Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Fucking arrogant imbecile!" A loud woman's voice echoed behind the wooden door of the control room, followed by a slamming sound of similar intensity, presumably from someone who didn’t bother to close the main door quietly and instead shut it forcefully to relieve some anger.

Ginny had clearly just come back from the OR.

Two young women sitting next to me exchanged nervous glances, their brows slightly raised in silent amusement before they returned their attention to the screen.

"Seems like a pretty chill lad," mumbled Cho Chang, today’s attending cardiologist and also my friend, who had been forced to sit here in the Radiology department despite clearly wishing to be elsewhere. She had ordered a CT scan for a hospitalized patient due to his shortness of breath and atypical chest pain, and hospital protocol required her to be present while I injected the contrast substance into his body—a clear liquid essential for a better view of blood vessels.

Despite the late hour, I couldn’t help but notice that her natural features remained as beautiful as ever, perhaps only slightly marred by the tired shadows under her eyes, caused by too many sleepless hours at the hospital in too short a time.

I silently agreed with her but allowed myself only a small huff of laughter. There was no need to explain anything to Cho; we both knew Ginny well enough not to judge her. If the red-haired woman was in this mood, there had to be a reason.

Ignoring the noises behind the door, I continued focusing on the examination happening in the next room. Edward Benneth, eighty-seven years old, a retired man admitted two days ago for heart decompensation, had been medicated and observed for forty-eight hours, and everything had seemed to improve—until this afternoon. Shortly after lunch, he started complaining about unusual chest and abdominal pain. After running some tests, Cho had ordered a CT scan. That’s how we found ourselves here, at ten o’clock in the evening, with the three of us (Cho was accompanied by an older nurse from her department) sitting in a small control room while elderly Edward suffered from his abnormal pains in the next room, hidden within the ring of the radiodiagnostic machine.

I leaned over the small circular console on the table and pressed the microphone button.

"You might feel a little warm now, so please stay still and don’t move," I spoke into the console, ending the transmission quickly enough so that Ginny’s rude words couldn’t make it through the mic. Her swearing might have been muffled by the door, but it wasn’t entirely silenced.

The old man lying on the CT bed responded only by enthusiastically swinging his feet.

I clicked all the necessary buttons, and the machine began injecting the contrast substance into his body, filling his vessels for the scans and providing him with a temporary warmth, a typical effect of the procedure. My hands and eyes moved automatically, clicking and adjusting the scanning software while glancing at the patient every few seconds to ensure he wasn’t having an allergic reaction.

That was also why Cho was currently present—the contrast could provide a beautiful picture of the blood vessels, but it could also be life-threatening if the patient had an iodine allergy. The attending doctor had to be ready to provide first aid before the ICU team arrived.

The CT machine pushed Edward’s body into its inner ring, starting from his shoulders and slowly advancing until he was enclosed up to his thighs, generating scans of his body on my screen with every passing centimeter.

Cho and I reacted at the same time, moving closer to the screen for a better view.

As soon as I saw the whole picture, I knew it wasn’t good at all.

"Oh my…," breathed Cho next to my ear, clearly registering the size of his heart and the state of his lungs. The typical oval-shaped heart and dark lungs were nowhere to be seen. The healthy lines and structures had disappeared. Instead, his heart occupied a significantly larger space than usual, its contours fading into cloudy lungs—lungs that contained more liquid than air as they struggled to compensate for the losses caused by his dysfunctional, oversized heart. After two days of treatment? Not a good sign.

But those were Cho’s inexperienced eyes, seeing only the obvious signs of heart decompensation. I, however, was quicker and saw more. Instead of focusing solely on his chest, I traced his aorta—the main artery supplying blood to the body. If I was correct in interpreting his symptoms, I should see…

"There!" I started scrolling through the 3D image of his body.

Confused, Cho leaned closer. "What? Where?" she asked eagerly.

"His aorta," I explained, directing the pointer to where a light cross-section of the artery was visible. The normal circular shape was interrupted in the middle, a thin line running along its full length.

"W-wait…," Cho frowned before her eyes widened in realization. "Is that… is that a rupture?"

Before I could scroll further, the screen’s timer counted down, and the second scan started to upload, this time scanning from his thighs back up to his head, revealing contrast in smaller veins. If there was a leak, it would become more apparent now. I watched impatiently as the screen displayed more and more of his abdomen, ribs, chest…

"There’s liquid around the aorta," I pointed at the scattered light spots surrounding it.

I turned to Cho and immediately saw the uneasiness in her face.

"It’s a dissection," I confirmed, "a massive one." The contrast was leaking into places it shouldn’t be, clear evidence of a tear in the largest artery of the man’s body. We still had to measure the exact length of the rupture, but as a simple radiology tech, I lacked the right tools and software. The scans would be sent to the radiologist on call, who was comfortably sitting at home and would provide a more detailed analysis. Our job now was to call an emergency team and get the man to the OR as soon as possible—without causing a major rupture. That meant keeping him still and ensuring his heart rate didn’t increase even slightly.

I caught movement next to me and saw Cho shifting nervously, stepping from foot to foot, biting her lip, uncertain about what to do next.

"Cho," I said, setting aside the fact that it was her job to give orders, not mine. But damn it, she was struggling. "May I suggest you call the emergency team, then notify the OR to prepare for surgery? I’ll finish this and go instruct the patient."

Under normal circumstances, my words might have been considered rude or inappropriate, but not with Cho—this was only her third night shift. Though brilliant in her field, she was still finding her footing. She needed a little extra help.

Before she could respond, the older nurse rose from her chair, giving me a knowing look before placing a reassuring hand on Cho’s arm.

"I’ll go check on him and make sure he stays still, okay?"

"O-oh, yes, Susan, please do. I-I’ll call the OR then… right?" She looked at me, and I could swear I saw sheer panic behind her eyes.

Nurse Susan opened the heavy door to the examination room, and we could hear her distantly talking to Mr. Benneth.

I continued looking at unmoving Cho.

“Yes,” I confirmed and gave her my warmest smile. “But first, you have to call the emergency team. We must prepare the patient as quickly as possible.” To ease her struggle even more, I quickly grabbed the phone from my desk and dialed the emergency number.

“It’s ringing,” I whispered to Cho, and without hesitation, I placed the device in her hands, ensuring she gripped it tightly. She slowly held it to her ear and waited for the other side to pick up. I quickly returned to the screen and completed the remaining tasks before sending the results to the doctor. To inform him, I made a quick call from my personal phone.

Dr. Thomas listened politely to my observations (more than just suspicions—they were clear findings), and I could hear the clicks of his mouse as we spoke. He confirmed my concerns. While he examined the scans further, Cho finished her call, and I handed her the phone to speak with Thomas. Now, it was their turn to discuss the case.

I closed the program, stood up, and walked over to Mr. Benneth, leaving Cho behind.

“Mr. Benneth, some of our colleagues will be here to see you in a moment, and it’s going to get a little crowded. I need you to listen to them—they can be pretty tough if you don’t. But for now, let’s talk about your weekend plans, shall we?”

The old nurse smiled at the patient, who still had no idea what was about to happen to him. But we couldn’t tell him. We weren’t doctors. The only thing we could do before the team arrived was to keep him calm—and that’s exactly what we did.

Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sharp sound of my morning alarm rang from the direction of my feet, which was too weird for my sleepy brain to comprehend—why on Earth would I put my phone down there? Too annoyed to sit up and stop it, I disentangled myself from the stinky hospital sheets and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling barely a meter above my head. Thin lines of sunlight fought through the slats and fell on the white stucco, indicating another sunny day ahead. Yet nice weather or activities were the last things on my mind.

I felt awful. The shift had been terrible—one of the worst in the last two months, and that’s saying a lot because these summer shifts were usually overwhelmingly busy, and we had become more than used to it by now. But this… this was something else.

Once Mr. Benneth was safely in the OR, we were informed about an impending ‘raid’ coming to our hospital—around a hundred people injured in a multiple-car accident on the highway. If we weren’t doing X-rays, we were handling CT scans, and if not that, then we had to assist in the ultrasound room. All the injured were crying and calling for help as we positioned them correctly for the best imaging or fit them into the machines. We had effectively done a full-body workout just moving them. The waiting room was full—one person after another; one finished an X-ray, and as soon as the ER doctor received results, he immediately ordered a CT for further examination. A never-ending cycle. At one point, we weren’t even able to take a bathroom break… Fortunately, we managed to see our beds shortly after four a.m., though it was far too little sleep before my morning alarm blared again—and the beeping was still loudly insisting on my attention somewhere under my blanket.

A grumpy sound came from beneath me, and I heard (and felt, because God damn, these wobbly cheap bunk beds were deadly) Ginny struggling to win her battle with the sheets. If she was in her usual state—wrapped tightly from head to toe, resembling a dangerously trapped caterpillar—she would need to put in serious effort to set herself free.

“Is it morning yet?” she grumbled in a raspy voice once the sheet wars were finally over, and our bed stopped wobbling and threatening to throw me off.

The beeping of my alarm confirmed that it was indeed six o’clock in the morning. “Unfortunately.”

The light stripes on the ceiling started to dance when a slight morning breeze came through the open window, and fresh air brushed loose strands of my hair into my face. I happily blew them away.

“I hate this job,” Ginny groaned. It was a lie—she was made for this job.

“I hate it today too,” I agreed. That was also a lie; I loved this job to the fullest.

“Should we quit?”

“Most definitely.”

“We should hand in our notices today… August ends soon, so at least we won’t have to suffer for much longer than until the end of October.”

Ginny’s conspiracy theory made me chuckle. “Okay, miss, after you.”

Loud squeaky noises and wild movements of the bunk bed announced that she was the first to get up, and soon Ginny’s eyes were level with mine as she stood up from her mattress and faced me, leaving the damned bed calm once again.

“But I have a feeling you’ll cancel on me,” she said unhappily, putting on a guilty face.

I fully turned onto my left side to face her and rested my hand under my cheek. “Oh? And why is that?” I hoped my breath wasn’t reaching her nose.

With one swift move, Ginny climbed the squeaky ladder to my bed and tightly gripped the barrier in front of my face. This position gave her a better view of my tired body, fully displayed in ugly hospital pajamas, and I felt like she was about to interrogate me right then and there. I made sure she noticed how high I could raise my eyebrow when I gave her one of my most questioning looks, urging her to explain herself.

“You know, with that apartment situation and stuff… I guessed you were low on money, weren’t you?” She returned the same look with a little shake of her head.

Oh. Yeah…

Truth be told, I was VERY low on money now. After that terrible situation with Mark, all my savings were gone, and I was impatiently waiting for my upcoming paycheck.

Ginny realized she was right and pressed her lips together. From what I knew about her, she did that to stop herself from offering me help in the form of yet another silly friendly loan—for the thousandth time already. I had politely asked her not to because it made me feel like a charity case. I might have been one right now, but I refused to take money from anyone. I had a few hundred dollars left in my account. It wasn’t enough to find a proper place to live, but it was enough to stay fed and hydrated, and that was all I needed for now.

But as punishment for ignoring her offers, she had to mention my financial situation at least once a day to remind me of my misery. She probably thought she could guilt-trip me into accepting if she made me feel shitty enough.

She silently climbed down from the bed, bringing our eyes back to the same level again.

“Alright. I’ll talk to McGonagall and threat her with HR; we don’t have to quit, but we at least need humane shifts. This night deserves a fucking Purple Heart or something. I thought I was going to die in there…” She started walking around the room, grabbing her stuff from the sofa where we had thrown it before falling asleep.

Her words trailed off as she began putting on her regular clothes, her heavy sighs making it difficult to speak. By the time she was fully dressed, I had only managed to sit up and reach for the beeping phone, shutting that damned sound off for good.

She slung her backpack over her shoulder and reached the door, but before she left, she turned back to me.

“But first, I really need to pee.” And with that, she left me and my loud alarm behind for her long-awaited bathroom break. I realized I hadn’t seen her take a single break all night…

Fully dressed and utterly exhausted, we walked down the increasingly crowded hospital corridors, relishing the fact that it wasn’t our responsibility to care for the ill and injured patients today. From what we could see, it was shaping up to be another overwhelmingly busy, uncomfortable day.

Neither Ginny nor I felt like talking; we were perfectly content exchanging silent glances when we heard the first patient raising their voice at the receptionist.

A middle-aged Karen was loudly complaining about how they—meaning her daughter, who looked like she wished she were anywhere else at that moment—had been waiting in line for more than half an hour, flailing her arms dramatically.

“Ma’am, we apologize for the inconvenience. However, according to our records, you took your order number from the machine only seventeen minutes ago. I must ask you to sit down and wait. Our staff will assist you as soon as possible.”

Oh, our favorite receptionist, Samantha, never failed to make my day with her professional yet firm politeness. She had a talent for putting these kinds of people in their place in a way that left them with no room to argue—unless they wanted to look even more ridiculous.

