Tumbling into bed with Draco after a long shift was the ice-cold aloe vera balm on a sweltering hard day.
He took her hand as she exited the fireplace of his two-storey Chelsea flat, greeting her with the first kiss of the evening—always the deepest kiss, conveying the message: I missed you, I'm glad you're here, I've been waiting…
He drew the tie out of her braid and unweaved the taut strands with his fingers, her curls crimped and abnormally thick, angry to be restrained for hours. A gin martini waited for her on his gleaming marble bar, garnished with two pitted olives speared into a toothpick.
As she raised the cool glass to her lips, he pressed his thumbs into the tense muscles at the base of her neck, taking extra care with the right side because he knew it was a chronic point of pain.
Draco knew her body.
Every scar and ailment since he'd started healing her. The dip in the middle finger of her right hand, formed by fastidious use of quills throughout her strenuous academic career. The birthmark on the back of her left thigh, which he claimed looked like a crescent moon, hanging ajar. He knew she got bad migraines on her periods, and swapped the martinis for honeyed green tea on nights he shagged her in the expansive claw-footed bathtub.
When she was angry—at Ron for being an arse about how she handled an arrest, at Harry for getting all the best cases, at Robard's blatant sexism towards witches on the team—Draco would circle his fingers into that sore point on her neck and her words would melt away and her eyes would drop to half-mast and he'd take her to bed until nothing mattered but the present moment.
Hours later—Draco's heart hammered against her shoulder blade as she lay with her back to his chest, his chin resting on top of her head, her limbs liquid soft. "What happened here?" She took his hand, rubbing the tiny serrations on his index finger.
Hermione knew Draco's body, too. The pattern of his scars, like silver lightning bolts, striking north up his ribs, east through his sternum, a sharp zigzag down his left shoulder. The way his lips tasted after sunset and how they felt worshipping her body for hours.
He curled and uncurled his index finger, as if checking it was still fully functional. "A gift from little Timothy T. He didn't want to drink his potions."
Hermione smiled, though he couldn't see it. "You should've seen the wounds my parents would get when they treated young patients."
His breath buzzed against her temple, amused. "Terrors, all of them."
They shagged twice more before Hermione slipped out of bed, scooping her hair up into a messy bun and collecting the trail of clothing they'd strewn across the master suite.
"You know, I have a shower here and a bed." He patted the space beside him, his bed obnoxiously large for just one person, and entirely too difficult to refuse.
Hermione snapped her bra closed, wielding the utmost self-control. "I should go home. I'm working the graveyard shift tomorrow."
"I'll see if I can switch with Patel," he said, the covers tumbling to his waist as he sat up.
"You don't have to do that." She looked up, one leg in her trousers.
He didn't reply, watching her with some strange emotion in his eyes, like he was worried if she walked out of his room, he'd never see her again.
She buckled her belt before returning to the bed, folding her knee on the mattress as she leaned in for a kiss goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"
He placed his hand behind her head, holding her in place before she could leave. "I'll send an owl if I'm not able to switch shifts."
She nodded, making to depart, but he still wouldn't let go. He pressed his forehead to hers, looking into her eyes. "Be careful."
"I always am."
He made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat.
She caressed his cheek. "Bye, Draco."
Beyond the double balcony windows, the sun steadily ascended, saturating the sky sapphire blue. Hermione knew Draco preferred the drapes open, comforted by restless city lights and strident signs of life after a lifetime of sleeping in dark spaces.
"I'm knackered," he sighed, lying naked on his back in the centre of the bed. "I fucking hate the overnight shift. Some idiot got a broken wand stuck up his arse, and guess which lucky bloke got to lead the extraction operation?"
Hermione giggled, running a fluffy grey towel over her wet hair, her naked reflection flashing in the vanity mirror as she tossed it on the floor and climbed onto his bed. "I hope you washed your hands."
"I scrubbed my skin raw. Twice." He blinked his eyes open as she straddled him. His palm swept up the damp clean skin of her ribs. Prickly pear and apricot oil sweetening the air. "How was work?"
