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jomiddlemarch · 2 months

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Declare the past, diagnose the present, foretell the future

Taking in-house on-call at St. Mungo’s on Imbolc wasn’t the absolute worst, as far as Hermione was concerned. It wasn’t a major holiday and the Scottish weather, an unfathomably vile mix of sleet and snow accompanied by icy gales that defied any warming charm, lent itself to staying in. As her social life was not exactly riotous post-break-up with Ron, however amicably resigned and rueful they’d both been about it, staying in at St. Mungo’s, with its endless supply of ginger biscuits and at least one interesting patient per ward, was tolerable. Acceptable.

It could have been, anyway.

“You like being on-call, Granger?”

That was Draco Malfoy, her fellow senior registrar, academic rival, and star of far too many risqué dreams she continued to blame on eating cheese late at night. He’d grown significantly after the final battle, which she refused to capitalize when she thought of it, just as she refused to refer to Voldemort as anything other than Tom Riddle. Draco, no longer beholden to a genocidal sorcerer who had far too close a relationship with his voracious familiar and thus no longer suffering from an untreated ulcer along as well as the fear of watching his mother being tortured in her own sitting room, had put on a good 2-plus stone of muscle along with several more inches and somehow managed to make the lime-green robes St. Mungo’s insisted on look like something that would get an approving nod during Fashion Week in Milan. It should be a fourth Unforgivable that someone so silvery blond didn’t look anemic, bilious, or curdled in the next hue over from chartreuse. He looked edible.

Delicious.

Hermione looked like a generous dollop of the Seafoam Salad her American Cousin Luella brought to every summer tea-party Hermione’s mother had ever thrown, despite being told she was such a dear but she needn’t. Hermione tried to take comfort in the many extendable pockets she’d been able to spell into her robe’s inner lining, but nothing could fully offset the color.

At the moment, Draco had opened his robes and put his feet up on the coffee-table in the staff break-room, his collar unbuttoned, his tie loosened. He’d stopped using whatever charm or enchanted pomade he’d relied on when they were at Hogwarts and his hair looked silky, a lock threatening to fall across his forehead. If they were called to an emergency, he’d probably cast a wandless Reparo vestis and immediately look the part of a Pureblood senior registrar, but in the meantime, he was…louche. Unconscionably, unbearably erotic.

Hermione thought back to the tea she’d hurried through before heading to Dangerous Dai at a brisk clip. She’d had nary a bite of Brie. Or Cheddar.

She had no plausible deniability.

Still, he was helping a bit with the judgy curl to his lips and that gleam in his grey eyes which was somewhere between curious and condescending. She’d lean into the condescending part.

“I don’t mind it. It’s part of the work, being a Healer. If you have a true vocation, you don’t resent being on-call,” she said.

She sounded like an impossible prig even to herself but needs must.

“Bollocks,” he retorted, but not meanly. “Don’t you miss your cat?”

“Crookshanks is part-Kneazle,” she said.

“Fine, your part-Kneazle,” Draco said. “Wouldn’t you rather be home with him, doing whatever it is you do away from here?”

“Are you fishing for details or trying to mock me? You’ll have to decide,” Hermione said.

“I’m trying to say it’s just the two of us here, you don’t have to pretend you love being stuck at St. Mungo’s overnight,” Draco said.

It occurred to Hermione that if she suffered a cardiac event in the next three seconds, Draco would be the one to resuscitate her and that no one ever looked their best post-resuscitation, even when magic was the primary intervention. Vanity, that’s what would keep her from having a heart attack.

Just the two of us.

For Sweet Circe’s fucking sweet sake.

Draco gave her a searching look because the pause had lengthened notably. Anyone else would have said something like Earth to Hermione, except they’d have to be Muggleborn to say that, because Wizards still didn’t grasp that Muggles had been to the Moon and sent rovers to Mars. They didn’t grasp a dog had been sent into space.

“It’s all right. I don’t actually mind it all that much myself, if I’m being honest. And before you feel compelled to point it out, yes, I am Slytherin but I am capable of candor, especially when it suits my needs,” he said.

“It suits you to be honest with me?” she said.

“We’re a team, aren’t we?” he said and she nodded before she could stop herself and ask what exactly he meant, she’d happily taken four feet of parchment on the topic. “Lying, keeping things from each other, it won’t help us. I know you don’t trust me—”

“I—” she interrupted, breaking off when she realized she wasn’t sure she wanted to say she did trust him or that she wanted to, very badly.

“I know we agreed to a fresh slate when we started training here and I also know if was too much to ask of you,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Yes, I was under duress. Yes, I was seventeen. Yes, we’re all allowed to make mistakes. But I still have a brand on my arm from a group that wanted you dead and defiled and the best I did on your behalf was to pretend I didn’t know you for a few minutes,” he said.

“What else could you have done?” Hermione said, shrugging.

“I could have risked my life. I could have died,” he said. “Potter did, when he saved me from Fiendfyre—”

“I’m not nearly as nice as Harry,” Hermione said.

Draco laughed, rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“You’re a better person than I am and you don’t have to argue with me about it. Some things are simply true. I’d like you to trust me, that’s what I’m saying, albeit terribly clumsily,” he replied.

“Albeit?” she repeated. Using humor to deflect was a time-honored tradition and she didn’t know what to do with her sizable attraction when it was suddenly not only about his broad shoulders and narrow hips, the feline grace of his gait, the North Sea of his eyes and his impossibly deft hands (Nimue help her, Draco’s hands…) but also his mind, his insight. She’d known he was clever, her equal in most fields, slightly ahead of her in Charms (though behind in Arithmancy) but she hadn’t appreciated how thoughtful he was or had become. How he could be gentle.

“I use overly formal language when I feel out of my depth,” he said. Admitted.

“You were totally at ease then, when Crispin Fillament was hemorrhaging? All I heard was good old Anglo-Saxon obscenities from you while you were trying to shove the blood back into his aorta,” Hermione said, grinning.

“That bugger. He wasn’t helping at all, and I don’t mean his choice to sing operettas,” Draco said. “It was like his blood didn’t even want back in. It felt oddly sentient—”

“Operetta can be polarizing,” Hermione said. They were having an absolutely insane conversation, Thickey Ward caliber, and she was more relaxed than she’d ever been around him while also being turned on. Draco’s expression shifted from entertained to speculative. Assessing. She resisted the impulse to touch her hair or fiddle with the collar of her robes, glad she’d kept her shoes on, regretting her laundry day choice of striped tights.

“We’ve worked together for nearly seven years and you still don’t trust me,” he said.

“I don’t suspect you of, well, anything in particular,” she replied. It seemed a weak response, even to her. It might not even be fair, but she couldn’t necessarily feel her way into being fair to him. Even if there were times when she wanted to.

“I know. It’s good of you,” he said. “It just, it’s not enough.”

“It’s not enough? You dare to demand I—”

“I’m not demanding anything, Hermione,” he interrupted. “I don’t expect more. I don’t deserve more. I only want more.”

“You want more,” she repeated. She sounded somewhere between incredulous and stupid. As he’d spent a significant amount of his youth the Crabbe and Goyle, the stupidity shouldn’t bother him as it did her.

“I believe Weasley liked to refer to me as a greedy git. I don’t pretend to have entirely outgrown that,” he said.