Of course, this Karen was an exception and really tried to press her case. We listened to her high-pitched complaints about how the machine must have been broken as she stayed at the reception desk, continuing to yell at Samantha. As Ginny and I proceeded toward the exit, she hesitated for a second, tempted to listen further, but I had no interest. I’d heard enough arguing last night. Now, I just wanted peace and sleep.

We continued toward the exit, my pace slowing slightly to allow Ginny to catch up. As we walked, I had a moment to reflect on her earlier words.

I was low on money, and in a few days, I wouldn’t even have a place to live. It wasn’t that I had nothing, but the current rental prices were absurd for the quality of housing available. If I was going to spend one or two months’ worth of savings on a place, I wanted it to be cozy, warm, and modern. Work was stressful enough—I didn’t want to come home after a brutal shift only to find myself in an apartment with no hot water and faulty electricity just because the pipes and wiring were ancient. No, I needed something comfortable, something similar to the apartment I had—or, for the next three days, still had.

My train of thought was abruptly interrupted by a cold hand grabbing my forearm. Before I could react, I was yanked backward, colliding against my best friend’s chest with unexpected force. Her shoulder slammed into my neck, nearly knocking the breath out of me. She held me tightly, dragging us into the furthest corner of the narrow entrance hall.

“What the—”

“Ssshhh, woman,” she whispered harshly, clamping a sweaty palm over my mouth before pulling me even closer. Her grip was so strong that, with my already elevated heart rate from the shock, I found it difficult to breathe.

Was she out of her mind?! I struggled in her hold, desperate to break free, but this hellish woman trained five times a week and was a professional athlete. It took a ridiculous amount of effort just to turn slightly toward her.

What the hell are you doing?! My eyes screamed the question since my mouth was currently out of commission. But Ginny wasn’t looking at me. She was focused on something—no, someone—near the main entrance.

It dawned on me that she had no idea just how tightly she was holding me.

Following her gaze, it took me less than a second to see what had triggered her reaction.

To the left of the large glass doors, which allowed groups of people to enter and exit, beside the overcrowded notice board covered with various announcements and advertisements, stood two tall men. More accurately—two very handsome, very attractive men. Doctors.

I quickly recalled Ginny’s furious cursing when she returned from the OR last night. Although we hadn’t had much time to discuss it during our chaotic shift, she had mentioned having an argument with a particular cardiac surgeon earlier.

Looking at the platinum-haired man examining something on the notice board, I quickly realized he must have been the one she was talking about.

Chapter Text

The platinum blonde man was called Draco Malfoy. He was a chief cardiac surgeon—very handsome, very smart, and very rich. Some people claimed his hands were made of gold because of the hearts and conditions he had been able to save, patients who would have been sentenced to death in someone else’s hands. He was known to be the best in the field, earning him his position as the youngest cardio chief in history. But to avoid feeling too mediocre next to him, he had a significant flaw—no matter how smart and skilled he was, he had always been the biggest asshole around. Every surgery, every meeting, and every hospital event, he managed to find something to criticize, pointing out the smallest mistakes of his colleagues, tearing down their reputations if they so much as made a comment or disagreed in his presence. Not to mention that anyone besides doctors were faceless dummies to him. Yes, his hands might have been a gift from God, but his character seemed like it came straight from hell. No wonder he was known to have only one close friend—

Doctor Theodore Nott, senior anesthesiologist and leader of the medical emergency team, who was an absolute pleasure to be around.

To this day, I couldn’t understand how that friendship happened. His best mate was the biggest golden retriever energy male figure ever. He was kind, smart, polite, and humble, and what’s more—he looked like one of Michelangelo’s angels. Tall, athletic, olive-skinned, with dark curly hair, bright blue eyes, and dimples. He. Had. Dimples. Had he not been the nicest guy I’d ever met, I would have been worried that Malfoy’s attitude would eventually rub off on him, and I would be forced to end their friendship because of that. But from what I had observed over the years since meeting them, they had been friends since early childhood, and their characters had developed in proximity to one another. This led me to the conclusion that Malfoy couldn’t possibly damage Nott’s personality. 

Looking at them now in a slightly tired state allowed me to see how it actually made sense—who else but the most beautiful soul could tolerate a character like Malfoy’s?

The curly-haired doctor stood next to his blonde devil of a friend, staring sadly at a small paper in the middle of the notice board. He bent over some advertisement and, as I watched them, reached out with a finger to touch the square sheet of paper, catching one of the loose strips with a phone number that hung from it and mumbled something under his breath. Malfoy resolutely shook his head, making his friend look at him. I didn’t catch the verbal exchange, but I had to admit that, from my point of view, it almost looked like Malfoy was speaking in a somewhat decent tone. 

I wiggled again, trying to free myself so we could finally get out of the hospital, but my stubborn friend wouldn’t let me go. 

“He’s not gonna murder you, you know,” I scoffed at my friend and swiftly moved my arm until it finally escaped her iron grip and I was able to stand straight again. 

Dear diary, little note for next time—never let this girl hurt me, because she can inflict more pain than I’d like. 

“Well, one can never be too careful when it comes to him, alright?” Ginny raised her brows at me and then glanced back at her enemy. “The chances of him causing a fatal injury with just one touch are… too high. He’s more likely to kill me slowly for some weird sick kink of his rather than by accident.” 

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at my friend’s dramatic exaggeration. “Ginny, YOU sound like the weird sick one now. Let’s go home. I need to sleep so I can think clearly about looking for an apartment later. I make pretty questionable decisions when I’m tired.”

I took a few steps ahead, and to my surprise, Ginny didn’t pull me back or try to slow me down. Slowly walking away from her, I turned over my shoulder to convince her to come with me one last time, but it was useless. She was too stubborn. But also, she wasn’t even looking at me. Clutched in the corner of the hall, half hidden behind a big monstera, her focus was on the entrance, or more specifically—on the two doctors standing in our way. 

I sighed. This was useless.

I decided to let her be and continued without her. Although I wasn’t the one with a grudge against Dr. Malfoy, I couldn’t blame Ginny for her choice to hide from him rather than risk meeting him without enough willpower. He had this aura around him that made you feel uneasy; his eyes were too bright, and when he was in a bad mood, his gaze was so piercing you felt like he was pointing a gun at you instead of merely looking at you. Although… his gaze had this effect even on his brighter days… That’s also why I walked down the bright corridor with my head lowered, hoping that somehow, by the time I reached the notice board, they’d be gone. 

I walked slowly—too slowly, I must admit, literally crawling behind old and ailing patients who lingered in the hallway. Old ladies crossing to find the toilet? I let them pass first. Two small boys running around and blocking my way because their paper plane fell on the floor in front of my feet? Wonderful, take your time, boys. But even though I tried my best to blend in with the dark walls and white tiles, my luck ran out. 

Near the exit, I fell in line behind an old lady accompanied by her daughter or daughter-in-law, hoping that my messy bun wouldn’t be seen behind them. I was putting one foot in front of the other, looking directly at my feet, and had almost made it out of the building when—

“Morning,” greeted a cold baritone from my left side. 

I was just stepping over the threshold and that one simple word made me stop dead in my tracks. 

An annoyed man in his forties was walking behind me and angrily mumbled something when I stepped back, forcing him to walk around me to get out. I didn’t react. My attention was focused elsewhere. 

Draco Malfoy stood on my left, a cold Greek sculpture in modern clothes, with his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his expensive Ferrari jacket (which would definitely be too hot for the weather outside), and he was staring at me. The early morning sun had risen high enough to send its light through the entrance windows, illuminating the grass-green walls behind his shoulders and reflecting back from them in a beautiful play of light, capturing that pale man in front of me in a visually comforting picture like something out of a Ralph Lauren advertisement. 

My breath hitched in my throat. Despite the soft undereye circles, his face was really beautiful.

And he was a moron. 

I blinked a few times to clear the effect of his presence and mustered enough composure to return his greeting with a squeaky, “Eh... Hello?” Because there was no chance to come up with normal answer when I was just greeted by the coldest man this hospital have been keeping inside.

He stood there like a statue, piercing me with his light grey eyes to the point where the warmth in my face threatened to betray me by blushing. Luckily, his brilliant mind must have warned him how weird it was to stand there just staring at me, so he spoke.

“Hard shift?” he asked.

I blinked at him again. Was I dreaming…? Did he just...? Was he asking about MY hard shift…?

‘Yes, it was a hard shift, thanks for asking, Doctor Malfoy. May I ask why the hell you’re asking? Did YOU have a hard shift? Did someone hurt your head?’ 

Doctor Nott, standing next to him, slowly rose to his full height, displaying a wide Nirvana logo on his back. He cautiously turned to see who was standing behind his shoulder. I noticed his expression mirrored the same confusion I felt inside, but I also saw him hesitate, giving a strange look to Malfoy for a brief moment before his warm blue eyes fell on my face.

Even his handsome face bore the marks of a long sleepless night—dark bags under his eyes were evidence of too many surgeries where he had been the main pain reliever. OR nurses had been complaining about it in the elevator. But, as with his friend, it didn’t take away anything from his handsomeness. And what’s worse, I was currently too aware of why I had developed a slight secret crush on him.

Wonderful. Now not only one but two far too attractive men were staring at me—a shocked girl with greasy hair who stood there like a sack of potatoes.

I was completely unaware of what to do now.

Nervously, I looked from one side to the other to ensure he was indeed talking to me. There were no other hospital workers around, so it must have been me he was addressing—but why on Earth would he do that?

I tried to take a few hesitant breaths before I managed to squeak some words out of my tightened throat.

“Uhm… y-yes, it was,” I finally stammered out, and, too nervous under their curious gazes, I muttered something unintelligible in return, vaguely realising I was asking about their night in return.

“It was shite,” Doctor Nott smiled over his shoulder. His tone was light, as always, almost effortlessly bringing a sense of comfort with his soft aura that made everyone feel welcome. “Felt like it lasted for ages.”

“Yeah, we had the same,” I dared to return his smile. “Didn’t perform any surgeries, though, so it wasn’t as hard as yours, but still… the car accident brought us many injuries last night.”

Doctor Nott turned more so that his body was now facing his blonde friend but he was looking at me.

“Stop it; loads of work is loads of work here. Must have been hella broken bones and concussions, right?”

“Yeah, there were some.”

“One fella had a big dissection last night,” Malfoy casually joined in, capturing my attention again. “Spent six hours on that one.”

Oh, of course—Mr. Benneth! I had been talking about him to Ginny and had wondered who that poor man was going to be operated on by. I had no time to check up on him in the system, I was too exhausted to turn the computer on once I was away from the duty of taking care of patients on x-ray.

“Yes, that old man Benneth. How is he? Did he make it?” I blurted out.

The last time I saw him, he was nervously waving at me from his hospital bed, being wheeled to the OR with at least eight people running around him, preparing all the paperwork and medical information before sedating him. The rest of the night was, like I said, too busy to know more.

Malfoy’s composure shifted immediately. His previously neutral expression tightened, his features hardening into cold lines. Something I said had clearly offended him. And I didn’t have to think twice to realize where it was coming from.

"Did he make it?" Asking him such questions was clearly taboo. His eyes turned sharp, his chin lifting ever so slightly so he could look down at me. Gone was the man who had asked about my shift.

Of course, he was alive. It was Chief Malfoy who had performed the surgery!

“Of course, he’s alive,” he retorted coldly. As if the answer should have been obvious.

Tired and simply not in the mood to entertain his habitual arrogance, my expression shifted just as quickly as his, making sure my opinion of his reaction was clearly visible on my face.

Come on. Such an overreactive response to a totally normal question. How old are we?

I folded my arms across my chest, a subtle attempt to shield myself from the uncomfortable chill radiating off of him. I opened my mouth to make a sarcastic comment, but Doctor Nott was quicker - He placed a hand on his friend’s chest and mimicked a small push-away gesture, effectively excluding him from our private conversation. Pretending Malfoy wasn’t even there, he explained, “What my friend meant to say was, ‘Of course, he’s alive. I made every effort to take care of it, and I’m very happy it turned out this way.’”

Nott’s tone was still as casual and friendly as ever, but he spared a firm look in the blonde’s direction—a silent warning about his foolish response. He was clearly done indulging his friend's brat-like behavior for today.

Malfoy simply rolled his eyes but I could see the tension in his jaw relax a little, shifting from the cold God into something more...sympathetic.

“What? Where are your manners, Chief Malfoy? Didn’t your mother teach you to be polite, even when you’re tired and not in the mood?” Doctor Nott’s question was marked with a teasing tone, but it was clear that he meant every word.

Unintentionally, I held my breath.

