Heartline

It was a usual Tuesday at St. Mungo’s. The walls buzzed with the faint hum of healers working in unison, the sterile scent of the hospital mingling with the sterile sound of clinking medical instruments and the murmur of urgent conversations. But in one corner of the bustling hospital, two healers stood out among the crowd, locked in their familiar battle of wits.

Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were legendary at St. Mungo’s. Not just for their healing skills—which, to be fair, were exceptional—but for their seemingly endless rivalry. Their departments were different, their specialties as separate as could be. Hermione was a general surgeon—ruthless, meticulous, and precise. Draco was a cardiac surgeon—a bit of a genius with a heart problem of his own. They were both in the running for Chief Healer, their shared ambition fueling their endless debates over whose field was more vital, whose skills were more refined, and—perhaps most frequently—whose patient care was better.

And, of course, there was the unspoken tension. It hung between them like a thick fog, and no one could quite ignore it. Not their colleagues, not the patients, and certainly not the two of them.

"You know, Granger," Draco drawled, leaning back against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. His blonde hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights as he looked at her with his signature smirk. "If you spent half as much time actually listening to your patients as you do lecturing me about my methods, maybe you'd be as good as I am."

Hermione shot him a glare from the other side of the room. "If you spent half as much time thinking about the long-term well-being of your patients as you do polishing your ego, Draco, you might actually make a real difference."

The two had been bickering this way for years—constant verbal sparring that could have been mistaken for anything but pure rivalry. But to their colleagues, it was obvious what was going on. To anyone who had spent more than five minutes in the hospital with the two of them, it was painfully clear.
Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger had some unresolved feelings.

The tension between them was as thick as the gowns they wore in the operating rooms. They were like oil and water—brilliant, successful, but completely incompatible when it came to their professional approaches. Draco was impulsive, confident, and daring; Hermione was methodical, focused, and precise. The sparks they created from their arguments often crackled louder than the air around them.

“Do you ever stop being insufferable?” Hermione huffed, trying to focus on her paperwork. She knew this game. They played it all the time.

Draco smirked, pushing himself off the counter and stepping closer to her. "What, you don’t enjoy my charming personality, Granger?"

"Charming?" Hermione snorted. "You mean ‘intolerable,’ right?"

There it was again—their usual back-and-forth. The kind of conversation that would leave anyone else rolling their eyes. But to their colleagues, it was pure entertainment.

Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Ginny, Harry, and Ron—everyone who knew them—could practically recite their banter by heart. Every time Draco and Hermione had an argument, no one even had to guess the outcome. Draco would make some biting remark, Hermione would counter with something intelligent (and perhaps a little cutting), and it would go on and on until they were both annoyed enough to walk away in opposite directions.

The rest of the hospital’s staff had a running bet on when—if—Draco and Hermione would finally admit what they both knew. Everyone knew. Everyone, except for them.

“Do you ever plan on actually acknowledging that you’re wrong?” Hermione asked, glaring at him from over her desk.

Draco raised an eyebrow, his smirk never fading. “Wrong? Granger, my entire existence is a testament to the fact that I’m rarely wrong.”

"You wish," she muttered, trying to push down the rising heat in her cheeks. He had this way of getting under her skin—making her feel flustered when she was supposed to be impervious.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like him—far from it. She admired him in so many ways, especially when it came to his brilliance as a surgeon. His expertise with the heart was unmatched, and there was something undeniably captivating about the way he commanded a room with his presence. But their dynamic had been stuck in this endless cycle of bickering for years, with neither one willing to step out of the game and admit the truth.

Her colleagues had stopped pretending not to notice it. Ginny had stopped sending her knowing glances, Ron had stopped asking her why she didn’t just kiss the idiot already, and even Harry had given up trying to convince her that Draco was probably, deep down, a decent person.

And Blaise… Blaise was practically waiting for an invitation to the wedding.

“You’re impossible, Malfoy,” Hermione sighed, shuffling through her notes. “One of these days, you’re going to have to accept that there are things you don’t know.”

“Ha,” Draco chuckled, moving to stand behind her, looking at her paperwork with the same smirk. "Like I need to be told that by you."

