Now that Hermione was out of danger, Draco was mentally kicking himself—how could he let this happen? Wasn't there suppose to be someone on her at all times? Then there is the fact that he kept getting a strong sense of anxiety and fear earlier in the day—her anxiety, her fear. The blond had been feeling what she was going through during her attack, and he did absolutely nothing. The witch hates when he uses his bond with her to check up on her, and so he'd gotten so use to ignoring it—well, that wasn't going to bloody be happening anymore, his Dea was just going to have to get use to him checking up on her.
Draco was sitting at his desk, absently staring off to the side, the report he'd been attempting to work on for days was now forgotten in front of him as his thumb traced over his lower lip. He messaged Zabini, asking where Hermione's tail went off to, the Italian replied, 'missing.' Well, now, there is an interesting turn of events, Blaise's men weren't easily handled. The blond absently looked up at a knock at his office door, Mary stepped in. Another knock sounded, but this time on his desk.
"Hello, sir," the witch chimed, ducking her head to get his attention fully. The healer shook himself from his thoughts, clearing his throat.
"Y-yes, Mary," he inquired, picking his forgotten pen up, fighting for his focus.
"Mrs. Granger-Weasley is awake now, sir," Mary reported, "I thought you'd like to know."
"Yes, thank you," said a rather distracted Draco. She was awake so soon—his greys drifted towards his clock, it was morning. The wizard sighed and swiped his hand over his face, he'd just been sitting there, staring for hours, it would seem. He stood, striding over to his closet as he cast a quick Colloportus on his door and changed out of his scrubs, slipping on a set of muggle casuals—a pair of dark blue jeans and a simple white tee under a black and grey plaid flannel. The blond washed his face and tied his hair back.
The healer stopped at her room, that was located just around the corner of his office. He lightly rapped on the door, waiting for a reply, which he was eventually given and so the man stepped inside—different sets of eyes snapping to him. Draco ignored them, she looked so much better, sitting there with her hands over her stomach and a bright smile pulling at her lips. Her skin lost its sickly colour and was now peachy once more, a pink glow accompanying it. The corners of his lips tugged a bit higher as he caught sight of her.
"I see you've been given the happy news," Draco commented, earning the attention of her wide hazels, making the wizard clear his throat and swallow under her disarming gaze—he may as well toss his bloody wand at her feet when she looked at him like that. "Congratulations."
"Thank you," Hermione rasped out. The sound had the healer waving his hand, summoning a tea at her bedside table. His eyes looked over her hair, it had grown back well after a regrowth potion, her locks were once again full, wild, and met her hips. "They tell me an anonymous donor requested I be moved here and taken care of."
"Correct," Draco confirmed, staring into her hazels. He quickly shook his head as her lips parted. "No, I am not allowed to tell you who it was—they wished to remain anonymous."
"What if it were just me, and I sent everyone out?" The witch questioned, her vocals taking on an inclination as she titled her head. Her soft gaze pulling at him once again. "Please? I won't tell them I know."
"Fine," he sighed out, his palm grazing over his lips. He very well can't tell her no, the woman never asks anything of him, despite being allowed to demand for everything from him.
"Could you all step out for a few minutes?" Hermione asked, a small smile playing at her lips. Her mother and father, who had been sitting on either side of her, stood, knowing just as well as anyone that you don't argue with their daughter. Her husband was a different story, being the last one to clear out and being given a pleading look, a look he can't say no to just as well. Draco closed the door behind the weasel, leaning against the oak material with his head hung low.
"I won't allow for you to pay for my procedure, Malfoy," the witch scolded, making the man shake his head and push off the door, casting a Muffliato on the room.
"It's a good thing, then, that I was not asking for permission, Miss Granger," he quipped, taking a few steps towards her bed.
"It's Granger-Weasley," she reminded him, an expression of annoyance on her face. The blond rolled his eyes, head shaking as his fingers went to his temples.