Never had I heard anyone speak to the Chief of Cardiac Surgery like that before. Somehow, I never imagined it could even happen. His aura was too… intimidating, too untouchable. But I stayed silent, watching for Malfoy’s reaction, expecting the tension to return in a blink of an eye. In small corner of my mind I was terrified he would snap like a child. His pointy features kinda gave away the feeling he would be able to perform good childish tantrum... Or would he silently take it and then get against Nott behind closed doors?

Both seemed terrifyingly possible…

But…surprisingly nothing happened. My imagination overheated itself too soon, not realising we were tired adults in real life and not some testosterone heroes in cheap rom-com.

Malfoy scoffed, rolling his eyes again. His bright grey gaze momentarily clashed with Nott’s, a silent conversation passing between them before, too quickly for me to look away, and his piercing gaze landed back on me. Then, the strangest words fell from his lips.

“Yeah, sorry for the reaction, I am overworked today,” he muttered, almost begrudgingly. “That old man is alive and hopefully will wake up in less than a few hours in ICU.”

His tone was… normal. No iciness, no arrogance, no indication that I’d just signed my death sentence by speaking to him. Which was the weirdest thing ever.

Hearing an apology from Malfoy’s lips without fear of retaliation was absolutely not on my agenda for today. Or any other day, for that matter.

I subtly turned around quickly to look for hidden cameras because there was absolutely no way these two things were happening. To my dismay, I didn’t find any, but it didn’t help the tightness in my whole body. After all, hidden cameras are supposed to be hidden, so it was only logical I didn’t see anything…

“Well,” Nott didn’t let that slide. “Thank you for showing mercy to us, Doctor Malfoy. Now, if you don’t mind, after this poor attempt to scare off a potential applicant, I’d like to ask Miss Granger something.”

Those two exchanged another silent conversation I had no idea about, making me fall into an awkward moment of silence again, but it was alright. I only hoped he wouldn’t ask something stupid because one could never be too cautious when hearing the word ‘applicant,’ right?

“What’s going on?” I asked contemplatively, not giving my doubtful thoughts any space to threaten my humble and saintly opinion about Nott.

But this time, the blonde doctor didn’t look like he wanted to answer; instead, the curly-haired man’s smile widened, yet his eyes remained tired, as if he was about to ask something he was already skeptical about.

“Haven’t you, by any chance, heard of anyone looking for an apartment these days?”

My mind went blank for a second.

What did he just say?!

“I beg you a pardon?” I squeaked in disbelief.

Out of all the possible questions I anticipated, this was absolutely not one of them. Had I been talking out loud in that hall…? Did someone hear me talking to myself about my desperate situation with apartment hunting? No, definitely not. My words and doubts were just in my mind, I didn't talk aloud. I was sure of it. I might be tired, but not insane.

What were the chances that I’d receive this question in the middle of the situation I was in? I was more than sure no one at the hospital knew about it—I hadn’t spread a word about me and my ex, and I made sure Ginny hadn’t either. The only possibility was someone who knew Mark, but from what I gathered about his life, he had no friends in healthcare. He made sure of it.

WHERE was that hidden camera? Now I was sure there was one, and this was some kind of stupid joke Ginny had prepared for me after she left the sleeping room.

Dr. Nott's face fell into a light frown, evidently not understanding what had thrown me off, but like the polite man he always was, he let it slide and made sure I got it right. “It’s not a joke or something. I am honestly asking you. I’m getting a little desperate here because not many people are responding to my ad.”

Alright...no hidden cameras. He was...posting an ad?

I frowned as well. “What ad?” I looked from him to Malfoy and back again like the explanation would hang between them in the air.

“Yes, Theodore, which ad?” Malfoy’s posh frat tone mimicked mine, and the corner of his pale mouth peaked higher, making him look like the most arrogant man in the world. Jeez, man, cool it…

“Sweet Lord,” Doctor Theodore sighed and rolled his eyes, most likely for the millionth time. He had probably had enough of Malfoy’s bullshit parade. “Stop that, Draco, you know I don’t like this attitude.” He then put on his polite smile again and turned on me. “I put this small ad here,” he said, turning to the notice board and tapping on a small paper with many vertical cuts on its end, which indeed included his phone number. “But it seems like not many people read this board these days, and those who do are not... meeting my expectations, let’s say. That’s why I said I’m getting kind of desperate. The deadline for finding a new roommate is approaching, and I still have no applicants. So I’m asking you—honestly—haven’t you heard of someone who’s searching for a place to live? Might be even short term, just need it for some time now.”

Although he was reassuring me several times, it took me a moment to make sure his slightly nervous and skeptical face was genuine and that he wasn’t making fun of me.

Oh. He was serious.

Someone like Dr. Nott wouldn't be the type I'd guess was in search of shared apartments or people to share his flat with but...I haven't heard of them much so far as I wasn't paying attention to many things around me for...several years in my relationship with Mark. And prejudice wasn't my attribute so far, yet I just...didn't get the feeling he would like to share his things. Not in negative way, just...he seemed to enjoy his own comfort, like any other mature male, especially in high-stress field where someone needed to be well-rested and not bothered by messy flatmates. But also another thing - flatmates didn't necessarily have to be messy.

Shit. Might be prejudiced after all...

A wave of shame came over me. Who was I to guess anything about people I had no idea what lifestyle they held? And he was so nice...not trying to make fun of me—I was just being overly suspicious and presumptuous again. But…logically speaking...really, why would someone like Doctor Nott look for a flatmate…? With his salary and his background (wealthy and international ancestors, from what I’d heard), I figured he was fully capable of living in a mansion by himself by now.

But maybe… maybe he was in a similarly difficult life situation as me. With an ex-partner who left too soon, with debts that accumulated too fast, and one huge apartment deadline approaching way too quickly…

I collected myself before spiralling in front of them and managed to put on mask of composed female.

“Well, it depends… What should your ideal roommate be like?” I asked cautiously.

He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed when Malfoy next to him chuckled. Something was suspicious, and I was eager to know what was going on, but it was inappropriate to snoop around too much.

“I’m not too hard to please. I need someone tidy, who’s not messy and stinky around the whole flat, definitely not a house party seeker, and someone who’s willing to pay rent on time.”

I frowned. What? “That’s like...the bare minimum?”

Giving away a faint smile, he nodded. “Yeah… and if I want to be really picky...it would be a bonus if he or she would be my age… Anyway, it's not a rule, just a bonus for myself. And about the qualities - I thought so too, but it seems like it’s not so easy.”

Doctor Malfoy’s voice interfered, and his pleased face made me want to roll my eyes at him when he said, “I’d rather say there are people like this, but our sweet Theodore was hoping to prove his theory about young people who are willing to go old-school and read the notice board like seniors...”

“What theory?” I asked suspiciously. I was one of those people. I used to read the notice board regularly when I entered the building, and I always made sure to check it out on my way out. All the rental ads, group gatherings, old furniture offers, summer jobs, and summer camps for children… I hadn’t missed them for years. But recently, after the situation with Mark, I... lost track. It happened overnight—I started entering and leaving the hospital without even sparing a glance at the notice board. And now, hearing about this ‘theory,’ I felt bad… I honestly stopped doing many things from my routine because of my recent breakup...

“It’s nothing really,” Nott tried to shake it off, evidently not wanting to go deep into it. But his friend had to prove why everybody disliked him so much and spoke again.

“It’s the theory that if you’re willing to stop by the main door and take your time to check on this retro board, there must be something interesting about you.”

Even though it was nice to hear that Doctor Nott might find me interesting, I felt only sympathy for the dark-haired man who grimaced at his friend. I wouldn’t want any of my closest people acting this way. Seeing how someone like Doctor Theodore received such treatment (and after a shift like this one) made my heart ache… Should I say something…?

“Well, it’s that and also some other things,” Dr. Nott sighed resignedly and stopped me from my rescue mission to shield him from his devilish chief friend. “But the main part is that if you know of someone, please tell them to stop by and check out this ad and maybe give it a go, please. I really appreciate every contact. And as soon as possible. Now, if you’ll excuse us,” he glanced at the platinum-haired man, “my friend and I are about to leave. Some of us should seek fresh air and stuff.” He smiled softly and then shrugged when Malfoy gave him a not-so-entertained look.

“S-sure,” I nodded. “If I hear of anyone, I’ll let them know. But I better leave too. It’s getting hard to stay awake. So… enjoy your rest and… goodbye?”

Both men nodded, and I stepped aside to let them walk past.

Their colognes lingered a little too comfortably in my nose as their silhouettes passed me and walked through the automatic doors.

Before they closed, Doctor Nott turned back to me, a little surprise written on his face. “Didn’t you just say you were leaving as well?”

NOW my cheeks betrayed me as warm blood rushed to my face, turning it red with the realization that I had been standing there in silence, obviously waiting for them to leave. “Oh, n-no. I’m waiting for my friend. She’s getting her stuff. Should be here any minute now,” I mumbled nervously, shifting to the side as if that would somehow make the doors close faster and my painfully obvious lie disappear into thin air.

They both gave me a strange look that I found quite difficult to interpret, but they didn’t say anything and turned to leave, my eyes never leaving their intriguing backs.

It wasn’t until the automatic doors finally started to shut that Malfoy turned around and made them stop mid-move, only to catch me looking at him.

I knew right then that his next words would be dangerous, yet I hadn’t prepared for them soon enough.

His arrogant smile played on his lips for the last time this morning, and with the sweetest, most casual tone he could muster, he said, “Oh, and please send greetings to your friend, Ginevra, am I right? Tell her she looks a little crazy standing over there in the corner, but whatever helps her cope after a hard shift.”

And with that, they walked away, the automatic doors closing behind them, leaving me with the sound of his words echoing in my mind.

Chapter Text

The last August weekend brought an unusual number of people to all the water sources around town. Young teenagers saw these days as their last opportunity to see their crushes in nothing but swimwear for a long time—unless they successfully crossed the friend zone and were promised a more private viewing. Elderly citizens decided to be a little more selfish for the last holiday weekend, grabbing swimsuits instead of garden scissors to bathe in the lake or sea while gossiping with their friends, rather than tending their gardens or looking after their grandchildren. However, if you looked closely, you could still find some loyal grandparents taking care of their beloved successors, even there. And last but not least, there were the tanning enthusiasts of all ages, terrified by the fact that this weekend was their only opportunity to catch some sunlight before long months of clouds and cold forced them to face the world with pale, pasty skin—unless they resorted to self-tanning products or subjected themselves to the artificial sunbeams of tanning beds.  

I, along with Harry and Ginny, took advantage of this and spent the last sunny Saturday at the beach, enjoying the sun kissing our skin and the warm sea caressing our bodies.

We lazily hung out on the sand, moving between our towels and the salty waves every now and then, simply indulging in the rare 'Dolce far niente'. We deserved this kind of idleness after spending so much time hidden away in our dark workplace.  The sun hovered above our heads all day, as if aware that this was its last official duty of the summer—its final chance to be fully appreciated.

It selfishly took its time descending toward the distant horizon, much later than the weather forecast had predicted that morning.  

Sometime in the late afternoon, some friends arrived to join us, making our humble group of three a little larger and staying with us until we had soaked up enough vitamin D to cover ourselves and move to a better spot.  

All the newcomers were people Harry and Ginny regularly hung out with, greeting each other with bear hugs and laughter. But when they noticed me—my freckles and big hair still unchanged from the last time we’d seen each other years ago—their faces showed expressions of surprise.  

No wonder.  

I had been invited to join them multiple times over the years, but I never did. Mark wouldn’t have liked that, so, I wouldn’t have liked that.  

They were all old friends, and it felt a little awkward finally standing in front of them after all this time.  

There was Neville, Padma, and Parvati Patil—both now pediatric nurses. Even Seamus Finnigan had made sure to spend time with his fellas today, despite the daggers his wife was surely throwing at him after he left her at her parents’ house, which he usually enjoyed avoiding.  

We walked among the crowds to the northern part of the beach, where an abandoned stone firepit lay waiting. By the time we managed to set up and light a fire to roast marshmallows, it was already dark. The warm wind didn’t leave, though, and the friendly atmosphere expanded beneath the dark sky. The night granted us permission to crack open cans and bottles of beer, along with other refreshments brought by more friends who joined us later—those who weren’t interested in sunbathing but couldn’t resist a good beach bonfire.  

Most of these people were my old classmates. Since I had once been Harry’s classmate as well, it made sense that our paths had intertwined again, even though he had managed to keep in touch with everyone far better than I had.  

I had to admit, I really enjoyed seeing them all grown up and different from the past.  

Neville, the former nerdy boy, had grown into a tall, handsome marine biologist who now traveled the world studying abnormal coral activity. He was well-known in his field, and every so often, his phone would beep or ring with new messages and emails. I had to laugh when he sighed and turned the damned thing off, determined to enjoy his Saturday evening without thinking about the strange, red-and-orange, hairy-looking creatures beneath the sea.  

