Extracurriculars

a/n: Hello! This is my first published fic (on ao3 anyway!) and I’m super excited about it! I have about 13 chapters written right now and am just going through to edit before publishing them and then there should be weekly updates! Pls let me know your thoughts?! xoxo, kay

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The bustling lobby of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries greeted Hermione like a familiar embrace. The early morning rush was in full swing—Healers dashed between patients, pale green robes billowing out behind them, mediwitches called out for assistance, and the air hummed with a low buzz of spellwork. As Hermione moved through the crowd, she felt the familiar adrenaline kick in, sharpening her focus. This was where she belonged, amid the chaos, the urgency, and the constant demand for answers.

“Healer Granger!” a voice called from the other side of the ward. She turned to see Healer Adams, his face flushed with a combination of excitement and panic, waving her over. His curly hair looked as if he’d run his hands through it too many times. Several patient diagnostics hovered in the air near his head, the charts glowing brightly as he flicked his wand, combing quickly through the information displayed.

“Morning, Adams,” Hermione said briskly, already glancing at the nearest diagnostic. “What’s the situation?”

“It’s been madness all morning,” he said breathlessly. “We’ve had three cases of curse burns come in back-to-back, and there’s a woman in Exam Room Four who’s been hit with some kind of botched hex removal. We’re not getting any clear readings and her magic is unstable.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in interest. “Botched hex removal, you say? Alright, I’ll take a look.”
She dismissed his conjured diagnostic and headed towards the examination room, weaving her way through the crowded corridor. The noise of the hospital—a blend of spellwork, hushed conversations, and visitor chatter filled her ears, but she filtered it out, focusing on the task ahead.
She pushed back the thin curtain and stepped inside the examination space where a young witch sat on the thin mattress, cradling her right arm. Bright blue sparks crackled along her fingertips, and her eyes were wide with fear.

“Good morning,” Hermione said in a calm, reassuring tone. She closed the door behind her and crossed to the bed. “I’m Healer Granger. Can you tell me what happened?”

The woman looked up at her with a mixture of relief and desperation. “My name’s Anna,” she said, her voice trembling. “I tried to remove a hex I found on an old family heirloom—some kind of protection spell gone wrong. It… it backfired. My magic is all out of wack!” she cried, lifting her speaking finger tips closer to Hermione’s face.

Hermione nodded, keeping her expression neutral even as her mind combed through possible explanations. She had seen a case like this before during her residency after the war. Dark artifacts sometimes retaliated when attempts to break their curses were made.

“Alright, Anna. I need to take a look at your magical signature. It might feel a bit strange, just a light pulling feeling from your chest.”

Anna nodded, and Hermione pulled out her wand, moving it in a series of quick intricate patterns over the woman’s upper body. A faint golden light spread from her chest, tinged in splotchy patches with a chartreuse hue . Hermione’s brow furrowed as she studied the details revealed.

“This is a little tricky,” Hermione said, carefully choosing her words. “But nothing we can’t handle,” she reassured.

---
By mid-afternoon, the hospital was quieter, though the sense of urgency never really faded. Hermione’s stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the early hours of the morning. She retreated to the Healer’s lounge, sinking into one of the worn armchairs with a heavy sigh. A half-eaten sandwich and a bottle of water were her lunch, and she ate quickly, her eyes scanning a stack of patient notes that Healer Roberts had left on the coffee table.

She was just starting to relax when Roberts himself entered the room, holding two cups of coffee. He was older, silvery gray hair brushed gently across his forehead.“Granger,” he said, handing her one of the paper cups, “I thought you might need this.”

“Merlin, yes,” Hermione said, accepting the drink with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re a machine, you know that?” Roberts said, settling into the chair opposite her. “You haven’t stopped all day.”

“I could say the same about you,” she replied, taking a long sip of coffee. It was strong and bitter, but it warmed her all the way down, helping to ease some of the tension that had built up in her shoulders. Roberts headed up the Magical Maladies and Curses division of St. Mungos; he’d worked there as long as Hermione could remember. “We had three curse-related cases this morning—any idea why?”