“That was because you hogged the pudding,” Hermione said.

“Well, I’ve outgrown that. Though I do still like sweet things,” he said. He tilted his head to one side and should have resembled an owl but of course, he didn’t. If anything, he looked like a fallen angel, though he probably wouldn’t have recognized Lucifer if she’d mentioned the name. The Bible was given short-shrift in the Muggle culture studies required at St. Mungo’s where they ran more to Pasteur, Salk and gene-sequencing. “If I want more, I must give more.”

“Is this some sort of rudimentary physics equation?” Hermione said. “You do know Newton covered this area already.”

“I mean, if I want you to trust me, I need to give you more reason. I need to share more, so you feel I’ve earned it. That it’s, I’m worth it,” he said, nodding as he spoke. Hermione felt herself flush and wanted to argue but she couldn’t think of anything compelling to refute his assertion.

“Shall I tell you why I became a Healer?” Draco said.

“If you like,” Hermione replied diffidently, as if she hadn’t wondered nearly every time she saw him and had frankly obsessed over it for the first six months of their training. Obsessed as in Ginny staged an intervention with Padma and Susan and Gabrielle on the Floo, with Luna playing mother over the teapot joining in the chorus that maybe Hermione needed to let it go or go ahead and jump Draco’s bones. She had been so far gone Luna Lovegood had told her she needed to get some perspective (which she suggested would be helped along with a tincture of canawaddle blossom and raging iron jaguar tears. Hermione had just taken the full glass of Shiraz Padma offered and nodded.)

“Because of my parents,” he said. It had been his idea to discuss his reasons but he seemed uncertain how he’d explain or uneasy about her response.

“It was their idea?” Hermione hazarded a guess. It wasn’t a good guess and she’d be shocked if she were right but it was within the realm of possibility in a world where there were both cellphones and wands threaded with a phoenix’s fiery tail-feather.

“Fuck no,” he said, almost choking on a laugh. A bitter one.

“It might’ve been,” she retorted.

“Only you would believe that possible and before you get horribly offended and flounce off, I mean only you could believe them capable of such humanity. That they would care about other people, that they would care that I did something worthwhile with my time,” he said. He made a calming gesture with his hand, the one he wore a signet ring on. It wasn’t the Malfoy signet though. “You also forget they are the most terrible snobs and think any kind of work is beneath a Malfoy or the bloody scion of the Most Noble House of Black. My mother thinks I’m overly sentimental and my father thinks the whole thing is crass and degrading.”

“I don’t flounce,” Hermione said because what he’d said was a lot to unpack and she couldn’t risk him thinking flouncing was within her repertoire.

“I stand corrected,” he said.

“Why did you become a Healer? How were your parents involved?” she asked.

“They ruined so many lives. My father, I’ve never asked, I’ve never wanted to know, but I think he’s a murderer and my mother went along with it all. Whatever she told herself about how she had to put me first, it was all an excuse,” he said, holding her gaze the whole time. “Other families left Britain. Other families refused to take a side. Millie’s parents sent her younger brothers to Ilvermorny. Zabini’s mother cast some spell on Blaise that kept Voldemort from touching him, something Darker than Dark, she called in favors all over Europe and West Africa. My parents ruined my life. This is the best way I could think of to make something of it all.”

“That’s, I don’t even know what to say, Draco,” Hermione replied.

“You don’t have to have something to say. It’s just how it is,” he said.

“Is it enough? Atonement?” Hermione asked.

“Mostly. And I like the craft. Snape played favorites and he gave me extra lessons, tradework secrets. The man was frankly a bloody genius. Sectumsempra was his juvenilia. I’m good at Potions and I was taught by one of the best Potions Masters in the past three hundred years,” Draco said.

“It’s nice to hear you admit it,” Hermione said.

“The special treatment or Snape’s brilliance?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, making Draco smile.

“I wished I could have saved him,” Draco said. “Though I don’t know what surviving would have meant for him. He was broken.”

“He wanted us to let him go. After he gave Harry the memory, he didn’t want to have to live anymore. I tried to stay. Harry and Ron didn’t see his eyes, but he looked at me and I knew it,” Hermione said.

“He doesn’t haunt me. In case you’re wondering,” Draco said. “His portrait often has a choice remark for me, but that’s all.”

“I became a Healer because of my parents too,” Hermione said.

“Yeah?”

“When it was getting close, that last year, you know, none of the adults made any plans to keep my parents safe. They told me not to worry mostly. All Dumbledore cared about was Harry and the Elder wand. Tonks, she was your cousin, she was the only one who said I should look out for my own people,” Hermione said. Tonks’s hair had been a rich chestnut streaked with white when she’d said it, her eyes the glittering green Hermione had always wished to see in the mirror, and she hadn’t minced words. She’d been as serious as Hermione had ever seen her, serious as death, and then it wasn’t spoken of again. Hermione had hoped there would be a time to tell Tonks, to thank her. “I Obliviated my parents and relocated them to Australia, I gave them new identities. I erased myself from their minds. Entirely.”

“What?” To his credit, Draco looked 90% stunned and 10% impressed. Harry had looked 100% horrified and Ron had physically recoiled when she told them.

“I did some research, figured out how to Obliviate them in the way that would keep them safest,” she said. “Voldemort wasn’t going to care about two random Muggles named Wilkins in bloody Melbourne. Other than you, your father and Snape, none of the Death-eaters were smart enough to figure it out and it turned out Snape was a double-agent, so my odds were even better than I’d counted on.”

“That’s advanced charmwork,” Draco said. “That kind of Obliviation.”

“I had to use Arithmancy too. And runes,” Hermione said. “It had to work. I couldn’t ruin their lives. I couldn’t be the reason they were killed.”

“It worked,” he said. “You saved them.”

“Yes. But it was harder to reverse than I’d hoped,” she said. She said hoped but she meant thought, planned, expected. She’d been wrong. “And when they remembered, they remembered I never asked their permission.”

“You didn’t?”

“They’d never have agreed. I cast the spell behind their backs. An assassination, my mother called it,” she said. She hadn’t told them about being tortured; they couldn’t understand Cruciatus the way anyone magical would and she didn’t want them to ask why she hadn’t confided more in them. Didn’t want them to feel guilty or worse, to accuse her of trying to make them feel guilty to justify her actions.

“You saved their lives,” Draco repeated.

“That’s what I tell myself,” she replied.

“Do you plan to specialize in memory curses? Because of your parents?” he asked.

“No. It’s not that. I became a Healer because they can understand it. They are dentists, Muggle Healer for teeth, and I was able to preserve all of that when I Obliviated them. They would have said, once, I should take up whatever career I felt called to, but they value healing. It’s something we can talk about. Without much…rancor. They see what we do as another science, this training similar enough, the way the American medical system is similar to the British one,” she said.

“Do you even want to be a Healer?” Draco said.

“It’s fine. Maybe I would have ended up here anyway. You have to master a lot of different magical disciplines and there’s some research to be done. There’s always other people around and you can get a decent cuppa in the canteen,” she said, shrugging. “The robes don’t suit me, but that’s a small price to pay.”

“You wanted something else though,” he said. “You don’t have to lie to me. I won’t try to convince you to leave St. Mungo’s.”

“There’s a course on ancient magics in Alexandria. And the Wizarding Library there, they do archival work and Anatomia liborum,” she said. “I read about it when I was researching the Horcruxes. It sounded intriguing.”

