Hello again!

Boy, so I wasn't expecting the reaction I got, so thank you for the support and critiques! It's all very helpful to know what I'm doing well and what I can do to improve. I'm new to writing something that's not a paper, so all the feedback really helps (and is already going into play in the chapter I've been writing since I last posted).

I'd like to address a few points I saw in the reviews, so I guess I'll go in order!

hermione23415: To sate my curiosity, I did a comparison of chapter 1 of HBP to my chapter 1, and I'm only about 2 words shy of that word average, so I'd love to know what it is that makes the sentences feel short. As for how much dialogue there is, I'm working on it and hope to build the plot up so I hope you'll give it another chance!

farahemylia99 & Guest: That first chapter was definitely a bit gruesome; I promise it should be as bad as it gets for the rest of the story. More specifically to Guest, without getting too much into things that'll be addressed later, Harry and Ron's nonchalance toward the murders stems from a place of having to be removed because they wouldn't be able to do their jobs well if they were heavily affected every time they saw this kind of crime. Hermione and Draco...well...it'll be addressed eventually ;)

Totally Spazz-tastic: Thank you for the thorough response! I'll definitely be looking back to your words when I write to try to improve what I'm doing as I go. I did think it was interesting you noted that it wasn't explained that Hermione was a healer until Draco mentioned it; I thought laying it out early in the chapter that she was reading a patient folder and worked at St. Mungo's was enough, but should it have been stated explicitly? I don't want to just jam facts at the reader, so I'm trying to find a balance.

So thanks again for everyone's reactions! I wasn't expecting to post again so soon but I guess you guys really spurred on the writing process so keep it coming!

Love,

Cherry


To say Draco Malfoy had caused a scene seemed to be an understatement. Upon arriving at St. Mungo's, Hermione heard the hollering from the stairwell as she went up to the fourth floor. With embarrassment and irritation, she stormed through the sets of doors to get to the waiting room, pausing to take in the scene befniore her. At the front desk sat Bitsy Smetham, who was trying to appease an angry patient. He yelled unintelligibly at Bitsy, waving his good arm about dramatically. Confused, Hermione looked around for Draco, assuming he was the source of the commotion, finding him sprawled across a waiting chair, his skin paler than usual, bits of sweat beading about his hairline. His arm was back around his side, his brow knit tightly together. Trying to piece together the situation, Hermione slowly approached the desk. Bitsy looked relieved at the appearance of another staff member.

"Healer Granger." She gasped, looking between Hermione and the man. "We've been waiting for you."

"Miss Smetham." Hermione greeted. "Waiting for me how?"

"Well, we've had some...disruptions due to a patient of yours. Mister Malfoy."

"Is that so?" Hermione asked, immediately on the defense.

"Yes." Bitsy continued, the man interrupting.

"You think it's all right to treat his kind here?" He pointed a finger at Hermione and she tensed at the motion, not liking the confrontation.

"And what kind is that?" Hermione asked coolly, refusing to let her temper get the best of her. "The kind in need of medical attention?"

"No." The man argued, bits of saliva flying from his mouth. "That kind was forced to go away at the end of the war!" He gestured to Draco and Hermione looked over, noting for the first time that the grey ink of the Dark Mark stood out against the white skin of Draco's arm. She wondered how the man had seen it so keenly, given that the arm displaying the Mark was wrapped around Draco's body, only the edges peeking out when he adjusted his position, which wasn't very often. She'd need to get him checked quickly.

"Are you suggesting that I let a man go untreated and possibly die because you don't like a choice he made?" She asked, barely waiting for an answer. "Surely that can't be what you're saying. After all, look at him. Given his age, he must've been no more than sixteen when he took on that burden, which must mean there were a number of external factors guiding his choices. You can't possibly be proposing that I get to decide this man's fate based on a decision he made as a child. Because that would mean I also have the right to decide not to treat you because of your choice to exhibit rude behavior, which I certainly wouldn't do. That doesn't seem like something someone like you would be suggesting, since you seem like a man who makes sense. When he isn't suffering from a head full of Wrackspurts, I mean. After all, that must be why you're here, right?"