Seamus, surprisingly, was the CEO of one of the world’s leading companies for explosives and military tools. His work had a huge impact on international conflicts, affecting thousands of lives every day. It was a bit unexpected, given how utterly hopeless he had been at physics and chemistry back in school. When I mentioned that, everyone laughed, agreeing that none of them had ever imagined this would be Seamus’s future. He was still one of the clumsiest people I had ever met, but somehow, he had made it this far, and who was I to judge?  

Ron and Lavender—our food and alcohol providers for the night— came later and sat a little apart from the fire due to Lavender’s condition. They joined in and made sure we were all well-fed, though neither of them touched an alcoholic drink.  

I hadn’t been entirely out of the loop when it came to them, since Ron was Ginny’s older brother and Harry’s best mate, but it had been years since I had spent much time with them in person. As Ron’s ex, I hadn’t been eager to meet up with them while I was with Mark, and Mark had felt the same way.  So I was pleasantly surprised when Lavender—now meeting me for the first time as a single woman—showed no signs of discomfort. Instead, she was glowing with happiness. I felt nothing but joy for them as I glanced at the growing belly beneath her white summer dress.  

Later in the evening, Susan and Cho arrived—two doctors I still saw regularly at work—along with Luna, the girl who had once lived in her own little world but was now one of the most famous modern artists.  

Ginny and Harry had kept me updated on her success from time to time, but I had never paid much attention, too focused on other things.  

Her photos and videos had gone viral a few years ago when she started posting the story of a small boy who discovered he was a wizard. The strange scar on his forehead, which his aunt and uncle had always blamed on a car accident, was actually the mark of the greatest villain who had ever lived—the one who had tried to kill him.  

“When he was one year old, the evil wizard tried to curse him, but the spell backfired, sending the villain away for good… or so they thought,” Luna explained, not hesitating to show me her social media when I approached her with a beer and struck up the usual 'So what do you do these days?' conversation.  

Millions of fans had been captivated by the story of the raven-haired boy with glasses, eagerly awaiting updates. Yet Luna wasn’t big-headed about it. She simply placed her phone in front of me when I asked, letting me see for myself.  

She was meticulous in crafting the storyline, weaving magical details so tactfully that even I—a skeptical adult—found myself enchanted.  

She mentioned that a book was soon to be published, compiling the boy’s first year at a magical school for wizards and witches.  

“At the rate you’re going, this could easily become a movie,” I commented.  

“I’d love that,” Luna beamed. “But first, I have to finish all the books.”  

I raised an eyebrow. “There are going to be more books?”  

“Yes. At least five, but probably seven,” she said. “I have so many ideas that I have to write them all down in my notebook, and I keep rereading them to sort out the best ones. My nieces adore the story, and I adore my nieces, so if this can give them something to look forward to for as long as possible, then I’m more than happy to keep writing. It’s almost finished, but, like I said… there are so many ideas and only one storyline. My editor wants to strangle me every time I ask to add something new.”  

The evening passed in a pleasant rhythm, filled with conversation and laughter.  

I tried to absorb all the details my former classmates shared, steering clear of any awkwardness regarding my absence over the years. I also avoided talking about my ex as much as possible. But at some point—shortly before our group started to disperse—it became inevitable.  

It was Neville’s innocent voice that broke the moment.  

Me and Ginny  were just laughing about a story from last week; one man was too nervous to be irradiated from X-ray machine so much he came covered in thick layer of aluminium foil under his clothes, the rustling sound naturally joining his every move because he made sure to put it around his whole body except for the lung area which was supposed to be X-rayed.

He waited for our cheery mood to fade away a little before he spoke.

His genuine brown eyes lay on my face, and in that moment, I knew his words were not going to be the most comfortable thing today…

“Hermione, it’s been a really long time since you joined our group. We’ve always been asking about you, and Harry and Ginny said you were busy every time. What have you been doing all this time?”

Like unleashing caged animals, all the eyes around the fire turned to me, and my face heated from the unwanted attention. I only prayed no one could tell it was shame and not just the heat from the golden flames that made me a little reddish under the fading UV cream.

Neville’s expression was genuine. His intention wasn’t to put me on the spot—he wasn’t that kind of person. It was sincere care about my life. Yet, it sent me into a full spiral.

What should I say? What had I been doing? 

Well…

I was living with a man I loved, working in a job I loved, living a life I loved. I was taking care of our home, keeping my mind clear, and avoiding drama to the point that I only met with Ginny, Harry, and some of Mark’s family members. 
I was either at work, in nature, or at home—the last option being the most preferable. I was busy, that was true. I lived a life… yet in hiding, you could say.

Why did I choose it as the most comfortable way of living? Well… that would be complicated to explain. It just felt right in the moment.

But I knew how pathetic it sounded. 

They most likely heard about me and Mark, though I couldn’t be sure to what extent. Ginny and Harry had made sure they knew about our relationship while it lasted.

Our city might have been big, but our circles were not that far apart. They couldn’t have gone without hearing a word about me—especially when there were things between Mark and me that Harry and Ginny openly disagreed with. I knew they had complained to these people about it.

“I… had to take some time away from the world,” I eventually managed as a poor explanation. 

Neville’s eyes gleamed with empathy. “And… now you’re ready to join it again?”

Well…

I nervously looked around the circle.

Everyone was watching me curiously, not even trying to hide the fact that they really wanted me to explain.

I must have looked like a truly pathetic girl to them.

In an unhappy relationship, avoiding people throughout my 20s, and then suddenly I was single and here, as if he had been the one forcing me to stay home all the time.

Maybe they expected me to admit I had survived domestic violence. That he had come home every night to yell at me and beat me. Did I look that weak to them?

I sucked in a nervous breath. “Well… I’d say it’s a little better than it was yesterday. The loneliness and comfy space of my living room really started to be too much for me lately. I hope it’s still not too late to start living among people again.” It was more explicit than a simple “Yeah, sure,” but from the hints of surprise on people’s faces, I knew it had only sparked even greater curiosity.

But Neville seemed fairly satisfied with my answer.

“Yeah, one can start to feel pretty crazy when sitting between the same four walls for too long. If my lab could speak, I’m sure it would scream for help anytime I’m deep in my research.”

Our laughter bubbled into the air as he stopped to sip his beer.

“But it’s great that you joined us eventually. You don’t have to feel ashamed. It’s not a bad thing to take some selfish time for yourself.” He smiled kindly at me.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded.

He finished his beer, and once he checked that there was nothing left, he scrunched the can into a small, flattened shape and threw it into the big plastic bag Ron and Lavender had brought with their beverages. Then, he turned back to me.

“How old are you now? Twenty-eight?” he asked seriously.

“Yeah, gonna be twenty-nine in a couple of weeks.”

“Perfect. That’s the perfect reason to start living among people again. We can celebrate your birthday with you, and you can throw a party for the occasion. Being back in your late 20s is only a bonus.

Sunday moving day turned out to be much more fun than anticipated.

Harry and Ginny arrived on time, knocking on my door at exactly 8 o’clock. As soon as they stepped over the threshold of my soon-to-be former apartment, the boxes began moving to the car at rapid speed. One by one, they filled the elevator with large boxes, carefully stacking them in the van in a way they knew I preferred—otherwise, I would get nervous. They kept coming back for more, grabbing the biggest boxes first and working their way down to the smallest, not letting me help in the slightest. All I had to do was place the boxes closer to the door so they didn’t have to walk as far each time they came back up to my apartment on the eighth floor.

In less than an hour, all of my personal belongings—along with some leftovers that Mark hadn’t deemed valuable enough to take to his new house—were stuffed into the back of an old grey van with the scruffy writing “Potter’s Pottery Van” on its side, a vehicle that Harry’s grandfather had used for his first company back in the ‘60s.

Once the last box was inside and they shut the back doors, they stayed in the van while I remained in the now almost empty apartment.

The owner arrived shortly after nine and walked through the apartment with me, thoroughly inspecting the walls and ceilings for any cracks, tears, or stains that might allow him to withhold my deposit, as outlined in our rental agreement under the section on “Rental Policy for Leaving the Apartment.”

I actually enjoyed the look of disappointment on his face when he couldn’t find anything wrong. Moreover, he had to return my deposit and give me a $500 check on top of that for the furniture I was leaving behind. Mark had been convinced the old man would never do that, and he hadn’t liked the fact that everything was second-hand, so he had left it all behind without a word, hoping I’d lose out. But you know what they say—if you don’t ask, you don’t get. 
And I asked, so I got it. 
The full sum, just for me, and a more attractive apartment for the owner. A win-win situation.

After everything was settled, we finally shook hands, said our goodbyes, and I squeezed myself into the van, sandwiched between Ginny and Harry as we left… home? I guess I would have to get used to calling new places home.

However, the second part—unpacking—was not nearly as amusing. Particularly the part where we realized that the small garden shed in Harry’s backyard wasn’t big enough to hold all my boxes, forcing me to place six of them—containing all my essential items—inside the guest room where I would be staying for the foreseeable future.

I allowed myself to unpack only two of those boxes because I needed clothes for work. Those contained my outdoor clothing and cosmetic products, so I had no choice but to open them. The rest remained packed in cardboard boxes, as I was determined not to intrude on my friends for too long…

And that’s how it remained for the next couple of weeks…

Some days still happened to be harder than the others.

To my dismay, higher powers had no intention of making my life easier—not even a little, not even after the emotional breakdown I suffered last night, shortly after Ginny and Harry left me alone in the living room. As soon as I stepped into my scrubs and entered the Radiology wing, Mrs. McGonagall, the head radtech and my supervisor, caught me mid-step into the X-ray room and informed me I was being sent to the OR today.

“I thought it was MacAvoy’s week?” I asked, looking down at the elderly woman in dark blue scrubs. I had worked here for five years, and she hadn’t aged a bit. Then again, she hadn’t looked much younger when she became the senior technologist twenty years ago…

Her eyes, sharp and observant behind her small oval glasses, regarded me with a knowing gaze.

“Yes, indeed. However, Miss MacAvoy is pregnant and needs to be kept away from direct radiation. And since Miss Weasley is in the CT room today, it’s up to you.” Her Scottish accent carried the authority of a decision that was not open for discussion.

“What about the rest of the team?” I tried to suggest an alternative.

She simply gave me the 'Don’t mess with me, young lady, I said it’s going to be you' look and pursed her lips in a motherly but firm expression.

I sighed dramatically, making sure she understood how I felt about it.

“Alright, if you say so…,” I sighed again, pretending for a moment to be a sulky teenager burdened by the weight of the world.

My theatrics earned me a swift, motherly smack on the shoulder. I jumped aside, laughing, and ran toward the OR elevators at the end of the long hall.

“And you’ll be there for the rest of the week!” her authoritative voice called after me just as I disappeared around the corner and into the elevator.

My silly mood, however, was short-lived.

Standing in front of the weekly schedule, fully clothed in sterile scrubs with my face masked, I was grateful that only my eyes could reveal my lack of enthusiasm for the operations ahead.

This week was packed with hip and knee implantations, as well as catheterizations, meaning I and my portable X-ray machine would be preoccupied for quite a while in each room. Some procedures had bright red crosses indicating that an X-ray had been requested in advance—mostly orthopedic and minimally invasive surgeries. Others had blank spaces, despite requiring at least one scan, which likely meant they had been taken without a radtech present. Technically illegal, but common practice. But it wasn’t ortho or mini-invasive surgery that irritated me the most. 

The worst of them all was about to start in fifteen minutes.

CABG and PEVAR.

A hybrid surgery—a rendezvous between two different medical fields in one OR.

CABG, or Coronary Artery Bypass Graft, was meant to assist a heart with a clogged coronary artery, preventing an imminent heart attack. PEVAR stood for Percutaneous Endovascular Aneurysm Repair, a complex procedure involving the implantation of a prosthetic into the aorta. Both surgeries were similar in name and required a collaboration between cardiology and radiology. One team approached the patient through the chest, while the other, as the 'P' in PEVAR indicated, worked 'percutaneously'—through the skin—via the iliac artery and into the aorta using microcatheters. The whole process shouldn’t last more than five or six hours. 

Sighing, I headed to OR 4, where the procedure was about to begin any minute. I could take some time and use it for perfect preparation. And it was always better to be early than late.

I started my routine: powering up the machines, setting up the trolley with microcatheters and wires, ensuring everyone was wearing lead shielding beneath their blue gowns, configuring the necessary software protocols, and finally settling into a comfortable position behind the thick glass of the control room. From my hidden spot behind the console, I had the perfect view of the OR while remaining unseen through the darkened window. I scanned the room, noting each individual’s role. 

Several OR nurses were running here and there, refilling shuffles and wooden cabinets around the room, with main one standing on the right side of the table, waiting for the main surgeon to enter the room. Two assistants - young residents - in the other side of the table, were eagerly observing not only everything on patient’s body but also took glimpses to the sterile table with all the glimmering tools for this procedure; evidently silently going through the whole surgery in their heads, just to make sure everything will be alright. And then finally, my eyes shot to the head of the table, where hidden behind sterile drape raised in front of patient’s face, so they could be spared from the blood or dust coming from drilled bones, sat anaesthesiology team. A doctor and two nurses.