“What else?” he prompted.

“In Japan, at Mahoutokoro, there a witch studying arithmancy and algorithm engineering. That’s a Muggle science, it has to do with computers and programming, which you probably have no idea about, but it’s cutting edge work,” Hermione said.

“Instead you’re here,” he said.

“It’s not so bad,” Hermione said. It was easy to say, because she’d said it to herself about a thousand times. “I’m learning a lot and it’s important, to be able to heal people, and sometimes what’s wrong with them seems impossible, but in an absurdly funny way. My parents like it, when I tell them about work, even if I have to tone it down so they believe me.”

“Doesn’t seem like enough. Not for you,” he said.

“You’re here,” she replied, before she thought better of it.

For a moment, Draco was so still she wondered if she’d cast a wandless Petrificus totalis without consciously registering it.

“It’s not what you think,” she said.

“What do I think, Hermione?” he asked. He didn’t sound sly or arch, not remotely mocking, though he could have and she wouldn’t have been able to blame him. He sounded serious, as if she was the final arbiter of his fate, the Chief Witch of the Wizengamot pronouncing his sentence.

“It wasn’t a grand declaration,” she said.

“I didn’t think ‘you’re here’ was a grand declaration,” he replied. He’d relaxed a bit. Bully for him. Hermione felt like she might spontaneously combust, which coupled with the lime-green robes, was certain to be unattractive.

“You’re clever and well-read and you don’t cave when I argue with you but you don’t try to squash me either,” she said. “You think of things quite differently than I do, but in a good way. You’re my peer, intellectually.”

“I’m your peer, intellectually. That’s what you meant,” he said.

“You spent your formative years with Crabbe and Goyle. It’s not nothing,” she retorted.

“I played chess with Blaise Zabini for seven years. Theo Nott taught me Sanskrit and Pazu Veda in his spare time,” he replied. It felt like an obscure jab at Harry and Ron, neither of whom would claim to be excellent student, but who each had their strengths. They were, perhaps, not ones that lent themselves to spirited discussions, especially since Hermione had an admittedly limited grasp of chess and no real motivation to learn it. She wouldn’t risk the conversation devolving into a cranky argument, relitigating their school-days.

“Theo Nott was fluent in Pazu Veda?”

“They don’t teach necromancy at Hogwarts, so I can’t vouch for his fluency, but he could read it and translate,” Draco said. He crossed his legs at the ankle, a gesture of pure insouciance. His grey eyes studied her and she lifted her chin. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m not,” she said. For possibly the first time she could remember, she wished to be paged to the receiving area to attend to a disgustingly feculent and smoking heap of Wizard burping up turds, suffering from an unknown but obviously not life-threatening curse or potion.

“If you don’t want to talk about it anymore, we won’t. I wanted you to trust me and that won’t happen if you feel like I’m grilling you or prying. I’ll try to keep doing whatever it is that makes me being here make St. Mungo’s worth it to you,” he said.

He was a Slytherin but he’d spoken as directly as an Gryffindor, as thoughtfully as any Ravenclaw, as kindly as any Hufflepuff.

“I like you,” she said.

She was not going to mention lust, her own for his face, his shoulders and his hands, the nape of his neck, the line of his thigh when he crouched down to talk to some patient on the Thickey Ward who thought they were a mole. His lips when he smiled. His eyes when he had a new idea that she was going to hate at first. She was courageous, not foolhardy.

“I like you too. Very much,” he said. “Exceedingly. I don’t want you to worry, having said it first, that your feelings are unrequited. They are very, very requited. Maximally requited.”

“I only said I like you,” she replied.

“I know. You don’t make grand declarations. I do. When they are called for,” he said.

“And it’s called for now?”

“We’ve worked together for seven years. We’ve known each other since we were eleven. You just admitted you like me. I’m not risking waiting another decade for you to understand how I feel about you,” he said. “Wizards have long lives but I’d hate to have this conversation with a white beard down to my navel.”

“You will never have a white beard down to your navel. You’d never do something so cliché,” Hermione said.

“You’re probably right. But I still prefer telling you tonight,” he said. “It means that when I ask you if you’d like a cup of tea and a biscuit in the canteen, you’ll know I don’t just mean a cup of tea and a biscuit.”

“But we’d still have those, right?” Hermione said. “Because I skipped lunch today.”

“I will buy you every biscuit in the canteen,” he said. “And breakfast tomorrow morning. Somewhere where you can get a decent omelet.”

“So, someplace Muggle,” Hermione said.

“Most assuredly so. At least until we both have a weekend off,” he said.

“Then what?”

“Then I take you to Paris.”

Five hexes, three Dark-adjacent curses, nine (nine!) misbrewed Potions causing inflammation, exudation, and one case of rapid-fire recitation in Norn, an unlicensed researcher’s run-in with a surly matagot, and a family suffering from mazy measles, meant that no biscuits, chocolate, ginger or lemon, were consumed and the tea in the canteen’s urn remained untasted by either of them.

They did, however, make quick work of a passable cheese omelet at a very nice café once they’d given sign-out to the day’s team.

And Draco Side-alonged her home, giving her a kiss on the cheek at the door.

Hermione kissed him back. Not on the cheek.

She wasn’t about to wait for Paris for a French kiss, not when they had so little say over the on-call schedule.

Not when he looked at her with those sleepy grey eyes.

Not when he murmured her name against her lips.

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talesofadragon · 2 years

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

Summary: Despite Y/N’s blood status and House, she happens to be the only witch in the entirety of the wizarding world that Draco gives the time of day. A fellow Healer, close confidant, and dare he say, best friend, she’s always managed to make his life exceedingly tolerable, particularly when he finds himself thrust into a weekly gathering or dinner that his parents have set up to find him a suitable wife. But when an accident threatens to tear the two apart, it matters not what Draco is feeling, because the fate of their friendship and their future relationship lies in the beat of Y/N’s heart.

Warnings: Mentions of injuries and blood

Pairing: Healer!Draco x Muggleborn!Reader

Genre: Angst | Fluff

Word count: 4.5K

All Masterlists | Draco Malfoy Masterlist

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞. No different than the sickening feeling of anticipation at the sight of the revolving roulette almost coming to an end or the tingling sensation of doubt when faced with the final choice in wizard poker. The man was beyond certain that misfortune would always find a way to strike him long before he had the chance to think of victory.

Tired and exhausted from the patient he had the displeasure of overseeing, he puffed out the air wedged in his lungs, heading to the comfort of his office. Once there, Draco threw the clipboard and files he held on the desk, wasting no time to slump in his chair. He craned his neck, attempting to relieve some of the pain while his fingers swiftly moved to untie the fabric of his tie.

Just when he took a deep breath, ready to relax, he grumbled in displeasure at the sound of someone knocking on his door. Draco rubbed his tired eyes with his palms, looking up at the white lights illuminating his office. “This better be good,” he whispered to himself before calling in whoever was behind the mahogany door.

The door creaked as the person behind it pushed it open, causing Draco to make a mental note to fix the bloody sound before it drove him mental. A Healer peeped her head inside, a crooked smile governing her lips. “Hey, grumpy dwarf. What’s got you all worked up?”

