Tender Remedies Chapter 1: Part I: The Last Drop, a harry potter fanfic

Part I: The Last Drop

Draco's POV, takes place roughly 5 years after the Battle of Hogwarts

Summary: It's lonely between missions. With his cover blown and his mother gone all he has are safe houses. But never for very long. On a rainy night, wet and weary, he needs something — or someone — to heal him. Inside and out. So he goes to the only place he wants to be.

The rain was bitter cold against his skin. Dripping from his hair down his neck to settle at the top of his stolen Muggle coat. Saturating the cheap wool. It always rained in Scotland.

There was a throb of pain at his shoulder but he grit his teeth and ignored it, focusing on walking with purpose down the cobblestoned street. Apparition wasn't an option, not when his magic was depleted from days of dueling and long-distance jumps. So he'd taken a train and walked, blinking the rain from his eyes and holding his wand inside his pocket.

The pub sat between a locksmith and an insurance agency. On one of the older streets. Too narrow for an automobile and tucked away from most eyes and foot traffic. On the outside, to a Muggle, it looked abandoned. But of course, that was the point.

Draco traced the runic sequence over the door with his wand, muttering the incantation. With a click, the door opened. Inside it was dark. Only a single candle at the back, next to the rickety stairs. He lit it with a wave of his hand. The old bar was dark wood and dusty bottles and broken stools and too many memories. He slunk to the only stretch of shelves that had liquor, pulling a near empty bottle of what he hoped was whiskey.

"What book did I have on the bar the last time you were here?"

"Granger," he said, shucking his coat. It was too large for him and wouldn't be dry by the time he had to leave. Not without magic. But he slung it over a chair anyway.

"What book did I have on the bar the last time you were here?" She asked again.

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his soaked hair. "Trick question. There were three because you're an insufferable swot."

"What book—"

"A collection of Shakespearean tragedies, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and The Healer's Guide to Potions."

"Now you."

"Now me what?"

"Draco, you know the procedure. Can you just bloody do it—"

He wiped the droplets from his face, shaking them from his hand. "Fine. What did I whisper in your ear the last time I saw you?"

It was the sort of question he asked when he wanted to see her blush. Normally he would ask something benign from school. But it was late and he was tired and he was cold. He needed to see it. The way her skin colored, starting at her neck and painting up to her cheeks. It had been months.

"Thanks for the stitches, Granger," she said, not looking at him. With a wave of her wand she lit a fire. Low and hot in the coals. "What is it this time?" She asked, looking at him fully. Scanning over his person with her dark eyes.

"Just a rest," he said. The liquor was a passable whiskey. Muggle, and with a lot of oak in the undertones. At least it wasn't rum. He took swigs from the bottle and pat the seat next to him.

Granger squared her shoulders before she sat. Straightening the navy cardigan she wore over a flimsy white blouse. The curls were shorter than they'd been at school. Cut to graze her shoulders and nearly always pinned away from her face. She smelled of cinnamon and dittany and skelegro.

The first time he came to this safehouse he'd had three broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and incendio burns that she'd healed silently and meticulously. The second time it was an acid hex on his leg. They'd talked that time, while she siphoned it all from his sizzling flesh. To keep him awake, he had to talk, she'd explained. After that he stopped bothering with other safe houses.

"Where have you been?" She asked. Hands folded on her lap. A new scar over a knuckle.

"Someplace dreadful. Is there more of this?" He asked, tilting the empty bottle towards her. A log crackled in the fire and she stood, taking the bottle and busying herself behind the bar.

On nights like this he tried to imagine what it would be like if she was just a bartender, and he just a regular. Watching her across the space. He would stay until he'd finished the last drop. Looking at her in the dim light. She pulled two cups from underneath, cleaning the glass before pouring both of them a drink.

Draco moved to the bar, leaning against the dull wood. "Drinking with me tonight? Thought that was against your rules."

"Just this once," she replied and clinked their glasses. Taking dainty sips while he knocked his own back.

"How about another story, Granger?"

She leaned against the counter behind her. One arm across her waist to hold the elbow of the other. Just above the ragged scars. "Real or made up?"