I had to admit to myself I was a little nervous about one specific doctor today. I couldn’t know where he was supposed to be as the board didn’t include anaesthesiologist’s names and some even didn’t inform which surgeon should perform them. It happened when they were understaffed, and the main surgeon was yet to be announced for the day.           

I squinted eyes to get better look at the face behind the face mask, but it was useless given the fact Dr. Nott was known for his famous boat hat during surgeries.

The man in there was wearing standard blue polyester hat, and his half greyish, half orange eyebrows also gave good information on his name.

Dr. Moody.

Elder man, former military doctor, who was always pleasure to have in the OR, ironically speaking. His grumpy choleric nature always led to argument between surgeons and his team, and not once he was visiting headmaster’s office for this specific matter.

He was, however, hard to dismiss.

As one of the best anaesthesiologists in our country, it was the best man to have by hand when it came to resuscitations and patient’s monitoring. He always knew how to handle each case, what dosages were necessary, if the team should be more prepared during each case despite the patient’s lab results being fine, therefore most of his cases were successful and no one remembered if he ever lost a patient during surgery. He had to learn all of this in the field; rough conditions for him and the patients who were on the merge of losing their lives made him perfect diagnostic weapon for the rest of the life, not caring his mind could ease a bit with the whole team and sterile field all around.

His patients never threw up from overdosage of anaesthetics, woke up every time, and everytime in good mood and most importantly – they never woke up during the surgery.

Standard performance, one could say, right? But as a healthcare worker I knew this was not standard at all. Headboard of this hospital knew it as well, that’s why he could get away with all the fussing and commenting about everyone all the time, yet some surgeons took it worse than others.

I wondered how many times I shall meet this man in the OR this week and mentally prepare for upcoming dramas.

Even though, I thought to myself, there is one surgeon who’s accepting all the verbal insults patiently –

Like hearing my thoughts, the automatic doors to the scrub room opened, and in walked a tall male figure. Muscular forearm glistened from soapy water as he held arms flexed in front of his body to make sure he remains sterile, and his lean form automatically headed to the young scrub nurse who already waited with sterile gown spread wide for him.

Their eyes locked almost instantly.

The nurse held her gaze strictly on his face, unwavering, not daring to leave that silver pair of eyes even for a second, as his arms slid inside the gown with ease, his body lowering a little so she could lean closer - their noses dangerously coming closer and closer and - she reached the back of his neck and close the gown in there. She straightened and walked to his back where she fastened the stripe around his torso. Then she returned in front of him and outstretched sterile gloves for him. She put on first pair of gloves. Then another. Then she stepped aside, close enough so his gown touched hers a little when he was passing her.

He stepped to the table and holding the gaze with the petite woman, he put hands down to grab the scalpel already held by the instrument nurse. Then – once with the sterile instrument safely in his hand – he finally turned away from her…

The sexual tension in that short interaction told me everything I needed to know – he was definitely sleeping with that nurse.

Clearing the hot wave that started to grow on me, I shook my head and focused on more appropriate thing - his skills.

His movements were precise and strictly professional, yet there was an ease and elegance in the way he navigated the room.

I always enjoyed watching his surgeries.

He had to use strength to open chest area with retractor, to remove part of sternum and rips, and yet, once he approached the heart tissue, his fingers naturally swung into softness and with care he synchronized his movements with the pulsation of the heart.

Every complication he discovered, he thoroughly eliminated. Every mistake of assistant surgeon, he commented, yet repaired and then walked them through it after the surgery.

All that and he also made sure to educate the residents opposite to him.

Draco Malfoy could be a pain in the ass, but the man was born to be in the OR.

He was the doctor.

I turned on the sound button, and the sounds of the procedure in the room immediately came through the speaker box.

“I’m using a tenth blade for the initial incision,” Dr. Malfoy started, his voice mirroring the focus he was putting into the first cut. “But the size doesn’t matter at the start—it’s just my personal preference.”

Then he continued speaking while pointing at both ends of the incision.

“As you can see, the length of the incision is much smaller than some of your professors might have taught you. This is because I have a relatively young white male patient with a higher accumulation of skin on his abdomen and chest area. We can afford smaller cuts without the risk of tearing because his skin is elastic enough to stretch during our maneuvers inside. And I’m not lazy—I don’t mind putting in a little extra effort while I’m here.”

He gave this speech every time a new resident stepped into his OR, likely because he performed his incisions differently from his colleagues. “Of course, if you’re not sure whether the cut is big enough, or you’re not feeling at your best in the OR, you can extend it until you feel comfortable working in the area. It’s just my preference to do it this way so that the resulting scar is as aesthetically pleasing as possible…”

Malfoy’s words continued as he proceeded, unfazed by the gravity of what he was doing. I watched as he—assisted by the resident opposite him—cut through and removed the sternum before placing a chest retractor to keep the field open and visible. The two young doctors then shifted slightly, giving me a perfect view of Dr. Malfoy’s professional dance with instruments and body tissues.

His long fingers moved inside the patient’s chest, and though the gloves masked his touch, they revealed every precise tick of his muscles—and there were a lot of them.

Heart surgery demanded minimal movements, carefully correcting damage, removing unhealthy tissue, and stitching everything back together—not too tightly, or blood flow would be compromised, but firm enough to prevent another rupture in fragile tissue - in danger of another rupture had it been too fragile and sewed wrong.

But that was not a problem for Draco Malfoy.

For two and a half hours, his hands moved with machine-like precision. His arm muscles pumped as worked to hold organs like the heart and lungs away from the operating area, yet his fingers had to remain steady and relaxed enough to stitch in sync with the slow movements of the beating heart.

There was blood everywhere. Inside the patient, on his skin, on the surgeons’ hands, and all around the OR. Nurses had to throw clean white cloths onto the floor to collect the blood spills, preventing the surgeons from slipping. Within seconds, those cloths were saturated with deep red, forcing the nurses to replace them and hang the used ones on designated metal racks, where the blood dripped into collection trays.

Yeah, heart surgeries were bloody and disgusting. But somehow, when Doctor Malfoy was leading, I never felt disgusted.

His gloves were no longer white, overtaken by red, but I couldn’t take my eyes off his skilled fingers as he meticulously stitched the delicate suture at the root of the ascending aorta.

At some point, one of the nurses turned on the camera at Malfoy’s request, recording the procedure for his students. Those not standing directly at the table could now watch a clear view of his sutures on two large TV screens in the corner of the OR.

I was so absorbed in watching his hands work—his magnificent fingers sewing the last loop, and I was nervously anticipating any complications so intensively, feeling my adrenaline spike from the danger of a rupture or an overlapping suture—that I completely zoned out, immune to everything around except the picture of moving hands...-

It wasn’t until the door to my hiding spot burst open.

“Are you deaf or something?!” The petite nurse, all too familiar with Dr. Malfoy before, stood in the doorway, frowning as she pierced me with her gaze.

Horrified by the abrupt intrusion, I looked around.

The situation in the OR had changed—one of the big screens had been brought directly in front of the operating table, where two more doctors had joined the surgeons. They were now looking in my direction, shaking their heads in disapproval of my incompetent behaviour.

Uh-oh.

I hurried to the trolley with the instruments for the minimally invasive approach and rushed into the OR.

“Excuse my delay!” I blurted out, humiliated, as I ran around the trolley, grabbing the tools I knew were needed for the first steps. “I was just so captivated by the heart movements… I lost track of time and what was happening here.”

I was faltering my apologies meanwhile Dr. Murphy’s and Dr. Pucey’s eyes were watching my non-steady hands and running around. Looks on their faces seemed to calm down with my messy arrival, and after my words Dr. Pucey even made a sound of what could be a hint of laugh.

“You’re lucky it didn’t lull you to sleep,” he remarked, his deep voice carrying an amused edge.

I shot him a look that clearly said, 'Oh, seriously? You’re going to make fun of me now?'—but only because I knew I could get away with it.

“I would never,” I informed him in the same dry tone.

He simply raised his brows twice in a playful manner before turning back to the patient—or, more specifically, the patient’s pelvic area.

He didn’t need to ask for anything. I had already spread all the essential instruments on the stand-by trolley beside his left hand, allowing him to begin immediately.

Location of the artery. Incision. Reaching the artery with the large needle. Puncture. Then, we could finally start with the wires and coils.

I had no time to pay attention to anything else—I was fully at the service of my angiographic doctors. I handed over instruments of various sizes, switched between cleaning tools and preparing contrast for the angiography, requested saline, then a syringe, more cleaning, more contrast, an artery sheath, another syringe. Then, I peeled off my gloves to switch programs on the computer, ran for new sterile gloves, cleaned more instruments, retrieved another syringe, more contrast, a new sheath—but bigger this time. Another one for the second iliac vein, plus a 7-inch needle for the first puncture. Then, the first part of the endovascular prosthetic. 'The bigger part, Hermione. Make sure it’s the right size. Check it twice—it’s expensive material, Hermione.' And then—'Hand us the insufflator, Hermione.'

It wasn’t long before: 'Now we’re scanning, everyone, so step back if you’re not covered!' and 'There’s the aneurysm… mhm… mhm… yes, here! Stop! Deploy the prosthetic body!' followed by 'Checking angio, hide everyone without aprons…'

By the time I handed over the second prosthetic and they successfully positioned it inside the patient, I was drenched in sweat from the sheer intensity of my movements.

Both doctors were fully focused on the screen, examining the lines of the aorta and the prosthetic placement, while two younger residents assisted.

Finally free-handed, I took a step back, exhaling the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

I knew this was supposed to be a long, complicated procedure, but imagining it was not the same as experiencing it firsthand. 'Mine' two doctors hadn’t realized they were overwhelming me, issuing orders at a pace that was almost too fast to follow.

I deserved a break.

Tilting my head slightly, I allowed myself a moment to stretch, limited by the weight of the lead shield pressing down on my body. My muscles silently cried for relief, so I gave them what I could within the strict confines of the OR.

The rustling of sterile covers, the rhythmic beeping of machines, and the soft hum of the air-conditioning created a paradoxically comforting symphony. I immediately felt my body’s tension start to melt away.

My stiff neck, my shoulder blades… everything relaxed.

I rolled my head from side to side, stretching between my shoulders, then outstretched my hands to let the blood flow reach every part of my upper limbs, hoping to re-energize myself. I had more surgeries to attend today. I should be prepared.

Distinctively, I heard the typical clip of a suture set being prepared pulled me out of my momentary relief, and I slowly opened my eyes…

I was immediately met with a pair of piercing greyish irises from across the table.

The sharp, model-like features of the attending surgeon were fully focused on me, and for a second, I had the distinct feeling he was about to say something—

“Didn’t they tell you it’s essential to get a full eight hours of sleep the night before an important surgery?” Dr. Pucey’s mocking voice echoed through the whole room.

I turned my attention to the tall radiologist, noticing the amused wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and that typical posh smirk he always wore when his ‘very funny’ bullying tone surfaced.

I had forgotten how intense some of his performances could be. I had been away from the OR and him long enough that his sudden comment caught me off guard.

Dr. Pucey had a way of speaking in the OR that was characteristic of all skilled operators. His hands could reach veins and arteries others couldn’t. He wasn’t as skilled as Dr. Malfoy across the table, but he was still very well-known in his field. And outside the OR, with his polite smiles and tactful behavior, one might believe he was truly a gentleman. But once he stepped into the sterile field, it was like he was possessed. He became ironic, arrogant, and a bully to most around him. Where Dr. Malfoy offered sharp but reasonable critiques, Dr. Pucey was simply condescending for no reason.

Right now, he was using my moment of relaxation against me.

I regretted the weakness I allowed to show in front of him even more than earlier. This was the worst man I could have done that in front of...

The eyes of the OR staff immediately turned toward me. And for the second time in such a short span, I could feel my skin heating under the weight of unwanted attention.

“S-sure,” I mumbled, unsure of how else to respond.

“First the late arrival, now falling asleep during surgery...It’s not very reassuring watching you zone out during the first surgery. It makes me wonder how you’re going to survive the next one,” he continued.

Was he testing me or trying to bully me? It was hard to tell.

My face heated under my surgical mask as I apologized. “Of course, I’ll… I’ll collect myself. Sorry. I just need a moment in the morning sometimes…”

“But it’s barely morning.”

Glancing at the clock on wall, I disagreed. “It’s 10:02. It is still morning.”

Dr. Malfoy’s eyes were doing that piercing thing again, his distaste for my defiance entirely readable. I wasn’t sure if Dr. Pucey noticed, but for me, it was becoming difficult to focus on the conversation in this situation.

“Well, it’s been quite some time since you stepped in here. According to your own words, you’ve had plenty of time to take ‘a moment,’ haven’t you?”