Draco shook his head with an amused smirk, the tension he harbored slowly evaporating. “Y/N,” he greeted the witch, his stormy eyes following her every step once she closed the door behind her and strolled inside. “Kindly never compare me to a dwarf ever again. We both know that you tick every box when it comes to that description.”

Y/N feigned hurt, placing a hand on her heart. “Oi, you’re mean! But then again, you do make a more fitting Snow White.”

“I have no idea who that is.” Draco laughed at her remark without taking his eyes off her. He watched her gracefully sit on his desk, frivolity nestling comfortably in her big doe eyes.

“It doesn’t matter as long as I know what that is,” Y/N teased. She kicked her legs in the air, her eyes skimming over the mess of papers and files on Draco’s desk. With curiousness in her gaze, she reached out for the file closest to her. “Harry Potter? Three broken ribs, flail chest, concussion, fractured hip, and–”

“Acromioclavicular joint sprain, yes,” Draco continued.

Y/N’s brows knitted as she read over the patient file. “Must have been one bloody fight. Literally.”

Draco chuckled in response. He took the file from her hands, reaching for his quill. “It wasn’t exactly a walk in the park admitting Auror Potter here.” He dipped the quill in the onyx ink bottle, beginning to add his own notes on the papers.

Y/N eyes wandered to Draco, studying his figure. She crossed her hands over her chest, peering at him. “Is that what’s got your knickers in a twist? That he’s here, and you had to treat him?”

Draco didn’t spare Y/N a look, but from the way he had stopped writing, she figured he must’ve rolled his eyes. “No. Treating him was far easier than expected. It was having to listen to the whines of the Weaslette and Granger, among other things. That was the most irritating part of it all.”

Y/N leaned back to get a better look at Draco. She shook her head at his statement, drumming her fingers on the table. “Aren’t you a tad bit exaggerating, perhaps?”

“On the contrary. As if seeing Potter wasn’t dreadful enough, it was exceptionally irksome having to be in the presence of the other two witches.”

“Well, Hermione is his best friend,” Y/N argued, trying to reason with the blond. “And wasn’t Ginny his fiancee? Or did he not propose yet?”

“In case you’ve missed it, darling. I’m a Healer, not an editor at Witch Weekly or The Daily Prophet,” Draco cynically replied, waving his quill in the girl’s face.

Y/N huffed at his response. She took out a pile of papers, spewed lazily on his desk, and hit him with it on the head. Draco winced, shooting daggers at Y/N. “You’re a pompous arse.”

“Is there a reason for you being in my office other than to continuously insult me?”

“Yes,” Y/N replied with a smirk. “To grace you with my presence.”

Draco blinked, attempting to hide the glint of amusement swirling in his irises. “How charming,” he told Y/N, continuing to fill Harry’s file.

Y/N kept her focus on Draco, watching as his fingers moved around, gracefully guiding the feather on top of the parchment. Mesmerized by the sight, and falling to the realization that she had been silent for too long, she loudly cleared her throat. “Why are you bothered so much? Did they say something bad? Please don’t tell me they refused to have you as Harry’s Healer because of it.”

“No,” Draco rushed to say, sensing the worry in Y/N’s tone and feeling a slight itch on his left forearm. “No, darling. They never said anything about that. It was just hard to concentrate with them breathing down my neck.”

Y/N half-laughed, her shoulders looking less rigid. She played with the papers on the desk, her eyes narrowing at the Healer in front of her. “Come on, Draco. Plenty of people have done that too when their loved ones were in our care.”

“Well, then. Perhaps people need to learn to control their emotions in times of distress.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not everyone is an established Occlumens like yourself. I may be a Healer, but I know I’d lose my composure if someone I cared about entered the doors of St. Mungo’s all bloodied and bruised.”

Draco rolled his eyes indignantly. He didn’t have enough energy to argue with Y/N, and knowing her, she would be about ready to argue all night. For two days straight if she had a drop of coffee in her system. So, Draco decided that it would be best to change the subject.

“So.” He cleared his throat, taking his eyes off the files. “Care to tell me about how your day went? Hopefully it was better than mine.”

Y/N’s facial expressions changed, the light that was once in her eyes dimming. It was then Draco noticed the black circles beneath her eyes and the tiredness that lingered on her face.

“It… was okay, I guess. I just have a night shift today, which I’m not looking forward to.”

“Right,” Draco hummed as he remembered. “My offer still stands, you know? I’d be more than happy to take your place.”

Y/N bit on her lower lip, her gaze flickering straight to Draco’s. He watched her carefully, his own silver orbs glued to her teeth as she chewed on her lip to contain a laugh. But eventually, Y/N had failed miserably and ended up clutching her stomach, chuckling aloud.

That woman is unbelievable. Draco mentally thought, watching as tears streamed down Y/N’s cheeks from the sincerity of her laughter.

“You got roped into another dinner with a potential wife, didn’t you?”

“No,” Draco scoffed incredulously, running away from Y/N’s burning gaze. He looked at his left, which was perhaps a wrong move because he caught Y/N’s eyes in the mirror. “Yes. Now, stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” Y/N feigned innocence, her lips contorting into a bashful smile.

“Like you’re trying to get into my head.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t do that. I’m not a Legilemens.”

You don’t need to be one, Draco mentally fired back, but he never dared to say it aloud. “The point is, you look like you could use a break while I could use an excuse. So, why don’t you let me handle your shift?”

“Because you’re going to have to admit to your parents that you’re above all this, Draco,” Y/N explained, seemingly more serious than she ever was before. “And if not tonight, then when?”

Draco groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not easy, and you know that.”

“Yes, fairly well, too. I may not be a pureblood, but my parents are as strict as muggles come.”

“At least yours don’t have a list of suitors as party guests,” Draco said, cringing at the thought of the many women he had met and had yet to meet as per his parents’ demands.

Y/N merely rolled her eyes as a response to his behavior. And knowing her, she was starting to get annoyed. “Need I remind you that the last time I spoke with them, they had attempted to set me up with some ostentatious muggle prick of their choosing?” Y/N spat, a flicker of pain outlining her irises. “I don’t exactly live up to the Y/L/N name with me being a witch and all.”

Draco closed his eyes as he let out a breath. How stupid of him to forget such a massive detail. He moved out of his chair and towered over Y/N, his stormy silver eyes roaming her figure. Draco’s hands cupped her cheeks, and before he knew it, he was kissing the crease that formed between her brows.

“I’m sorry, darling. It’s not you that doesn’t live up to that last name. It’s that last name that doesn’t do you justice.”

Y/N’s mouth twitched, Draco’s words tugging at her heartstrings. She blinked, looking down at her feet as she attempted to hide the pink tint that formed on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered meekly, looking up at Draco from underneath her lashes.

Draco’s hands lingered on Y/N’s rosy cheeks for a moment, losing themselves in the softness and warmth of her skin. Eventually, his hands fell back to their place.

“You sure you don’t want me to fill in for you?” Draco asked. “Even if it’s just for a bit? It looks like you could use some sleep.”

Y/N pursed her lips in thought, beginning to fiddle with the fabric of her green coat. “As enticing as this sounds, I’ll pass. I’ll just take a power nap and get back to work then.”

“Fine. If you insist.”

Draco left Y/N sitting on his desk and moved to the other side of the room. He rummaged through one of his cabinets, and judging by the fact that he spent a good minute or so searching for whatever it was he was looking for, Y/N figured he had placed an Extension Charm on it.

