Heartline

Draco stood at the foot of Hermione’s hospital bed, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His Healer robes were wrinkled from hours of wear, and the faint shadows under his eyes hinted at how little he’d slept over the past several days. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the quiet room, punctuating the silence between them.

Hermione was awake, sitting propped up against the pillows. Her cheeks were still a little pale, but the color was starting to return to her face. The bruising around her throat was fading with the help of healing spells, and the swelling in her shoulder had gone down. A thin line of bandages peeked out from beneath the neckline of her hospital gown where Draco had repaired the deep lacerations during surgery.

But despite all of that — despite the trauma, the pain, and the days of unconsciousness — Hermione was smiling softly at him.

“You can sit down, you know,” Hermione said, her voice light despite the lingering hoarseness.

Draco’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled into his sleeves. “I’m fine.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look fine.”

Draco’s eyes flicked toward the window. Outside, the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass, casting soft golden light across the sterile white walls. He exhaled slowly. “I’m not the one who nearly died.”

“No,” Hermione agreed. “But you still look like you’ve been through hell.”

Draco’s gaze snapped toward her. His expression hardened. “Because I have.”

Hermione’s smile faltered. Her eyes softened as she studied him. “Draco—”

“I had to bring you back,” he said suddenly. His voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet room like a knife. His hands flexed at his sides. “Do you have any idea how close you were to dying?”

Hermione’s eyes lowered. She picked at the edge of her blanket.

“I had to restart your heart three times,” Draco continued, his voice rough. His throat tightened painfully. “I watched you bleed out on that table. I couldn’t stop it. Every time I thought I had stabilized you, you just—” He broke off, his mouth twisting. His hand dragged through his hair. “I thought you were gone.”

Hermione swallowed hard. “But I’m not.”

“You could’ve been.” His eyes were bright with quiet intensity.

Hermione’s fingers curled over the edge of the blanket. “You saved me.”

Draco’s gaze sharpened. His chest ached. He took a small step toward the bed. “You scared the hell out of me, Granger.”

Hermione’s lips twitched faintly. “I know.”

Draco’s jaw flexed. His gaze slid toward the floor.

“You didn’t have to stay with me,” Hermione said quietly.

Draco’s head lifted. His eyes narrowed. “Of course I did.”

“No one expected you to.”

Draco’s lips curled in frustration. “And you think that matters?”

Hermione’s smile softened.

Draco inhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “I told myself I wouldn’t get involved,” he said quietly. “That I’d keep my distance.” His gaze darkened. “But then you got hurt.”

Hermione’s expression shifted. Her brows drew together, confusion flickering through her eyes. “Why?”

Draco’s mouth tightened. His hands slid into the pockets of his Healer robes. He stared at the floor for a long moment, his breath shallow and uneven.

“Because I care about you,” he said finally, his voice rough. He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I’ve spent so long fighting this. You were right there, and I kept denying it. But I care about you, Hermione.” His throat bobbed. “I always have.”

Hermione’s breath caught. Her eyes widened.

Draco’s gaze didn’t waver. His jaw was set, his posture tense and guarded, like he was bracing for rejection.

“I care about you,” he repeated, softer this time. “And I’m tired of pretending that I don’t.”

Hermione’s mouth parted. She stared at him for a long, stretched-out moment. Her fingers curled into the blanket, her heart pounding against her ribcage.

“Draco—”

“I know it’s complicated,” he cut in. His lips pressed into a thin line. “And maybe this is a terrible idea. But I don’t care anymore.” His hand dragged through his hair. His voice lowered. “I can’t watch you walk away again.”

Hermione’s eyes softened. Her gaze swept over his face — the tightness in his jaw, the vulnerability hiding beneath his sharp expression, the quiet fear lingering behind his usually guarded gaze.

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” she said softly.

Draco’s breath hitched. His eyes sharpened. “What?”

Hermione’s lips curved into a smile — soft and warm despite the faint bruising along her cheekbone. She lifted a hand, and Draco’s gaze followed the movement as she gently laced her fingers through his.

“I’ve always felt it too,” Hermione admitted. “But I didn’t want to risk our friendship.”

Draco’s eyes darkened. “Friendship?” His voice was low, dangerous.

Hermione’s smile widened. “Is that not what we’ve been doing?”

Draco’s gaze flicked toward her hand still curled around his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles. His chest tightened.