I nervously looked around the room, catching the amused expressions of the OR staff, who were enjoying this exchange far more than they should have. I had only been under Pucey’s uncomfortable scrutiny a few times before—mostly in the past, when I first started working here—but even then, he hadn’t been as direct as he was today. Yes, I had heard about this humiliating hobby of his and had seen my colleagues write long complaints about it, but this was my first time experiencing it firsthand. I never thought I’d be his target.

He was making me feel pathetic for needing an essential stretch... Was it really so offensive that I stretched? In my free time? If so, that was weird. But ultimately, this whole situation felt like he just wanted to exert the superior power he held over me—probably because my apologies and blushing made me seem vulnerable. Yes, in small part of my brain, the initial reaction was to blame myself for such thing, but I was in healthcare long enough for letting other comment on something they shouldn't. Rules in the OR were strict, but they were effective. And from what I remembered, no one was forbidden from trying to reach comfortable position once his hands were free.

Dr. Pucey had mistaken my body reactions. He thought I would let him affect me today. That he could mock me for...nothing really. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t in the mood. And more importantly - I wasn’t here to be bullied.

I braced myself, folding my arms and frowning.

“And I just did. I believe it’s a basic human need to stretch, to relieve discomfort and allow my body to function properly. I felt like my body needed it. As far as I know, I didn’t contaminate the sterile field, I didn’t obstruct any of the doctors’ movements, and I certainly didn’t bother anyone around me for the few seconds I allowed myself to stretch. I wasn’t aware there was a rule against it in the OR, but please, if there is, I’d be glad to be enlightened. And if necessary, I’m willing to apologize again.”

By the time I finished speaking, I could feel my hands trembling slightly. But I refused to acknowledge it aloud. I squeezed my palms into fists and kept my gaze on him, doing my best to avoid looking in front of me—at the one face that had the power to truly humble me in my healthcare career. Internally, I was preparing for the nuclear bomb I had just activated to explode at any second.

I felt Dr. Malfoy staring at me, the intensity of his gaze deepening to the point where it threatened to physically hurt me. I knew I was in trouble.

Dr. Pucey acted as if he hadn’t been speaking to me at all, continuing to stitch two holes in the patient’s groin. But before he reached for the small scissors to cut the suture, he finally lifted his gaze to me—and my heart stopped.

Whatever he was about to say, I knew to my core it was NOT going to be good…

I held my breath. Cold sweat ran down my spine. It all played out in slow motion, my nervous system reacting as if I were heading into battle-

“I believe you’re finished here.”

My gaze snapped straight across the table.

Dr. Malfoy didn’t wait for a reaction. He reached for a pair of scissors on 'my' trolley—breaking the sacred rule of not touching anything that doesn’t belong to you or your OR team—and used them to cut the suture where needed. Then he repeated the action on the other side of the patient’s groin before calmly setting down all the instruments he had been holding.

Then, as if there was no tension in the room, he walked around the table, ignoring everyone in his path, grabbed the trolley, and pushed it closer to me.

“Miss Granger, thank you for your assistance today. It was truly a pleasure to have you around…,” his eyes locked onto mine, free of the negative energy I had been bracing for. “You’re welcome to stretch in this OR as much as you like. If you want, you can perform a goddamn yoga session, as long as you keep it sterile. Frankly, I’d rather have you with relaxed muscles and a steady hand than stiff and sore. We worship every radtech here that much.”

Not sure I could hold his gaze any longer, I looked aside, landing on the petite nurse from earlier. She stood frozen in shock, her eyes so wide that I could finally see her irises through her thick lashes. She caught my gaze, and as getting breaking free from her paralysis, she frowned—angrily.

Uh-oh.

I looked back at Dr. Malfoy.

“I—uh… thank you, Chief Malfoy,” I managed to stammer nervously.

He only nodded instead of another answer. Then he turned to his left.

“Dr. Pucey, please,” he said, his voice dripping with honeyed sweetness, “stop bullying my staff.  And your staff in my OR. You know as well as I do that stretching is completely normal… by the way, wasn’t it you last month who complained about stiff back so much during that prolonged CABG surgery that you forgot to change your gloves after touching your toes and...the floor? My scrub nurse was screaming like mad…”

Pucey’s face was no longer so smug. He definitely hadn't expected Malfoy bringing it up publicly. So far I haven't heard of that until now, so he probably dwelled on it to be a secret and Malfoy just broke the promise of 'what happened in OR, stays in the OR'. Hearing about his own mistake made him realize—suddenly and inconveniently—that he was also just human.

He frowned.

“Or am I wrong?” Malfoy pressed further.

With a loud 'Hmpf!', Pucey jerked his shoulders toward Malfoy as if debating whether to punch him or throw something at him, but he stopped just in time as Malfoy stepped closer and grabbed his wrist.

Oh my God, were they about to...?

“I dare you to try,” Malfoy seethed in a dangerously low tone, leaning in until they were nose to nose. “So much as insult me right now, and I’ll make sure your career is over.”

For a few seconds, it looked like Pucey was fighting an internal war where the part that wanted to hit Malfoy was winning. His fists were dangerously squeezed and pulsed, his eyes ticking from severe stress in held so intensively in his body. I expected he'd snapped and really did what Malfoy just dared him to but...-But finally, his tense body relaxed, his mind taking control over his temper, and with a loud sigh, he stepped away from both the table and Malfoy.

“Screw you, Malfoy,” he spat angrily. “And all of you as well.”

He stormed out, hurling one last insult before the automatic doors to the scrub room slammed shut behind him.

Nobody dared move until Malfoy cleared his throat.

“Well, that got… a little out of hand,” he muttered before heading off after his humiliated colleague.

I didn’t have to see either of them for the rest of the week…

Chapter Text

September turned into October quicker than I’d like.

From the original idea of spending every weekend slashed with Ginny and Harry in town bars, where I’d be leaving with different men each night, we were brought down to Earth pretty quickly.

Second week of September our senior technologist McGonagall called for a meeting saying there were some unexpected news in our department that had to be discussed. It turned out two of our colleagues got pregnant, which in our field meant they had to be ‘put aside’; give up every night shift and weekend and those days had yet to be spread among the last soldiers standing and that was about…not many people. Instead of insufferable hangovers, we were exhausted after spending too many hours at work to keep it all together. We lacked the sleep because of the work, not because of parties and alcohol overconsumption. And it was not funny.

But it had a positive side in form of raven-haired boy Harry, who was one of the nicest human beings on this planet and who attempted to make our lives as easy as possible.

With the fortune he got after both his grandparents and parents died in tragical accident, his job wasn’t essential source of income to ensure his financial stability, and he could afford to spend many days on home-office or took some days off completely. What a look we got many times after me and Gin stepped through the door to ‘our home’ and we spotted the feast on the table.

“This boy really knows how to cook,” I adored big plates of home made sushi rolls that met us on one Wednesday evening.

“And believe me, that’s not the only thing he’s so God damn good at,” answered Ginny and grabbed big Nigiri with her bare fingers and stuffed her mouth with that.

“Is that so? Should I go there and listen more of what you have to say about my other…qualities?” called Harry from the kitchen.

My appetite was lost.

“Ugh, yuck, you two! Get a room!”

They both bursted out laughing, until Nigiri went down the wrong way and Ginny started coughing…

Sometimes, when we were able to respond to some of Harry’s texts during the day and he knew our shift wasn’t too cruel, he invited over some of his friends I didn’t know just to keep my social interest in the male species underway. Neither he nor Ginny would suffer too much during this new life era of mine called ‘single, ready to mingle,’ as Gin always loooved to inform everyone. By their suffering, I mean watching all the dating opportunities lost due to my work life. 

“Harry, why are you friends with that McLaggen again?” I sighed when I exhaustedly fell into the depths of their—our—couch after one particularly uncomfortable dinner where Harry’s colleague sat next to me and didn’t bother to hide his crush on me. 

“He’s… a nice fella,” Harry answered in a tight voice. I had to suffer sweaty, gawky touches when I was handing over ‘the potatoes that are so close to you, Hermione’ or when I gave him the bowl—‘I know I can get the veggies myself, but you are much more professional with the ladle, ‘Mione’—until he asked me to pass him food from every dish on the table. And then it was his knee bruising my thigh when he nervously tapped his legs under the table. Harry was lying to me because he saw it all.

“That’s a lie,” I accused him.

He nervously looked at me, and somewhere in his eyes, I saw he was trying to come up with a better explanation, but my face must have convinced him not to try it.

“He’s a dick, I know,” he sighed finally. “But he was talking about you for some time now, how he wanted to meet you and how he fancied you, so I… invited him.”

I definitely wasn’t mad at him, but I figured it wouldn’t be too mean to show a small form of punishment for putting me in that situation and letting me suffer for a whole forty-five minutes before Ginny announced she was exhausted and politely asked him to leave.

“You thought that because I’m single now and he has a crush on me, I’d be too desperate and go out with him, even though he’s a lost cause. Am I right?” I put on a serious face. 

Harry grimaced, and his eyes shot to Ginny, who had just returned from the shower and was watching us from the doorway. She was too entertained by the situation because she knew I wasn’t serious, and Harry had no clue. 

She didn’t offer any help, only shrugged, and Harry nervously turned back to me.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“I thought you were a better man than that… expecting me to be so lonely after just… two months without a man… Do you think I’m like that? Too lonely? Too desperate?” I frowned at him.

I knew Harry too well to know he must have been blaming himself from the first minute McLaggen had spoken to me, and this cloud of guilt didn’t allow him to see the battle the corners of my mouth were fighting as I looked at his face, full of agony. I was a very bad actor, and anyone with a clear mind could see that.

His hand automatically shot into his hair, nervously scratching the back of his head. “Should I text him?” he suggested.

Ginny and I raised our brows at him in all seriousness. Played seriousness.

“And tell him what?” he had no clue. Harry was squirming under his heavy feelings, not even sure what he expected to say himself. He had only suggested an idea, hoping his brilliant mind would catch on and help. But again, the weight of guilt stopped his genius from working.

“I think it would be best if you explained how things are—that this was only your idea and he should be aware of his ungentlemanly behavior,” said Ginny eventually. I had to turn my face, so Harry wouldn't notice how I tried to suppress laugh.

Quickly, Ginny took the hint and played along. “That’s true. You should tell him he was sloppy and touchy, and his hints about my ‘professional care’ were barking up the wrong tree.”

Ginny and I watched Harry’s face go through all five stages of torture: shock, denial, contemplation, disgust, and eventually, acceptance. He indeed grabbed his phone and unwillingly started typing, loudly running through phrases he should use in the message with us.

“No, not this one,” disagreed Ginny after he mentioned ‘knee too close all the time’ and pretended to think deeply about what to write next. “You should say something like… ‘Your knee was touching Hermione’s to the point it made me jealous… if you hadn’t stopped, my imagination would go wild. Did you really think I invited you only as a date for 'Mine? What about the fact there was the perfect number of four tonight...I hoped we ALL could enjoy some fun...’”

Foolish Harry typed like crazy, just so he wouldn’t lose the exact word order. He foolishly typed and typed and typed...until...

“Jeez, Gin," he suddenly grimaced and the mask of focus he was wearing while he typed heated message completely evaporated. "That's really disgusting. I can't actually text him that...!"

Instead of answering him, Ginny glared at him for a good minute with her ‘Are you seriously that dumb?’ look.

“What?” he asked several times, his desperation deepening and deepening. That boy really couldn't read the room sometimes... "What should I text him? Be serious now..."

“Sorry, Ginny, I can’t,” I squeaked with teary eyes and finally released the laughter I had been holding the whole time.

Ginny didn’t take long before falling into the same state as me, unbelievably shaking her red mane. Harry only stared at us and frowned.

"What are you two-" He stopped when his brain finally caught up and started to put two and two together.

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffed eventually. But even he couldn’t hold it much longer before he laughed out loud and deleted the heart-wrenching paragraph...

Many other evenings consisted of calm gatherings with great people—classmates we reunited with on that beach a few weeks ago—and soon enough, I could admit that the three of us, along with Ron and Lavender, Cho, Luna, and Neville, officially made a pretty solid friend group. I enjoyed spending time with them more and more every time. 

But there were still some days too rough to have enough energy to socialize, and we were more than happy when we made it through dinner with open eyes, only to fall asleep as soon as our bodies touched the blankets. No showers in between…

"We were supposed to be partying right now!" Ginny complained and stuffed her mouth with a spoonful of Pho Bo, absolutely ignoring the thick steam evaporating from the Vietnamese soup they were serving.

It was Friday afternoon, and we had finally managed to take our lunch break at 3 o’clock, me after coming from the OR and her after finishing the CT programme. The cafeteria was almost empty except for three cooks silently enjoying the food they had made in the back corner of the room and us, the intruders who forced them to stand up from their meal and serve us two dishes.