“What are you looking for?” she wondered aloud, curiously trying to see what it was that Draco was looking for.

A beat passed before Draco pulled out what appeared to be a white blanket from the drawer. He moved with steady steps toward his couch on the left side of the room, dropping the blanket. He quirked an eyebrow, gesturing to the couch. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled. She hopped down from the desk, making her way to the makeshift bed with a lopsided smile, her eyes fixed on silver hues that were as magnetizing as the night sky. “Forget Snow White.” She took off her shoes and nestled herself comfortably on the couch as Draco draped the blanket over her body. “You’re my own fairy godmother.”

“I have no idea what that is either,” Draco replied. His fingers twitched as he got the urge to brush the hair out of Y/N’s face. But before he got the chance to do it, she moved her hand to her face and placed the stray strands behind her ears.

Y/N closed her eyes, tugging the blanket higher. “That’s your loss.”

Draco looked away, his eyes alight with mirth–a sight that only Y/N could paint with her simple presence. He took his wand from the pocket of his coat, waving it around to turn the lights off. “Don’t sleep too much.” Draco placed a gentle kiss on Y/N’s forehead, admiring the way her long lashes lifted to expose her crystalline eyes. “I’ll send you a Patronus to make sure you wake up.”

“Enjoy dinner, Draco,” Y/N called, closing her eyes and surrendering to a much-needed sleep.

Draco stood by the doorframe, watching her drift to sleep. “Sweet dreams, darling.” He gently closed the door and walked down to the hospital’s apparition point, looking forward to get this pathetic dinner over and done with so that he could laugh about it the next day with Y/N.

To say that dinner was a complete catastrophe would be an understatement. It was an utter debacle. Draco’s parents didn’t settle for setting him up with a potential pureblooded wife. They went as far as attempting to sever relationships to secure him one.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy desperately tried to match him with his Hogwarts classmate and friend Daphne Greengrass. However, their perpetual attempts at laying the red carpet for Daphne and creating utopian scenarios were proven futile when Draco disclosed that his potential wife was already involved in a relationship.

And when his parents had found out that she was dating a halfblood, they tried to convince Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass to consider a betrothal between the two families to strengthen ties and remain within the bounds of the sacred twenty-eight.

When the Greengrasses refused to entertain this notion, Draco was sure that whatever his parents were planning next was going to be disastrous. He had already rejected the idea of courting his best friend Pansy Parkinson. At this rate, the next candidate was either going to be Millicent Bulstrode or his parents were going to wait for the birth of Avery’s daughter to wed her to Draco when she becomes of age.

It was seven in the evening when Draco opened the door to his office, sauntering in with a steamy cup of coffee in his hand. His eyes couldn’t help but travel to the couch, finding the blanket that Y/N was covered with neatly folded.

He smiled, an image of Y/N’s sleeping figure popping into his head. He decided to leave the blanket, knowing that she was most likely going to need a nap sometime during the day, considering she was spending hours on end at the hospital.

A knock echoed in Draco’s ears, causing him to slightly wince. Whoever was assaulting the door, he was sure wasn’t Y/N. “Yes?” he sighed, leaning back against the chair and placing his hands on the armrests. His door creaked open as another Healer walked in.

“Healer Malfoy,” his colleague, Healer Abbott, greeted. She walked further inside the office with papers in her hand.

“Abbott,” Draco nodded, eyeing the papers. “What’s that you got?”

“A couple of papers that need your signature. They’re discharge orders for Auror Potter.”

Draco’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “He was just admitted yesterday.”

Healer Abbot pursed her lips, extending the papers. “I’m well aware. Except that he says he doesn’t require our services anymore.”

That bloody wanker. “Believe me, Abbott. I want him out of this establishment far more than he does,” Draco admitted. He pushed back the papers that the Healer brought, looking for Harry’s file. “But even ‘The Chosen One’ doesn’t have the healing abilities of a bloody phoenix. I’m going to need someone to check on him, preferably Y/N if she’s here or coming in later.”

Healer Abbott shook her head. “Healer Y/L/N is not coming in today.”

“Why?” Draco asked, not recalling Y/N having told him that she’s taking the day off.

“She had a particularly long shift yesterday. From what I heard, Head Healer Malachai told her to get some rest today.”

“Fine,” Draco sighed, handing Healer Abbott Harry’s file. “He’s your responsibility until I get back. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“For the last time, Mrs. Hoffman. I’m not interested in courting your granddaughter.”

“Well, it’s a shame to hear you say that, dearie,” the old woman said. She looked up at the young Healer, her brown eyes shifting color when touched by light. “Such a handsome young man like yourself deserves a charming young witch by their side.”

“Perhaps, but not as young as your granddaughter,” Draco replied. He let his focus back on the clipboard he was holding onto, jutting down notes based on the diagnostic charm he casted on Mrs. Hoffman a few minutes ago.

“She’ll be of age in just a few months time.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow, his squill scratching against the parchment. “And when will that be exactly?”

Mrs. Hoffman’s eyebrows knitted in focus. She tapped her index finger against her chin, trying to remember the exact date of her granddaughter’s birthday. Draco waited patiently for her to answer, holding his breath as he counted down the seconds. “I have no clue.”

“Do you at least remember her name?”

Mrs. Hoffman looked confused. “Who’s name, dearie?”

Draco sighed, marking down the new information on his clipboard. While the witch didn’t seem to be making too much progress, her state was much better than Lockhart’s. Draco winced as he remembered that buffoon, thankful that he was someone else’s responsibility and not his. The last time the Head Healer assigned him Lockhart, the man tried to convince him to frame one of his autographed headshots. The man might’ve been dealing with permanent memory loss, but even a charm as strong as Obliviate never managed to wipe out his narcissism or his putrid attitude.

Draco bid his goodbyes to Mrs. Hoffman, promising to check on her again tomorrow. He closed the door behind him, strolling down the corridor to check on his other patients. As soon as he exited the Fayette Barlowe Ward, he found himself almost tackled to the ground by one of his colleagues.

“Abbott, what the bloody hell is wrong with you?” Draco snarled, holding Healer Abbot by the elbows.

The Healer stepped back, trying to catch her breath. “Malfoy,” she exhaled, placing one hand on her heart. “I’ve been searching the entirety of St. Mungo’s for you!”

Draco looked her up and down, his nose scrunching. “What do you want that’s so urgent?”

“We need you for an emergency surgery.”

“And why exactly is that? The last time I checked, this institution is overflooding with Healers, so why is it that you need me in particular?” Draco watched as Healer Abbot shifted uncomfortably in place. Her eyes darted from side to side, trying their best to avoid being caught by Draco’s silver hues. “Don’t tell me it’s bloody Potter again. I swear if–”

“It’s Healer Y/L/N,” the woman blurted, looking remorseful. “She’s in a critical state and needs immediate medical attention.”

The world tilted on its axis without prior warning, causing a sudden static noise to echo in Draco’s ears. The Healer paled, stricken by fear as he watched with dazed and frantic eyes the woman in front of him. “Y/N?” he whispered. Without waiting for an answer, Draco made a mad dash toward the Operations Ward, pushing and screaming at anyone who stood in the way. With a shaky breath and unsteady heartbeats, he pushed the doors of the ward open. “Where the bloody hell is Healer Y/L/N?”