"Surprise me."

"Happy or sad?"

The first time they drank together was the night his cover was broken nearly a year before. The same night that saw his mother murdered along with three Death Eaters and six members of the Order. As a Healer, she didn't like to imbibe often. But he'd insisted and she'd obliged him. Nursing a cup of gin and crying silent tears over the lost. It was the first time he asked for a story. Something hopeful and happy to distract them. At the end she'd smiled.

This time he desperately wanted to see her smile. It had been months since he'd seen it. But he couldn't give himself what he wanted. He didn't deserve gifts. So he asked for something to break his heart.

"Another tragedy, if you have one."

It wasn't a laugh, not quite, but he heard it escape her lips. "I've plenty of those."

And he'd heard half a dozen. Achilles and Patroclus. Romeo and Juliet. Bogey and Bacall. Gatsby and Daisy. Tonight she told him of Orpheus and Eurydice. Always lovers doomed from the start. The theme clear. Familiar. He never asked questions or shared his thoughts. Just watched her while she told her tales.

The fire burned itself out. The rain fell in sheets against the windows. He finished his drink and set the glass down. Stood and circled the bar, taking her hand. Silently they went upstairs. As they'd done since that first time they shared a drink and a story. Granger took the candle from the wall on the way out.

They walked up, away from the bar, then the makeshift hospital ward, to the top floor. A small little flat. Frozen in a decade from the past. A broken gramophone in one corner that neither of them bothered to fix. An oven that barely worked. Too many cobwebs to count.

Draco slipped her cardigan from her shoulders and felt her shiver. He rubbed her arms, the skin cold.

"Are you alright?" She asked, brow furrowed as she looked up at him.

"No," he said, and pulled her close. Kissing her was a healing that worked differently from the potions and balms and spells. It started from within. Warming him until he wasn't cold anymore. Then he would wrap a hand around her neck, nestling his fingers in her nape and his thumb against her chin. She tasked like whiskey and her hands were soft against his jaw, tracing his cheek.

Some nights he kissed her roughly. Almost angry at how much he wanted her. At how much she seemed to want him back. Others they kissed sweet and savoring. But tonight he kissed her gently. Like it was the first time, though their first kiss wasn't gentle. A press of lips against lips. A hand at her waist. Grazing his nose against hers before capturing her lips again. Brushing his tongue against hers.

She tugged at his jumper and pulled it over his head, hair still damp from the rain. In turn, he unbuttoned her blouse. Slowly. Each button a new task to reveal skin.

Some nights it was quick. Yanking clothes off and pulling knickers to the side to save time. Most nights it was like that, because he couldn't linger — so that he couldn't linger. He never fucked her on her bed, regardless. It would mean too much if he did. Better to take her against the wall or on the settee or even the floor, where she could ride him. But tonight he wanted it slower. He wanted patience. To reveal a little bit more of her as the moon crested its peak.

Granger sighed against his mouth and reached for his waistband. He removed his wand holster, tossing it to the floor. Then he removed his vest and let her run her fingers over his torso. Across the scars and the pale skin. When she moved to his back, traveling up towards his spine, he winced.

"What is it?" She said, pulling back. He tried to chase her but she held him off, turning to look at his exposed skin.

"It's nothing—"

"Draco, that isn't nothing. I knew I should have run a diagnostic when you came in." Her hands circled the raw skin at his shoulder. She murmured to herself while she examined him. "You have to stop hiding injuries. I always find them."

"Just put some dittany on it, it's fine," he said, pulling her hands away. It wasn't enough to deter her. With a soft smack to his chest she pushed him to sit on one of the low stools at her table.

Her lips were pink and he'd freed some of her hair from the careful pins. Shirt open, like gift wrapping. "This needs more than dittany. Catch the edge of a curse?"

"Just a graze." Draco hissed through his teeth when she prodded it. "Dolohov, I believe. He tends to favor this one."

"Hmm, yes, I know." The purple scar on her ribs, from years before. It was why he always engaged the wizard when they crossed paths. Why he wanted to be the one to put an end to one of the Dark Lord's favorites.

