Heartline

Draco had performed countless surgeries in his career, but nothing had ever felt like this.

Fifteen hours.

Fifteen grueling, punishing hours spent fighting against death itself, his hands stained with Hermione’s blood, his body screaming for rest, his mind a battlefield between professionalism and the bone-deep, overwhelming terror of losing her.

“Don’t you dare leave me, Granger,” he growled, his voice rough from hours of barking orders, chanting spells, and muttering to the only person in the world who mattered. Sweat dripped from his brow, sliding down his face and into the collar of his scrubs, but he didn’t care. He couldn't care. Not when she was slipping away from him over and over again.

Every time her heart stuttered, every time the flatline stretched just a second too long, the world around him blurred, his focus narrowing only to her—her still body, her fragile heartbeat, the threadbare connection tethering her to life.

“Charge to eighty.”

“Malfoy, her body can’t take another—”

“I said charge it!”

The defibrillator whined as it prepared to deliver another shock. His hands trembled as he placed the enchanted paddles against her pale chest.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, voice raw. “Clear.”

A jolt. A sickening pause. Then—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

His breath hitched as her heart fought to keep going. He nearly collapsed against the table in relief, but there was no time. No time to feel. No time to process. No time for anything but saving her.

The bleeding had slowed, but it wasn’t enough. He muttered a complex incantation, his wand tracing the delicate line of her open chest, mending, repairing, reinforcing. The magic strained under the weight of the damage, barely holding. Her body had taken too much.

“I should’ve told you sooner, Hermione,” he muttered under his breath, voice shaking as he worked. “You mean more to me than you know.”

He wasn’t even sure if he’d spoken the words aloud. His mind was running on fumes, his hands moving on muscle memory alone. But he had to believe she could hear him, somewhere in that distant place between life and death.

“Vitals are stabilizing,” a nurse murmured, and he exhaled sharply.

But she wasn’t safe yet. He still had to close. He still had to finish what he started.

The hours stretched on. Time became meaningless. He had no idea how many times she had flatlined, how many times he had wrenched her back from the brink. His own heartbeat felt erratic, as if tethered to hers. If she stopped—if she slipped away—

No. No, she wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let her.

His hands were steady as he made the final sutures, sealing the wound that had nearly stolen her from him. He murmured the last of the incantations, pressing his wand against her skin, sealing the magic, ensuring everything held. Then—

Silence.

The room was unbearably quiet, except for the rhythmic beep of the monitor beside her.

She was alive. Barely. But alive.

Draco let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His entire body ached, his muscles screaming in protest after hours of standing, working, fighting. He swayed on his feet, blinking against the blinding exhaustion pressing against his skull.

But he couldn’t rest. Not yet. Not when she was still so fragile.

“Move her to the ICU,” he ordered hoarsely, stepping back as the other healers moved forward. He couldn’t do any more for her. Now, it was up to her body, her strength.

And Hermione Granger had always been the strongest person he knew.

-oOo-

The first time he checked on her, she was still deathly pale, her chest barely rising and falling beneath the thin hospital sheets. The IV dripped a steady stream of healing potions into her veins, and the magical monitors blinked softly around her, keeping track of her vitals.

She looked so small. So breakable.

Draco’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He hated this. He hated seeing her like this, hated knowing that he had almost lost her. Hated the deep, gnawing guilt that whispered You should have stopped her. You should have gone with her. You should have protected her.

“I’m right here,” he whispered, leaning over her, his fingers ghosting over the back of her hand. “You’re not alone, Hermione.”

His voice was hoarse, wrecked from the hours he had spent fighting to save her life. He wasn’t even sure if she could hear him. But he had to believe she could.
He stayed until the head trauma healer forced him to leave.

The second time he checked on her, he was fresh out of another surgery, his hands still stained with the remnants of another patient’s blood. He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. But he found himself standing in her doorway, unable to stay away.

“She’s stable,” the night healer informed him. “No changes.”

Draco nodded. He already knew. He had memorized every line of her chart, every medication, every fluctuation in her vitals. He knew how fragile her condition was, how precarious her hold on life remained.

He just wished he could do more.

The third time he checked on her, it was nearly morning. His body was screaming for rest, his magic depleted, his mind a blur of exhaustion and worry. But he still found himself by her bedside, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest.

“You’re going to wake up,” he murmured, brushing a stray curl from her face. “You have to.”

She didn’t stir. Didn’t move. But her heartbeat remained steady beneath his fingertips.

Draco let out a slow breath. He would wait. However long it took. He would be there when she woke up.
Because no matter what happened, he wasn’t leaving her side.

Not now. Not ever.

-oOo-

Draco sat slumped in the chair beside Hermione’s bed, his head resting heavily against the mattress. His fingers curled tightly around her hand, as if letting go would somehow undo everything he had fought so hard to prevent. The exhaustion was bone-deep — a weight pressing down on his chest, his limbs trembling from the lingering tension of the hours-long battle to save her life.

Fifteen hours. Fifteen hours of relentless focus, of sharp orders barked to his surgical team, of pushing past his own terror while her life slipped through his fingers again and again. And then, even after the surgery was done, he had spent another nine hours hovering over her in post-op, adjusting the monitors, recalibrating her potions, making sure her vitals didn’t plummet again.

He hadn’t trusted anyone else to do it. He couldn’t.

And now — now the worst of it was over. She was stable. But that didn’t mean he could relax.

The room was dim, the lights lowered to allow her rest. The faint hum of the monitors filled the silence, a steady beat that Draco had memorized, etched into his mind after the horrifying sound of it flatlining in the operating room. He didn’t think that sound would ever stop haunting him.