Hermione breathed into his palms, warm and sturdy on her torso. "Yaxley's out of hiding. He robbed a jewellery store at wand-point tonight. 'Course Harry and Robards reported to the crime scene while I got to stay in the office with Charlotte."
"Charlotte?"
"The spider who hangs over my desk. She's spun three homes so far."
Draco's eyes sparkled even as he shook his head. "Why are you still there?"
She tiptoed her fingers down his stomach, teasing her way lower. "I'm going to leave after I crack a big case. Just one. Just to say I did it."
"Granger," he rasped, his eyes growing dark with arousal. "You could be doing work you actually enjoy."
"Just imagine if I catch Yaxley, though." Her fingers curled around his cock, waking it from exhaustion. An appreciative groan rumbled from deep in his chest. "I could move onto the Law Department with that in my arsenal of accomplishments." She released him to line her body against his.
"Because defeating the Dark Lord wasn't enough—" He gasped. Pleasure prickled up her skin as she grinded against him. "—fuck, you're such a tease."
A euphoric smile lifted her lips from the combination of sexual power and the thrill of being wanted. Her heart hammered beneath her ribcage, her bathed skin beading with sweat as she flexed her thighs and arched her spine. "That was years ago. They'll take one look at my CV and ask why the hell I did nothing over three years at the DMLE."
"Year one was training," reasoned Draco, squeezing her hips in warning. Any moment now, he'd spin her around to take control.
Hermione swatted his hands away, wanting the control for herself, making him take it. "And the other two?"
His eyes squeezed shut, gasping sharply as she focused on rubbing against the swollen, weeping head of his cock. "You're too hard on yourself."
"I'm Hermione Granger," she said, sinking over him at last. "Society is hard on me."
They took a moment to savour the connection, eyes heavy, holding each other's gazes. Draco lifted a hand, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. It only ever cooperated fresh out of the shower.
If anyone asked what her favourite part of having sex with Draco was, she'd tell them it was the way he looked at her when they came together. Like nobody on earth could ever make him feel this good except for her.
What started as casual sex had spooled into this wicked thing, and Hermione was afraid to shatter it by asking for more.
Draco never tried to either.
She was worried it was his family—an immutable element of his life that presented a lethal threat to what they shared. If he told her they couldn't have a future together, then it would mark an expiry date on this sanctum, and she refused to get rid of the one thing in her life that felt right. So she didn't ask, allowing herself to fall deeper into the velvety chasm that was Draco Malfoy.
"Fuck them," he said at last, his biceps flexing as he guided her into a languid rhythm. "It's your life. Do what you want."
She wanted to have this forever, she thought.
Hermione fidgeted beneath the artificially bright lights. A poster of a dancing skeleton was pinned to the corkboard directly in her line of vision. It pointed its phalange to each bone as a speech bubble presented the name—maxilla, sternum, ulna, radius, by femur the heavy metal door opened and a young man entered the room.
"Auror Granger?" He glanced up from the folder in his hands.
"Yes," her voice sounded squashed with the ice pack pressed awkwardly against her burning cheek, the kitchen paper around it clinging to her freezing palm, her arm shaking from exhaustion.
The young man nodded, rattling off his name, Healer Daniel, and thanking her for her patience. They were busier than normal today and had made her wait nearly an hour until someone could see her. She'd considered dropping Draco's name at the receptionist's desk to speed up the process, but figured there might be other patients who needed the attention sooner than she did. And besides, she and Draco weren't official or public. Maybe he wouldn't want his coworkers knowing that he and her were… something.
"Alright, let's see what we have here." He gestured for her to drop the ice pack.
At the same time, the heavy door swung open and Draco burst inside. His gaze shot straight to her, honing in on her injury. His jaw clenched, his nostrils flared. And then his expression went blank. "I've got this one, thanks Daniel. You can see the patient in room three."
Healer Daniel opened his mouth to protest but seemed to think better of it at Draco's impatient look.
The door shut behind him.
