Actions

Work Header

Medicine

Summary:

Healer Hermione Granger has spent two years nursing her most beloved patient, even though the world believes he's a lost cause. When it is revealed that Draco Malfoy may hold the key to a cure, she knows she'll stop at nothing to find it, but spending time with him brings its own share of unexpected side effects.
Does allowing herself to care for him mean turning her back on everything she holds dear? Does he know more than he's letting on? And are some secrets better kept that way?
A memory loss fic with a twist.

Notes:

Hi!
Welcome to this new WIP of mine!
It's a bit different to my shorter stories but I hope you like it!
Warning: this story is going to be intense at times, so please read the tags and take care when reading!
I hope you enjoy! <3

(See the end of the work for more notes and other works inspired by this one.)

Chapter 1: Teeth

Chapter Text

“Teeth,” someone said.

Hermione looked up from the inpatient sheet she was filling out to see Parvati striding towards her, grin brighter than her lime green Healer’s robes.

“What?” said Hermione absently, trying to coax her brain upwards from where it had spent the last ten minutes poring over the results of a particularly complex set of diagnostic spells.

“Teeth,” Parvati repeated. “I bet you I’ll fix someone’s teeth today.”

“I see,” replied Hermione, scribbling something else down on her parchment. Parvati had decided recently that she was going to rediscover her ‘gift’ for Divination by predicting what cases she would see each day at St Mungo’s, so far undeterred by her poor track record. Hermione smiled wryly. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

“Ha, ha,” said Parvati.

“I bet... I’ll get some sort of tongue injury.”

Parvati clicked her tongue in response. “You’re on. You owe me a pint if you don’t see any tongues today.”

“A six-year-old stuck his tongue out at me in the lift earlier,” Hermione said, trying not to grin. “You may need to raise the bar."

“Ugh, you’re right,” Parvati muttered. “Never mind. You can buy me a pint regardless. What are you doing tonight?”

“Um, I’m picking Ron up after work. So we’ll probably just…hang out after.”

“Again?”

Hermione looked down at her form. “Yes. Again.”

Parvati nodded. “Alright. But we’ll steal you away some other time?”

“Of course.” She gave a smile and Parvati squeezed her shoulder, then set off down the corridor.

Hermione looked back at her clipboard. She’d written ‘teeth’ in the ‘diagnosis’ box. Blast.


Hermione loved being a Healer.

The training had been tough – long hours, unpredictable shifts, and emotionally taxing cases. But God, it was worth it. There was something so satisfying about her work. It was like every patient that walked through her door was a puzzle to solve, and, well, Hermione had always loved puzzles.

Harry was very supportive, even though she could tell that he didn’t understand why she loved it so much. He couldn’t stand the idea of being stuck in the gleaming white corridors of St Mungo’s all day. Investigating mysteries, stabilising dark artifacts, and putting rule breakers behind bars? Now that was much more his speed.

There was also the bonus that the bustling office life at the Ministry was perfect for him. Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that it reminded him of Hogwarts. Even his Auror partner was-

Hermione was jolted from her thoughts by a commotion at the reception desk. She’d been on her way out of the hospital for lunch when a familiar aristocratic drawl reached her ears. 

“How long is this going to take?” demanded the drawl’s furious owner as he scowled over the desk at the receptionist.  

“There is a triage system, Mr Malfoy, you can’t demand to be seen earlier simply because you’re an Auror-”

“But I have paperwork to do before Potter gets to it! Do you know how horrid-”

“How horrid his handwriting is?” asked Hermione, appearing beside him with a grin.

Draco Malfoy turned away from the unwilling audience behind the reception desk and his face split into a matching smile. “Granger! You can get me signed off, right?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Always nice to hear you’ve come to visit,” she quipped.

“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t take advantage of your medical skills?” he joked, then stepped forward to place a chaste kiss to her cheek. “It’s good to see you,” he said, more gently.

“Enough of that,” she laughed, shoving him fondly away. “What is it this time? Skinned knee? Wobbly tooth? Every-flavour-bean up your nose?”

“How would you feel if I was dying and the last thing you did was insult me?”

“It would feel like poetic justice.”

“No it wouldn’t. You’d feel bad.”

“If you say so.” Hermione smiled at him, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “How long’s the waiting time?” she asked the receptionist, who was watching the exchange with suspicion.

“About forty-five minutes,” she answered reproachfully.

“Oh, Harry will definitely try to start the paperwork before then. We better get you fixed up,” Hermione decided, grinning. “I’ll take him, Cassie, thank you.”

“But it’s your lunchbreak-”

“That’s not a problem, Cassie, really,” she answered warmly. “My consult room is always open to friends.”

“It wasn’t when I was dying last Sunday,” interjected Draco. “Some friend you are.”

“It was five a.m. And you were drunk, not dying.”

Hermione didn’t catch his response, but his grumbling followed her all the way down the corridor to her room.


“Alright then, out with it. What’s wrong with you?” asked Hermione once inside. She settled back against the wall, eyeing Draco with expectant eyes.

Allowing himself only the briefest moment of embarrassment, he slowly withdrew a hand from his pocket.

Attached to one finger was a thimble.

“I, er, had a run-in with an aggressive sewing kit,” he admitted.

“Hm,” mused Hermione, pulling his hand towards her for further examination. “How curious. You’d think a needle would be more inclined to violence.”