“I’m not very good at friendship,” he said quietly.

Hermione’s gaze softened. “Me neither.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sunlight filtered through the window, casting soft golden light across the room. Hermione’s hand tightened around his. Draco’s pulse hammered painfully in his chest.

Hermione’s gaze lifted to his face. Her eyes were bright, warm despite the lingering exhaustion etched into her features.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said softly.

Draco’s throat tightened painfully. His other hand lifted to brush a strand of hair from her face.

“I know.” His voice was hoarse.

Hermione’s gaze flicked toward his mouth. Draco’s chest constricted.

“You’re staring,” he murmured.

Hermione’s lips curved. “Maybe.”

Draco’s gaze sharpened. His thumb brushed over her cheek.

“I should warn you,” he said, his voice low, “if you’re waiting for me to be the responsible one, you’re going to be disappointed.”

Hermione smiled. “I’m willing to risk it.”

Draco’s breath shuddered out. His gaze lingered on her face — the softness of her eyes, the warmth of her smile. His hand slid along her jaw.

“Hermione…”

She leaned toward him. “You don’t have to say anything else.”

His eyes darkened. “I want to.”

And then, carefully, his hand slid to the back of her neck. He leaned down. Hermione’s breath hitched — but she didn’t pull away.

His lips brushed over hers — tentative, hesitant. But when Hermione’s hand slid along the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric, Draco’s control snapped. His mouth pressed more firmly against hers.

Hermione’s breath hitched. Her hand curled against his chest. Draco’s other hand slid beneath her jaw, holding her steady as he deepened the kiss. Her mouth softened beneath his, and Draco’s pulse hammered dangerously hard in his chest.

When they finally pulled apart, Hermione’s eyes were bright. Draco’s gaze swept over her flushed cheeks, the slight curl of her smile.

“About bloody time,” Hermione teased.

Draco’s mouth twitched. “Yeah?”

Hermione’s smile widened. “Yeah.”

Draco’s chest ached — but for the first time in months, it didn’t feel painful. His forehead pressed lightly against hers. His hand lingered at the side of her neck, his thumb brushing over her pulse.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hermione whispered.

Draco’s eyes slid shut. His mouth curved faintly.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because neither am I.”

-oOo-

Hermione stood in front of her office mirror, tugging at the hem of her Healer’s robes. They felt familiar and foreign all at once — like slipping back into an old identity she wasn’t sure still fit. The soft linen brushed against her skin, and despite the warmth of the room, she shivered.

"Are you sure you’re ready for this?"

Hermione’s gaze flicked to the reflection in the mirror. Draco stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his silver eyes dark with quiet concern. He was still in his own Healer robes, the white of the fabric pristine against the dark gray of his undershirt.

"I’m fine," Hermione said, turning toward him.

Draco’s gaze sharpened. "That’s not an answer."

Hermione’s brows lifted. "It’s the only one you’re getting."

Draco’s mouth thinned. He stepped into the room, his boots silent against the polished floor. "You were injured in the field two months ago."

"I’m aware."

"You almost bled out."

"I remember."

"You were clinically dead three times, in my table."

Hermione’s gaze cooled. "Are you going to remind me of the time or are you going to let me get back to work?"

Draco’s jaw tightened. He stopped in front of her, his hand curling around her wrist. "I’m serious."

"So am I."

Their gazes locked. Hermione could feel the tension humming between them — the quiet edge of fear beneath Draco’s sharp, unyielding exterior. He wasn’t just worried. He was terrified.

"Draco," she said softly, "I’m not going to break."

"You can’t promise that."

Hermione’s lips pressed together. "I also can’t sit at home doing nothing for the rest of my life."

Draco’s grip on her wrist tightened fractionally before he released her. His gaze slid toward the floor. "I know."

Hermione hesitated. Then she reached for his hand, her fingers threading through his. "You saved me."

Draco’s jaw flexed. "Barely."

"But you did." Hermione’s eyes softened. "And I’m not going to let that go to waste."

Draco’s eyes lifted, the silver in them bright and cutting. His mouth opened as if he wanted to argue — but before he could, there was a sharp knock at the door.

"Am I interrupting?"

Theo Nott’s familiar drawl cut through the room like a knife. He was leaning lazily against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. Behind him, Blaise Zabini looked equally amused, his dark eyes glinting.

"Yes," Draco said flatly.