"I'm here because my son hit me with a rogue paralysis spell!" He raised his arm angrily.

"Hmm. You should get checked for Wrackspurts while you're at it. Be sure to let his healer know, Miss Smetham." Hermione turned away from the counter and walked up to Draco. "Up you go." She put her shoulders under his arm and lifted him out of his seat, pulling him to a private room. She fed Draco a pain tonic and he took it glumly, drinking it in one swig. Hermione moved his gown from the wound she had healed and noticed the greyish colour had returned. She muttered under her breath, disappearing from the room to gather more supplies. When she returned, she sat down, mixing together the ingredients to clear away the hex.

"You've been getting intro trouble." Hermione commented, trying to lighten the mood. She still felt tense from the man's accusation, knowing that while she, too, hated Death Eaters and all they stood for, she had no right to deny them medical care when needed. They were human too. Well, most of them.

"No more than usual." Draco jested, smirking weakly at Hermione's glare. "Can't say I blame them." He noted, staring at his exposed forearm. Draco didn't often see the tattoo that marred his skin. It reminded him of every poor choice he made growing up, even those that weren't under the direct order of the Dark Lord. Admittedly, he had been proud - or something akin to proud - when he was given the Mark, but now...now it reminded him of death and bad decisions. "It's rather ugly, isn't it?" He asked, lifting his arm for Hermione to view. She spared a glance at it, looking back to the mortar and pestle in her hands.

"I've seen uglier." She responded quietly, thinking of her own scars left after the war. "It's fading, isn't it?" She asked, glancing at Draco, his eyes fixed on his arm.

"For a period of time, it did." He nodded, laying it back down beside him, the spell broken. "Following his death. It's looked this way for a few years now. I imagine it won't reduce any further, which means I'll be subjected to ridicule and prejudice for the rest of my life, I suppose."

"We should form a club." Hermione spoke, lifting her left sleeve all the way to her elbow. Draco looked openly at the writing, noticing that it hadn't faded like a normal scar. Dark pink and uneven, the word 'mudblood' looked nearly fresh against Hermione's light skin. Leave it to Bellatrix to use a cursed blade. "The pure-bloods and mudbloods: fringe society." She said bitterly, pulling her sleeve back down. Draco realised he was staring and blinked, looking away.

"You smell like bacon." Draco changed the subject. "And Weasley."

"And pray tell, what do the Weasleys smell like?" Hermione asked, quirking a brow. She readjusted Draco's hospital gown and began pressing the paste she'd made onto the mark.

"Charcoal, dirt, and hand-me-downs." The last made Hermione roll her eyes. "Did you have an enjoyable breakfast, at least? Before you were called back to solve the Death Eater problem?" He asked, twisting his shoulder to make more room for Hermione to work.

"Verily." Hermione answered, Draco sensing a "but" somewhere in her voice. He didn't press.

"Would you like to know how I spent mine?" He asked, trying to relax into a comfortable position, though he supposed he couldn't be comfortable with his injuries, and Hermione's cold hands kneading into his side.

"Sure." Hermione bobbed her head, barely paying attention. It was common for patients to want to talk, and Hermione had spent years living with two boys who droned on and on. She was brilliant at tuning people out.

"Well, I slept very much like an infant, thanks to whatever potions you gave me, and when I woke, it was to a man slapping down a tray of what looked to be a slice of some overcooked eggs and a mound of sludge onto my nightstand, wishing me a Happy Christmas, rather sarcastically. Terrible bedside service, if you ask me; I considered reporting him to his superior for so rudely waking me for nothing more than a subpar Christmas pudding.