Draco dropped his folder on the desk before closing the gap between them. His hand curled around her wrist, urging her to lower the ice pack. He squeezed once before letting go, his grip hot on her skin. Using the tips of his fingers, he angled her chin to the side to inspect the damage in that gentle, assertive way Healers moved. "What happened?" he asked in a tight voice.
"I was out on the field and got hit by a spell." Moving her jaw and cheeks burned fiercely, drawing tears to her eyes.
Draco's eyes filled with concern. "You should have told them to page me. I would have come right away."
She didn't reply, dropping her gaze to her mud-splattered trousers, exam table paper crinkling beneath her thighs as she fidgeted.
He used his wand to cast a series of diagnosis spells. From her periphery, she saw bright graphs hovering over her head. "Was this for the Yaxley case?"
"I got a lead," she admitted, mumbling her words.
Draco said, "This is going to numb the pain, but you'll need a potion to heal it." Then a cooling sensation spread from the tip of his wand, settling like slush over her skin. It was already cold from the prolonged use of the ice pack, but this was a novel sensation, like it was coming from beneath her skin.
"I gather you went alone?" said Draco, lowering his wand.
"I'm not assigned to the Yaxley case, so I don't have clearance to officially investigate."
"So that's a yes." He shook his head, his features tight with disapproval. "Hermione—stop this."
"No," she said sharply, no longer feeling pain, but her mouth moving awkwardly after the numbing spell. "I know I can catch him. I nearly did today. It was his safe house. I know it was. Old wards don't pack as much of a punch."
"And look at what happened to you! You're a new Auror, your strengths aren't in combat, and you're not even meant to be investigating this case."
"I have to do this, Draco!" He didn't understand. This was her ticket to freedom. She refused to leave the DMLE accomplishing nothing. Ron and Harry had both cracked major cases since joining the team and were both higher ranking officers than she was. She went to work feeling inferior every single day. If she was to leave this job, she was leaving it on a high note. Not because she wasn't good enough.
"I'll go get you the potions." He sounded defeated and angry. On his way out, he paused in the doorway. His eyes weren't soft, like how he usually looked at her. "I'm tired of feeling my stomach drop every time I see your name in that bloody folder. Please finish this quickly."
Her heart rattled furiously in her chest. "I will."
Spots of colour popped across her vision, the telltale sign of a screaming orgasm just over the horizon.
Hermione screamed as Draco drove into her from behind, her thighs quivering from the sheer force of his thrusts. He yanked her braid, twisting it around his fist like rope.
The soft fabric of his t-shirt tickled her spine as he folded over her naked body. He'd ripped her clothes off the second she'd entered his flat, no martinis waiting for her on the bar, no gentle fingers unwinding her hair. He hadn't even undressed before bending her over his dining room table. The words he hissed into her ear pulsed with heat. "I read the Prophet today. Yaxley's not working alone."
Hermione's fingers curled around the wooden edges of the table. She could barely form a coherent word, never mind a straight sentence.
"This isn't your case to solve." He drove into her harder. The table groaned beneath their joined weight, its legs scratching priceless hardwood. "It's out of your league."
Enraged, Hermione thrust her elbow back, landing a blow to his gut. He gasped sharply, and she twisted over, her face scorching with shame. "How dare you!"
He grabbed her by the hips, practically throwing her on the table, before stepping between her thighs and resuming his relentless fucking. Despite the fury simmering beneath her skin, her back arched into him, a slave to the pleasure rising in her body. "You have no say," she gasped, her skull thudding on the wood. A vase toppled over and shattered on the floor. Above the noise, the sounds she made were foreign, like a nympho sprite had taken possession of her body.
"You stubborn fucking witch!" he cried, half-rapture, half-rage.
"Draco!" She was shaking all over, sweat dripping from every pore. A strand of hair fell loose from her braid and clung to her cheek. She didn't have the energy to swipe it away.
The orgasm slammed into her like a tidal wave, a sudden force of pleasure sprinkled with icy drops of pain. Her body squeezed and fluttered against him until he lost control and came inside of her. Hard.