Hermione’s face was pale, framed by wild curls that were still matted with sweat and blood. Her breathing was shallow but steady, her chest rising and falling beneath the thin white sheet. A thin line of bruising marked her throat where she’d been hit during the mission, and a dark smudge of shadow clung beneath her eyes.

Draco brushed his thumb over her knuckles, his other hand coming up to smooth a strand of hair away from her face.

“You scared the hell out of me, Granger,” he murmured, his voice rough.

She didn’t stir.

A sharp knock at the door made his head jerk up. He glanced toward the entrance as Blaise stepped inside, dressed in his dark blue Healer robes. His friend’s gaze swept over the scene — Draco’s crumpled shirt, the mess of potions and monitors surrounding the bed, and the sheer devastation still etched into Draco’s face.

“You’re supposed to be off-shift,” Blaise said. His tone was quiet but edged with concern.

Draco didn’t respond. His eyes drifted back to Hermione’s face. His thumb brushed over her hand again.

Blaise sighed. He moved toward the other side of the bed and began checking Hermione’s charts. “Her vitals are improving,” he said, glancing toward Draco. “You did good.”

Draco’s jaw tightened. “Not good enough.”

“Draco—”

“She flatlined,” Draco cut in, his voice sharp. His throat constricted. “Three times. I lost her three times on that table.”

“But you brought her back,” Blaise pointed out.

Draco shook his head. His eyes were burning. “Barely.”

Silence stretched between them.

Blaise’s gaze softened. “She’s alive because of you.”

Draco’s grip on Hermione’s hand tightened. His eyes drifted shut for a moment, exhaustion crashing over him. He felt like he was drowning in it — the lingering adrenaline, the fear that still gnawed at his chest.

“You need sleep,” Blaise said. “You’ve been up for more than twenty-four hours. Your shift ended hours ago.”

“I can’t leave her.”

“She’s stable.”

“I can’t,” Draco snapped, his eyes flashing open. He stared at Hermione’s face, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. “I can’t leave her.”

Blaise hesitated, then sighed. “All right,” he said. “But you need to at least eat something. You’re no good to her if you collapse.”

Draco didn’t respond. He just leaned closer, resting his forehead lightly against Hermione’s hand. His breath shuddered out.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Then the door opened, and Theo and Pansy entered. Theo leaned lazily against the doorframe, arms crossed, while Pansy’s eyes narrowed immediately at the sight of Draco.

“Still here?” Theo asked, raising a brow.

Pansy’s gaze sharpened. “You look like shit.”

“Charming,” Draco muttered.

“She’s stable,” Blaise said. “He’s refusing to leave.”

Theo let out a low whistle. “Never thought I’d see the day. Draco Malfoy, losing his mind over a girl.”

Draco’s glare was sharp enough to cut through steel.

Theo shrugged. “Just saying.”

Pansy’s gaze softened as she took a step toward the bed. Her eyes swept over Hermione’s pale face, then drifted toward Draco.

“Are you going to tell her?” she asked quietly.

Draco’s shoulders tensed. His gaze remained fixed on Hermione’s face. “Tell her what?”

Pansy smiled faintly. “That you love her.”

Draco’s chest tightened painfully. His hand curled tighter around Hermione’s fingers. “It doesn’t matter.”

“You think she doesn’t already know?”

Draco’s throat constricted. His eyes burned. “She almost died.” His voice was raw. “And I couldn’t stop it.”

“But you saved her,” Blaise reminded him.

Draco’s lips parted, but before he could respond, the door creaked open again.

Harry and Ron stood in the doorway, their faces tight and strained.

Draco’s chest heaved. His grip on Hermione’s hand tightened. “She never should have been out there.” His voice dropped, his eyes blazing. “I told her not to go.”

“And when has she ever listened?” Theo said, his tone dry.

Draco’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “She’s too stubborn for her own good.”

“You’d know,” Pansy murmured.

Draco’s eyes drifted back to Hermione’s face. His hand lifted to brush a curl from her forehead. His throat tightened painfully.

“She’s too important to lose,” he whispered.

The room fell into silence. Harry and Ron exchanged glances. Blaise and Theo stood quietly nearby. Ginny’s eyes softened.

After a long moment, Blaise sighed. “I’ll handle your rounds,” he said. “Get some sleep, Draco.”

Draco didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed on Hermione’s face. His hand never left hers.

Eventually, the others filtered out of the room. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving only Draco and Hermione.

Draco leaned forward, resting his forehead against her hand. His breath trembled.

“You scared the hell out of me, Granger,” he murmured. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Her fingers twitched beneath his hand.

Draco’s head shot up. His heart slammed against his chest.

“Hermione?”

Her eyes fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocused, hazy — but then her eyes met his.

“Draco?” Her voice was weak.

Draco’s breath hitched. “I’m here,” he said, his voice breaking.

Her brows knitted together. “What… happened?”

“You got hurt,” Draco said, his voice raw. “But you’re going to be okay.”

Her lips parted. “I’m sorry.”

Draco shook his head. His thumb brushed her knuckles. “Don’t you dare apologize. Just… stay with me.”

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears. Her hand tightened around his.

Draco leaned closer. His forehead pressed against her hand.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he whispered, his voice thick. His hand curled around hers. “You mean more to me than you know.”

Hermione’s gaze softened, even as her eyes began to drift shut.

“Sleep,” Draco murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyelids fluttered closed.

Draco leaned back, his hand still wrapped around hers. His heart was still pounding painfully in his chest — but for the first time in hours, it didn’t feel like it was breaking.