Four
Hermione’s been awake for fifteen minutes and she can’t bring herself to move.
She felt Malfoy slide his hand into her hair ten minutes ago and has since been enjoying the tingles down her back from his light scratches on her scalp and tugs on her curls.
She must’ve fallen asleep after he did, at some point. She was far too nervous to leave him alone all night.
Judging by his breathing, Malfoy is awake, too. His hand moving in her hair feels too deliberate to be done in his sleep.
He hasn’t made any sounds of pain, yet, but she’s sure he must be feeling the effects of his injuries. The potion she gave him would’ve worn off by now, judging by the light streaming through the windows.
His chest is warm and strong under her cheek. The sound of his heart beating right in her ear does wonders for her nerves; it’s solid proof he’s alive and well, right here with her.
Last night was close, far too close. If he had gotten splinched, he could’ve died. He very nearly died as it is. Hermione’s eyes well with tears and she tries to push the thought of a lifeless, bloodless Malfoy from her mind. The thought paralyzes her with fear far more than it should; there was a time she probably would’ve killed him herself, all those years ago. But now, she wants nothing more than for him to live and be happy. She doesn’t know why, but the feelings within her can no longer be a secret. Not when she’s his doctor.
She started realizing his issue with being healed was touch after seventeen visits in St. Mungo’s. Hermione continuously gave him trouble for only coming to her anyway, hoping he’d open up to her about it, but he never did. His content sighs and gasps didn’t go unnoticed by her when she touched him, though.
After another few moments pass, Hermione reasons she should say something; do her job as his healer instead of cuddling with him all morning.
She takes a deep breath in and then whispers, “How are you feeling?”
Malfoy seems to flinch, probably not expecting her to be awake. His hand jerks away from her hair so fast, she feels it tug. “I’m f-fine. Sorry.”
Hermione’s instantly disappointed; she welcomed his soft touches, as inappropriate as they probably are, given their relationship. But they’re in her home, not at St. Mungo’s. She’s not technically working.
She sighs. “Malfoy?”
His heart is beating fast under her ear, thumping loudly. “Hm?”
“You can touch me. We’re alone.”
She hears his swallow; almost a gulp. “I… I shouldn’t,” he replies, voice raspy.
“But you can,” Hermione repeats.
There’s a moment or two of silence. They both stay completely still.
“No, I can’t,” he finally responds. His tone is flat, decisive. Like it’s a fact.
“Why not?” she counters, lifting herself off of his chest and sitting back in her chair.
“Because…” he shakes his head. “Y-you’re my healer.”
Hermione doesn’t buy it. “I already told you, we’re alone. I don’t have to be your healer here.”
He shakes his head again, looking down at his feet instead of at her. “I can’t.”
“Draco,” she says, gaining his attention. His eyes are wide and bright in the soft sunlight streaming into her kitchen. “What if I want you to?”
He blinks at her. “What?” he whispers, disbelieving and unsure.
“I want you to touch me.”
He’s quiet for a moment, staring at her. Then, he swallows and shakes his head again, glancing away. “No, you don’t.”
Hermione sighs, a frustrated sound. “Can I touch you?”
He barely even thinks about it. “Yes.”
She smiles. “So, I can touch you, but you can’t touch me?”
“I-,” he starts, then sighs, almost disappointedly. “Yes.”
Hermione’s eyes narrow at him and he glances back over to her. “Draco,” she says, as if pleading with him.
“This- This can’t mean anything. I am no good for you, Granger.”
She feels her independence swell in her chest. “I think that’s my decision, is it not?”
He sits up on the reclined chair and swings his legs over the side to face her, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He’s staring at the floor when he responds. “Fine. Then decide I’m no good so I stop entertaining this impossible outcome in my head.”
Hermione takes a second to process his words. “I don’t think you’re no good. I think you make me feel needed. And... and treasured. And I think I need that. I think you’re plenty good for me.”
“Stop, Granger-”
“Hermione,” she corrects.
Draco’s head lifts, eyes cutting to hers. “Hermione,” he says, after a beat.
“Do you know what else I think?”
Draco only shakes his head.
She scoots her chair closer to him, her knees wedged in between his own. Her hands come up to cradle his face gently and he sighs immediately, eyes closing. “I think that I have never been more of a mess than I have been the past two weeks, not knowing if you were okay. I think… I came way too close to losing you last night,” her voice cracks on the last sentence, an emotional raspiness taking over. “I also think seeing you only at St. Mungo’s or when you’re a bloody mess needs to stop. I want to see you all the time, really. After work, in the mornings, before I go to sleep. And I think you want that, too.”
There is silence for a long while. Draco’s jaw clenches under her palms and she wonders if he’s going to argue with her again or if he’s just in pain; she’s yet to check his injuries.
Then, he nods; a small movement against her hands. “I do,” he says, voice soft.
“I think…” she continues, after a moment. “I want to teach you how to love again. How to touch and be touched again. I want to make you feel safe.”
Draco forces a sad smile. “I don’t think I’m fixable, Hermione.”
“There’s nothing to fix. Only to love and comfort.”
“You’ll do that?” he asks, eyes round.
She nods.
“O-okay,” he says, nodding as if to convince himself it’ll be okay.
“It’s decided, then. I’m no longer just your healer.”
“No,” he says, his hands coming up to wrap around her waist. “You’re much, much more.”
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It’s the next day when Draco leaves Hermione’s home to go back to work.
She stitched him right back up after their conversation and she spent the rest of the day assuring him he will not poison her; that he’s good and that she wants him. It will take some getting used to, but Draco’s happy. So extremely happy.
Hermione also spent plenty of time touching Draco, in her bed, after she was sure he was feeling better. He spent the better part of the day in absolute heaven; Hermione’s hands caressed and felt everywhere she could reach. Draco only panicked once, when she spent a bit too long near a scar, and Hermione held him close while he calmed down, whispering lovely words into his ear. She was so gentle with him, so patient. Turns out, her touch is even better when she’s not healing his injuries.
Going back to work is a rude awakening. The pile of paperwork on his desk is high enough to topple over, all about the latest mission. Draco had owled his boss from Hermione’s, explaining he is okay and with a healer, recovering. The mission went okay, after he fled. No one was killed, thankfully. The amount of paperwork he has to do is horrendous, though.
After work, he isn’t sure where to go. Should he go back to Hermione’s? To the Manor? He doesn’t really want to be alone.
The decision is made for him, by way of an otter patronus entering his office. Hermione’s voice projects from it, requesting he come over for dinner. There’s lots she wants to talk about, she says.
Draco can’t help but smile. If this is his life now, he’d better be good for Hermione.
He doesn’t want to go a day without her touch ever again.
So, he doesn’t.