Arms Wide Open
Suggested listening: Billie Eilish - Bad Guy
“My friends think we’re dating, Granger, with how much I’ve been visiting.” He leaned casually on the counter.
“Hm,” she said distractedly, as she checked a few things off her clipboard. “Did you mention that your Auror partner is injured and lying up on a cot here in St. Mungo’s?”
“Well, no," Malfoy acquiesced.
She rolled her eyes. “Once I’m done my 14-hour shift, I’ll go right away to set them straight. I’m sure I’ve done irreparable damage to your Pureblood reputation. Who is it this time—Pansy, Flint, Blaise, Astoria?”, she said with a bit too much emphasis.
“You misunderstand—I’m—“
“Out with it. I’m very busy. Is it Theo? I'm supposed to meet with him anyway. I owe him a drink.”
“Oh.”
“Follow me if you want to see Harry.” She walked with heavy steps and purpose. Even though Hermione had much shorter strides, Draco trailed behind her.
Over the years, the little jokes and flirts, the gradual fold into his friend group, his tentative partnership with Harry that started in the Auror training programme, all began to hurt.
They were friendly now, but it didn’t change how he viewed her. Not really.
And she was damned if she was going to be the butt of his friend group’s jokes as the Muggleborn hanger on.
“He might stil bel asleep. We gave him a heavy dose of Sleeping Draught last night," she explained.
Hermione walked into the private hospital room, gesturing for Draco to follow.
"You can stay for as long as you'd like, as long as you're quiet."
Hermione walked to the medicine cabinet, taking out some concoctions of potions for Harry. She stole side glances at Draco sitting next to Harry’s bed, three-day stubble and wrinkled robes, running on very little sleep and food, but still looked handsome as ever. Auror training did him well—now broader, more sturdy, a departure from his sickly demeanour in Sixth-Year. Although they rarely discussed it, she knew it was a dark time for him that he was still atoning for.
Hermione caught her reflection in a small mirror that hung on the wall. She had dark undereye circles, which somehow made her freckles stand out even more. Her hair was ghastly and limp. She looked down at her green Healer robes, covered in speckles of blood, sick, and—gods she didn’t even want to know what that brown spot was. She Scourgify’d them away with her vinewood.
Draco studied her curiously as she stuck her wand back into her messy bun. Hermione hardened her expression in return. “I’ll be back later.”
“Granger—“
“What?”
“Do you want to get some coffee?”
“Sure,” she said nonchalantly. “I’ll be on break in 20 min. We can think of ways to get back at your friends.”
“No. Wait—“
“What is it? What?!” She tapped her foot impatiently.
“I—My friends think we’re dating and I don’t want them—” he said quietly.
Her heart sunk. “Loud and clear, Malfoy,” she sneered. She almost ran out the door before—
“Merlin, you two are insufferable!” A raspy voice rang out. “I was in a Magic-induced coma and I came back to life again just for this nonsense.”
“Harry!” Hermione rushed to his bedside, crushing him to her chest even though it was probably not advisable.
Draco’s eyes narrowed at Harry’s dry fish lips near the only naked part of Hermione’s skin at her sternum. “I’ll be off then.”
A cough, then Harry said, “I’m the friend. He visits you when he gets a paper cut, telling me it might get infected. Blondie wants to court you, but you’re scary. There. Easy, right? No more miscommunication. Now heal me.” He fell back against the bed like a martyr, arms wide open.
Blush spread like fiendfyre across both of their faces.
“Coffee in 20?” Draco asked tentatively.