Chapter Text
Of all the curses that Hermione could be exposed to it had to be the creeping death.
She wasn’t stupid. Hermione knew that death was a potential hazard of her profession, but she’d heard the warnings so many times she’d become numb to them. Plenty of careers could be deadly. Hell, every auror she worked with would tell you about the fight that nearly got them over a fire whiskey. Being a witch carried a certain amount of inherent danger.
Hermione was a careful curse breaker, always taking the precautions. But she hadn’t checked her protective gloves for rips the one time that counted, it seemed. And of everything that she could have been exposed to, of course it was the fatal one.
The creeping death. An easy curse to break, but physical contact led to a slow decay of the body. It was a terminal diagnosis. The St. Mungo’s doctor delivered the news frankly and with compassion. Likely she did it all the time.
Hermione wondered how many people this doctor had diagnosed with creeping death specifically. She could make an educated guess. Hermione’s knew everything that was worth knowing about the disease. That it was an uncommon but deadly curse. That unlike its other form, the equally as deadly rotting curse, there was no cure for it. The statistics of it all were little comfort as she tried to grapple with the news.
“We’ll start a regimen of potions that may delay the progress of the symptoms. But the progress will be steady.”
“And I have two years at most?”
“In my experience it’s not helpful to think about the stages of the disease before they happen. We’ll have all these conversations when it’s time.”
Hermione nodded, even though she knew in more detail that she cared to exactly all of the stages she was going to experience. She wanted the doctor to answer more questions but instead she held her tongue and looked at the spot of her hand where the curse made contact.
It seemed implausible that such a small blemish would eventually weaken her enough to kill her. But there it was, blue and cold to the touch.
Hermione expected to feel grief, but at first there was just anger. Most of it aimed at herself. Why wasn’t she more careful? She thrown away the rest of her life for one careless mistake. One small hole in her glove.
Hermione took off a week of work. She could barely talk to anyone without crying, and she really disliked the idea of bursting into tears at the Ministry. Her friends knew something was happening, but she was not brave enough yet to tell them.
She drowned herself in liquor, only to get through the first shock, she told herself. At one boozy low point, she considered drinking herself to death to avoid the pain of the slow deterioration that was coming for her. But drinking oneself to death also sounded miserable, so she didn’t.
The littlest things would set her off, like the damn sofa that she’d spent months looking for when she moved into her flat. It was her first big purchase when she left university and started getting her Ministry paychecks. All that agonizing over finding something perfect, and for what?
The healer told her try to take things one day at a time and she was doing the exact opposite. She thought of what would happen when she was gone, what she would do with the time she had left.
Crookshanks got spoiled even more than usual. It calmed Hermione to dote on the old cat. Petting his soft fur put her back in her body. Who knew that her geriatric cat might outlive her?
Your impending premature death was good for one thing at least. Evaluating your life in its current state. Hermione was lucky in that she didn’t have a lot to regret. She liked a lot of things about her life, truth be told. She knew that not everyone got even this level of fulfillment.
Most witches didn’t even like what they did for work. Hermione liked being a curse breaker. It was challenging and exciting. She was lucky enough to have friends and family whom she loved. Her friends and her got together nearly every Saturday night.
If there was anything that she felt like she’d missed out on it was that she’d never found her match. And she doubted that anyone less than an angel on Earth would date her knowing what was coming, nor could she put anyone through it. Oh well.
And she knew that she put off things that she wanted to do in favor of working longer hours at work. She didn’t have the luxury of putting things off anymore.
Hermione made a list of all of the things that she wanted to do in what would be a relatively healthy year. There were places she would like to travel too, before the disease progressed. But it hadn’t yet.
Hermione kind of wanted to quit her job, but she found after a week of doing nothing that she missed her work. Maybe towards the end she would leave, but not now. And it was with that conviction that she put on her work robes, and found her way to the Ministry.