Theo’s smile widened. "Ah, well. Wouldn’t be the first time."

Hermione sighed. "What do you want?"

Theo’s gaze flicked toward Draco. "We’re meeting at the pub tonight. Blaise thought you might actually join us this time."

Draco’s mouth twitched. "Unlikely."

"Afraid to let Hermione out of your sight?" Theo’s brows lifted. "You know she’s perfectly capable of handling herself."

"She’s not going," Draco said darkly.

"Excuse me?" Hermione’s gaze sharpened.

Draco’s jaw tightened. "You’re not going."

Theo’s smile widened. "Oh, this is going to be good."

"Draco," Hermione’s voice was dangerously low. "Are you seriously trying to control what I do?"

"I’m trying to keep you from overexerting yourself."

Hermione’s arms crossed over her chest. "I’m not a child."

"You don’t have to be a child to make reckless decisions."

"Right, because going to a pub with my friends is such a reckless decision."

"It’s not the pub I’m worried about. It’s the fact that you just started working again after nearly dying on an operating table." Draco’s eyes flashed. "Excuse me for not wanting to drag you out of another trauma ward."

Hermione’s cheeks flushed. "That’s not going to happen."

"It already happened," Draco snapped.

A charged silence filled the room. Theo and Blaise exchanged glances, both of them clearly amused — and possibly terrified — by the brewing storm.

Theo cleared his throat. "I mean… if it helps, I’m happy to supervise."

Draco shot him a withering look. "You’re not helping."

Theo grinned. "I wasn’t trying to."

Hermione’s gaze darkened. "You know what, Theo? I’ll go."

Draco’s head whipped toward her. "Hermione—"

"You’re not my keeper, Malfoy."

"No," Draco said tightly. "I’m the person who saved your life."

Hermione’s eyes softened. "And I love you for that."

Draco’s breath hitched.

Hermione’s voice gentled. "But you can’t protect me from everything."

Draco’s jaw flexed.

Hermione stepped closer, her hand brushing over his chest. "Trust me."

Draco’s eyes darkened. His mouth opened — then closed. Finally, his hand settled over hers.

"I’m coming with you," he said.

Hermione smiled faintly. "Fine."

Theo’s brows lifted. "Progress."

"Shut up, Nott," Draco growled.

Theo’s grin widened. "See you at seven."

Theo and Blaise disappeared down the hall. Hermione’s gaze lingered on Draco’s.

"You really think I’m going to keel over in the middle of a pub?"

Draco’s mouth twitched. "At this point? I wouldn’t be surprised."

Hermione’s smile widened. She slid her arms around his neck, drawing him down until their foreheads brushed.

"I’m not going anywhere, Draco."

Draco’s arms slid around her waist. His hands settled against the small of her back. His lips ghosted over hers.

"You’d better not," he murmured.

Hermione’s smile deepened. "We’ll see."

-oOo-

The pub was loud and crowded, the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses echoing through the low-lit room. Theo and Blaise had already claimed a table near the back.

"You actually came," Theo said, looking genuinely surprised as Draco and Hermione slid into the booth.

"Don’t sound so shocked," Draco said dryly.

Theo smirked. "Granger, how’d you convince him?"

"I promised not to die in the middle of dinner," Hermione said.

Theo’s brows lifted. "Reasonable."

Blaise’s gaze sharpened as he studied them. "So… this is a thing now?"

Draco’s arm settled casually along the back of Hermione’s seat. "Apparently."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Well," Theo said, raising his glass, "about bloody time."

Blaise lifted his own glass. "To Draco and Hermione."

Draco’s gaze softened as Hermione’s hand slid over his beneath the table. He lifted his glass.

"To surviving."

Hermione’s smile widened.

"And thriving," Theo added with a grin.

They clinked their glasses together. Hermione’s gaze flicked toward Draco’s.

He was watching her, his silver eyes warm beneath the low light.

Hermione’s heart twisted painfully.

And for the first time in months — maybe years — she felt like she could breathe.

-oOo-

Hermione Granger was officially on light duty. This, of course, didn’t mean that she was actually following the rules.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Draco said flatly, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe of the surgical prep room. His sharp grey eyes narrowed at the sight of Hermione in her healer’s robes, tying her hair back as if she hadn’t been critically injured just a few weeks ago.