He was quiet while she cast a countercurse and healing spells. Summoning dittany from her personal stores. It was cool against his inflamed shoulder. She finished with a few drops of an invention of her own, something to help with scarring. The first time she'd used it on him she'd said they had enough scars. But he always came back with more.

"Where do you go?" She asked, voice soft as her touches with the salve on his tender skin.

"You know I can't tell you about missions—"

"Not that. I meant…Where do you go when you don't come here?" The lid twisted on the jar, sealing its scent of eucalyptus and honey and something distinctly magical. It had been years since he'd brewed a potion. He doubted his hands were steady enough for it anymore.

Draco ignored her question and reached for her arm, guiding her back in front of him. "What about you, Granger? Where are you when you're not here?"

She swallowed, and he stood, looming over her. "They call me to other safehouses but I always come back."

"No one else uses this anymore, do they?" He asked. The excessive dust in the pub. The empty beds on the medical floor. The lack of food or drink in her flat. The creased photo of her parents, missing from the wall.

"We've been moving every few weeks. Nothing is safe for long."

"But you're still here," he said, pushing her blouse off her shoulders. Beneath it she was thinner than the last time he'd seen her. "Why are you here, Granger?"

From her pocket she produced a replica of a dragon's egg, the size of a snitch. "I charmed this," she said, holding it up to the light for him to see. "When you draw algiz on the door it warms. Then I can use it as a portkey to come back."

"So someone just has to draw algiz and the Healer comes?" It made sense. It was a rune for protection and shelter. One he always associated with her.

She shook her head. "I tuned it to your magic a few months ago, when I found out we were going to abandon this place. It only works when it's you. So I know when you're back. If you come back."

He took the knickknack from her hand. Onyx scales with purple markings — a Hebridean black. His favorite breed. He set it on the table. Then he thumbed at the button of her trousers. "I don't go anywhere else," he said, helping her step out of them. "When I'm not here, I'm in a barn somewhere or someone's attic."

"Why?" She asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. He took the pins from her hair, dropping them to the floor. Each one making a tiny noise on the wood.

"I come back for you," he said. And he kissed her. Pulling her closer until she stood on her toes. Her chest against his and her mouth hot. Stepping to the side and back, like a dance, while their hands roamed over each other's skin.

He leaned her against the counter, slipping a hand behind her to unclasp her bra while he kissed along her jaw, taking time to nibble the sweet skin beneath her ear. She fumbled with the fastenings on his trousers. The lace-up boots still on his feet. Wordlessly he summoned his wand and unlaced them, stepping out of the leather and his worn trousers. Kicking off his socks. The floor was cold but everything else was warm.

With one movement he lifted her onto the counter and dragged a hand down her thigh, hooking behind her knee to give it a squeeze before wrapping it around his waist. Smoothing over her calf. He moved his lips to her collarbone.

He could never stay long. That was the rule he'd made with himself. An hour or two, at the most. Then he had to move on. To get back to whatever mission he was assigned. Sometimes it was on the continent, and he had even less time to see if she was there. But she always was. Ready to fix him and send him off again after a quick shag. Settling for a kiss behind a curtain if she had patients in her makeshift hospital ward. Other times he could stay a little longer, but he wouldn't. Because if he did, he wouldn't be able to keep the emotion out of it.

"I," she gasped when he reached her breast, teasing the pert nipple with his tongue, "I come back for you, too," she breathed. Hands holding his head against her chest. Legs pulling him closer. "I only come here for you."

There would never be a time where he could stay. Where he could hold her and whisper to her in the dark. It would cost more than he could give.

As a child, everything he'd every wanted was just there. Anything out of reach, well, he only need ask. He'd never given much thought to what things cost. But the cost of war was something he couldn't pay in galleons. He paid it with his mother's life. His father's trust.

But never as much as he paid it here, in this cramped little flat. Whenever he pulled his trousers back on without so much as a goodbye. It cost him. It cost him the feeling of Granger's body against his. Of the way her hair tickled his face when he kissed her neck. The way she squirmed beneath him. The secrets she shared in the dark. It would all be taken from him. If he stayed, it would cost so much more. Taking all that he had left.

