make my updates weekly, but forgive me if that doesn't end up being the case. Also, I won't be using a beta, so forgive any obvious errors. It's just me & spellcheck from here on out.

I'm going to cross-post this to AO3. If you haven't read this story before, I'd suggest waiting for the updated chapters instead of reading ahead. Truly, they read like a high schooler wrote them. Because that is who wrote them.

Cheers!