For a moment, there was something different in his tone. There was no sarcasm, no sharpness in his words—just something faintly softer that she almost missed. Almost.

But, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. His smirk returned, and he straightened up, stepping back.
Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” she muttered under her breath, the sound of it nearly lost in the bustle of the hospital around them.

“Don’t pretend too hard,” Draco called out over his shoulder, a playful edge to his voice as he made his way to the exit.

Hermione waited until the door clicked shut before letting her shoulders slump. She could never quite figure out why she felt this constant pull when it came to him. It wasn’t like she liked him—at least, not in the way that she knew he liked her. No, Draco Malfoy was insufferable. His arrogance, his tendency to walk into rooms like he owned them, his cocky smirks—all of it rubbed her the wrong way.

But… there was something else there, too. Something she couldn’t quite name.

‐oOo-

It was later that evening when the real fun began.
Hermione was knee-deep in a difficult surgery—an emergency appendectomy that was proving trickier than anticipated. As usual, Draco had been called in to assist with the cardiac side of things, though his face clearly showed he’d rather be anywhere but here.

"Of course, you’d be the one to complicate things, Granger," Draco muttered under his breath as he worked with her on the patient. He hadn’t actually intended for it to sound quite as critical as it did, but the words were out before he could take them back.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you'd actually pay attention to your part instead of staring at me for half of the procedure, maybe this wouldn’t be so complicated," she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You do realize that’s the best I’ve ever gotten in this particular operating room, right?” Draco retorted, leaning closer as they worked on the patient together, his breath brushing against her skin. She could feel the heat of him beside her, but she refused to react to it.
Their bickering continued throughout the procedure, each jab like a dance they’d choreographed long ago.

But the closer they got to finishing the surgery, the more the feeling between them shifted. There was no denying the energy, the way their words often seemed to hover between playful and… something else.

Finally, as the procedure ended and they stood side by side, exhausted but satisfied, Draco spoke again. His voice was softer this time, a rare note of sincerity that Hermione hadn’t expected.

“You did well,” he said simply, though he wouldn’t meet her eyes. It was the closest thing to an admission of admiration that he’d ever given her.

Hermione paused for a moment, then gave him a small smile, despite herself. “You didn’t do too badly yourself,” she teased lightly, stepping away from the table. “You’re not entirely useless, Malfoy.”

Draco shot her a grin. “Don’t let it get to your head, Granger. I wouldn’t want you to think you’ve won anything yet.”

She smirked at him, her heart doing a strange little flip in her chest. “Oh, trust me. I’m not the one who needs to worry about that.”

And as she walked away, leaving him standing there, his grin lingering in her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder if—just maybe—this rivalry was something more than it seemed.

-oOo-

It was another hectic day at St. Mungo’s, the bustling magical hospital where witches and wizards from all walks of life came seeking healing. In one corner of the pristine white hallways, two healers stood poised in the middle of a heated argument, as per usual.

Draco Malfoy, his blonde hair shining in the sterile light, glared at Hermione Granger across the hospital’s crowded operating room. The two of them were used to this—debating, challenging, pushing each other’s buttons. He was leaning against the counter, arms folded, the irritation in his eyes betraying his otherwise composed exterior.

“Honestly, Granger, you’re going to kill him with that method,” Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes as he glanced at the patient chart in his hand. “Cardiac trauma requires precision, not… whatever it is you’re planning. You’ve never seen a heart up close, have you?”

Hermione’s jaw tightened as she stood opposite him, her hands on her hips. “I’m fully aware of what I’m doing, Malfoy,” she replied, a sharpness in her tone. “And just because you can play with hearts all day doesn’t mean you understand the human body in its entirety. This isn’t just a simple cardiac issue. We need to address the internal injuries, and I’m the one with the expertise to do it.”

Their usual back-and-forth had started earlier that morning when a patient had arrived in critical condition, their body battered from a magical accident. A magical creature had struck, and while Draco’s expertise in cardiac surgery was indispensable, Hermione’s knowledge of general surgery and internal injuries was crucial. But as per usual, they had come to a standstill—both wanting to take the lead.

“You’re being stubborn,” Draco said, not one to back down easily. “And I’m not going to let you do something reckless. You’ll end up making it worse.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Reckless? Oh, please. You wouldn’t even know what ‘careful’ is if it bit you. I’ll take care of the internal bleeding, and you can handle the heart. Deal?”