She took long walks until she felt the fatigue in her muscles, keenly aware that eventually the curse would take her ability to walk. She found solace in the burn of her lungs and the potential of the next step.
There found some peace when she burrowed into her blankets and more peace when she did it the next day and the next. As if she could walk out her problems.
After she could think about the fact that she contracted the creeping death without completely breaking down, Hermione invited her friends over one by one to tell them. Ginny and Ron and Neville.
But it was Harry who comforted her the most. Because he was an empathetic person and a good friend but also because he was the only person in the world capable of answering the unanswerable question. The thing that happened only once in a person’s lifetime.
Harry sat with her, and shared a bottle of wine as they ate take-away at her tiny kitchen table. Even under dyer circumstances she wasn’t going to make a mess on her precious sofa.
“Will you tell me what it was like?”
Harry recounted every detail about what it was like to pass, and patiently answered her questions.
Hermione nodded. “And was there pain?”
“There was light. And peace. Peace like I’d never felt before.”
Harry’s answer galvanized something in Hermione. A fragile promise of something beyond. And with that promise Hermione could make plans for the little time she had left in this body.
It was remarkable how different a place could feel after a week away. The magical law enforcement department felt entirely alien, never mind the fact that Hermione worked there for years. The truth was everything about her workplace was the same. The old wood. The wizards and witches bustling around. The memos flying overhead. It was Hermione that was different.
She knew the infected spot on her hand was glamoured so no one could see it, but it felt like it was drawing everyone’s attention in the room.
Hermione took a deep breath and began the immense emotional task of walking to her desk. She was intercepted before she could make it there, whisked away by an assistant to Kingsley’s office.
Kingsley waited until the door was closed before starting in.
“I’m glad that you took time off.”
“I hope it didn’t put us too far behind.”
But Kingsley did not want to talk about all the work she’d missed. Instead he put the incident report she’d wrote in front of her.
“I read the report, but I’d also like to hear what happened from you directly.”
Hermione went over all the details. It was a straight forward curse breaker job on a seized safe box. She’d only started the process, and noticed her glove was ripped. Then the spot of decay appeared on her hand a day later. That report was written before she’d gone to St Mungos and before she knew what the curse that got her was.
Kingsley seemed to be doing his best to choose his words carefully after he heard the words creeping death.
“Do you need to take more time?”
“I’ve taken enough time. I want to be here. And it’s not contagious.”
“Maybe work shouldn’t be your priority now. And if your boss is advising you to think about work less than maybe you should heed it.”
Hermione was holding back an eye roll as if her life depended on it. As if she didn’t spend weeks thinking about this. As if the only way that she was leaving was if she was dragged out of here.
“You’ll let me know if ever need anything?”
There was nothing anyone could do and niceties certainly weren’t going to help. And the usually matter of fact Kingsley was doing his best to be sweet. In that moment Hermione knew that she’d keep her a disease a secret if possible.
Hermione was again robbed of the moment that she had to hope to settle herself before talking to anyone else. Malfoy was waiting for her at her desk.
“I heard a rumor that you were back.” He asked with his usual flirty demeanor. “How is my favorite curse breaker?”
Hermione managed not to fall for Malfoy’s flirting, she knew he flirted with very woman in the office, but sometimes she couldn’t help but think scandalous thoughts. Its wasn’t difficult when he was as handsome as he was. He’d grown into his once pointy features, and the muscles he’d gained as an auror were nice to look at. It wasn’t a surprise that many a witch found themselves charmed straight into the bedroom. Hermione heard enough gossip over the years she was surprised she had room in her brain to think about anything else.
“I missed you around here. The others tried their best but no one could break a paralyzing curse for shit. A simple paralyzing curse. Can you imagine?”
Of all the things she’d missed her work day Hermione never thought that she’d put her verbal sparring sessions with Malfoy on the list. “I never thought I’d see the day when Granger took a vacation.”
“First time for everything.”
