"Undress from the waist up, please."

Draco glowered at me from his green upholstered sofa, not letting the pain stop him from expressing his disapproval with the situation.

I crossed my arms. "Take your clothes off or I'll take them off for you."

Without removing his sour expression, Draco slowly began to undo the silver fastenings on his coat. Outside the office window the storm still raged- and inside, we had made quite a mess. There were muddy footprints on the polished wood floor, and smeared blood on the walls. It was the same blood that Draco left on my coat and in my hair.

Draco shed his overcoat, making a pained face as he did so. Underneath, the front of his button-up shirt was covered in more of that same blood, but fresh and red.

I didn't want to make him undo another row of buttons, and I was anxious to get a better look at the wound. "May I cut your shirt off?" I asked impatiently.

Draco looked at me with raised eyebrows. I already had scissors in hand. "Fine. But the cost of this shirt is coming out of your daily pay."

"No problem," I muttered, immediately snipping the fabric of his expensive shirt to pieces so I could get a full view of the wound.

The wound was a long, straight gash that ran from the tip of Draco's right shoulder to just below the crook of his right collarbone, reaching almost to the middle of his chest. At a glance, it didn't look deep- but I had seen enough werewolf related wounds to know that the hook in their claws allows them to tear deep into flesh, and that the wound went deeper than it appeared. Draco was likely in a lot of pain. No wonder he nearly collapsed.

"I'll begin with disinfecting it. This may be painful. Do you want me to give you a painkiller-"

Before I finished my sentence, Draco picked up a nearby bottle of firewhiskey and took a deep, prolonged drink.

I gawked as he set down the bottle. "...I suppose that works, too."

He extended the bottle towards me, licking stray drops from his lips. "Would you like some?"

I shook my head. "I don't drink. Especially when I'm working," I said, appalled that he would even offer it to me while I was responsible for taking care of his chest wound. I tore off a ribbon of gauze and doused it generously with essence of dittany.

Draco's fingertips dug into the armchair as I applied it to his wound as a disinfectant. "Damnit," he cursed, sucking in air through his teeth. I was close enough to smell the alcohol on his lips, and it tickled my nose.

"Did you have a run in with a werewolf?" I asked, attempting to distract him from the pain.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Are you asking to hear the story?" His voice was raw and breathy from the sting of the disinfectant.

"No," I answered quickly. "Well... I don't want to hear it if… if it ends badly."

"You want to know if I killed it or not."

I finished applying the dittany all around his wound and turned to grab my wand for the next step. "Obviously you did," I muttered. "If it did this to you."

My wand in hand, I turned back to Draco, and was caught in his quicksilver stare.

"I didn't," he stated. "I didn't kill it."

I was at a loss for how to react. A smile didn't feel right; but neither did a frown. "I'm going to begin closing the wound," I said to Draco, breaking eye contact. "You might want to brace yourself."

Draco took another long drink of whiskey, and I took a deep breath.

"Vulnera sanentur." The spell left a sour taste in my mouth. I had performed this spell on Draco more times than I can count.

Draco growled deep in his throat, feeling the discomforting sensation of his ripped skin coming back together. "Fuck," he hissed forcefully.

"Should have accepted the painkiller," I said, waiting patiently for him to stop writhing in-between spells.

Draco glared at me viciously, chest heaving, and I tried to ignore the fact that seeing him like this gave me a little bit of satisfaction. "Why are you here in the first place?" He demanded.

I dodged the question easily. "That doesn't really matter, does it? Because if I weren't here, you would be wounded and alone."

"I don't usually get wounded," Draco replied defensively. "And if I do, it's nothing I can't fix myself."

I frowned at his ability to be so casual while he was gravely wounded. "Alright then. So what made tonight different?"

