Chapter 1
Draco Malfoy had spent years rebuilding his life, shedding the remnants of his past, and carving out a new identity as the most skilled healer in the wizarding world. His expertise in both traditional magic and obscure has earned him praise beyond what he would have expected coming out of the war. But it had also attracted the attention of those who saw his talents as a threat.
Threatening letters were nothing new. They arrived in his office occasionally, but Draco had long since stopped giving them much thought. A few crude words, the occasional darkly enchanted parchment—none had ever escalated beyond intimidation or empty threats. He had patients to tend to and lives to save. Worrying over nameless cowards was a waste of time.
It wasn’t until the evening after a particularly grueling meeting with the St. Mungo’s board that a threat took on a far deadlier form. As he entered his office, exhaustion tugging at all parts of his body, his gaze landed on an unfamiliar box sitting neatly on his desk. It was unmarked, inconspicuous, and bore no sign of a magical signature—an oversight, in retrospect.
Curiosity won and he flicked the lid open.
A pulse of dark magic exploded outward, knocking him off his feet. The force sent him crashing into the shelves behind him, shattering vials and books in its wake. Pain tore through his chest and arms as sharp, searing energy surged through his veins. His vision blurred, and he barely registered the sound of footsteps rushing into the office before darkness took him.
. . .
Draco woke to the sterile scent of antiseptic potions and the distant murmur of voices. White walls, bright floating orbs of light, and the steady beeping of monitors confirmed what he already suspected—he was in St. Mungo’s, but not in his usual capacity.
His hands, though wrapped in thick bandages, flexed instinctively. His ribs ached, but not unbearably. The curse had done damage, but whoever had treated him had done well. Not as well as he would have, of course, but well enough.
His irritation wasn’t directed at his injuries but rather at the fact that he was lying in a hospital bed at all. Patients were waiting for him, and he didn’t have time for rest.
A knock at the door barely registered before it swung open to reveal Minister Hermione Granger. Her sharp brown eyes swept over him with a mixture of relief and frustration.
“You look terrible,” she said, closing the door behind her.
Draco smirked, shifting slightly in the bed. “You should see the other guy.”
Hermione didn’t return his amusement. Instead, she folded her arms, her expression turning grave. “This was an assassination attempt, Draco.”
“I figured.”
“They used a high-level curse designed to cause serious harm. It was meant to end your career, if not kill you outright.”
Draco exhaled sharply, running his fingers along the bandages on his arm. That explained the lingering sting. The magic had been crafted with precision, something rare among the common criminal.
“You’re not taking this seriously,” Hermione accused.
“I am,” he countered. “I’m just not interested in dwelling on it. I need to get back to work.”
“You need to recover first,” she said firmly. “The Ministry is investigating this, and until we figure out who’s behind it, you’re under protection. You’re too important to risk.”
Draco scoffed. “Important? I’m a healer, not a war hero.”
“You’re the best healer,” she corrected. “And that makes you valuable. People rely on you—not just your patients, but the entire wizarding world. If someone wants you gone, it’s not just about you. It’s about what you represent.”
Draco held her gaze, the weight of her words sinking in. He had spent so long trying to distance himself from the politics of the wizarding world, from the power struggles and shadowy threats. But perhaps he had been naïve to think he could escape them entirely.
“Fine,” he relented. “I’ll be careful. But I’m not stopping my work.”
Hermione sighed but didn’t argue further. She knew him well enough to understand that nothing would keep him from his job.
As she left, Draco stared at the ceiling, thoughts churning. The attack had been calculated, personal. Whoever was behind it wasn’t just sending a message—they wanted him out of the picture.
But if they thought he would back down, they didn’t know Draco Malfoy at all.
. . .
Draco had just begun to enjoy the rare moment of peace in his hospital room when the door creaked open again. He sighed, expecting another nurse to fuss over his bandages, but instead, Hermione stepped in—followed closely by Harry Potter.
Draco’s brows lifted. “Twice in one day, Granger? I should feel honored.” His gaze slid to Harry, suspicious of the man's presence. “And Potter. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Harry grinned, arms crossed over his chest. “Oh, you’ll love this.”
Hermione cleared her throat. “Draco, after careful consideration, the Ministry has decided that, until we identify your attacker, and since you refuse to stay home, we are going to supply you with protection.” She gestured at Harry. “Harry is going to be your security detail.”
Draco stared at her, then at Harry, who looked far too pleased with himself.
“No,” Draco said flatly.
“Yes,” Hermione countered.
“No.”
“Yes, Draco.” Hermione’s patience was already wearing thin. “This isn’t up for debate. You were nearly killed in your own office. We can’t afford to take any chances.”
Draco scowled. “You’re putting him on me? There’s an entire Auror department, and you chose Potter?”
Hermione crossed her arms. “Harry is the best Auror we have, and given his history with Dark magic, he’s the most qualified to keep you safe. You should be thanking me.”
Draco gave Harry a scrutinizing look. “You’re enjoying this.”
Harry smirked. “A little, yeah.”
Draco let out a frustrated huff. “I don’t need a babysitter. I need to get back to work.”
Harry leaned against the wall, looking entirely too comfortable. “Then I guess I’ll be working with you. Don’t worry, Malfoy. I’ll try not to get in your way too much.”
Draco shot Hermione a pleading look. “This is absurd. Potter has more important things to do.”
“Keeping you alive is important,” Hermione said firmly. “End of discussion.”
Draco gritted his teeth, but he knew a losing battle when he saw one.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But if I find you hovering over my shoulder while I work, Potter, I swear I’ll hex you.”
Harry grinned. “I’d like to see you try.”
Draco groaned and sank back against his pillows. This was going to be a nightmare.