“I’m fine,” Hermione replied with practiced ease, slipping on a pair of gloves. “Cleared for light duty. And besides, this is just a consult.”

Draco scoffed. “Light duty doesn’t mean performing surgery.”

“I’m not performing surgery,” Hermione said, her tone exaggeratedly patient. “I’m observing.”

Draco’s gaze swept over her, taking in the slight paleness in her cheeks and the faint tremor in her hands. His mouth tightened.

“You’re not ready,” he said, stepping further into the room. “You should still be resting.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’ve been resting for weeks.”

“You almost died, Hermione.”

“And you saved me,” she shot back, her tone sharp. “Now stop hovering.”

Draco didn’t move. His expression darkened, the memory of Hermione pale and broken beneath his hands still too raw. He crossed the space between them and took her wrist, his fingers curling lightly around her pulse. It was steady—but barely.

“You’re still weak,” he said, his voice lower now. “Just because you’re cleared for duty doesn’t mean you should push yourself.”

Hermione pulled her hand away. “If I don’t get back to work now, I’m going to lose my mind. You of all people should understand that.”

“I understand,” Draco replied. His hand lingered in the air between them before he let it drop to his side. “But I’m still allowed to worry about you.”

Hermione’s expression softened for a moment before the door swung open, and Blaise Zabini strolled in with a wide grin.

“Oh good, you’re both here,” Blaise drawled. “Don’t mind me, just here to collect on the bet.”

“What bet?” Hermione frowned.

“The one where Theo said you two would finally get together after a near-death experience.” Blaise leaned casually against the wall, smirking. “I put my money on Draco breaking down and confessing his feelings under pressure, but Theo swore Hermione would be the one to crack first. Pansy, of course, said it’d take an intervention.”

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed. “You were all betting on us?”

“Of course,” Blaise replied. “It was painfully obvious.”

Hermione looked at Draco in disbelief. “Did you know about this?”

“I tried not to encourage it,” Draco said dryly.

“That’s not a denial,” Blaise pointed out, grinning wider. “But congratulations, really. We were starting to think it would never happen.”

“Out,” Draco said flatly.

Blaise didn’t budge.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is why I avoid the break room.”

“You should stop doing that,” Blaise said cheerfully. “We miss you.”

“I’m a surgeon,” Hermione replied. “Not part of the social club.”

“She’s always been like this,” Draco said, smirking faintly.

“Yes, but now you can actually call her out on it as her boyfriend,” Blaise said smugly.

Hermione’s cheeks flushed. “I need to get to my consult.”

Draco caught her wrist again. “Take it easy.”

Hermione gave him a quick smile. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

“I learned from the best,” Draco replied.

Blaise groaned. “You two are disgusting.”

Draco raised a brow. “Didn’t you just say you were rooting for us?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want to witness it firsthand,” Blaise said, feigning a shudder. He opened the door. “Anyway, good luck with your consult, Hermione. Try not to pass out on the patient.”

“I won’t,” Hermione said through gritted teeth as Blaise sauntered away.

Draco sighed. “You could throttle him, you know.”

“Tempting,” Hermione admitted. “But then I’d have to fill out the paperwork.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment before Hermione glanced at the door.

“I really should go,” she said.

“I know,” Draco replied, but he didn’t let go of her wrist.

Hermione hesitated. “Dinner tonight?”

Draco’s mouth twitched into a smile. “It’s a date.”

Hermione slid her hand free and slipped out of the room, leaving Draco standing alone. He watched her go, his chest tightening in that too-familiar way whenever she left his sight.

That night, Draco sat across from Hermione at a small table in Diagon Alley’s newest bistro. Hermione was poring over the menu, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“You’re analyzing it like it’s a patient file,” Draco said, amused.

“I like to know my options,” Hermione replied.

“You always order the same thing.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Salmon with lemon sauce,” Draco said without hesitation.

Hermione shot him a sharp look. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise,” Draco replied, his tone teasing.

Hermione smiled, lowering the menu. “Maybe a little.”

Draco’s gaze softened. “I’m always paying attention.”

The waiter came and took their orders, and Hermione leaned back in her chair, her eyes bright.

“Do you realize how long it’s been since we had a normal conversation?” Hermione said.

“We’ve had plenty of normal conversations,” Draco replied.

“Arguing over medical reports doesn’t count.”