The tension between them seemed to simmer as they locked eyes, neither one willing to relinquish control. Their friends—Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Ginny, Harry, and Ron—were watching from the sidelines, exchanging knowing glances, all too familiar with the dynamic.

Theo Nott, leaning against the doorframe, muttered to Ron, “I’ll bet you fifty Galleons they’ll be at each other’s throats until one of them caves in.”

Ron chuckled. “I’ll take that bet. I think Granger’s got this one. She’s stubborn as a brick wall.”

Pansy, ever the observer, smirked. “You know, I’ve been watching them for years. It’s obvious to everyone except them. They’re in love, and they have no idea how to handle it.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I’d call it love. It’s more like… simmering resentment with a side of sexual tension.”

Harry snorted. “Honestly, at this point, I’m just waiting for one of them to admit it. How long do you think it’ll take before they realize they’re both miserable without the other?”

Pansy sighed dramatically. “Oh, please, they’re both too thick-headed. It’ll take a crisis to finally get them to admit what we all already know.”

Meanwhile, Draco and Hermione continued their heated discussion, oblivious to the conversation unfolding around them.

“If you’re so confident in your abilities, then why don’t you just leave it to me?” Draco said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I can handle this.”

Hermione, her lips pressed into a thin line, was about to retort when Blaise Zabini, who had been observing the whole scene, stepped forward. “Alright, lovebirds,” he drawled, his smooth voice cutting through the tension. “Why don’t we just call it a day before you two end up tearing the poor patient apart?”

“Blaise, this is not the time for your snarky remarks,” Hermione snapped, her patience clearly wearing thin.

“Right, right. But seriously, let’s all agree to keep it professional.” Blaise gave Draco a knowing look, who returned it with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

“Fine,” Draco muttered. “But I’m not giving up control on the heart. The rest of you do what you can, but this is mine.”

Hermione let out a sigh. “Fine, but you’re not the only one who’s qualified.”

She turned back to the patient, who had been carefully monitored by the staff as they prepared for the joint surgery. The two healers finally began working side by side—though it was clear neither one was happy with the arrangement.

The patient, a young wizard who had been injured during a rogue broomstick race, had sustained severe internal bleeding as well as a critical cardiac injury. Hermione’s skills in general surgery would be needed to address the internal injuries, while Draco’s expertise in cardiac surgery would allow him to work on the heart.

They moved quickly, working efficiently but with the familiar bickering continuing between them. Draco adjusted the heart monitor while Hermione carefully adjusted the surgical tools.

“Do you always have to be so dramatic?” Hermione muttered, trying to stay focused despite her irritation.

“I’m dramatic?” Draco shot back. “You’re the one who insists on making things difficult every time. I don’t know why I even bother working with you.”

“I have no idea either,” Hermione shot back, clearly not willing to give an inch.

Their colleagues, however, could barely keep their amusement in check. Ginny and Harry exchanged looks, while Theo and Ron snickered quietly.

“You know,” Ron said, “I think if they just kissed already, they’d probably save themselves a lot of trouble.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t even start. This has been going on for years. We’re all just waiting for the day they finally realize they’re both miserable without the other.”

Ginny grinned. “Maybe we should just send them on a field mission together. That might force them to figure things out.”

Back in the operating room, Draco and Hermione continued their tense cooperation. The patient’s condition was critical, and every moment counted.

Draco looked over at Hermione, noticing the beads of sweat on her forehead as she focused on her work. “You alright?” he asked, though his voice was more brusque than concerned.

“Fine,” she snapped, not looking up from the surgical site. “Stop asking if I’m alright and focus on the patient.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he worked in silence for a few minutes, before sneaking another glance at her. His mind raced. There was something about the way she carried herself—how she cared for the patients, how she always knew the right thing to do, even when she was arguing with him. It made his heart beat faster, even in the middle of a high-stakes surgery.

But of course, he wasn’t going to admit that. Not to her. Not to anyone.

The surgery finally drew to a close, with both healers finishing their respective parts of the procedure. The patient had stabilized, and the tension in the room began to ease.