"Taxing witch, I'm not calling you by two last names, Granger," he stated, "we have been over this."
"Whatever, I don't feel like fighting with you," Hermione grumbled out, leaning back against her pillows with her hands folding over her stomach. Draco sighed and nodded, sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her hands flex and relax every so often.
"Their vitals are really strong," he told her, his eyes drifting up to catch hers. She nodded, a smile tugging at her lips, making him smile at the content feeling in his chest. He loved when she was like this, and not her usual chaotic self. "We have excellent gynecologists here, if you would like to set up an appointment."
"You're not going to pay for it?" Hermione asked, looking at him rather accusatorily, her lips in a terse line and a brow cocked.
"No, ma'am, I'm not going to pay for it," he chuckled out, his head shaking. "Although, any of my services provided here, are never to be charged to you."
"Malfoy," the witch started out, his name coming out within a sigh.
"When you are feeling up to it," Draco began, changing the topic, "I would like to collect the memory of your attack. Your shadow seems to have come up missing, which leads me to believe this wasn't a normal attack."
"My-my what?" Hermione stammered out, her brows furrowing. "You've been having me followed?"
"Is that really a surprise, witch?" He asked, a brow quirking, making her groan and huff out as she looked away from him, her hands flexing as if she wanted to strangle him, earning an amused chuckle from him. Despite not wanting to leave, the blond stood, leaning over and gently caressing her cheek. "I was terrified—when I received the report of you being in the hospital, not having woken up yet, and I hadn't felt the bond."
"Draco, I'm fine," she insisted, patting the hand that rested over her cheek. As his hand moved from beneath hers, capturing it and bringing her knuckles to his lips, her door opened.
"My love, your father and I—oh," Mrs. Granger stopped her sentence, a silence replacing whatever she was about to say. The woman continued to step into the room and closed the door behind her, eyes flicking from Draco to Hermione. "Darling?"
"Oh, boy," the brunette muttered, swiftly removing her hand from Draco's grasp and clearing her throat. "Mum, it most certainly is not what it looks like."
"Mrs. Granger, allow me to properly introduce myself," Draco cut in, saving his witch from the awkwardness. "I am Draco Malfoy, Hermione's associate."
"Her associate?" The woman repeated, her brows furrowing as she shook her head. "What do you mean by associate?"
"Usually whatever she needs it to mean in the moment," he replied, "think of me more as an attendant, or benefactor."
"I see," her mother hummed. "Are you also in charge of providing her with protection?"
"When I'm allowed to be," Draco drawled out, pointedly looking at the witch on the bed. Hermione rolled her pretty hazels and crossed her arms.
"I can take care of myself," she mumbled, making Draco sigh.
"I'm not saying that you can't, Miss Granger—I'm not calling you Granger-Weasley, it's ridiculous," he stated, beating her to what she was going to say. She merely scowled.
"It's ridiculous that you think you need to protect me, Malfoy," she hissed out, glaring at him. Draco lifted his greys to the ceiling and sighed.
"You are powerful, Dea, but you are not all-powerful. As you can see, your daughter is not only strong, but she is rather immotile, as well," he declared, gesturing to the brunette.
"Yes, she can be quite stubborn," Mrs. Granger agreed, her head nodding.
"Mum!" Hermione exclaimed, her lips agape. Her mother was not suppose to be agreeing with this insufferable—prat. This man just waltzes into her life, declares he belongs to her, soul-binds himself to her, and just does as he pleases without so much as asking her.
"It's true," she informed her daughter. "I am very disappointed you had someone who is capable of providing you with protection and you refused it, allowing yourself, and the baby, to be vulnerable. Does Ron know about this?
"No," the witch rushed out, her body leaning forward as her hands went up. "Don't tell anyone, mum. Draco doesn't have the best standing with everyone, especially Ron. I know my husband, he will fly off the broom the moment he realizes Draco has anything to do with me."