“Then I suppose this is progress,” Draco said, resting his chin on his hand. “And you know, Blaise and Theo are going to be unbearable about this.”

“I can handle it,” Hermione said with mock seriousness.

“And Pansy?”

Hermione hesitated. “That… might be harder.”

They both laughed.

When the food arrived, Draco watched Hermione with quiet satisfaction as she ate. Her color had improved since the incident, but he could still see the strain lingering beneath her smile. She was recovering, but it was slow—and Hermione was never patient when it came to herself.

“You’re still worried,” Hermione said quietly, catching his gaze.

Draco exhaled. “Of course I’m worried.”

“I’m fine, Draco.”

“Almost dying isn’t ‘fine.’”

Hermione reached across the table and took his hand. “You saved me.”

Draco’s hand curled around hers. “I’d do it again.”

Hermione smiled. “I know.”

They finished dinner without further interruptions, and Draco walked her back to her flat.

At the door, Hermione hesitated. “Do you want to come in?”

Draco’s brow lifted. “Are you inviting me in for coffee?”

“I’m inviting you in so you’ll stop looking at me like you think I’m going to collapse.”

Draco’s mouth quirked. “It’s not a bad strategy.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and opened the door. Draco followed her inside, closing it behind them.

Hermione turned to face him. “Draco?”

He raised a brow.

She smiled softly. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not giving up on me.”

Draco’s throat tightened. “Never.”

And when Hermione leaned in and kissed him, he knew without a doubt that there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

-oOo-

“Are you sure about this?”

Hermione looked up from the pile of files on her desk, arching a brow as Draco leaned casually against the doorframe of her office. His Healer’s robes were rumpled — which was unusual for him — and his hair was slightly disheveled, as if he’d run his hands through it one too many times.

"Sure about what?" Hermione asked, setting down her quill.

Draco’s lips twitched. "Taking the promotion."

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. "You’ve been hounding me to accept it for weeks."

"And you’ve been stubbornly resisting it for weeks."

"Because I needed to think about it."

"And now?"

Hermione smiled faintly. "I’m thinking… it’s time."

Draco’s gaze sharpened. He stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. "You’ll be Senior Healer of General Surgeon."

"Yes."

"You’ll have more hours."

"I can handle it."

"You’ll have more stress."

Hermione’s brow lifted. "Is this your way of talking me out of it?"

Draco’s mouth curled at the edge. "No. Just making sure you know what you’re getting into."

Hermione’s eyes softened. "I think I’ve got it covered."

Draco’s gaze slid over her face. He moved closer, resting his hands on the edge of her desk as he leaned down. "Does this mean I’ll have to start calling you ‘Boss’?"

Hermione’s smile widened. "Absolutely not."

"Pity." Draco’s eyes gleamed. "I think I could get used to it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You already think you run this place."

"Not entirely inaccurate."

Hermione shook her head, but her gaze softened as Draco’s hand slid over hers.

"You’re really doing this?" Draco’s voice was quieter now.

Hermione squeezed his hand. "I am."

Draco’s eyes darkened, something unreadable passing through them. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something — but before he could, there was a sharp knock at the door.

"Interrupting?"

Theo leaned against the doorframe, his usual smirk in place. Behind him, Blaise stood with his hands in his pockets, looking faintly amused.

"Yes," Draco said flatly.

"Too bad," Theo replied cheerfully, stepping inside. "We come bearing news."

Hermione’s brows lifted. "Good news or bad news?"

Theo’s grin widened. "Depends on your perspective."

"Let me guess," Draco drawled. "You got yourself into trouble, and now you’re here for damage control."

Theo’s gaze glittered. "You wound me, Draco."

"I wish."

Theo ignored him. He turned toward Hermione. "So… the promotion."

"Did you actually come here to congratulate me?" Hermione asked, suspicious.

Theo’s smile widened. "Sort of."

Blaise sighed. "Theo’s just excited because it means more leverage for him when he starts trouble at the hospital."

"Not true!" Theo objected. "Mostly."

Draco’s gaze darkened. "If you use Hermione’s new position to get out of another disciplinary meeting—"

Theo held up his hands. "Would I do that?"

"Yes," Draco and Blaise said in unison.

Theo grinned. "Fair point."

Hermione sighed. "So why are you really here?"

Theo’s expression brightened. "Because we’re celebrating."

Hermione’s brow lifted. "Celebrating what?"