Malfoy’s gray eyes focused on her, and whatever he saw made him look longer than was polite. No wonder people kept falling for it. Having such an intense focus on you was devastating. “You’re alright though?”
“Fine. Happy to be back at work.”
“Fine. Happy. That is a non-answer if I’ve ever heard one.”
Hermione’s face pinched in irritation. “It’s a wonder anyone talks to you at all, if you berate them for giving an honest answer.”
Malfoy smiled in a way that made something in Hermione’s stomach flutter. A feeling which she promptly quashed.
“I missed that charming temper around here.” Malfoy dropped his case folders on her desk. “Sorry to officially bring an end to your vacation. Welcome back.”
Though he left her a peace offering along with the folders, a warm cup of tea.
Hermione no longer had time for keeping up appearances. With the time that she had left, Hermione decided that she was going to listen to her instincts and do the things that she loved often and without regret.
And she’d wanted to buy season tickets for the Harpies for many years, but she could never justify the cost with how many games she would make it to. That seemed silly now. She loved quidditch, at least she loved watching it. So she bought the tickets.
Hermione convinced the ticket seller to put her season tickets next to Harry’s so they could always be sit together. In theory, Harry got called into work that night. Hermione felt the urge to bail, not wanting to go alone. It was what she would have done before. But instead she decided to go the match.
Ginny spotted her alone in the stands, and flew over the Hermione to chat during the warm-up.
“I’ll come find you as soon as I can after the game and we’ll go somewhere?” Ginny said.
“I’m fine. Focus on your game.”
“I can focus on you and the game.”
But Hermione waved her off.
“Good luck.”
Hermione found that she didn’t mind being alone as much as she thought she would. She was content to sit in the stands, burying her nose in her Harpies scarf to avoid the fall nip in the air in between sips of her butter beer.
As she was watching, Malfoy popped into view at the bottom of her section. He looked delicious in his quidditch jersey. He nearly caught her looking once and she did her best look away, hoping it came off as casual.
Malfoy tipped his chin down in acknowledgment of her, and she had a strange pull to invite him over.
Well. She thought, why shouldn’t she invite him over? We chat nearly every morning at work, why wouldn’t we be friendly? Or maybe the butter beer was making her brave. She waved him over.
Malfoy frowned slightly when he saw her, like he was wondering why she was acknowledging him. And then, as if he caught himself being rude, he flashed a lopsided grin.
Hermione’s heart was pounding as he navigated the stands over to her, but she’d already waved him over. It was too late to back out without facing horrible embarrassment.
“I’ve got a few people waiting for me in a box.”
Of course he already had a seat. Why would he come to the game alone? She felt the blush creep along her cheeks.
“You know what. Never mind.”
Malfoy sat down next in the seat next to her.
Not only was he in a fan jersey, but Hermione was surprised it was a Harpies jersey. Green and gold.
“You’re a Harpies fan?” Hermione asked.
“Fan?” Draco scoffed, like she’d insulted him. “I’m the partial owner.”
“Oh.” How had Hermione missed that? She’d been so focused on her work probably. Never picked her head out of the book. Never came out to enough games. “So you were heading up to the owner’s box?”
“I was.”
“Seems unlike you to reject the best seat in the place.”
“Don’t get me wrong, loads of fun to hear about how everyone’s latest business acquisition is going but it’s nice to talk to new people every once and awhile. And how often do you acknowledge my presence outside of work? I can’t miss this opportunity.”
Draco’s mouth half quirked up at that, and Hermione couldn’t help but feel charmed by it.
“I was going to get a butter beer if you want another one?” Draco asked, noticing that her’s was nearly empty.
“I can get another one for myself.”
“Please let me get you a drink. You’ve gotten me out of so many rough spots at work. It is the least I can do.”
“Then I guess thank you.”
Malfoy looked rather pleased with himself that she’d conceded.
It was surprisingly easy to talk to Malfoy. They’d worked closely together for years and they’d done so much field work together. Apparently over the years they’d become sort of friends without her noticing.