"I have an emergency to tend to, Dea," Draco stated, looking at his phone that chimed in his pocket. He slipped it back away before reaching out and gently burying his fingers on top of her head. "Get ahold of one of the medi-witches if you need anything, they'll take good care of you. Mrs. Granger."
The two women watched him swiftly retreat from the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Hermione was grateful that he had taken care of her, of course—her father had told her that her wand hand was at risk of being paralyzed, and that is a frightening thought. The witch just couldn't stand the way he was with her, unquestionably dedicated, even after all these years. It was 2008 now, which meant for ten years Draco Malfoy stood by what he said the night he visited her parents' home, when she graduated and left Hogwarts. Understandably, the young wizard didn't go back for their last year, that didn't stop him from heading to the colonies to join a healing program there, doing exactly as he said he would do and not waste his second chance at life.
"Hey, 'Mione," she heard Ron call in, poking his head into the room to see if it was good to walk in now. He walked over and took a seat where the healer had just been sitting. "So, did ferret face tell you who it was?"
"Yeah," Hermione rasped out, forcing a small smile onto her face. Her mother looked at her with furrowed brows, most likely wondering about the nickname Ron used.
"Ferret face?" She questioned, making Ron chuckle.
"Yeah, something we call Malfoy," Ron explained, "he was transfigured into a ferret during fourth year and sent flying around the place."
"That is horrible," her mother gasped. Honestly, Hermione was inclined to agree. Malfoy had bounced all over the place, there was no doubt that there were multiple broken bones, and not to mention how terrifying it all must have been. A chime sounded on her phone suddenly, it was Malfoy—of course, he already had her new number. Annoyance, and slight ease washed over her when he asked if she was all right, because the bind was telling him she had become somewhat upset.
"And sounds absolutely barbaric," the older woman scowled, a disapproving expression crossing her face. "Your father and I have to be on our way, my love. Let me know when you set up an appointment for the baby. We love you."
"Love you, too, mum," Hermione chirped, smiling as her mother kissed the top of her head and was retreating. "Tell daddy 'I love him.'"
"So, who did ferret say it was?" Ron asked curiously. Hermione's lips pulled to the side and she shook her head.
"I can't say," she replied. "He could lose his credibility."
"Big deal, Hermione," he grumbled, his eyes rolling as he leaned back onto his elbow.
"He didn't have to accept and operate on me, Ron," the witch chided. Her husband's inferiority complex concerning the blond wizard could be so aggravating. After all these years, Ron still felt the same way about Malfoy as he did during the war. Malfoy had actually been the cause of one of their breakups in the past. Of course, they got back together after Ron cooled off.
It was Draco's trial that did it. Hermione spoke on behalf of the healer. He was dragged through those double doors leading into the courtroom and unceremoniously tossed into a chair. She remembered seeing Malfoy looking ran down and exhausted during sixth year, but during his trial, she had never seen him look so haunted—so vacant. When it seemed like just Harry's testimony wasn't working, Hermione stepped in, the terror and regret painted on his features had pulled the witch to stand to her feet and announce she would speak for him.
After that, Ron refused to talk to her. He hadn't even come to see her off to Hogwarts with Harry on the Platform. By winter hols, the big git realized he was being unreasonable, apologizing and telling her she was such a kind-hearted person. Hermione forgave him and the two were dating once more. However, the two ended up splitting again a few years later, it was a year after Ron left the Corp to help George with the shop, her fiancé couldn't handle the long hours the witch would take on—155 hours a week.
Hermione agreed she was working far too much when she had a dizzy spell one afternoon, collapsing while in the records room. She received a very upset letter from Draco the next day, telling her she had better get some rest or he was going to leave the colonies just to restrain her to her bed—the letter was far less tame. Ron had come to check on her and the witch admitted she may have been going a little overboard with work. They reconciled, but Hermione still worked quite a lot—she has goals to fulfill. Still today, Ron gives her such a hard time about her career.