“In here, Healer Malfoy,” one of the junior Healers called.

Draco threw his clipboard and quill aside, urgently moving to assess Y/N. “Preliminary diagnostic results?” he asked, his eyes skimming over her frail figure.

Y/N’s skin was ashen, even paler than his own. A trail of blood hugged the side of her forehead, oozing from a large gash that taunted Draco. Her long lashes met together, keeping her eyes away from sight. The veins on her eyelids ice blue like frozen constellations engraved on her skin. Her chest barely rose and fell, her figure appearing almost dead.

Draco hurried to press his fingers against the side of her neck, next to her Adam’s apple, checking with unsteady fingers for any sign of a pulse. He searched for a good couple of seconds, holding his own breath to make sure his thundering hope wouldn’t be deceiving him.

“Concussion, Bradycardia, Pneumonitis.”

“Fuck,” Draco breathed as he hurried to place the pulse oximeter on Y/N’s finger. His eyes hurried to check the value, his heart falling to the pit of his stomach when it showed 88%. “Hypoxemia.”

“Healer Malfoy,” Healer Bones said, her eyes switching between Y/N and Draco. “What’s the best course of action to take now?”

Draco gulped. He swayed on his feet, his hands rushing to grab the bars around Y/N’s bed. Blood rushed to his head, invading all his senses. A tumultuous surge of fear and trepidation froze him in place.

The sight of Y/N’s lips turning blue with every beep from the ECG monitor caused him to lose his mind. A hot and scorching sensation shot through his whole body, rendering him unable to do anything but internally scream.

He attempted to occlude all those thoughts of Y/N being covered by a white cloth and taken away from him, but no matter how much he tried to compartmentalize, he found himself failing miserably.

Healer Bones leaned over Y/N’s frail body, slightly obscuring her from sight. “Healer Malfoy?” she asked, loud and clear. Concern was evident in her eyes along with a look of distress.

Suddenly, Y/N’s voice rang in Draco’s ears. ‘I may be a Healer, but I know I’d lose my composure if someone I cared about entered the doors of St. Mungo’s all bloodied and bruised.’

His fear almost caused him to rush out the doors of the Operations Ward and request for another Healer to come and heal Y/N before it was too bloody late. But a part of him couldn’t let her out of his sight. When the ECG monitor beeped continuously, indicating that Y/N’s already scarce heartbeat was coming to a stop, something snapped in Draco.

“Bones, administer muggle CPR to Y/N at once. Elliot, clear her airways, Abbott, do something about that concussion, and leave the rest to me.” Draco took out his wand, pointing it at Y/N’s chest, watching with a sweaty forehead the ECG monitor while everyone began to tackle their assigned tasks. “You’re not dying on me, darling. Or else you’ll be giving me a reason to commit the crime I was once too bloody petrified to go through.”

Y/N’s eyelids felt heavy, as if something was weighing them down. Her chest constricted, pain surging through her veins all the way to her heart when she breathed too hard. The darkness behind her eyelids was too much to bear. The possibility of never opening her eyes again caused her to fight for the light she wished to feel.

Her fingers twitched, involuntarily at first. But as soon as she felt someone’s soft fingers curled around hers, she fought the feeling of numbness that immobilized her. With great effort, she moved her fingers once more. She could feel the chill that sparked through her body, recognizing the familiar metal of a ring against her skin. “Draco,” she whispered, the hand that held hers intertwining their fingers together.

“Y/N, darling.” A voice said, sounding hoarse. “Open your eyes for me.”

She followed after the voice like a lovesick teenage girl following after her crush. Y/N clung to the softness of that voice, its mellifluous sound carrying itself in her ears. She suddenly found herself opening her eyes to the world, infinite possibilities unveiling before her as though she was just reborn.

Clearing her throat, she craned her neck to the side, finding her favorite pair of silver eyes already staring at her. “Hey, dragon.” Y/N smiled, losing herself in the feeling of ecstasy that governed her senses when a laugh escaped his lips. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You are unbelievable, witch. You almost die, and that’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth when you wake up?” Draco asked, absentmindedly tracing stars on Y/N’s skin.

“I missed you. Is that better?”

“Much better,” Draco grinned, gazing at the witch who inhabited his mind. He moved his hand to touch her cheek, letting his fingers trail across her slightly heated skin. Y/N closed her eyes, humming in contentment at the magic that coursed through her blood due to Draco’s touch. “I love you.”

Y/N eyes shot open, afraid that she was diving too deep into the feeling to find the shore. But when she laid her alert eyes on Draco, she found him smiling at her with nothing but sheer adoration in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I think I misheard you.”

“No, you didn’t,” he replied swiftly, keeping a tight hold on her hand. His heartbeats thundered in his chest as love rippled in his very core. “I love you. Not as a friend, not as a sister. As the one person that made my world crash and burn when they wheeled her into the bloody Operations Ward.”

“Draco, where’s all that coming from?” Y/N said, her other hand reaching to cradle her bandaged head, attempting to fight the dizziness that threatened to rip her away from this moment.

Draco looked her in the eye, feeling his knees weaken at the sight of the universe that unveiled before his own silver orbs. “When I heard that you were caught in that bloody attack, and when I saw you lifeless on that bed, Y/N, I almost died.”

“You… you what?”

“I almost died,” he admitted. “Out of fear, despair, anger. Out of every dark emotion out there. Because… because you’re the reason I’m so alive, Y/N. You are, and always have been, the one person that makes me forgo of every bit of control I foolishly assume I hold when in your presence.”

“Draco,” Y/N breathed, a single tear falling from the edge of her lashes. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes. I’ve never meant anything more than this.”

Y/N smiled, her tears welling up with more tears. She reached for Draco’s face, cradling his cheeks. “I love you too, Draco Malfoy. With every beat of my heart.”

Draco captured Y/N’s lips in his, melting against the sweetness of her blazing touch. He smiled, capturing her bottom lip and nibbling slightly on it, feeling the whole world fall into place. Maybe fate wasn’t such a pain in the ass; maybe it was even appealing. Because Y/N’s kisses made him believe in fate–in a world where everything was right, and all the stars were aligned just for them.

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taglist: @marajillana

I absolutely loved this request and was so excited to work on it!

For those who want to be tagged, head over to “The Owlery” section on my profile and send me a message! If you wish to send me a request, then simply click on "Requests." 🤍

Now, what do you think this witch is brewing next? 🪄

Help me decide between another mini-series, a one-shot, or maybe a request! Comment what you want to see next.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #healer!draco #healer!draco x y/n #draco x muggleborn!reader

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impossibly-cold-collector · 1 year

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An Act of Kindness for One Harry Potter by a Sympathetic Draco Malfoy (15416 words) by 0idontknow0 Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Summary:

As Draco leaned on the wall to wait for them to get dressed, he could not help feeling like he had done a very kind thing by disrupting them. Someone should give Potter a better rogering than that sorry sod had. The man had saved the bloody world—okay, mostly Europe—the least someone could do was give him a proper shag.