“Well,” Draco said, finally breaking the silence. “I guess you didn’t completely screw it up.”

Hermione shot him a look of exasperation. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Only to you, Granger,” Draco replied smoothly, his usual smirk making its appearance. “But at least you didn’t kill the patient this time. You’re improving.”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Hermione retorted, rolling her eyes. “Next time, maybe I’ll let you take the lead, and we’ll see how well that goes.”

“Don’t worry, Granger,” Draco said with a wicked grin. “I’m sure you’ll be begging me for help soon enough.”

Their colleagues, watching the exchange from the doorway, exchanged knowing looks.

“This is a long-running show,” Blaise muttered to Theo, who nodded in agreement.

“We all know how this ends,” Theo said, smirking.

Ginny chuckled. “With them finally admitting what we already know.”

Pansy, always the romantic, sighed wistfully. “And it’ll be spectacular when it finally happens.”

But for now, the rivalry—and the simmering attraction—continued to build, as Draco and Hermione, with their patient safe and their banter as sharp as ever, walked out of the operating room together.

-oOo-

St. Mungo’s had always been a hub of activity—patients being rushed through the halls, mediwitches and healers weaving between rooms, and the constant hum of spells and potions being cast to treat a variety of injuries. But today, the usual hospital buzz had taken on a different tone.

The staff wasn’t talking about the new influx of patients or the latest magical breakthrough. They were talking about Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.

“It’s so obvious,” Pansy hissed, her eyes glittering with glee as she leaned toward Ginny during their lunch break in the staff cafeteria. “The tension in the operating room yesterday? Merlin’s beard, I thought they were going to start snogging right there on top of the patient.”

Ginny laughed, her spoon stirring lazily through her bowl of soup. “Or killing each other. Honestly, it could’ve gone either way.”

Pansy grinned. “Oh, come on. You know they’re in love.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “I think ‘in love’ might be a stretch. But yeah, the bickering is starting to feel less… hostile and more ‘I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off.’”

Pansy gasped dramatically. “You’ve seen it too?”

“Everyone’s seen it,” Ginny said dryly. “Except for them.”

On the other side of the cafeteria, Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini were having a remarkably similar conversation over coffee.

“Come on, Draco,” Blaise said, propping his chin on his hand as he smirked at his best friend across the table. “Just admit it.”

Draco, who was flipping through a patient chart with exaggerated disinterest, didn’t even look up. “Admit what?”

Theo sighed. “That you’re completely obsessed with Hermione Granger.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, his mouth twitching into a faint scowl. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh, we’re being ridiculous?” Blaise leaned forward. “Then how do you explain the fact that you two spend more time fighting than actually working?”

“Yeah, and yet somehow, you’re still the most successful surgical team in the hospital,” Theo added. “Almost like you thrive on driving each other insane.”

Draco’s scowl deepened. “I’m not obsessed with her. I tolerate her.”

Blaise snorted. “Mate, you risked your entire career last year when you stormed into a board meeting to defend her. Tolerating someone doesn’t usually involve putting your own job on the line.”

Draco’s jaw tightened. “That was different.”

“How?” Theo asked, grinning.

Draco didn’t answer. He just stood abruptly, tossing his chart onto the table. “I’m not discussing this.”

“Because you know we’re right,” Blaise called after him.

Draco walked off without looking back. His pace was brisk, but his mind was a mess. He wasn’t obsessed with Hermione. They were just… complicated.

But then why did he always feel like he couldn’t breathe when she was in trouble? Why did his heart stop every time she even winced in pain?

He shook It off. No time to dwell on nonsense. He had a shift to finish.

-oOo-

Later that evening, Draco had just finished a complex cardiac surgery when he passed the staff break room and spotted Hermione sitting at the table, a thick stack of parchment spread out before her.

Her hair was a mess, her sleeves pushed up, and her hand was shaking slightly as she tried to write. Her cheeks were flushed—not in the usual “I’m frustrated at Malfoy” way—but with an unnatural pinkness that set off alarm bells in his mind.

Draco stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Granger,” he said, his voice sharper than intended.

Hermione didn’t look up. “Busy.”

“I can see that,” Draco said, folding his arms. “But you look like you’re about to collapse.”