"Your promotion, obviously." Theo’s smile sharpened. "And the fact that you and Draco are officially together."

"We’ve been together for two months," Draco said dryly.

Theo’s brows lifted. "And yet it still feels like an accomplishment."

"Probably because you all suffered through the unbearable tension for years," Blaise added.

"Exactly." Theo’s eyes gleamed. "You owe us for the emotional damage."

Draco’s mouth curled. "We don’t owe you anything."

Theo’s grin widened. "Fine. But you’ll still come to dinner, right?"

Hermione hesitated. "I really should finish these files—"

"Nope." Theo reached out, snatching the file off her desk.

"Hey!" Hermione protested.

Theo tossed the file toward Blaise, who caught it easily.

"No working tonight," Theo said smugly. "Healer’s orders."

Draco’s eyes narrowed. "I’m the doctor."

"Yes, but Hermione’s the boss now," Theo said with a wink.

Hermione groaned. "This is going to be a problem."

Theo smiled brightly. "You have no idea."

-oOo-

Later that night, they were seated around a corner table at one of Diagon Alley’s quieter pubs. The lights were dim, the air buzzing with the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses. Hermione sat beside Draco, their hands resting together beneath the table.

"You realize this is going to be a disaster, right?" Draco murmured near her ear.

Hermione smiled faintly. "When is it not?"

Draco’s mouth curled. His thumb brushed against the back of her hand.

Theo leaned forward, raising his glass. "To Hermione Granger — excuse me — Senior Healer of General Surgeon of St. Mungo."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Please don’t start."

"Too late." Theo’s smile widened. "To Hermione!"

Blaise’s glass lifted. "To Hermione."

Draco’s gaze softened as he lifted his own glass. "To Hermione."

Hermione’s heart twisted.

"And to Draco," Theo added, his smile turning mischievous. "For not screwing this up."

Draco’s brows lifted. "I’m right here, you know."

"Exactly," Theo said. "And we’re all very proud of you for finally pulling it together."

"Keep talking, Nott," Draco said darkly, "and you’ll be in my operating room next."

Theo’s smile widened. "I’ll take my chances."

Hermione sighed. "I can’t believe I agreed to this."

"Yes, you can," Blaise said.

Hermione’s gaze flicked toward Draco. He was watching her, his silver eyes warm beneath the low light.

For the first time in years, Hermione felt like she could see the future — and it didn’t scare her.

"So," Draco said, his voice low near her ear. "Now that you’ve agreed to take the promotion… what’s next?"
Hermione’s gaze softened. "I don’t know."

Draco’s mouth curled. "Yes, you do."

Hermione’s eyes gleamed. "Maybe."

Draco leaned in, his breath warm against her skin. "Care to share?"

Hermione’s smile widened. "Eventually."

Draco’s hand slid over hers beneath the table. His thumb brushed her knuckles.

"You know," Draco said, his voice a quiet drawl, "if you’re going to be the Senior Healer of General Surgeon… you might need a new office."

Hermione’s brow lifted. "Oh?"

Draco’s mouth curled. "Something closer to mine."
Hermione laughed. "And why would I want that?"

Draco’s gaze darkened. His lips brushed against her ear.

"Because I don’t plan on letting you out of my sight."

Hermione’s smile deepened. "We’ll see."

Draco’s mouth brushed against her temple. "We will."

-oOo-

It had been exactly nine months since Draco and Hermione had gotten together—officially, that is. According to Blaise, Theo, and Pansy, they had been ‘basically married’ long before that, but Hermione had long stopped trying to argue the point.

“Did you put your name down for the rotation schedule next month?” Hermione asked, her quill scratching over a pile of parchment as she sat across from Draco at the small breakfast table in their flat.

Draco, sprawled lazily in the chair opposite her, sipped his coffee. “No. I swapped with Abbott.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

Draco’s gaze flicked to her over the rim of his mug. “Because I’m taking you to Italy for a week.”

Hermione froze mid-sentence. “…You’re what?”

Draco smirked. “You work too hard. And I have… some time owed.”

“You’re taking me to Italy?” Hermione repeated, setting down her quill. “When were you planning to tell me this?”

“Right now.” Draco’s smirk widened. “Consider it a reward for surviving this long.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “We can’t both be gone at the same time—what if there’s an emergency?”

“Then the hospital will manage,” Draco said, setting his coffee cup down. “You’re not that irreplaceable, Hermione.”