Healer Draco

#An Act of Kindness for One Harry Potter by a Sympathetic Draco Malfoy #0idontknow0 #Drarry #Drarry fic #Fic rec #Oneshot #Healer!Draco #Healer Draco

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dewitty1 · 1 year

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Heal Thyself

astolat @astolat

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood Additional Tags: Healer Draco Malfoy, St. Mungo's, Medical School, Hospital, Medicine Series: Part 12 of Harry Potter works

Summary:

"Are you going for the course?" Lovegood asked. "You have the NEWTs.”

“What course?” Draco said, then, “No, don’t be ridiculous,” when he realized she meant the notice pinned up on the board he’d been staring at: Applicants To The Introductory Mediwizard Course For The Coming Term Shall Present Themselves In The Chief Mediwizard’s Office By August 24th. “Oh, I thought you might,” she said. “Well, goodbye.” And off she wandered again in her addled way.

Excerpt:

Harry managed to have dinner at Draco’s four times in the next two weeks before it occurred to him that he wasn’t doing it for the cooking, mostly because halfway through the fourth night, an emergency summons came in and Draco had to abandon him and his other guests—Magistra Weedstone and Magister Zalibar had come along as well that night—and the whole evening went flat like a fizzy drink left out too long. Harry tried to carry his share of the conversation, but he didn’t do very well. Fortunately he didn’t need to: Weedstone and Zalibar got into a heated quarrel about some new journal article that had just come out, on grounds so esoteric Harry doubted that even Hermione would have been able to offer a meaningful opinion, and that carried them along until Zalibar finally took himself away. At which point Weedstone turned on Harry instantly and demanded, “All right, Potter, look here, are you trifling with our peacock or what?”

Harry goggled at her, mostly in confusion at his own instinctive reaction, which was to indignantly deny the trifling, rather than ask what she was talking about.

Weedstone frowned when he’d didn’t have a ready answer. “Well, you'd best work it out on your own time, and don’t come back until you have.”

“Er, sorry, are you—warning me off Draco?” Harry said bemusedly, trying to decide what was more odd: that or the possibility of some cause.

“He puts on a good show, but he’s got noumenia-scarring that makes specialists quake to look at, and it’s taken the combined efforts of two of the greatest Chief Mediwizards we’ve ever had in a row to get him stable,” Weedstone said bluntly. “It’s not safe for Dark wizards to go in for Healing. He did it anyway, and he’s chosen it over again every time he’s had the chance to back away, but he’s still walking along a cliff. I’d just as soon not see you shove him over.”

Harry listened to her with a rising sense of indignation. “Right, I see,” he said grimly. “There mustn’t be any risk of losing the great Healer, and so what if he’d like to have a bit of an ordinary life for himself on the side?”

Weedstone immediately said in gleeful tones, “Oh, if it’s like that, then never mind, carry on! Flikka, I’ll be on my way, thanks,” and then she stood up and beamed at Harry with slightly alarming approval as she swept her cloak over her shoulders and Apparated away with a bang, leaving Harry to sit alone blankly staring at Draco's empty chair and wondering what exactly he was doing.

He did actually stay away to work it out on his own time, because Weedstone’s words lingered unpleasantly in his head: noumenia scarring to make specialists quake, and he’d already realized that himself, hadn’t he; she’d just put it into clean, clinical words. Voldemort and the Dark, working through Draco's own father, his whole family, hacking away at his spirit from birth, trying to make a child into the kind of person who would commit murder when they wanted him to. It was the mirror image of what Voldemort had done to Harry, damage to the soul instead of the body. Of course it went as deep, and Harry wasn’t going to be the one to shove Draco off the high-wire balance he’d found.

So he stayed away for a few days, in which he left work early and had dinner with Ron and Hermione at Grimmauld Place, and at a nice restaurant with Luna, who ended the night by telling him seriously and with enormous intensity that he oughtn’t go to Barcelona for his next vacation, and on Saturday flew to Hogwarts to spend the weekend with Hagrid.

And it was inescapably clear to him that he didn’t want to do any of it, even though he should have, and did, only he couldn't because he wanted too badly to be doing something else: he wanted to be out flying with Draco, or at dinner with him, prodding him and teasing him, and this wasn’t just grabbing at the first thing he’d come across, it was—the longing to catch the Snitch: he’d caught sight of something gleaming, the shining golden prize out there ahead of him, and he wanted to get his hand around it before anyone else did.

The longing got more bright and sharp with every hour of the flight home. He meant to go home and go to bed; it was half past eleven when he finally reached London that Sunday night, and Draco was probably in bed, and also hadn’t any idea what was going through Harry’s head and would likely take a lot of talking to be convinced to go on a date with him. It seemed clearly like a conversation to have during waking hours. But he couldn't manage to be patient. He’d lost so much time already, and so much else he would never get back—years of possibilities and choices. And now he had the prize in sight, he couldn't bear not to fly as fast and high as he could after it, so instead he turned towards Matery Alley, and ten minutes later he was banging on Draco’s door.

Flikka scowled at him dramatically and then showed him into the sitting room where Draco was alone in a chair with a snifter of brandy in his hand and a tired, heavy look in his eyes that took a few blinks to clear when he looked up at Harry. “Did you manage to get yourself hexed again, Potter?” he said, with an air of tremendous long-suffering, putting the glass aside.

“In a manner of speaking,” Harry said, and reached out and took Draco’s hands and pulled him up; he did mean to say something, but Draco looked at him puzzled, and instead Harry just kissed him.

Draco made noises under his mouth that started as surprise, went on to outrage, and when Harry started to pull back, even more outrage. Draco grabbed his head with both hands and kissed him back in total ferocity, and with something between happiness and relief, Harry started clawing madly at their clothing. They didn’t even get out a word before they had sex for the first time, on the rug before the fireplace and only halfway naked, clumsy and awkward. It didn’t stop either of them from getting off, but afterwards, even still panting, Draco said thickly, “That was appalling. We have to learn how to do this properly.”

“It might take a while,” Harry said. He was feeling perfectly satisfied with their efforts, himself, and inclined to just keep on lying right here curled up round Draco on the rug, possibly for the rest of the week.

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#Heal Thyself #Astolat #Drarry #Drarry Fic Rec #fic reblog #Hp Fic Rec #Harry Poter Fic Rec #Drarry Fanfiction #Hp Fanfiction #Harry Potter Fanfiction #Drarry Fanfic #hp Fanfic #hp #Harry Potter #Auror!Harry #Draco Malfoy #Healer!Draco #carey's bookmark fic recs #Carey's Personal Bookmarks

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aesthetics-for-harry-potter · 9 months

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2/2

Moodboard of healer!Draco x OC.

Face-claim: Stella Maxwell.

Requested by: anon.

#Harry Potter #harry potter series #harry potter fandom #harry potter graphic #harry potter aesthetic #harry potter edit #harry potter moodboard #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x oc #healer!draco #face claim #Stella Maxwell #for anon #female oc #mod cassandra

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longdaytogo · 5 months

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this is his third injury this week alone...

healer x auror

also I know it's unconventional but I like the idea of healers also using certain muggle tools but the ✨magic✨ version of it

#harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry #hpdm #healer draco #auror harry

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littlewinnow · 9 months

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Healer Draco + reckless auror potter ?