They sunk onto the rug, fully spent.
A sob tore from her lips. She clamped her hand over her mouth, mortified at showing such weakness after he did something like that. Screw him. Screw Draco fucking Malfoy.
Draco reached for her but she pulled back, wiping frantically at her eyes. Overwhelmed by the mind-splitting orgasm and emotionally wrecked because of his total lack of faith in her. Just like everyone else.
He watched her with a mixture of panic and pain. "Hermione—"
"Don't." She folded her knees and curled her arms around herself, promising she'd leave the moment she caught her breath. She felt sore and bruised and hollow, like the life force had been sucked out of her.
"There are five of them, Hermione," he said desperately. "It's one thing for you to show up on my examination table with a broken wrist or a spell burn. But I know Yaxley, I know what he's like. If anything were to happen to you…" He shook his head, his fingers trembling as he pulled the sweaty hair from his eyes. "You can't do this alone."
"Everyone's working on the case."
He shot her a hard look, offended that she was taking him for a fool.
"I'm good enough." She shouldn't have to convince him of all people. Draco was supposed to be on her side.
"You're intelligent enough to find him, but you're not strong enough to apprehend him, especially if he has backup with him when you do. Hermione, please be rational."
"If I were to pinpoint his location and tell Robards or even Harry, they'd take off without me and steal all the credit."
"Potter wouldn't do that to you."
"Because you know Harry so well!"
"He's your best friend."
She shook her head. "It would be out of his control. Robards would choose who'd get to go to trial. He'd name drop Harry in his statement to the Prophet, and I'd lose all the progress I made. Do you know how many hours I've dedicated to this case?"
"You'd be safe."
She stood on shaky legs, avoiding the shards of broken glass and fake flowers scattered around the floor. "If you're not going to be in my corner, then I can't see you until this case is closed."
He stood, too, following her. "I'm only trying to look out for you."
"Why?" she exploded. "I'm just a quick shag between your work shifts."
"As if that's not what I am to you!"
She almost denied it. Almost told him it's not what she wanted anymore. But she couldn't shake his lack of faith in her and was too angry to appease him when he'd wounded her pride. "Goodbye, Draco."
Wobbling in the wind, Hermione scrambled to leap over the barbed-wire fence without cutting herself. She swung one leg over the flimsy metal, nearly home free. As she raised her other leg, the hem of her trousers caught a sharp barb, lurching her off balance. She toppled headfirst to the unforgiving dirt, landing roughly on her hands and knees. Hermione bit down a scream as a broken beer bottle sliced into her forearm, tearing the sleeve of her uniform. Blood disgorged out of the wound, staining the fabric crimson.
Hastily, she cast a protective ward over the perimeter and huddled behind a concrete storage container, holding a filthy hand over her mouth to muffle her heavy breathing. The sound of footsteps pounded at a distance.
She shut her eyes, wishing to be a child again so the monsters would vanish if she couldn't see them. The sound of boots slamming gravel grew louder, then jetted right past her hideout, fading across the street.
She gasped out in relief.
Too close.
Luckily, they'd only heard Hermione fumbling with the sticky window, so for all Yaxley's followers knew, she could have been a petty thief, ransacking an old building. Not rare for London.
She turned her arm over, wincing at the amount of blood coating her skin, clothing, and now the ground where she sat. An army of hysteric ants scurried away from the scene as if taking cover from a rainstorm.
Filthy and deep, the wound would fester and become infected if Hermione didn't act quickly. Tears gathered in her eyes, pain replacing the rush of adrenaline from the chase. Her heart squeezed in her chest, wishing for her grey-eyed boy and his healing hands.
But she and Draco weren't talking. This was an injury she'd have to heal herself, or risk facing him at Mungo's, where he'd tell her I told you so, then do something rash like rat on her to Robards just to get her to stop. Draco was a practised tattletale.
She was too close to handing Yaxley to the DMLE and there was no way she'd give up now. So she used the minimal healing knowledge she'd accumulated over Auror training and recreational reading to disinfect and seal the wound. It was messy work, especially because she had to use her left hand and her magic was almost useless with her body so drained.