“We wouldn’t even be pre-drinking right now,” I disagreed, glancing at the time on my Apple Watch.

“Duhhh,” she mumbled unintelligibly. My dearest friend was sitting with her mouth full, wide open, breathing out the hot steam from her too-hot soup. So, maybe the Ron's disgusting ways of eating back in school were...a family thing?

“Too hot?” I asked the obvious and tried to show some sympathy with painful grimace.

She only nodded and exhaled a few more times before it was cool enough to swallow without risking burns to her esophagus. Even then, I could see the painful tears in her eyes.

“Shit, I don’t understand how they keep it this hot all the time. Starving people here are forgetful and could hurt themselves!” she fumed.

“I guess the key is not swallowing it like an animal and eating slowly like normal people do?” I tried. "This advice worked for Ronald and maybe you could use it as well..."

She shot me a very unamused look. “Ha, ha, ‘Mione. Very funny.”

But I was quite pleased with myself and only shrugged, smiling slyly as she rolled her eyes in response.

“Back to the topic—you know we could be partying despite the early hour,” Ginny complained while obediently stirring her soup. “We’re good enough to do that even at eight in the morning and completely sober. But imagine that—you, getting ready in your bathroom, putting on some makeup; me, sitting in your room, playing music, pouring us drinks, and choosing some nasty outfits for you that you’d never, ever choose for yourself….”

“Oh, stop it!” I laughed. “You know I would never wear something of your choice!”

“Because my style is immaculate and modern, and yours is… too conservative. No offense. But believe me, a few drinks in, and you’d let me dress you as I please…”

“Yeah, you’re right… Maybe… Ugh, I wish we could do that today. I could actually use one drink after this week…” I huffed.

Today...sucked. We were still short staffed and from weird reasons I was forced to spend almost everyday in the OR. In this last quarter of year, hospital was trying to make up for financial loses we suffered until this period, and all the OR programmes were filled to its capacity, every department calling in about upcoming delays of patient due to lack of free beds and overpressure of patient admissions. Everyone was in bad mood, exhausted and looking forward to upcoming weekend. I was hardly strong enough for anything more than getting home, doing some quick yoga in my room, and then falling asleep. Something like partying sounded too...exhausting at this point.

But Ginny’s eyes sparkled dangerously. “We can go somewhere. It’s not like the clubs open before eleven.”

“I can’t. I promised my kindergarten teacher I’d get coffee with her tomorrow morning,” I sadly declined her idea before she got too eager to start planning. I had my regular meeting with Mrs. Crookshanks, a woman who not only took care of me in kindergarten but whom I liked so much that my parents hired her as my nanny throughout elementary school. She babysat me until I was fourteen. Our bond was so strong that I had the urge to call her every now and then, but meeting was a little harder since I had moved two hours away from the town she lived in.

“The fuck? Since when do you meet with people like that? Is she your distant family or something?” Ginny frowned.

“No, it’s Mrs. Crookshanks. I told you about her many times. We meet and catch up every once in a while. I haven’t seen her in more than a year and we have already rescheduled twice.”

“Yeah, I remember. So what? Some lady wants to see you after a year of waiting. Guess she can wait a little longer. Reschedule for the third time, no? Not next week, but maybe… later tomorrow afternoon? Get a cuppa instead of coffee? Hm?” Ginny’s hopeful face told me she refused to accept the idea of not having some alcohol today after I had given her the tiniest hint of a party mood.

“She’s important to me, Gin,” I frowned. I didn't feel very comfortable with the idea I had to make her wait again...even though it's true it was her, who cancelled last time, but Ginny didn't have to know.

“So is my mother to me, and there were multiple times I rescheduled after you and Mark argued…,” she brought up a dangerous topic to show me how serious she was about getting me out tonight.

Yeah, Ginny was never afraid to bring up something like that, when it came to terms of fun teasing. She would never use it against me in serious conversations, but giving we both were in kind of too tired, too reckless mood after too many overtimes and difficult cases this past month, there were no limits for dark and stupid humour. Plus she knew exactly what worked for me. I was never the one to be told I limited someone or something twice. Feeling like becoming a burden had always been the most irritating thing for me, and she knew that.

“You bitch...!” I gawked at her.

“Yes, and also your savior! You're welcome. Now listen to me - You. Should. Party. Not like a 'let's have a bottle of Prosecco and dance in your room' kind of party. No. We want all shiny things, sparkly clothes and heels. And lots and lots of men. If Mrs. Crookshanks loves you like you always say, she’ll understand."

I looked at her for a moment.

It was true that this weekend was finally free for both of us, the first free weekend since I had moved from my apartment. Ginny and I had promised we’d party like animals, but instead, we had been working our asses off. We deserved a reset. And besides, Mrs. Crookshanks herself had said she could meet me anytime this weekend; it didn’t have to be before noon…

“I guess I can give it a try and ask about meeting later tomorrow…,” I mumbled not so eagerly. 

“Of course, you can!” Ginny happily squeaked. Had we not been the last ones eating, we would definitely have caught other people’s attention. But in this situation, I didn’t stop her loud tone because I didn’t think much of it. What a mistake.

“It’s always good to release stress a little. We had a difficult week—let’s enjoy a bit. We're getting a drink tonight. A glass or a bottle, it doesn't matter when it comes to us and in our damaged healthcare state it's only beneficial to drink some. Right, Dr. Nott?” The last question was directed at someone behind me, where Ginny’s sparkling eyes had landed on the handsome, curly-haired doctor I adored so much.

Pinkish color immediately visited my cheeks, and I wanted to send Ginevra to hell. Lost in thoughts about rescheduling my meeting, I hadn’t noticed someone else entering—specifically, him.

As hard as it was to admit, every day, I patiently anticipated a glimpse of warm brown curls, blue colour of his notoriously known boat surgery hat, or a soft sparkle in those ocean-blue eyes. Every OR, every lunch break, every allergic reaction at the CT room—I… oh, this is really terrible… I expected it to be big so we’d have to call the emergency team and he’d show up there, in full professional mode. (Fortunately, there had only been two minor reactions since then, but still, I had hoped he would appear to save the day… Sorry, Mrs. Kinley, I really didn’t want your eyes to swell so much…).

I actively sought his presence and his company, and sometimes, when planets were in positive constellation and I finally had the luck to spend some time in his presence I—pathetically— started conversations with him.

It was something minor in the beginning, like commenting on funny observations about patient or someone in the OR, which continuously led to more and more shared glances and smiles (hopefully, because it was never sure through surgical mask). Last couple of surgeries we finally developed full conversations of...more than five sentences. My crush was enormous at this point...but of course I didn't mention it to anyone and most definitely didn't try to do something stupid like...flirting with him. I enjoyed all the moments I could get, happy to be composed enough to function like regular adult human being.

Now that he was standing right behind me, confused by my best friend’s straightforward question that had clearly caught his attention, neither my heart nor my hands knew what to do.

But Dr. Nott didn’t seem to care or notice. With a slightly exhausted expression, he kindly smiled at us.

“My apologies, ladies, but I didn’t catch that. What was it again?” he asked in that sweet, angelic tone that made even senior patients forget they had husbands at home.

“I was telling my friend Hermione here that an appropriate amount of alcohol could be beneficial for her mental health.”

“Oh?” He raised his brows in surprise and looked at me. He clearly found Ginny's comment entertaining and not shameful. “Well, there’s no doubt that alcohol doesn’t necessarily have to be just a poison like society likes to tell us lately. And yes, in small amounts, it can be a stress reliever. But as a doctor, I must say I’d recommend using it only occasionally and not as a first choice during hard life situations.”

“But isn’t it scientifically proven that a glass of good red wine can actually be beneficial for us?” Ginny’s smart mouth didn’t know when to stop.

“Yes, that’s true,” Dr. Nott laughed, “but many people like to play with the definition of ‘one glass.’ I specifically have one big glass that can hold more than half a liter, so…”

That made Ginny and me laugh as well. We had both gifted each other similar glasses in the past, exactly for the reason of justifying ‘one beneficial glass of wine a day.’

In the comfortable atmosphere, the handsome doctor looked at us and then nodded toward the table. If he hadn’t planned on sitting with us before (which he most likely hadn’t), Ginny’s enthusiasm had certainly changed his mind, and he politely asked if it was alright to join us for lunch.

“Of course, of course!” yelled Ginny, way too happily, forcing me to kick her lightly under the table because it was really embarrassing. “Ouch! Uh—sorry, just a cramp. But join us, Dr. Nott. There’s plenty of space here.” She patted the empty chair next to her.

Dr. Nott’s slim figure slid into the seat beside my friend, and he carefully placed the plastic bowl containing his Pho Bo in front of him. Without hesitation, he removed the lid, allowing the hot steam to escape. We silently watched as he casually placed a spoon next to the bowl, then pulled out a pair of wooden chopsticks from his pocket, broke them apart, and started stirring the soup. Unlike Ginny, he was smart enough to let it cool before taking a bite.

“They always serve it so hot,” he mumbled, mirroring Ginny’s earlier complaint.

My red-haired friend, who could now eat her soup properly, only nodded. Hers must have cooled enough because she boldly took another big spoonful, and then another, until she finally could enjoy her meal at a normal pace. The distraction of food silenced her, at least for a moment.

I glanced at her face and, in the triangle of us, suddenly felt slight wave of uncertainty. I had to admit that I didn’t feel particularly pretty. My friend's features were stunning—a golden undertone to her skin that sparkled against her bright blue eyes. Her oval face was perfectly balanced, her nose small and round, exactly the kind men loved to kiss in parting. She had naturally high, well-defined eyebrows that required minimal upkeep, long thick lashes, and freckles—pure markers of effortless beauty. All of it framed by her naturally shiny, straight red hair.

Next to her, my frizzy hair practically cried for help, which was why I loved to hide it in high buns or braids. My brown eyes felt dull in comparison, so I often hid them behind books. My face shape was fine—nothing asymmetrical, but nothing remarkable either. Oval face, straight nose, decent eyebrows. The only thing I liked about myself were my lips, but only because they were well-shaped for easy lip-liner application. Even so, they were perpetually dry because I drank too much coffee and forgot to hydrate properly.

“You don’t like Asian food?”

My eyes automatically lifted from their bowls, where I had been staring in a moment of self-pity, and for a second, I was caught in the intensity of Dr. Nott’s ocean-blue eyes.

He was watching me with a strange glint, the one you see in face of person who doesn't know what to expect from you, and I hurriedly looked down at my half-eaten focaccia to escape the hold his gaze had on clarity of my mind. That’s when I realized what he was asking.

“Ehhh, no…,” I stuttered. “I mean, no-no, I LIKE Asian food, but today Italian felt more fitting than Pho… And I also knew how hot they serve it, and I was starving, so…” I admitted with guilty face and tried to soothe my not so amused friend with a bright smile.

“Ohhh, smart move,” he complimented me. “I should have done the same, but the O.R. nearly devoured my soul today, so I figured I could allow myself a slightly longer break and wait for it to cool off. Plus, the Pho smelled phenomenal—I just couldn’t resist.”

“Yeah, it smells divine,” I agreed with a laugh, unable to control my expression in front of the most handsome man I knew. “But so does focaccia.”

“No doubt about that,” he chuckled.

Ginny, normally full of loud opinions, was suddenly so quiet, and interesantly still focused on her meal and didn’t seem inclined to join our conversation. I, overly anxious about falling into awkward silence now that I finally had him close without the beeping machines or crazy orthos calling for X-rays every minute, scrambled for a topic I didn't dare to ask in front of full OR, just to keep him engaged now.

“So, how’s your flatmate hunt going? Have you found anyone yet?”

He was contemplatively twirling his noodles and had taken a large bite right as I asked. He started coughing, earning me a mocking glance from Ginny and I hurried to hand him one of my free napkins.

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” I blurted out. He shook his head, signaling that I didn’t need to worry, and I patiently waited for him to compose himself enough to chew and speak.

“Uhm… no,” he chewed some more of the food he managed to keep in his mouth area. “Ehm, uh… sorry… ehm… No, I haven’t found anyone yet. Unfortunately, it seems that no one… normal, let’s say, tends to read the notice board lately. But they extended my deadline until the end of November, so I’m afraid I’ll have to publish it online.”

“Oh, wonderful time with the extend! And the internet...that’s not a bad thing, is it? I mean, more people will see the ad online, so there’s a higher chance of finding someone suitable.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure if that’s exactly what I want, you know. Ideally, I’d find someone from the hospital who understands the importance of silence after a long shift. Preferably someone I’ve met before so there’s no risk of them turning out to be an idiot.”

“On the other hand, if it’s someone from the hospital and they turn out to be an idiot, it’ll be even more awkward for you, won’t it?” I noted.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, and he gave me an intense look. “Well, Miss Granger… I believe I always try to be kind, and I choose peace over violence in most cases. I’d hope that if we’ve met before, they’d know that about me and wouldn’t do that to me.”