There was an ache that never went away, dulled with time, but there all the same. Cold. It settled into his chest. Making a home for itself behind his ribs. He felt it twinge in the most random of moments. When he smelled roses, though that was expected. When he heard snippets of Muggle music from shops. But only if it was a piano melody. It would hurt, but he endured it. His mother endured worse.

With Granger it was dulled. Replaced instead with blazing heat. From her hands dipping into his trunks to stroke him. From the way her tongue curled around his. The scratch of her nails down his spine.

He stepped away from her to rid them both of their final layers, then pulled from her perch. It was a small flat. Only one room and a tiny washroom. A narrow single bed, a settee. A table for two. He laid her down on the settee and slipped a hand between them, feeling the warmth between her thighs. The way she canted up towards him with every path of his fingers. He spent some time touching her, with teasing pressure on her clit while he kissed her deeply. She started to whimper and he knew she was close. One finger pumped lazily in and out of her center, gathering the moisture there to continue the tracing touches he'd started with before adding a second finger to stretch her further.

Without moving from her mouth he pulled her up, letting her straddle him while he worked her. Until she gasped and squeezed and rested her head against his shoulder. He lifted her, intending to flip them back onto the cushions, but she tugged his hair and nipped his lower lip kissing him with ferver. Like she always did after she came. He took a step backward, colliding with something soft. He sat and she reached between them to guide his cock to her center. Taking him slowly to accommodate. It had been a while since they'd done this, and he didn't think she'd had another. He hadn't. He wouldn't.

Granger brought a hand to his face, her thumb touching the edge of his lip when he kissed her. He moved his mouth to press it against her palm, following the lines to her wrist. Sliding her hips so that she began a slow rhythm, canting on his lap. He kissed her shoulders and her neck, then pressed her back into the mattress. One of her hands on his shoulder and the other wrapped around the metal of the bed frame while he kept a steady pace.

He increased the length of his thrusts and looked down at her then. At the flushed cheeks and the sheen of sweat on her chest. And he hauled her up with him, rocking into her. Pressing the pads of his fingers against her back, keeping her close. Prolonging it and memorizing the vibrancy in her eyes. Her fingers curled around his neck, slipping into the short hair at the nape while she mouthed at his shoulder. On his knees, with Hermione in his arms.

Puffs of breath on his cheek and the scrape of her nails on his scalp. The plush bite of her lower lip between his teeth. He thumbed at her clit, helping her climb back up to her peak. Bouncing against him. He broke first and came with a groan against her shoulder, stuttering inside of her until her walls fluttered and her voice cracked with release.

On his back he stroked her side. Granger nuzzled at his chest. The rain plunked on the thin windows.

"I like the rain," he said, running his fingers up and down her arm.

"Mmm," she agreed. "Sounds nice. Good to get a storm like this, even in June. A gift for us all."

He'd claimed the gift he wanted. As much of it as he could take. The rain was just a bonus. When her breaths grew deeper he eased her off of him and stood, gathering his clothes in silence. Trousers and socks and lacing his boots. He'd just slipped his jumper over his head when she spoke.

"I let you go," she said. He turned to face her. Sitting at the edge of the bed, one leg over the side like she would rise. "Every time. I let you go."

"I know. But it doesn't make it any easier." He watched her hands grip the blanket. "Thanks for the story, Granger."

Her eyes followed him to the stairs and he indulged one last, long look at her. Like he always did. However ill-advised. Like Orpheus before him. He'd yet to learn anything from her stories other than that perhaps he did know what love was. It felt like he was looking right at it. And it back at him. With a dip of his chin he turned and took the first step away from her.

"Happy Birthday, Draco," she whispered.

I wrote this for the twitter DHRbirthdaybash. It's mainly inspired by Gale Song by the Lumineers and season 1 episode 5 of Peaky Blinders. If you're following T&D, chapter 27 will post tomorrow.

Thank you so much for reading xx Lu