Who knows why he wanted to talk to her, she was always a little mean to him. Old habits dying hard. She kept sneaking glances at him sitting next to her, just like she couldn’t help herself but notice were he was in the office. Like he was a magnet.
Hermione thought it would be difficult to slip into the skin of someone confident in things like this. Only it easy. It was fun to have a gorgeous man flirt with you and not worry about where it could go. It thrilled her.
And Hermione truly did love going to Quidditch games. The sport made her feel connected to the magical world, like she belonged. It always had.
When Ginny made a break for the goal with the quaffle, Hermione held her breath. She celebrated with everyone else as Ginny scored. Ginny cheekily pointed Hermione’s way, blowing her a kiss and mouthing ‘for you’ to celebrate.
Draco teased her about it. “You don’t know. That could have been for me.”
And then Ginny then made a rude gesture when she flew close enough that only their section could see.
“I think that one was for you, actually,” Hermione said.
Malfoy only looked smug.
In the tight stands, Malfoy’s leg was pressed up against hers, and that was also thrilling in a different way.
They only got closer and closer to each other as the game went on. Until Hermione was leaning into his shoulder, nearly tucked into side. He didn’t pull away.
And maybe it had been too long since Hermione had someone touch her or maybe it was that it was intoxicating to be the object of affection, but Hermione found her gaze lingering a little too long on his lips.
Hermione looked at Malfoy when the seeker caught the snitch and she found herself disappointed that the night was over. And she was surprised to find that he was looking only at her.
She’d been flirting with him all game, and yet somehow now, because she was unsure of herself she didn’t know what to day. She only knew that she didn’t want to leave him.
Malfoy had to bend his face in close to her so she could hear him over the noise of the stands. “Maybe we can get food somewhere? If you’re hungry. There’s a pub that’s close to here with fantastic food. I’ll treat. Considering my team just won.”
His grey eyes snagged hers in a way that made her feel warm and fuzzy inside.
“Alright.”
Malfoy looked as relieved that the night was continuing as Hermione was.
As they walked their way down the stands to the apparition point, Malfoy’s shoulder kept bumping against Hermione’s.
They never made it to the bar. She really did intend to go to the pub with him at least.
Hermione might have kissed him first, she couldn’t remember. All she knew was that she never did this, but she couldn’t think about it because Malfoy kissed her like there was no time before or after, only this.
It felt something like flying.
And then the kisses became more. Hermione felt them somewhere beyond her skin and deep in her bones. Kisses that demanded more.
Malfoy pushed her against the wooden baluster of the quidditch steps, holding her in place as if he feared that she might run. Hermione melted into the touch. Through the layers of her coat, she could barely feel him against her and she wanted more. She wanted the layers off.
Malfoy sucked her bottom lip gently between his teeth and she made a low noise in her throat that made him pull away. He leaned down and placed his mouth so close to her ear.
“Granger. Are you trying to get me to take you home?” His whispers tickled the sensitive skin on her neck.
“Only if you’re interested.”
“Beyond interested.” He practically purred. “But I am also doing the math on how many butter beers that you’ve had.”
The rejection stung when she thought they were having a good night. He’d certainly set a fire in her belly. It made her feel unbelievably boring.
Draco’s grey eyes fixed on hers. “Don’t get me wrong. I would very much like to.”
“Someone kept buying me butter beers. But I promise I am not too drunk if that is what you’re worried about.”
“Part of it.” Draco pulled away so that he was looking down at her, all hint of teasing gone from his face. “Why now? Why do this now?”
He looked dazed. She was pleased with the fact that his always perfect hair looked mussed.
“What are you suspicious of?”
“I am trying so hard to be responsible here. Why am I the one trying to be responsible here?”
“Because we’re coworkers? You think it’s going to get complicated?”
There wouldn’t be time for it to get complicated.
“It can just be fun.”
Draco nodded. “Okay. Then do you want to come back to my house?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes.”