#drarry #drarry fanart #myart #healer Draco #auror potter #I just really love drawing Draco with this longer hair #healer au

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sowoyp · 4 months

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a reminder to do your skincare routine!! 🫶

#art #draco malfoy #harry potter #drarry #drarry fanart #hpdm #hp fanart #hp art #fanart #healer draco

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daddiesdrarryy · 1 year

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Draco: Stay still, Harry, you lost a lot of blood

Harry: I didn’t “lose” my blood, Draco, I know exactly where it is

Harry, pointing to the large puddle of blood: Right there

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catgriller · 4 months

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Draco drags Harry back to Grimmauld Place after drinking too much at a pureblood ball. Though Harry jus passes out and Draco stares a little too long at his Auror ..friend…

#catgriller art #i love Auror HP and Healer DM!!!!!!!!!!!!#yes cop equals bad but.. but… sexy Harry Potter….. guys pls..#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #drarry fandom #drarry fanart #dmhp #hpdm #draco malfoy fanart #harry potter fanart #harry potter fandom #draco x harry #harry x draco

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ivmaruva · 11 months

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Day 91

Draco Malfoy is the worst patient ever.

If you know any fics with this dynamic feel free to post the names in the comments :)

#100daysofdramione #dramione #fanart #draco malfoy #digital fanart #hermione granger #hermione x draco #dhr art #digital art #dhr fanart #my art #draco lucius malfoy #healer hermione granger

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talesofadragon · 2 years

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Looked like you were taking requests , so I thought if I could request something .

Healer Draco x reader - Draco and reader work together. Reader has the day off but something happens and is rushed to St Mungos. Draco is the healer working in the Er and sees you come in and rushes to help you. He has to perform surgery, he gets nervous but everything goes fine. Draco takes care of reader till they are better

Hi, love!

I absolutely LOVED this request! You can now find it here ☺️

I hope I gave it justice 🤍🪄

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dewitty1 · 1 year

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Chasing Dragons

The_Sinking_Ship @the-sinking-ship

Chapters: 15/15 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Charlie Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Ron Weasley Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Healer Draco Malfoy, Dragon Tamer Harry Potter, magical creature sanctuary, Powerful Harry Potter, Powerful Draco Malfoy, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), BAMF Harry Potter, references to past Harry/Charlie, Minor Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Harry rides a motorbike, and wears a leather jacket, Blood and Injury, descriptions of medical emergencies, (but all characters end up fine!), Light D/s undertones, very light bondage (consensual), Anal Sex, Drinking, Switching, Pining, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Banter, Humor, Original Characters - Freeform, Happy Ending, H/D Wireless 2021, Jealousy, past infidelity (not between Harry and Draco)

Summary:

Draco can think of only one way to outclass his pleat-front-khaki-wearing politician ex, and that’s by making headlines with an obvious upgrade. And who better to upstage the cheating bastard than the Saviour of the World, Harry Potter himself? Sure, Potter is a little rough around the edges in ripped jeans, a rumpled tartan shirt, and a permanent scowl. Draco reckons a haircut and a shave wouldn’t hurt, either. But Potter is also in need of a Healer willing to keep his secrets, and Draco is just the man for the job. It’s a perfectly reasonable exchange. They need only attend a couple parties arm-in-arm, smile nicely for the paparazzi, and tolerate each other long enough to convince everyone they’re smitten. In return, Draco will keep Potter alive and in one piece. But it isn’t long before Draco realises he might be in over his head, because Potter is ten tonnes of trouble packed into a leather jacket, and seems keen on hurtling himself towards death on the back of a flying motorbike. And that says nothing of Potter’s penchant for fire-breathing beasts and things that bite. Ah well, at least they’ll have some fun while it lasts. After all, Draco always did like a bit of danger.

Excerpt:

“Did you want a tour? I’m afraid the conservatory is still under construction and we’re remodelling the west wing,” Potter said with a smirk and crossed the room to the icebox. He fished out a couple of beers and offered one to Draco, tilting it in his direction with eyebrows raised in question.

Draco didn’t want another drink, already buzzed, but he stepped up to him, standing too close. He took one of the beer bottles from Potter’s hand, then the other, and set them both on the counter behind him.

Potter’s eyes narrowed as Draco placed a hand on either side of Potter’s hips, fingers curled around the edge of the counter, caging him in. They stood that way for a moment, not touching, though it was a very near thing. But then Potter inhaled deeply, his chest puffing, brushing against Draco’s, and it was as if something in him broke, because Potter lunged forward, wrapping one hand around the back of Draco’s neck, crushing his mouth against Draco’s.

Draco sucked in a breath and parted his lips, tilting his chin and slotting their mouths together. At that first wet brush of Potter’s tongue, Draco’s stomach pulled achingly tight, heat flooding his gut and spreading outward until even his fingertips tingled. Draco tightened his hold on the counter as he pressed forward, aligning their hips and swallowing Potter’s responding groan.

Potter’s grip at the back of Draco’s neck was firm and unyielding, the tips of his fingers pressing into the notches of Draco’s spine, settling between the bones like they were made to rest there. There was no shyness in Potter’s kiss, no sweet swipes of tongue or teasing softness, but rather a ferocity, a growling hunger as he plunged his tongue past Draco’s lips, consuming him.

It was less of a kiss and more of a war, a fight for dominance, and one that Draco very much intended to win. Draco relished the slick slide of his mouth against Potter’s already swollen lips, sucking his tongue when it pressed past his teeth. He let Potter have his way for a time, let him nip and bite, pressing back against all the places where Draco had him pinned.

He hadn’t even touched Potter yet, hadn’t reached for flesh or pushed his hands beneath clothing, though he wanted to. He kept his hands on the counter, his knuckles bleached white from the effort. The kiss he returned was controlled; his tongue fucking into Potter’s mouth, slow and languid. He could feel Potter’s frustration and the tension building in his muscles.

Potter’s hands dragged from Draco’s neck to the front of his shirt, gripping the collar in the hand of his uninjured arm. He crumpled the fabric in his fist, winding it around the back of his hand, and tugged sharply. Draco heard the seams creak, pulled to the point of tearing, and Draco’s hand flew up to stop him, fingers locking around Potter’s wrist in a punishing grip.

“Don’t you dare,” Draco growled against Potter’s lips, the bones in Potter’s wrist grinding beneath his fingers as he twisted Potter’s hand away.

Potter smirked against his mouth, his tongue darting out to flick over Draco’s bottom lip, then his top, before curling back behind his teeth. “And if I do?”

Draco loosened his hold for barely half a second, just enough time to crank Potter’s arm behind him and pin it against his back. Potter hissed, eyes fluttering. “I like this shirt, I’ll not let you ruin it.”

But then Potter dropped his other hand and hooked two fingers into Draco's belt loop and tugged him closer, rocking his hips up so Draco could feel the substantial bulge in his jeans. The pressure against Draco’s aching cock lit a fire in his belly, and his control snapped like a rubber band pulled to its breaking point.

Draco relaxed his iron grip on the counter, half expecting to see indents left by his fingers, and plunged a hand into Potter’s hair, wrenching his head back to expose his throat. He sucked a mark into the skin, nipping at Potter’s jaw, scraping his teeth across the stubble, his tongue and mouth leaving wet trails in their path. He released Potter’s wrist and yanked aside the neck of his vest, sinking his teeth into the exposed and tender strip of flesh where Potter’s throat met his shoulder. Potter groaned, deep and low, his hips canting up, his cock grinding hard against Draco’s.

Fuck, it was good.

ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁)

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