Draco gave me an accusatory look, like it was somehow my fault. "Do you not realize I have the wards set up upon the house so I am alerted whenever you arrive? You came right as I came within range of a werewolf. I was distracted, and the wolf was able to do this to me before I stunned it. I was too wounded to apparate directly to the house, so I had to trek through the forest on foot."

I became aware of the sound of the rain hitting the window again. Guilt blossomed in my gut as I understood what Draco was telling me. It was, inadvertently, my fault he was wounded.

"I'm… sorry for distracting you." I looked down at my lap. "It wasn't fair of me to come on a night I wasn't expected."

Draco looked sternly to the side. "I suppose it wasn't fair of me to resist your offer to heal me earlier. I thought it was something I could fix myself. But I was wrong."

Of all the odd things to happen tonight, Draco admitting his humility was by far the strangest. Perhaps the alcohol had softened him.

I began wrapping his wound with gauze and murtlap essence. It was hard to ignore how warm his skin felt, and impossible not to notice the way his pectorals had matured over the years. There was no doubt about it; Draco had the sculpted physique of a werewolf hunter; and the scars to go with it.

I had seen many scars in my profession as healer, but Draco by far had the most. He even had more than Len. Draco likely collected many of these scars after we were together, because I did not recall him having this many the last time I saw him with his shirt off 8 years ago. There were marks not just from werewolves, but other unidentifiable dark creatures as well. But what struck me the most were the long, thin scars that trailed off to places I could not see. Ones that were without a doubt left over from Harry Potter's sectumsempra spell 8 years ago.

Draco grabbed my wrist suddenly. "Hey-" I objected, but he firmly held my palm up to his face, inspecting it.

"You have a cut," he muttered. "How did this happen?"

I wanted to yank my hand away, but his grip was iron. "It's nothing." I was kicking myself on the inside for forgetting about the cut on my hand from the glass jar Len shattered.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Funny how you think you can still lie to me after all these years. You've gotten worse at it."

I yanked my hand away successfully. "I don't want to talk about it."

Draco stared at me as I packed up my medical supplies bag. "It would put me at ease if you just told me the truth before you leave," he said, sounding very serious.

"I thought I told you I didn't want to discuss it."

"Then you're not going anywhere." I glared accusingly at Draco, who returned my glare with a serious expression and firm jaw that told me he meant what he said.

I could tell Draco thought something suspicious was going on. Me showing up unexpectedly on a full moon with a cut on my hand wasn't normal. Draco would not let me leave until I told him what had happened that brought me here tonight.

I gestured to the bottle of firewhiskey beside Draco. "Give me that."

I didn't ask for a glass. The sooner I could get the liquor into my system without giving myself time to second-guess it the better. Draco passed me the bottle, which was heavier than expected, and watched me as I grasped it with both hands and tipped it into my mouth.

I swallowed mouthfuls of the burning liquid, counting the seconds until I couldn't focus anymore. With every gulp, a tingling sensation spread through my veins to my fingertips, like embers in my bloodstream.

I let go of a ragged exhale, my face screwing up in all sorts of ugly expressions in wake of the fiery drink traveling down my throat. "That really burned," I croaked.

I hadn't even realized I had closed my eyes, until I opened them and was reminded of the fact that Draco, my ex-lover, was before me with his bare chest staring me right in the face.

"Are you quite certain you've never done that before?" He teased, cocking an eyebrow.

The study seemed brighter somehow; and more comfortable. My whole body felt lighter. The firewhiskey had warmed my blood, making me realize that my coat was unnecessary- so I took it off, letting it carelessly crumple to the floor. "I just needed… something," I replied with a sigh. "This isn't easy to talk about."

Draco looked at me with an indiscernible expression, leaning back in his upholstered armchair like a platinum-haired king. He blinked slowly, giving me his undivided attention. "Go on, then."

"My husband…" I began, already surprised at how easily the words tumbled out of my mouth, "He thinks that I work too much. And I'll admit, I probably do… but I'm at the top of my game right now. At the age of 23, I'm already considered one of the top specialists in my field. I could care less about the recognition, really- but I want to keep making medical advancements to help others. And, well, that won't happen if I limit myself to a 9-5 schedule."