Hermione gasped in mock outrage. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” Draco said, amused. “Even you deserve a break.”

“I don’t need a break,” Hermione huffed.

Draco’s gaze softened. “Yes, you do.”

Hermione’s shoulders relaxed, and for a moment, she let herself imagine it: the two of them in some quiet villa by the sea, away from the noise of St. Mungo’s and the Ministry. No emergency calls. No overnight shifts. Just them.

“You already booked it, didn’t you?” she accused.

Draco’s smirk grew. “You’ll love it.”

Hermione shook her head, but there was a smile pulling at her lips.

-oOo-

Later that afternoon, Hermione was in the surgical wing, reviewing case notes when Pansy and Theo appeared in the doorway.

“Guess who just got engaged?” Pansy announced, holding up her left hand, where a diamond ring glittered obnoxiously under the hospital lights.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Theo proposed?”

Theo grinned. “It was time.”

Pansy gave him a sideways look. “After three years of waiting, yes, it was.”

Hermione smiled. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks.” Pansy examined her ring with exaggerated satisfaction. “Now that we’re settled, the question is—when are you and Draco going to make it official?”

Hermione blinked. “What?”

Theo raised his brows. “Come on, you’ve been disgustingly domestic for months.”

“We’re not—"

“Yet,” Pansy interrupted.

“We’ve only been together nine months,” Hermione argued.

“Sure,” Pansy drawled, “but you practically lived together before you started dating. And you’ve already survived one near-death experience together. Statistically speaking, you’re overdue for a proposal.”

Hermione flushed. “We’re… not there yet.”

Pansy gave her a knowing smile. “Of course.”

Theo grinned. “I give it another six months.”

“You all need a new hobby,” Hermione muttered.

“Admitting you’re in love with Draco Malfoy is more than enough entertainment,” Theo replied.

“I hate all of you,” Hermione said, fighting a smile.

“Love you too!” Pansy called as they disappeared down the corridor.

-oOo-

That evening, Draco found Hermione sitting on the sofa, a stack of patient files balanced precariously on her lap.

“You know it’s not considered relaxation if you’re working,” Draco pointed out, dropping down next to her.

Hermione sighed. “I’m behind on my paperwork.”

Draco plucked the files out of her hands and tossed them onto the coffee table.

“Hey!”

“You’re on break,” Draco said, pulling her against his side.

Hermione scowled at him. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet, here you are,” Draco murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Hermione melted into him despite herself.

After a long moment, she said, “Pansy and Theo are engaged.”

Draco’s lips twitched. “It’s about time.”

“They think we’re next,” Hermione said.

“Do they?”

Hermione tilted her head up to look at him. Draco’s expression was carefully neutral, but there was an amused glint in his eyes.

“They might have a point,” Hermione said carefully.

Draco’s arm tightened around her waist.

“You’re not proposing, are you?” Hermione teased.

“Not today,” Draco replied easily.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Draco smiled faintly. “But someday?”

Hermione studied him for a long moment, feeling the steady warmth of his arm around her and the quiet certainty in his gaze. Her heart skipped.

“Someday,” she agreed softly.

Draco leaned down and kissed her, long and slow. When he pulled back, Hermione was smiling.

“I’m holding you to that,” she said.

Draco’s mouth curved. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

-oOo-

Three months later

Hermione was late for her shift, which was unusual in itself—but even more unusual was the fact that Draco was waiting for her at the entrance of St. Mungo’s, holding a single white rose.

She approached cautiously. “What are you doing?”

Draco handed her the rose. “We have dinner reservations.”

Hermione frowned. “I have a shift.”

“No, you don’t,” Draco said. “I covered it.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

Draco’s lips curved. “Because it’s our anniversary.”

Hermione blinked. “…It is?”

“Yes,” Draco said patiently. “And you’re going to dinner with me.”

Hermione stared at the rose in her hand. “You planned this?”

“Of course,” Draco replied.

Hermione shook her head, smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

Hermione sighed. “Unfortunately.”

Draco took her hand. “Come on. It’s already been six months. I think you owe me a proper date.”

Hermione’s gaze softened. “You really think this is going to work?”

“I know it will,” Draco replied.

And as Hermione walked out of St. Mungo’s with Draco’s hand in hers, she found that—for once—she didn’t have to argue.