Hermione sighed. “I’m fine.”

Draco stepped closer, noticing the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. His irritation sharpened into concern.

“Hermione.”

That got her attention. She looked up, eyes glassy and unfocused.

Draco was beside her in an instant, crouching down to eye level. He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.

She flinched. “Malfoy—”

“You have a fever,” Draco said grimly.

“It’s nothing. I just—”

“Hermione.” His voice was quiet, but firm.

She swayed slightly in her seat. Draco’s arms shot out, catching her before she could tip over.

“That’s it,” he said, sliding an arm around her waist and hoisting her to her feet.

Hermione struggled weakly. “Malfoy, stop—”

“Shut up,” Draco said. “For once in your life, stop arguing with me.”

Her head lolled against his shoulder as he guided her toward the staff quarters. She was barely coherent now, her exhaustion finally catching up with her.

Draco’s mind raced as he settled her onto a cot, conjuring a cool cloth and pressing it to her forehead. Her breathing was shallow, her face unnaturally pale. He didn’t like this.

“Hermione,” he murmured.

Her eyelids fluttered. “M’fine,” she whispered.

Draco’s lips twisted into a humorless smile. “Yeah. You’re doing great.”

She tried to sit up. He pressed her down with a hand to her shoulder.

“You’re staying here,” he said.

“I have paperwork—”

“I’ll forge your signature,” he cut in.

Her eyes narrowed. “Malfoy—”

“For once,” Draco said, his tone softer now, “let me take care of you.”

Hermione stared at him, her lips slightly parted. Then her eyes slipped shut.

Draco watched her for a long moment, his chest tight. He brushed a curl away from her face. She was so infuriating. So stubborn. So…

Beautiful.

He swore under his breath and leaned back in the chair beside the cot. He wasn’t going anywhere.

-oOo-

The next morning, Hermione woke with a groan, her head pounding. The light from the window was blinding, and her limbs ached from sleeping in such a strange position.

She shifted, and her hand brushed against something solid and warm.

Her eyes opened.

Draco Malfoy was asleep in the chair beside her, his arms crossed, his head tilted to the side. His hair was a mess, the soft strands falling into his eyes.

She blinked in disbelief.

Draco’s eyes fluttered open. He sat up, his sharp grey eyes fixing on her immediately. “Granger.”

“Malfoy?” she croaked.

“You passed out,” he said matter-of-factly. “Because you’re a reckless idiot.”

Hermione’s lips twitched. “You stayed?”

Draco’s gaze softened, but his voice remained dry. “What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.”

Hermione smiled faintly, her chest warming despite the exhaustion still lingering in her bones.

Draco stood and stretched. “I’m going to make sure you eat something. Don’t even think about getting up until I come back.”

“Yes, Healer Malfoy,” Hermione said, her smile widening.

As Draco walked toward the door, he paused and glanced back at her. His expression softened for the briefest moment.

Then he was gone, leaving Hermione alone with the realization that maybe—just maybe—Pansy and Ginny had been right all along.

-oOo-

Draco Malfoy had spent the last twelve hours walking the halls of St. Mungo’s, and it was driving him insane.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Hermione.

She had been burning up in that staff room last night, practically collapsing into his arms as he’d helped her to the staff quarters. Her skin had been hot to the touch, her usually sharp eyes foggy with fever. And still, despite how miserable she’d looked, she had managed to fight him the entire way.

“Granger, you’re burning up. Stop being so bloody stubborn,” he’d hissed at her.

Hermione had tried to push him away, weakly. “I’m fine, Malfoy. Just… tired.”

“You’re not fine.”

And she hadn’t been. He’d stayed with her until her breathing evened out, until her flushed cheeks started to cool. And then he’d left—but not before brushing her hair from her face and feeling something sharp twist in his chest.

Now, standing in the healer’s lounge the next morning with Blaise and Theo, he was still thinking about it.

“You look like hell,” Blaise said, taking a slow sip of his coffee.

“Charming,” Draco muttered.

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t sleep?”

“I slept.”

“You sure about that?”

Blaise leaned back in his chair, looking far too amused for Draco’s liking. “You don’t usually pace the halls like a lunatic unless something’s bothering you.”

“Nothing’s bothering me.”