He shrugged. “Not sure. Might just be a fluke. But it’s a good thing you were here. I don’t think anyone else would have been able to handle that hex in Room Four.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said softly, feeling a flicker of pride. “But I wasn’t alone. The team’s been great today.”

“They have,” Roberts agreed, a twinkle in his eye. “But you’re the one they look to when things get complicated. You know that, don’t you?”

Hermione flushed and ducked her head, uncomfortable with the praise. “I just do what needs to be done,” she said quietly.

—

Hermione was elbow-deep in a potion inventory report when the knock came. She looked up, momentarily disoriented, her quill hovering above a half-finished form. She hadn’t been expecting any visitors—especially not so late in the day, when most of St. Mungo’s had settled into its evening rhythm. A second, more hesitant knock echoed through the small office, and before she could respond, the door creaked open.

Auror Dawlish stood in the doorway, his expression wary and his eyes scanning the room as if reluctant to interrupt. He hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat. “Healer Granger,” he said, a touch of urgency in his voice. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but you’ve been requested at the Ministry.”

Hermione’s brows knitted in confusion. Dawlish rarely ventured this far into the hospital without a clear reason, and his presence alone was enough to set her on edge. He looked uncomfortable, as if came bearing news she wouldn’t like to hear.
“What’s happened?” she asked, her voice cautious.

“There’s been… an incident,” Dawlish said, choosing his words carefully. “Tonks asked specifically for you. She said the meetings already been cleared by Roberts.”

Hermione’s stomach tightened. If Tonks was making plans between the Auror department and the Head Healer at St. Mungos, things couldn’t be peasant. Without another word, she gathered her wand and cloak, leaving the unfinished reports behind. Dawlish turned, visibly relieved by her willingness, and they began walking down the busy hall together. Their footsteps echoed on the cold, tiled floor.

They reached the hospital floo and Hermione gestured for Dawlish to head in first, Hermione following shortly behind.

---

The Ministry of Magic was filled with chatter when they arrived, aurors of varying levels of urgency brushing past them through the narrow hallway off their floo parlour. Hermione barely had time to adjust before Dawlish was leading her toward the bank of lifts that led to Tonks’ office. Hermione almost protested the escort, Tonks was a friend after all, despite her authority as Head Auror. The ride down was tense, the hum of the Ministry’s magic filling the enclosed space. Hermione could feel her pulse quickening, a hundred different scenarios flashing through her mind. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a social call.

The lift dinged softly, and the doors slid open with a distinguished creak.

Hermione never loved the visiting the auror department even to meet up with Harry or Ron. It was always so… messy, unstructured.
Desks were scattered with piles of parchment, maps pinned to the walls faded in and out of focus as they rerouted, and what appeared to be a collection of ancient Greek artifacts artifacts hummed a dangerous warning as a wizard with dark hair layered containment spells over the pile. A dozen conversations overlapped—Aurors discussing recent missions, interrogations, and updates on investigations.

It was a world apart from the sterile, organized environment of St. Mungo’s, and the difference made Hermione’s skin prickle with unease.

She spotted Tonks almost immediately, standing in the center of the chaos with a stack of parchment in one hand and a stern expression on her face.

“Andrews, I swear to Merlin,” Tonks ground out, eyes on the dark haired wizard still focusing on the artifacts, “If that pile of junk goes off before you get that managed, you’ll be on troll duty for the next month.” Hermione decided quickly that she had no desire to know what troll duty entailed and thus took a step forward, placing herself in Tonks’ view.

Her hair was wavering dramatically between a shocking pink and a deep maroon and when her eyes finally locked onto Hermione, a look of relief crossed her face. She waved her over, setting the parchment down with a weary sigh as Hermione approached.

