Heartline

Draco hated the waiting.

The quiet before the storm was always the worst part — the empty corridors, the sterile scent of antiseptic hanging in the air, the low murmur of spellwork behind closed doors. It made his skin crawl.

It was early evening, and the hospital was oddly still. A handful of junior healers lingered in the staff lounge, chatting softly, and Draco had just finished his final round of post-op checks for the day. He should have gone home by now — but something kept him rooted in place, a restless tension beneath his skin.

He was standing at the potion prep station when he heard footsteps approaching.

“You’re still here.”

Draco turned. Hermione stood at the threshold of the room, her arms crossed over her chest. Her dark curls were pulled into a loose knot at the base of her neck, stray tendrils framing her face.

“You’re here too,” Draco countered.

Hermione’s gaze sharpened. “I was finishing up reports. Some of us are actually dedicated to our work.”

Draco’s mouth twitched. “And some of us have finished our work already.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Only because you pawned your charts off on Theo.”

Draco stepped toward her. “Theo owed me a favor.”

Hermione’s lips parted, her eyes flashing with something dangerous. “You can’t keep bending the system for your own convenience, Malfoy.”

“And you can’t keep breaking yourself for it,” Draco shot back.

Hermione’s gaze darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Draco’s voice sharpened, “that you’ve been running yourself into the ground. You’ve taken double shifts four nights in a row. You’re not sleeping.”

Her mouth tightened. “Don’t lecture me—”

“Someone needs to.” Draco’s gaze hardened. He stepped closer. “You think I don’t notice? You think no one sees how pale you’ve been lately? The circles under your eyes?”

Hermione’s chin lifted. “I’m fine.”

“No,” Draco snapped. “You’re not.”

Their gazes clashed in the dim light of the room. The tension between them was sharp, crackling beneath the surface like a live wire.

Hermione’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Her arms tightened around herself. “I can take care of myself.”

Draco’s jaw tensed. His gaze flicked over her — her thin frame beneath her healer’s robes, the faint tremor in her hands.

“What are you trying to prove?” Draco’s voice softened, but the edge remained.

Hermione’s eyes burned. “That I’m capable. That I deserve to be here.”

Draco’s chest tightened. “You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

“Then stop treating me like I’m fragile,” Hermione shot back.

“You’re not fragile,” Draco said quietly. His hand curled at his side. “But you’re not invincible either.”

Hermione’s breath hitched.

The room was too quiet, the air charged with something unspoken.

And then —

BANG!

The door to the room flew open. A young trauma healer stumbled inside, out of breath.

“Emergency field summons!” the healer gasped. “Auror unit’s down — they’re requesting immediate medical support!”

Hermione’s gaze sharpened. “What’s the location?”

“South of Hogsmeade — residual dark magic detected. Multiple casualties.”

“I’m going,” Hermione said immediately.

Draco’s head whipped toward her. “Absolutely not.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed. “They need medical support.”

Draco’s hand shot out, his fingers curling around her wrist. “You’ve barely slept—”

“I’ve handled worse.”

Draco’s eyes darkened. “You’re not going.”

“Yes, I am.”

Their gazes clashed, sharp and dangerous. Hermione pulled her wrist from his grasp, stepping toward the door.

“Hermione—” Draco’s voice sharpened.

She hesitated. Her hand curled around the doorframe.

“Be careful,” Draco said quietly.

Hermione’s gaze softened for half a second — but then the urgency of the call settled over her.

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

Draco’s chest constricted painfully as she disappeared down the hall.

-oOo-

An hour passed.

Draco paced the length of the trauma ward, tension coiled like a spring beneath his skin. His mind kept circling back to Hermione — the sharp defiance in her eyes, the flash of fire in her voice.

She hadn’t looked well. She hadn’t been well. And now she was in the field, dealing with dark magic and Merlin knew what else.

Draco ran a hand through his hair.

Be careful.

He should have made her stay. He should have—

“Malfoy.”

Draco turned at the sound of Theo’s voice. Theo was leaning casually against the nurses’ station, but his expression was unusually tense.

“You hear about the emergency call?” Theo asked.

Draco’s stomach turned over. “Yes. Why?”

Theo’s gaze sharpened. “They’re bringing someone in from the field. Critical condition.”