Another sigh left my body. "Len has never really liked school, or work, so he doesn't get it. And the more he tries to control me, the more time I spend at work, because it's the one place where he can't make me feel so fucking bad all the time."

I looked up from my lap and realized that I had overshared far too much. I looked at Draco with pathetic embarrassment and pressed a hand to my hot cheek. "I-I'm sorry to make you listen to all that-"

"Why did you marry him in the first place, if you're so different?" Draco challenged coolly.

"Well, because I loved him," I replied.

"Loved?"

I realized my mistake. "Ah- I mean…" I trailed off, thinking that perhaps my grammatical error wasn't an error after all. People who are in love don't complain as viciously about their partners as I did just now. My words came from a place of resentment.

"I've been thinking," I said quietly, "About what you said a few months ago. How werewolves cannot control their hostility. Since you said that, I haven't been sure what's Len, and what's the wolf. He has these moments where he's hyper-emotional, such as today-"

Draco stiffened and cut me off. "Did he hurt you?" He demanded with a sudden seriousness that was nearly frightening.

"It wasn't directly his fault," I explained, trying to calm Draco. "He knocked a jar to the ground, but-"

"That bastard," Draco growled. His body flexed, and he looked like he was preparing to march out of this study and confront Len himself. "He has no right-"

"Draco." I said his name sternly. "You're injured. I demand that you sit and heal."

Draco looked like a storm was brewing behind his eyes as he reluctantly relaxed back into the chair. "You don't deserve to be with someone who puts you in danger." He wet his lips, looking away momentarily. "What if it gets worse?" He added gravely. "If something happened to you, I… I don't know what I would do."

I was not expecting Draco to look quite so distressed. For someone who had seemed almost entirely indifferent to my presence for the past 3 months, hearing this from him came as a complete shock. It was like something he would have said to me 8 years ago. Despite the alcohol warming my blood, I felt a chill, like I was wandering far too close to a person made of ice.

"You don't have to worry about me, Draco," I muttered, crossing my arms and folding into myself, "I… I should actually tell you something. I'll be passing on Astoria's care to my assistant next week."

Draco's eyes widened with shock. "What ever for?" He demanded.

I gnawed at my lower lip and searched for the right words, all while trying not to meet his burning stare. "...Although I wish this weren't the case, Astoria might not live for very much longer," I said quietly. "And she doesn't deserve to spend her days depending on her husband's ex-lover."

Draco's lip curled. "This arrangement was her idea."

I didn't understand why Draco was so disconcerted by the idea of me finally leaving him and his wife alone. Astoria never warmed to me much in the first place, and it was fairly obvious why. I had been telling myself that Draco and Astoria's marriage was deeper than how it seemed on the surface. But the more time I spent with the two of them, the more I suspected that their relationship couldn't hold a candle to what Draco and I had all those years ago.

"It's incredibly cruel to her to see us chatting like old pals while she's on her sickbed." I made myself sad just thinking about her. "Astoria needs you right now. You need to support her if you want her to get better," I said, looking at the ground sadly.

"I don't think I do."

I blinked, unsure I heard Draco correctly. "...What?"

Draco's face hardened. "I don't think I want Astoria to get better after all. I never really did."

My stomach churned. "What are you talking about?"

"Astoria and I were set up by our parents in a last-ditch attempt to preserve pure-blood wizard tradition after the war. We never loved each other, not even a little," Draco stated.

I swallowed, unsure what to say or do. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"I'm trapped in a loveless marriage," Draco announced simply, holding the firewhiskey bottle in his hand. "What about that don't you understand?"

I stammered, "You-you have a child together…"

Draco brought the firewhiskey bottle to his lips. "Perhaps it would be easier if I told you everything, from the beginning."