“Hermione,” Tonks said, her voice both urgent and apologetic. “I’m glad you’re here, sorry to drag you into my blimbling office. I wouldn’t have pulled you away from St. Mungo’s if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked, her tone softening at the sight of her friend’s worried face. The atmosphere in the Auror Office was charged, buzzing with a sense of barely restrained chaos, and she could see from the tightness in Tonks’s expression that this was beyond the usual stress that came along with leading the Auror office.

Tonks didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she guided Hermione away from the bustling desks and into a narrow hallway that led to a small conference room with glass walls. A large map of Britain was pinned to the inside, dotted with flashing red and green lights. Hermione’s attention snagged on a gaggle of aggressively flickering pinpoints near Glasgow but Tonks closed the door gently behind them, and Hermione refocused.

“There was another mission gone wrong,” she said, her voice low and tight. “We lost two Aurors—hit by a complex curse during a raid. The team had no idea how to stabilize them in the field. By the time they got back to St. Mungo’s… it was too late.”

Hermione’s face tightened as the familiar knot of helplessness settled in her chest. She’d seen too many cases like this—cases where a little more knowledge, a little more skill, could have made all the difference. These kinds of situations was what initially drew Hermione into healing in the first place. her inability to adequately heal her friends and solve their injuries during the war when her and Harry and Ron were on the run was a feeling she never wanted to experience again.

She knew the kind of pressure the Aurors were under, but it didn’t lessen her frustration.

“We need your help, Hermione. I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. We’re mandating weekly healing skills lessons for all Aurors.” Tonks paused, “You’ve seen more field injuries than anyone at St. Mungo’s, and you know how to handle them. We’re asking you to lead the training process. Roberts cleared you this morning.”

Hermione’s mouth snapped shut. The words hung between them, heavy and suffocating. It felt like the floor had been yanked out from under her.
“Teach them?” the words fell out of her mouth, incredulous. “Tonks, you know I'd do anything for you but I don’t have time to babysit Aurors who won’t take it seriously. You know as well as I do that half of them think healing spells are beneath them. I have patients, work that will be appreciated.”

“They’ll have to listen,” Tonks said, her voice both firm and compassionate. “This is about saving lives, Hermione. They don’t have a choice. I’ll send their arses to Antarctica if they give you any trouble. See how they like being stationed with the polar bears.” Tonks had a devious gleam in her eye that told Hermione she might dream of sending her aurors south anyway.

“I have patients,” Hermione repeated, ignore Tonks’ threats her voice rising. “And I’m booked as it is! Do you have any idea what it’s like to juggle research, patient care, and teaching at St. Mungo’s? I barely have time to breathe, and now you want me to add this?”

Tonks’s expression softened, and she reached out to place a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “I know you’re busy, Hermione. I know how hard you work, and I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think it was absolutely necessary- the request for this training is coming directly from Kingsley. We need someone we can trust—someone who will take it seriously and has the experience to back it up.”

Hermione closed her eyes, feeling the weight of her exhaustion settle in her bones. She wanted to refuse, to say that it wasn’t her responsibility. But the reality of Tonks’s words pressed down on her, and she knew that she couldn’t just walk away—not if there was a chance she could make a difference.

“Alright,” she said finally, her voice tight with resignation. “But I’m not teaching groups. I don’t have time to train half the Auror Department. Pick someone, and I’ll teach them one-on-one. They’ll have to take what they learn back to the rest.”

Relief flashed across Tonks’s face, and her grip on Hermione’s shoulder tightened briefly in gratitude. “Thank you,” she said softly. “We’ve already chosen the Auror who needs the most attention. You’ll be working with Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in shock. “Malfoy?” she repeated, disbelief and anger battling for dominance inside her. “You want me to waste my time on him? After everything he—”

“He’s one of our best,” Tonks interrupted, though her voice was gentle. “But he’s reckless, and he doesn’t trust anyone else to watch his back. That makes him dangerous—to himself and to others. His team needs the training.”