Draco’s throat tightened. “And?”

Theo hesitated. “It’s Granger.”

Draco’s chest tightened painfully.

“What happened?”

“Curse rebound.” Theo’s gaze darkened. “The backlash from the dark magic ruptured internal tissue. Heart damage. They’re stabilizing her now.”

Draco’s blood turned cold.

And then he was moving.

-oOo-

The trauma unit was a mess of frantic voices and flickering spellwork when Draco arrived.

“BP’s dropping—”

“She's seizing—get the stabilizing charm in place—”

“Cardiac rhythm’s irregular—she’s losing too much blood—”

Draco shoved through the crowd of healers. “Move.”

His gaze sharpened on the figure on the stretcher — Hermione. Her face was pale, a sickly sheen of sweat on her forehead. Blood soaked the front of her robes, and her curls were plastered to her face. Her chest was rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

“Granger.” His voice was low and sharp. He pushed through the crowd until he was at her side.

Her eyes fluttered weakly open. A whimper of pain slipped from her lips.

“Malfoy?” Her voice was barely audible.

Draco's throat tightened. “I’m here.”

Her fingers twitched at her side. Draco’s hand slid over hers instinctively.

“It… hurts…” she whispered. “Everywhere…”

Draco’s heart nearly stopped.

“Blood pressure’s crashing!” one of the healers called out.

Draco’s eyes flashed. “Stabilize her.”

“We’re trying—”

Draco’s gaze sharpened. “You’re not trying hard enough.”

One of the healers hesitated. “We’ve detected signs of internal bleeding and cardiac distress.”

Draco’s head snapped toward the healer. “Cardiac distress?”

“The curse impact—something disrupted the heart’s rhythm.”

Draco’s heart was racing. He took one look at Hermione’s fragile, trembling frame on the stretcher and knew there was no other choice.

“I’ll operate.” His voice was flat. Cold.

The lead trauma healer’s eyes widened. “Malfoy, you’re emotionally compromised—”

“I don’t care.” Draco’s gaze sharpened into something dangerous. “Get her prepped for surgery. Now.”

-oOo-

Draco stood in the scrub room, his hands pressed flat against the edge of the sink. His heart was racing beneath the surface, cold dread pooling in his chest.

“I told you to be careful,” he whispered to himself.

He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and let his mask settle into place.

Then he pushed through the door to the operating room.

“Let’s begin.”

The operating room was cold. Bright. The scent of sterilization spells hung in the air.

Hermione lay on the table beneath a thin blanket, her chest rising and falling shallowly. Her face was pale, her lips tinged blue. Her vitals were weak, the monitoring charms flickering dangerously on the glass screen overhead.

Draco stood at her side, his gloved hands steady as he looked down at her fragile frame.

“Ready to begin, Healer Malfoy?”

Draco’s gaze sharpened. He took a steady breath.

“Begin cardiac isolation.”

The surgical assistant’s wand glowed, forming a magical barrier around Hermione’s heart. Draco’s eyes narrowed as he studied the damage beneath the spell’s transparency — the delicate tissue was bruised, damaged from the curse.

“Internal hemorrhaging near the left atrium,” the assistant reported.

Draco’s hand curled around the scalpel. His heart was hammering painfully in his chest.

“You should’ve fought harder,” he whispered.

His voice was so quiet that no one else heard him. His gloved hand slid over Hermione’s clammy palm beneath the surgical barrier.

“I had so much I needed to tell you,” Draco whispered. His throat tightened. His eyes burned. A single tear slipped down his cheek — he wiped it away before anyone could see.

Focus.

His breath sharpened. His hands steadied. His gaze hardened.

“Prepare for incision.”

“Incision ready.”

Draco’s gaze didn’t waver as he leaned over Hermione’s chest. The wand in his hand glowed bright, the cutting spell steady and precise.

“I’m not losing you,” Draco murmured. “Stay with me, Granger.”

The cardiac isolation spell shimmered as Draco worked, maneuvering through the fragile tissue, stabilizing the hemorrhage with surgical precision. His mind was cold and focused — but beneath the surface, panic lurked.

A shrill alarm suddenly filled the room.

“Cardiac distress!”

Draco’s head snapped toward the monitor — Hermione’s heart rate was spiking erratically.