But she would live, and that was good enough.
When the scent of healing potions and sanitation solution drifted into her sleep, Hermione assumed it was her subconscious pining for Draco again. Countless times while they were seeing one another, she'd arrived at his flat around the same time he did, when he was still in healer robes, the smell of Mungo's sunken into the fabric of his clothes and skin and hair. Late nights and earlier mornings were lonely without him, and she went to bed aching for his touch, dreaming of his presence constantly.
She opened her eyes, expecting cat-fur coated sheets and stark white walls decked out with animated photographs and newspaper cuttings of her loved ones. Instead, she was bombarded by crippling anxiety.
She blinked several times, adjusting to the blinding light of the room. Looking down, she observed her scratched, pale hands resting against a baggy hospital gown and thin white sheets that smelled intensely of laundry detergent. Her braided hair was draped over her shoulder like she'd never left work.
A shadow loomed over her.
Harry, still in Auror uniform, relief palpable on his face. "We were so worried about you, Hermione." His voice sounded too loud in the clinical silence. "Don't you ever do something so foolish again."
She tried to speak, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, desert dry. The side table to her right held a tall cup of water and a metal straw. Her ribs ached as she tried to sit up, but Harry ushered her back down. "Relax, let me get it." He put the plastic cup in her hands like he was worried she might drop it.
The straw tasted like aluminium between her cracked lips but was refreshingly cold. The water sliding down her parched throat was its own dose of medicine. She drained the whole thing, and Harry pointed his wand at it, chanting Aguamenti to fill it back up. She shot him a grateful look, draining the second one too.
"Did—" she cleared her throat, ridding her voice of its groggy rasp before trying again. "Did we arrest them?"
"We did," said Harry, flustered. Probably because he wasn't used to her being the reckless one. "But what were you thinking? You could have died."
"I'm fine." She patted herself down, not exactly sure what had gone wrong. She racked her memory for the incident, but could only remember coming head to head with Yaxley—and then, nothing. "A little sore, is all."
"You did good, Hermione," Harry confessed, the concern in his crystal green eyes giving way to something like pride. "Robards wants to promote you."
"What did I do, exactly?"
He rolled his eyes, silently scolding her with a shake of his head. But he couldn't hide his grin as he recounted yesterday's arrest. "You cast a body binding curse on Yaxley and confiscated his wand. One of his cronies hexed you from behind. But the rest of us got there in time to stop them. Why didn't you send your Patronus earlier? We'd have dispatched an entire team to help you."
She flushed, not wanting to admit she'd done it because she wanted the credit. "I wasn't assigned to the case and didn't want to send everyone there by mistake."
He shook his head, seeing through her excuse. "You could have told me. Breaking the rules has always been our specialty."
She smiled, feeling a pinch of guilt for letting her ambition trump her friendship with Harry. "I'm sorry."
"Next time, you better not shut me out."
Before she could tell him there wouldn't be a next time, there came a knock at the door. It opened before either of them could acknowledge the newcomer.
Though she expected it to be him, had been secretly hoping for it, seeing Draco made her stomach swoop. Months. It had been months since she'd seen his face. Gods, she missed him. She missed him so much.
Draco froze when he met her eyes, looking taken aback too. Was it because he hadn't expected her to be awake? She knew him too well to assume he wouldn't jump on her case the moment her name landed in that trusty folder. She offered him a smile.
He didn't smile back.
Hermione felt her face flush with heat, embarrassed by his hostility towards her when she was so happy to see him. Wasn't he even a little glad that they were in the same room again?
"You're up," he said, glancing at Harry before looking at her again.
"Just now," Harry answered for her, not surprised by Draco's presence in her room. "I'll let you do your thing. I'll be just outside, Hermione."
"Not even a hello?" asked Hermione after Draco cast his regular set of diagnosis spells over her, not speaking. Not to even ask how she was feeling.