Hermione wanted to refuse, wanted to walk out and leave Tonks to deal with the fallout. But she couldn’t deny the logic. If Malfoy was one of their best, and if his stubbornness was putting others at risk… She closed her eyes, her jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “But I’m not going to coddle him. He listens to what I say, or I’m done. And this better not be a waste of my time.”

“It won’t be,” Tonks promised, relief and gratitude softening her features. “He’ll be here tomorrow to go over the schedule.”

---

The following afternoon, Hermione arrived at the Ministry ten minutes early. The Auror Office was quieter than the day before, the usual hustle subdued in the early morning light. Hermione had ensured this meeting was before her morning rounds at St. Mungos, Merlin help her if they thought she’d adjust her entire schedule for this.

She found herself pacing back and forth near a small, unused meeting room that Tonks had designated for her and Malfoy’s lessons regardless. Her heart thudded in her chest, a mix of irritation and curiosity swirling inside her. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much this bothered her, but she knew their history made it impossible for her to be completely indifferent.
She was still pacing when the door opened, and Malfoy stepped inside. Hermione’s breath caught, and she hated herself for it.

He was taller than she remembered, his posture relaxed but alert. His hair was no longer the slicked-back style of their school days but a slightly tousled, more natural look that somehow suited him. The sharp angles of his face had softened slightly, filled out and suited his features, but his gray eyes were as piercing as ever, shadowed with a maturity she hadn’t seen before. There was a presence about him now—something confident and self-assured, a far cry from the boy she had known at Hogwarts.

“Granger,” he said, his voice low and steady. He closed the door behind him, his gaze never leaving hers. “Let’s get this over with.”

Hermione swallowed, forcing herself to focus. “Agreed,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

He arched a brow, a lips pulling up in one corner as if noting her falter, taunting her. “I’m free most evenings, barring any sudden assignments. The Auror schedule is unpredictable, as you know.”

Hermione pulled a small planner from the depths of her beaded bag, flipping it open to the week’s calendar. Her hands felt unsteady, and she hated it. “I’m at St. Mungo’s most mornings and afternoons, but I have some flexibility afterwards. How about Thursdays at six? We’ll need at least an hour, preferably two, to cover everything.”

“Thursdays at six works,” Draco said smoothly, his gaze lingering on the neat rows of notes and appointments she had into her planner, delicately charmed to move and adjust as needed, “And what, exactly, will we be covering first?”

“Basic diagnostic spells,” Hermione replied, her tone all business. She refused to let him see how much his presence rattled her. “I want to see what you already know and work from there.”

He gave a noncommittal nod, his eyes flicking over her face as if searching for something. “Fine. And where will these lessons take place? Here?”
“Yes, here,” she said, her voice clipped. “It’s a private space, and I don’t want distractions.”
“Understood,” Draco said, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment longer than necessary. His voice softened, almost teasing. “I suppose we’ll see how this goes, then.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed, but she kept her tone professional. “Yes, we will.”

They exchanged a few more details—basic logistics about what materials he would need to bring and how she would structure the lessons. When the conversation was over, Draco gave a brief nod and turned to leave. As he moved, Hermione couldn’t help noticing the ease of his movements, the quiet confidence in his steps. There was a grace there, a fluidity that spoke of experience and training, and it made her feel off-balance in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

She watched him go, feeling a knot of tension settle in her stomach. She had expected him to be difficult, but his calm indifference—and that unsettling flash of attraction she refused to acknowledge—left her feeling off-balance, as if he were playing a game she didn’t quite understand, was in on a joke she’d missed out on.

She sighed, closing her planner with a snap and tucking it back into her bag.

---

As the week drew to a close, Hermione found herself sitting in a small corner booth at The Leaky Cauldron. The pub was warm and inviting, its wooden beams glowing in the golden light of the enchanted lanterns bobbing and dipping slightly above her head. She was surrounded by familiar faces—her closest friends, gathered for a much-needed break from their busy lives. The hum of chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the sweet smell of butterbeer and firewhisky wrapped around her like a familiar blanket.