“She’s going into fibrillation!”

“Magical defibrillator—now!” Draco barked.

The assistant fumbled with the equipment, bringing the glowing magical paddles into place.

Draco’s hand hovered above Hermione’s chest. His heart was racing.

“Clear!”

The spell discharged in a flash of bright light. Hermione’s body arched beneath the magical wave. The heart monitor flickered.

No rhythm.

Draco’s breath sharpened. His hands tightened.

“Again.”

“Healer Malfoy—”

“I said again!”

The assistant hesitated — then discharged the spell.

Hermione’s body shuddered beneath the wave. The monitor beeped erratically — but still no steady rhythm.

“Come on,” Draco whispered. His hand slid over Hermione’s. “Come back.”

“She’s not responding—”

Draco’s heart pounded. His hand shook.

“Stay with me, Granger,” he murmured, his voice breaking.

“She’s slipping—”

Draco’s eyes darkened. His wand hand steadied. His jaw clenched.

“One more time,” he ordered.

The assistant’s eyes widened. “But—”

“She’s not gone until I say so,” Draco’s voice was sharp. Cold.

The assistant swallowed hard — then charged the defibrillator again.

Draco’s gaze sharpened as the spell discharged.

A flash of bright light.

A fragile beep. Then another.

Draco’s breath caught.

“She’s stabilizing!” the assistant called.

Draco’s heart slammed painfully in his chest. He sagged over Hermione’s fragile frame, his hand brushing against her damp curls.

His head bowed toward hers.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” Draco whispered.

His heart was still racing — but the monitor was steady.

“She’s stable for now,” the assistant reported.

Draco’s gaze sharpened. He straightened. His mask slid back into place.

“We’re not done yet,” Draco said darkly. “Prepare for internal grafting.”

“Yes, Healer Malfoy.”

Draco’s gaze lingered on Hermione’s fragile, pale face. His hand curled over hers once more.

“You’re not leaving me,” he whispered. “Not yet.”

Draco’s hands were steady, even though his heart wasn’t.

The sharp hum of the enchanted surgical tools echoed through the sterile room, blending with the faint, uneven beep of Hermione’s heart monitor. A sickly pallor clung to her skin beneath the dim operating lights. Her chest rose and fell shallowly beneath the thin hospital gown. Blood soaked the fabric beneath her, spreading in dark stains across the white sheets.

“Her heart rate is dropping,” one of the assisting healers said tensely.

“I see it,” Draco said sharply. His voice was cold, clinical — the carefully cultivated mask he wore in the operating room. But beneath the surface, panic clawed at him.

He was losing her.

“Pressure’s unstable,” another healer called out. “She's hemorrhaging internally.”

Draco’s gaze sharpened. His wand hovered over Hermione’s chest as he directed the repair spell toward the torn blood vessels beneath her ribs. Pale blue light bloomed beneath his fingertips, illuminating the deep, jagged injuries beneath her ribcage.

“Clamp,” Draco ordered.

The nurse handed it to him with shaking hands. He secured the vessel and murmured another sealing spell. The bleeding slowed — but not enough.

Draco’s gaze flicked toward the heart monitor.

Beep. Beep.

Slow. Too slow.

“She’s destabilizing,” the trauma healer murmured. “Blood pressure is dropping.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. His wand moved with practiced precision as he attempted another repair spell — but his pulse quickened when he realized how deep the tear was.

“It’s close to the pericardium,” the trauma healer said.

Draco’s breath caught. His gaze darkened. His wand hovered over the thin membrane surrounding Hermione’s heart.

“She needs a cardiac stabilizing charm,” the lead healer said tensely.

“I know.”

Draco’s voice was dangerously low. He adjusted his grip on his wand, his jaw tightening. His hand was steady as he directed the thin line of magic toward her fragile heart.

“You can’t close it without risking cardiac arrest,” the healer warned.

Draco’s gaze sharpened. His hand hovered over Hermione’s chest. Her face was pale, her lips bloodless beneath the thin mask of enchanted oxygen.

“Charge the cardiac stabilizer,” Draco ordered.

“Malfoy—”

“Do it!”

The healer hesitated — but then nodded.