His lips pressed into a straight line, his eyes cold. With a slash of his wand, the diagnosis vanished, and he took a deep, calming breath. "Do you have any idea how it felt to get to work this morning, only to find out you were admitted to the emergency room last night? That someone else was in charge of your healing? You're lucky it was Patel."
She stared down at her hands, twisting her fingers around the waffle bedspread strewn over her. "I caught him."
He exhaled deeply. "Congratufuckinglations."
"You can't even be a little happy for me?"
"Hermione, I give absolutely no fucks about your achievements in the DMLE. You did it to feed your ego because God forbid you're not the best at something. I begged you to stop because I knew this would happen." He gestured towards her on the bed, his face white with rage. "And what do you do? Decide you don't want to see me anymore. Was my concern too much for you? When we went from fucking to actually caring for each other, did that overwhelm you?"
"No! That's not what it was."
"You haven't spoken to me in months."
"You haven't spoken to me either!" She burst into a coughing fit, oxygen scraping her throat like sandpaper.
Draco filled the glass of water and held the straw to her lips, urging her to drink. The rage in his eyes melted into concern. He brushed his palm over her back as she drank and when she finished the glass, he put it on the side table and stood next to her. "I shouldn't have agitated you like that. Maybe I should call another healer to take over."
"No." She grabbed his hand. "Please, don't go."
Draco paused, eyeing her carefully. He didn't speak as his gaze dropped to where their skin touched. Up close, Hermione noted the tired smudges beneath his eyes and the way he looked at her like she scared him, like she might hurt him somehow—ironic, given she was in the hospital bed.
He brushed his thumb over the raised scar on her forearm, still pink despite the broken bottle incident happening weeks ago. "I'd have done a better job with this," he said in a low, dejected voice that made Hermione realise she had hurt him. When she walked out on him the night of their argument.
Maybe she should have been the one to reach out first. After all, he'd been expressing his concern—albeit in a convoluted Draco way—and she'd tossed his worries aside because she'd been so determined to catch Yaxley. And she'd done it.
She'd impressed Robards so much that he was going to offer her a promotion.
A boss she cared little about, a job she cared little about, she prioritised all of it over the relationship she treasured because it had wounded her pride.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I should have reached out sooner. I wanted to because I've missed you so much. But I was tired of feeling like nobody believed in me and when you told me to back off the case, I felt like the one person who was supposed to be on my side was looking down on me, too."
"I am on your side." His gaze dropped to her scar again. "I just worry about you. You have a terrible habit of getting into trouble or getting injured, which is really not what I was expecting when I decided to fall for the notoriously responsible Hermione Granger."
Her stomach fluttered. "You fell for me?"
Red bloomed across his cheeks, but he looked straight into her eyes as he said, "I fancy you, Granger. What we had was never casual to me, but I thought it was what you wanted and when you walked out on me that night, after I showed my concern, I thought for sure it was all you thought of me."
"It's not," she said at once. "It hasn't been for so long."
Hermione entered her Chelsea flat through the fireplace, brushing soot from her work skirt, kicking off her heels on the shiny hardwood floors, and stepping into Draco's arms to greet him with a long kiss, the first kiss of the evening: I missed you, I'm glad you're home, I've been waiting…
The sight of him alone was a shot of serotonin straight to the brain. He removed her cropped blazer, enchanting it to a hanger in the closet. Then placed her favourite gin martini in her hand, garnished with two pitted olives speared through a toothpick. His thumbs reached expertly for the sore spot at the base of her neck, kneading the tension away.
Later, he'd unravel her hair from its loose chignon, peel away her blouse and skirt and stockings, and press kisses and praise into her skin under the sweet steam of the shower, telling her he loved her, he was proud of her; he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
And after that, Hermione would lie in his arms, and ask about his day, laughing at his stories dealing with terrible toddlers, and atrocious adults who lost objects in orifices where no such objects should go.
And when the city lights sparkled beyond the double balcony doors, splashing colour onto shadowy walls, Hermione slept soundly, soothed by the sound of a steady, familiar heart that beat just for her.