Harry and Ginny sat smooshed together on one side of the booth, shoulders pressing their easy smiles a testament to years of hard-won happiness. Ron was beside Hermione, looking more relaxed than he had in weeks, and across from them, Luna Lovegood chatted animatedly with Pansy Parkinson, who was perched at her side. Hermione had never imagined those two would become close, but somehow, their oddities balanced each other out. Luna’s dreamy nonchalance meshed surprisingly well with Pansy’s sharp wit and cutting humor.

“So,” Ron said, raising his eyebrows as he took a sip of his Firewhisky, “I hear you’ve got a new teaching assignment, Hermione.” Ron leaned back slightly to look at her directly. Their relationship had fizzled out gently about six months after the war and all the love Hermione held in her heart for him was now rooted in amicable friendship.

Ginny grinned, leaning forward. “With Malfoy no less. Is it true?!” Ginny was always a nosy gossip, Hermione thought, caringly. Wanting to know what everyone was up to was how she loved.

Hermione made a face, setting her butterbeer down with more force than necessary. “Yes, it’s true,” she admitted, not quite able to keep the sigh from her voice. “I’m supposed to teach him emergency healing. Apparently, he needs it.”

Harry chuckled, though his gaze was sympathetic. “We’ve been having a rough go about at the DMLE. I don’t envy you,” he said. “But your work will do so much good. We’ve already scheduled briefings for Malfoy to relay your lessons.”

Hermione gave him a wry smile. “At least I know this won’t all be for nothing.”

Pansy, who had been quiet until now, looked up with an arched eyebrow. “Draco’s not that bad,” she said, her tone defensive. “He’s… changed, you know. He’s been through a lot.”

Hermione glanced over at her. “I know,” she said her voice softer. “I just… it’s not easy, working with him after everything. But if it means fewer injured Aurors, I’ll do it.” Hermione tended to forget how close Pansy was with Malfoy. Honestly, she hadn’t really given Malfoy much thought in the past few years. Post-war, him and his family had seemed to retreat into themselves, not publicly addressing much of what had happened after their private Ministry trials. Hermione’s attention thought back briefly to those weeks after the Battle. She hadn’t known what had gone on within the Wizarding court rooms of the Ministry. Death Eaters and associated persons had been held under closed trials. All she’d known was that Malfoy and his mother were released on a probation initially, and ultimately deemed unresponsible for any war crimes.

Luna piped up from Pansy’s side, drawing Hermione back to the present conversation. “People change, Hermione,” she said softly. “The war changed all of us. And maybe you’ll learn something from him, too.” She twirled a long lock of blond hair around her finger, eyes glazed slightly.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but found she didn’t have the energy to argue. Luna had a way of cutting straight to the heart of things, even when Hermione wasn’t ready to hear it. She took a long drink of her butterbeer, feeling the warmth settle in her chest.

Ron cleared his throat, glancing between Hermione and Pansy. “Well,” he said, raising his glass, “here’s to new beginnings, even if they involve ferrets.”
There was a ripple of laughter, and Hermione found herself smiling despite the tension still coiled inside her. She clinked her glass with his, and the others joined in. For a moment, the weight of the day lifted, replaced by the warmth of friendship and the comfort of familiar faces.

The conversation shifted after that—talk of Ginny’s recent Quidditch match, Luna’s latest research project on magical creatures, Harry’s most recent case at the Ministry. Hermione listened, her mind drifting occasionally to the challenges ahead, but for the first time in days, she felt a sense of normalcy, of being anchored in something solid.

When the night ended and they each went their separate ways, Hermione took the Leaky’s floo to the local wizarding pub by her house and then apparatus home.She felt both lighter and heavier as she padded through her hallway. The weight of responsibility settling more comfortably now that she had shared it with her friends.