Draco’s gaze didn’t waver from Hermione’s face. His hand brushed against her cold skin, his thumb ghosting over the fragile curve of her cheekbone.

“You’re not dying today,” he whispered.

Beep. Beep.

Slower.

“We’re losing her,” one of the healers said sharply.

Draco’s chest tightened painfully. He adjusted his wand, drawing a thin line of silver light over Hermione’s chest. His lips tightened as he murmured the incantation.

“Stabilizing charm at twenty percent,” the healer said.

Draco’s hands trembled slightly as the spell flickered beneath his fingertips. Hermione’s heart shuddered weakly beneath the enchantment.

“Come on,” Draco muttered.

Beep. Beep.

The sound slowed.

“Her heart rate’s still dropping!”

Draco’s hand curled into a fist. His breath stilled.

“Charge the stabilizer to fifty,” he said darkly.

“Malfoy—”

“Do it!”

The nurse’s hands shook as she adjusted the setting. Draco’s wand hovered over Hermione’s chest. His pulse thundered in his ears as the pale blue glow intensified beneath his fingertips.

“Come on,” Draco whispered.

The monitor flattened.

Beeeeeeeeep.

“She’s coding!”

“Her heart stopped!”

Draco’s chest seized. His hand froze over Hermione’s body.

No.

No.

“Defibrillator!” Draco barked.

“Malfoy—”

“Now!” Draco shouted. His voice cracked.

The device hummed beneath his hands as the nurse passed him the enchanted pads. Draco’s chest tightened painfully. His hands were trembling as he placed the defibrillator over Hermione’s fragile chest.

“Clear!”

The shock surged beneath his hands. Hermione’s body jerked violently.

The heart monitor remained flat.

Beeeeeeeeeeep.

Draco’s breath hitched.

“No,” he whispered.

“Charge it again!”

“Healer Malfoy—”

“I said charge it!”

The nurse hesitated — but then the device hummed beneath his hands again. Draco’s chest tightened painfully as his gaze sharpened on Hermione’s pale, lifeless face.

“Clear.”

Hermione’s body jerked violently beneath the pads. Draco’s hand pressed flat against her chest. His fingertips brushed the hollow of her throat.

No pulse.

His chest ached. His hands curled into fists.

“Charge it to eighty,” Draco ordered.

“Malfoy—”

“I said charge it!” His voice cracked sharply across the sterile room.

The hum of the device rose. Draco’s hand lingered over Hermione’s fragile heart. His jaw clenched. His eyes burned.

“You stubborn, insufferable know-it-all,” Draco muttered. His voice was low, rough. “I told you to be careful.”

His hand tightened over hers.

“You don’t get to leave me like this,” he said darkly. His voice cracked. “You don’t get to—”

His throat burned. His chest constricted painfully.

The hum of the device intensified.

“Clear,” Draco whispered.

The shock pulsed through Hermione’s fragile frame.

The monitor was silent.

Draco’s hand shook as his fingers brushed the hollow of her throat.

No pulse.

His chest ached painfully. His jaw tightened.

“You’re not gone,” Draco whispered. His voice trembled. “Not yet.”

His hands hovered over her fragile body. His gaze sharpened. His throat burned.

“She’s not gone until I say she’s gone,” Draco muttered darkly.

The nurse hesitated.

Draco’s jaw tightened. His hand brushed over Hermione’s cold cheek.

“I’m not letting you go,” he whispered. His chest heaved. “You hear me?”

A faint flicker of movement beneath his fingertips.

The heart monitor gave a weak beep.

Draco’s breath hitched.

Another beep.

Another.

“Her heart rate’s returning,” the trauma healer said in disbelief.

Draco’s hand pressed flat against her chest. His chest shuddered with relief.

“She’s back,” the healer murmured.

Draco’s hand lingered over Hermione’s fragile heart. His thumb brushed over the thin rise of her collarbone. His chest rose and fell in uneven shudders.

He pressed his forehead against the edge of the operating table. His hand remained over hers.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Draco whispered. His breath trembled against her skin. “Don’t ever do that again.”

His hand lingered over her fragile heartbeat.

The steady rise and fall of the monitor echoed through the silent room.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Draco’s chest shuddered as the weight in his chest eased — just barely.

But she wasn’t out of the woods yet.

Not by a long shot.