"Anyway, following that debacle, I went back to sleep, to be woken this time to a witch in the bed next to me, mumbling in tongues. Imagine my dismay when I opened my eyes to see she was staring straight at me, a frightening grin stretched across her face. When I went to the desk to ask for a transfer, I was promptly guided back to my bed, forced to listen to the woman continue for at least an hour's time. In my displeasure, I returned to the desk, only to be told I was 'making a scene' and would have to wait for you to return and sort the whole thing out. Then my side grew painful again, and that wretched man with a bad temper showed up." Draco paused, watching Hermione's face.

"You were quite fierce with him." He pointed out and Hermione's eyes flicked up to his before returning to massaging the paste into his skin. "I must admit, I felt almost honoured to have you defending me."

"I took an oath when I became a Healer." She explained. "We mustn't let any prejudice affect our work. We are meant to help, not to turn a blind eye to that which we don't like."

"So I'm not special, then, am I?" He muttered, shuddering as Hermione wiped the paste away with a damp cloth.

"No." She confirmed. "Probably the first time you've heard that, eh?" She smiled and in response, Draco matched her expression, not wanting to ruin her quaint image of him.

With the wound cleansed from the inside out, Hermione performed the same spell she had the night before that cured the injury.

"There." She scrunched up her nose happily. "It should stick this time." She told Draco as she cleaned her hands and gathered her supplies. "I think I just got to you too late last night and the hex was deeper than I was expecting."

"You think?" Draco pressed. "That's reassuring, Granger. You tell all your patients that?"

"Just the special ones." She shrugged, the gravity of the situation returning to her. At this point in the appointment, she would fetch the loved ones and explain the situation. Draco didn't have any loved ones anymore, at least that Hermione knew of. Did he know yet?

"Do you know what happened last night?" She asked him, trying to gauge the situation.

"Not particularly." He looked up at the ceiling to avoid Hermione's gaze. "One moment I was asleep, then I was awoken by a flash, then blindness, and I tried to hex whoever had hit me, but then they were gone."

"What happened to your parents?" She pressed, a knot forming in her stomach. He had to have known, hadn't he?

"Don't know." He said. "We don't particularly engage all that often, given how far apart our living quarters are. They have the west wing, I have the east."

"Ah." Hermione bit her lip, nodding. "Well I'm sure this will all be resolved soon." She tried to reassure him, but he didn't respond. "I'll note your room change to the staff. Is there anything else you need before I leave?" She asked, secretly hoping that he had some menial task for her to complete so she wouldn't have to go back to the Burrow.

"You've done quite enough, Miss Granger." He complimented. "I think I should like to sleep now, if that's all right with the Healer."

"Yes. Yes it is. Sleep always helps heal." Hermione acknowledged. "I'll let you get to it then." She left the room and let Bitsy know of the change, though Bitsy's giggle and tight expression indicated that she wasn't fully comfortable with having an ex-Death Eater at St. Mungo's. Hermione ignored her discomfort and Flooed home, deciding Draco had been right about needing to sleep. She abandoned her trousers and jumper at the door to her bedroom and crawled into bed in her knickers, turning onto her left side. She stared down at the scar near the crook of her arm. Why had she shown it to Malfoy? She hated that scar more than any of the other ones her body displayed from the war. She kept it covered all year round. And yet she had shown it to Draco. One of the few people still living who had been there when it happened. One of the few people still living who had called her that name to her face. She didn't want to admit it to herself, but seeing that vulnerable side of Draco - seeing his mark made her want to match him. Neither side came out of the war unscathed.

Too tired to keep her eyes open, Hermione fell into a dreamless sleep, only woken when she felt Ron climb into her bed. She opened her eyes as he kissed her shoulder and noted that it was nearly dark outside.

"This is a nice surprise." Ron expressed, shifting his weight so he was lying behind her, on top of the covers. "Is this my Christmas present?"

"No." Hermione denied, stretching her toes tiredly. "Is mine that you're certainly not wearing shoes in my bed?"

"Of course it is." Ron said slyly, shoving his boots off with his toes. They hit the floor with a clunk and Hermione chuckled, turning to face him.