Theo snorted. “Really? So it’s just a coincidence that you look like you’ve aged ten years overnight?”

Draco scowled. “Mind your own business.”

Blaise and Theo exchanged a glance. Then Blaise’s mouth curled into a lazy grin. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Gryffindor general surgeon, would it?”

“Absolutely not.”

Theo shook his head. “You’re a terrible liar, Malfoy.”

“I’m not lying,” Draco said coolly.

Blaise shrugged. “Right. And Hermione didn’t almost collapse in the break room last night, and you definitely didn’t carry her to the staff quarters.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t carry her. I helped her.”

Theo smirked. “Right. And I suppose that lingering hand on her forehead was just part of the ‘helping.’”

Draco’s glare sharpened. “Do you two have patients to treat, or are you just going to stand here gossiping like a couple of old witches?”

Blaise chuckled. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? If we stopped talking about Hermione.”

Draco opened his mouth to tell them both to sod off when the door to the lounge opened and Hermione stepped in.

“Morning,” she said, brushing a hand through her slightly damp curls.

Her skin looked a little pale, but at least the fever seemed to have broken.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t be working.”

Hermione’s brow lifted. “Excuse me?”

“You had a fever last night.”

“And now I don’t.”

“You shouldn’t be working,” Draco repeated.

Hermione’s gaze sharpened. “Funny. I don’t recall you being my superior.”

Blaise and Theo sat back, clearly entertained.

“I’m not your superior,” Draco said, stepping toward her. “But I am a healer. And you’re not fit to work yet.”

Hermione scoffed. “I’ve worked through worse.”

Draco’s jaw twitched. “That’s not something to brag about.”

“Oh, and you’ve never pushed through exhaustion?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because I know when to stop.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed. “Really? I seem to remember you performing a triple bypass on a patient after being on your feet for eighteen hours.”

“That’s not the point.”

Hermione’s mouth curved into a dangerous smile. “What is the point, then?”

Draco stepped closer. “The point is that I don’t want to have to scrape you off the floor because you’re too stubborn to admit when you need rest.”

A silence stretched between them.

Behind them, Blaise and Theo exchanged wide-eyed looks.

Hermione’s gaze softened for a brief moment—but then she shook her head.

“I’m fine,” she said. “And I have a patient consult to get to.”

Draco’s hand shot out, fingers brushing her arm before she could pass him.

“Hermione—”

She froze. He rarely called her Hermione.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, voice soft, before walking out of the room.

Draco watched her go, heart pounding painfully in his chest.

“Merlin,” Blaise breathed. “Just shag already.”

Theo nodded. “It’s painful to watch.”

Draco ignored them.

-oOo-

Later that day, they were called to consult on a complicated trauma case.

Hermione was already in the room when Draco arrived.

“What do we have?” he asked, standing next to her.

“Blunt force trauma,” Hermione replied, frowning at the patient’s chart. “Broken ribs, punctured lung. Possible cardiac involvement.”

Draco nodded. “Cardiac?”

“I’m waiting on imaging,” Hermione said.

Draco studied her. “You sure you’re up for this?”

Hermione’s head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?”

“You still look pale.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

“And yet I’m still standing.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

Hermione glared at him. “Malfoy—”

The door opened, and the imaging report arrived.

Hermione snatched it up, reading quickly.

Draco leaned over her shoulder, scanning the notes. Their arms brushed, and Hermione tensed.

“Lung involvement,” Hermione murmured. “But no cardiac damage.”

“Good,” Draco said. “So you’ll assist?”

“I’m leading,” Hermione corrected.

“Funny,” Draco said, “I thought I was.”

Hermione smiled dangerously. “Try and keep up, Malfoy.”

He watched her walk toward the operating room, feeling his chest tighten.

He was in so much trouble.

-oOo-

That night, Draco found her asleep in the staff room.

Her head was resting on her arm, curls falling across her cheek.

Draco’s throat tightened.

Carefully, he slipped his cloak from his shoulders and draped it over her.

She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

Draco brushed a hand over her hair, swallowing hard.

“Idiot,” he muttered. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Hermione sighed in her sleep.

Draco sat down across from her, watching her breathe.

Yeah.

He was completely screwed.