There was an uncharacteristic silence from her patient as he looked at her in disbelief.

“What happens when you try to remove it?” she asked.

He scowled. “The teeth sink deeper.”

“Ah. A classic Chinese finger-trap situation.”

Another silence. An accompanying eye roll. “Just get rid of it, Granger.”


“So what was it?”

“Thimble bite.”

“Yes!” roared Parvati, frightening an elderly witch in the bed behind her. “Teeth!”

Hermione laughed.


Hermione had assumed that Draco Malfoy would more or less disappear after the end of the war, but she’d been wrong. He had signed up immediately for the Ministry Auror training program instead, shocking the wizarding world with his high marks and dedication to the profession, and had then gone on to crash-land into Hermione’s life when he and Harry were made Auror partners.

Despite their emphatic protests, it didn’t take a genius to realise that Harry’s hot-headed spontaneity worked incredibly well with Draco’s more measured, cunning approach. Even Ron, who had never quite managed to get over his distrust of the Slytherin, had acknowledged that he was a far better partner for Harry than he himself had been.

As a result, it didn’t take long for Draco and Harry’s grudging friendship to spill over into their lives outside of their Ministry duties. Hermione, Ron and Ginny had slowly gotten used to Draco joining them, and now, five years later, Draco was now considered a core part of their group, and a close personal friend to Hermione.

He had struggled as much as any of them after Ron’s accident.


Hermione’s shoes tapped against the cold floor as she rounded the corner and turned onto the Janus Thickey ward. There he was, stood with a group of other Healers, their lime green robes almost fluorescent against the white tiles.

“Hello darling,” Hermione greeted, taking his hand. Ron turned to face her, a sleepy smile on his face. “How was your day?”

“Good,” he answered, staring fixedly at a point somewhere above her head. “I saw a Niffler today!”

“In the hospital?”

“Yeah! A great big one with a long nose.”

Hermione smiled bemusedly and squeezed his hand. “Sounds interesting. Shall we go home?”

Ron nodded and trailed after her as she set off towards the Apparition point with a final wave goodbye to the Healers.

“Was it a long day today, huh?” she asked, as they walked. “You sound tired.”

No response.

“I’m doing toad in the hole tonight though,” she tried. “Your favourite!”

“With lumpy gravy?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Lots of lumpy gravy.”

He smiled wider at this. “I saw a Niffler today.”

When they returned home, Hermione set about putting dinner together while Ron sat at the table, fidgeting restlessly with a set of wizard’s chess and mumbling to himself. Hermione distinctly heard the words ‘lumpy gravy’ several times.

It was a good sign, she’d been told, that he was able to fixate on things now. However it was the fifth night in a row that he had requested lumpy gravy, so Hermione was hoping that this latest fixation would move onto something else soon.

When she brought their dishes down to the table, Ron was staring listlessly out of the window.

“Darling,” she said softly, raising a hand to touch his arm and recoiling when he flinched. “C-come on, now, it’s dinner time.”

“With lumpy gravy?” he asked again, but didn’t look at his plate.

“Yes, lumpy gravy,” she agreed, already exhausted. “Will you eat?” She held out a forkful of mashed potatoes and he quietly allowed her to feed him.

Ron’s dinner took the typical two hours, interspersed with flashes of giddy excitement about the gravy, and periods of morose sulking every time a floret of broccoli found its way onto his fork. Finally, exhausted, Hermione whisked their dishes, hers barely touched and stone cold, away.

“Time for bed,” she suggested quietly, and Ron allowed her to lead him upstairs. A quick brush of his teeth, a drag of a comb through his hair, and a wrestling match as she tried to change him into pyjamas later, she was finally able to tuck him into his bed.

“I heard a dragon roar,” he said quietly.

Huh. That was a new one.

“Did you now?” she said absently, fiddling with an outcrop of lint on the duvet. “You’re going to need a shave again soon, you know,” she decided, eyeing the bristly growth on his jaw. “How about we tackle that this weekend, huh?”

“No,” he said decisively, and rolled over to pull the duvet up to his chin.

She sighed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Alright. I’ll ask you in the morning.”

She made to stand but a hand shot out and grasped her wrist.

“Will you read the story?”

She blinked. “What story?”

“I heard a dragon roar.”

“I… I’m sorry, darling, I don’t think I know that one.”

“Yes you do!” he said insistently, raising his voice.

Dreading an outburst, Hermione caved. She plopped down onto the bed beside him. “Okay, I’ll, er, I’ll try. Once… once upon a time…”

He looked at her expectantly, blue eyes wide.

“…There lived a princess?”

He nodded eagerly.

“…In a tower?”

“Not that one!” he exploded, his face reddening and fists clenching.

“Well, I’m sorry!” snapped Hermione. “I don’t know what story you want!”

His bottom lip wobbled, and her heart sank, guilt billowing up in her chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it-” she murmured, reaching out to console him. She cradled his head in her lap as he sobbed. “I didn’t mean to shout at you, darling. I’m just tired. I’m so sorry…”

As her words turned to noise, she stroked his hair over and over, and gradually his sobs began to fade.

And eventually, when Hermione thought that perhaps he might have fallen asleep, Ron turned his face up to look at her. In his eyes was something rare, something lucid. It was something she hadn’t seen in months.

“You look familiar,” he said.

And when he fell asleep, Hermione finally allowed herself to cry.