"So how was the Burrow?" Hermione asked, shoving herself deeper under the covers for warmth.

"Everyone loved your gifts." Ron spoke. "And I've got all of yours in a bag waiting for you. I told them you were busy but wanted to be there."

"Thanks." Hermione hummed in appreciation. "I didn't sleep enough last night and couldn't imagine keeping my energy up enough for Christmas with the Weasleys."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked defensively and Hermione laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. She pressed her nose into the collar of his shirt and inhaled deeply. Blast, he did smell like hand-me-downs. She could never let Draco know.

Hermione climbed out of bed and put on her jumper and trousers, fixing her hair from the frizzy mess it had turned into while she slept on it. By the time she came out to the living room, Ron was positioning her gifts under the little tree she had won in the raffle at work, which had stood devoid of life until Ron had spruced it up with its own personal cloud, the fresh falling snow disappearing before it had a chance to melt on her wood floors.

"Are those really all for me?" She asked, raising her eyebrows. She had only expected gifts from Ron's parents and Harry and Ginny, yet there were a couple extra under the tree.

"George and Angelina got you this." Ron lifted up a neatly wrapped box. "And James wanted to give you his own this year." He pointed at the thin, lumpy package. "I think he's got a crush on you."

Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing the toddler was only fond of her because she would run away whenever he came around. Ginny and Harry had forgiven her for that time she'd dropped him, but that didn't mean she wasn't scared she wouldn't hurt him again.

"Does he now? I'm glad to know I've got a suitor in line in case you don't work out." She joked, realising she'd gone too far when Ron didn't smile. "Ron-"

"No, no. It's fine." He cut her off, giving her a joyless smile. "I should know by now that you're joking, but to someone like me - who would've been ready to marry you the moment Voldemort was dead - maybe you can see why it isn't funny."

"I know." She lamented, trying to calm Ron down. The last thing she wanted to do on Christmas was argue with her fiancé. "I'm sorry. I just don't know how to do any of this, so I don't want to rush into it."

"Rush into it? Blimey, Mione, we've been together for eight years!" Ron pressed. "Explain to me where we're rushing it!"

"Well I'm only twenty six, to begin with!" Her voice climbed in pitch. "We have all the time in the world to be married, and given that half our lives were spent fighting one of the most powerful and evil wizards of all time, I think we're entitled to a bit of time as healthy young adults before jumping into something new!" She evened her breathing when she saw the confused expression on Ron's face. "I don't know who I am, Ron. And neither do you." She tried to share the burden, though deep down, Hermione knew it was only her who was confused. "I don't want to make any mistakes, and I don't want to hurt you." At least not more that I already have, she thought.

"Can we just go to dinner, please?" She asked, resting her hand on his crossed forearms. Despite pouting, Ron nodded, and with the confirmation, Hermione took his hand and led him out of her apartment, the two walking to a restaurant they'd gotten a reservation at weeks ago several blocks away. They ate in relative silence and Hermione hated how she had ruined the evening. It wasn't often they go to spend extended periods of time together; their jobs kept both of them busy, and she'd made one of their few special evenings awkward and stiff.

When they returned to her flat, they opened their gifts to each other (a marble and wood wizard chess set for Ron and a signed first edition of A History of Magic for Hermione), and opted for an early night in since both were still tired from the previous night's events.

As Hermione lay in bed, she watched Ron sleep, and sorrow rose in her chest. She was destroying their relationship; she knew she was. And yet in some strange, twisted notion, she was all right with that. Outwardly, she despised the way their relationship was failing. She loved Ron. She always would. Yet that underlying part of her wouldn't let her abandon the idea that maybe they weren't meant to be together. Maybe they were just too different now.

Hermione rolled over to face the window and closed her eyes, willing sleep to come.


"Absolute nutter, whoever did it. Why dismember the bodies if he just wanted the arm?"

"Could be a she." Hermione pointed out. "No sense in ruling women out of this."

"Then she's an absolute nutter." Ron amended.