With that smile and those eyes, I forgot to breathe for a moment, but it went unnoticed as he lowered his gaze and tasted his soup with the same boldness Ginny had displayed once hers had cooled.

I wondered if that was a little too naive of him. Yes, he was always kind and polite, but that didn’t mean anyone around him owed him the same behavior. In an ideal world, maybe—but we were far from that. Then again, his looks probably helped in that matter a lot. Studies have shown that more attractive people receive better treatment, meaning coming from both genders. With his combination of beauty and a genuinely good character, he had a high chance of finding an adequate flatmate. But there was also a chance he’d end up living with a complete psycho, no matter his looks and personality. 

“Finally, it’s edible,” he sighed, taking a big spoonful of his soup. Ginny and I watched as he set the spoon aside and expertly used his chopsticks. I couldn’t help but observe his hands and arms up close. His nails were well-groomed, clean, and slightly shiny, clearly manicured. His fingers were long, his palms wide—ideal for playing the piano or guitar. Beneath his tanned skin, the healthy definition of muscles moved subtly as he handled the chopsticks. A rather pleasing sight for lunchtime.

But he didn’t let the conversation lapse for too long. As a good conversationalist who, for once, wasn’t rushing back to work, he looked between us.

“I hope it’s not rude to ask, but I overheard one piece of your conversation before. Are you two… living together?” he asked carefully.

Ginny and I exchanged glances, but I answered first.

“Yes,” I nodded. “I moved in with Ginny and her boyfriend about a month ago.”

“Oh.”

“He’s also my best friend. Known him longer than her—but just a bit longer.” Why did I feel the need to explain that?

“Ohhh, alright. But tell me, Miss Ginevra—if I may call you that? I quite like the sound of it—”

"Well—" Gin tried to complain, but I didn’t let her finish.

"It's all right!" I squeaked and slyly smiled at her when he caught my words of approval.

"—Wonderful! So, Miss Ginevra, don’t you, by any chance, have this flat too small so that you no longer wish to share it with your friend here?"

Ginny and I looked at him in confusion. What the…?

"It’s not an apartment…? We live in a house…?" I answered slowly instead of her, neither of us sawing where this was going.

He caught the weird tone I said it with and immediately backed up, raising his palms to show he meant no harm. "Oh, no, sorry, don’t get me wrong! I just wanted to continue and ask that, if you’d like, Miss Granger, I have a free room in my very big, very modern apartment, and I’m currently searching for flatmates. If your friend’s apartment… house is, by any chance, too small and, let’s say, uncomfortable, I believe I can make a great offer. For example, I can cook well. And I have a great collection of classic books."

"Ohhhh…" Ginny and I simultaneously caught on. He was trying to steal me from her!

My lips automatically spread into wide smile. He had no idea how many times I’d contemplated taking one of those phone number strips from the board and texting him for some… observatory visit of his flat. But the truth was, I’d do that only out of curiosity. I didn’t want to live with anyone else. My situation with my friends now was only a temporary solution before I saved enough money to afford living on my own. No flatmates included.

"Is that so?" I asked, trying to mirror his tone, yet I couldn’t keep my face as serious as he did, and the corners of my mouth lifted more than before. 

"Yes. And you seem like the type of flatmate I wouldn’t mind having… unless you’re a secret hoarder, a troublemaker, or a… serial killer?"

"Ha, n-no. None of that." I couldn’t hold back my laugh. 

"Amazing, so my offer stands. I’m looking for someone to share a flat with… I’m free this Sunday if you’d like to come for a visit."

Was he serious?

His face and body language was saying that he was, indeed, serious. He was inviting me for a visit of the apartment he was living in, offering me a place in it. I was not sure if he meant it as a compliment, the simple fact he was not finding me to be a threat or weirdo and...clearly someone he didn't find to be an idiot so far...but I definitely took it as one.

Did I want to visit his flat? Yes. Was I planning on moving in? Absolutely not.

But Ginny’s strong kick under the table reminded me what an opportunity lay in front of me. He was a handsome man, a doctor, who happened to be my crush. What a mistake it would be if I passed up a few minutes on Sunday to spend with him… in his flat?

"I’m afraid it’s not just up to me now… I have a good friend I need to ask," I smiled at him, and in my periphery, I could see Ginny’s sly smile. But as soon as the woman in question got Dr. Nott's attention, she immediately c put on a serious mask.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on," she said in played cold tone. "Are you really thinking I’d let my girl leave me so easily? This one fantastic woman, who is always tidying after herself, helping everywhere she can and who is willing to listen to mine and Harry's stupid humor 24/7? Nah-uh, I'm afraid we have to negotiate. She's too big price on the market to slip from my hands so easily..." And Finishing her Pho, my genius friend masterfully started listing all the reasons why living with her was much better than switching the comfort of her and Harry’s house for Dr. Nott’s ‘flatmate’ conditions.

When all the arguments were used and our plates empty, we didn't raise for leave. No one was waiting for us, no one was coding us, so we decided to spend few more minutes in the company of this sympathetic man. I didn't question this decision, until Ginevra didn't change the subject from flatmate stealing to party planning, and soon, Dr. Nott found himself enjoying the whole conversation about party prep, his smile widening every time Ginny’s plans made my eyes pop more and more.

---

The warm Friday night called every young soul to enjoy the surprisingly good weather in the city’s most frequent party area.

Ginny also invited Luna and Cho to join us, so we met for a starter at the most suitable place we could choose—Marty’s, a typical local bistro with red leather booths and great milkshakes. If you asked the waitresses about the specialty on the menu, you were quickly gifted with the best quesadilla a girl could wish for before a fun party evening. And it wasn't only about the food. The atmosphere here was everything reflecting of Marty's amazing personality. He was fit half-Mexican man in his mid thirties whose favourite outfit was piece of flannel shirt and baseball cap worn backwards, and that description also suited to the spirit he brought to this place. Everyone was welcomed, nothing was big issue, the food was fine and drinks were strong, and it didn't last long before one felt like at family bistro. No wonder every person with good taste was sitting here, and all the booths were full of cheerful and satisfied customers who decided to prepare for long night here. Even Cho, our professional picky eater, had to admit that those tortilla pieces filled with veggies and meat were delicious. And when the chef Marty stepped from the kitchen to inform us they were closing, she let herself go with the flow of nice hospital spirit and stood from our booth to give him a big, loud tribute in front of the whole bistro.

When he spotted that petite Asian girl with a lethal face card standing next to our table with cherry-red cheeks, both from drinking a proper Mexican Margarita and from slight embarrassment at being seen by too many strangers at once while doing that, Marty’s eyes popped open and his golden cheeks coloured in pink.

But like the good girl Cho was, she only swept invisible breadcrumbs from her pink tweed miniskirt, smiled at him, apologized, and sat back down in our booth, leaving Marty standing behind the bar with shocked smile playing in the corners of his lips.

"I think he likes you," Luna stated the obvious as a blushing Cho tried to drown her embarrassment in big gulps of her second Margarita.

Asian girl squeezed her eyes shut and slumped lower in her seat, trying to blend in with the red leather seats under her.

"I have no idea why I did that," she whined.

"Luna's right, look at him," Ginny ignored her troubles and nodded in direction where the desperate man behind quickly disappeared through the big silver door wings to the back of his restaurant and ignored few people in line waiting to pay, as he politely asked them to before. However, before any of them could complain, the silver doors opened again, and a young, tall boy in uniform stepped through and headed to the cash register.

I took it as sign to stand up and join them as well.

"We should go pay," I said as the responsible customer and reached for my phone to join the line.

"Sit down, for God’s sake, ‘Mione. The line is long enough for us to sit for a couple of minutes longer," stopped me reddish Gin and pulled me back down next to her.

"Ginny’s right, Hermione, there are a lot of people ahead of us. We should sit and finish our drinks," agreed Luna’s dreamy voice. "Besides, the prices in that club later will be much higher, so why don’t we enjoy these cheap drinks while we can?"

"You’re taking the words right out of my mouth, Luna," Ginny smiled with satisfaction and beckoned us all to grab our drinks. I was too familiar with her face and strong grip if I had disobeyed, so I hurried to drink the strong cocktail they prepared. G&T was more like 'a lot of gin with tint of tonic' and the alcohol burned in my throat the second I started drink it.

"C’mon, we need you a little bit relaxed today, girl," Ginny commented with a laugh once I tried to put that burning thing down.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m working on that…" I answered and, with some difficulty, drank some more.

"Wait...why are you saying that? Is everything all right?" Cho curiously leaned closer to inspect me thoroughly, her doctor instincts not letting her miss any signs of distress. I got the feeling her eyes had turned into small X-ray machines, scanning every pore and curve on my face.

"Stop it, Cho," I laughed and gently pushed her focused face away from me. "I’m all right, don’t worry. Really."

But her face showed she wasn’t convinced. "Ginevra would never say that without reason..."

Gin shrugged in agreement, which wasn't really helpful, and so I tried once more. "It’s nothing new, really. The same song over and over…"

"Mark still doesn’t let you sleep?" Luna asked carefully, her sky-blue eyes filled with slight pity when I looked at her.

So, no changing the subject then.

Squirming in my tiny pieces of clothes, I sighed. "Yeah," I had no choice but to admit.

Cho’s empathetic hands reached for me and her puppy eyes almost imprinted into my soul. "It’s all right," she said. "It’s still too soon."

"Bullocks soon," Ginny finished her drink beside me with a quiet ‘Ahhh!’. “It’s just the right time to start moving on.”

“Ginny…,” I warned her. We had this conversation earlier today, and I had seriously asked her not to bring it up. I didn’t want to talk about me seducing someone tonight, not if I wasn’t in the right mood, even though she seemed more than sure I’d meet someone tonight. But it appeared that after two beers, her memory had faded away.

She put the empty glass on the table and placed her palms flat on the desk. “No, they have the right to know,” she frowned and turned to face them. “I think it’s time for Hermione to get laid.”

Both girls raised their brows in surprise and looked at me.

“Are you sure?” asked Luna.

“Yes.” Said Ginevra.

“No.” I disagreed.

Ginny and I exchanged sharp looks. She knew I was serious. I knew she was as well. But her stubborn head was no fun to mess with, so after a few seconds, I defensively rolled my eyes and let her win.

“Yes, I think it’s time,” she repeated with winning smile. “And Hermione usually thinks so as well, but today she somehow lost her appetite… Should we blame it on stress?”

I looked at the two girls in front of me. Their neutral expressions told me it was alright to say anything I felt. From the several evenings we had spent together, I knew they weren’t judgmental, and I had grown more and more comfortable sharing some things about my life with them. They had shared some of theirs recently as well. For example, Cho mentioned that shortly after she started working at our hospital a year ago, she had slept with Cedric Diggory, a young, promising surgeon. However, he passed away in an accident two months later, and Cho hadn’t been able to date anyone since. She admitted that even though it was mostly physical between them, she had fallen in love and hadn’t coped well with his death. Luna admitted that her famous wizarding boy was inspired by Harry and that she had an enormous crush on him in primary school.

Now it was my turn to share a secret.

“It’s not about Mark… Truth be told, we hadn’t slept together since… the beginning of this year, I think…” They made horrified noises, but I ignored them. “But I… I have a crush on someone… and that’s why I don’t want to hook up with just anybody.”

“What?!” They leaned closer, eager for more details.

“Yep…,” confirmed Ginny instead of me, though her face was very skeptical when she said it.

“And this crush of yours… are you dating or something?” asked Cho.

“Well… no.”

“Talking?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Liking your Insta posts?”

“Nope.”

Both girls stared at me like I was absolutely mental.

“I just want to make clear I—”

“You’re not making ANYTHING clear, ‘Mione,” sighed Ginny beside me.

“Why are you saying that?! You know it’s not that pathetic…,” I said, hearing my own hurt tone.

Ginny impatiently shook her head but, luckily, controlled her voice and calmly started: “It actually IS VERY pathetic, girl. You just got out of a long-term relationship with a guy who SUCKED. He didn’t sleep with you for months, he didn’t talk to you, he didn’t take care of you. You slowly shut yourself away, stopped talking to everyone but your closest circle, and in the end, he left you for a much easier target that looks exactly like a younger version of you. She’s just smiling more—but that’s temporary because Mark has the biggest gift for turning every sunflower into burnt grass, and she’s gonna be next. And now when you are finally free and hot and target for many male species around, you don't want to use all that for your own selfish benefit. You just feel like you'd be cheating on a man who...I actually don't know what's the issue with him. He's hot and cutiepie but as far as I know, he didn't make any proposal yet, so for me it's a sign he isn't interested. So like I said earlier today—This crush of yours. Will. Not. Stop. You. From. Getting. Laid. Tonight.”

The girls on the other side of the table only silently watched and listened. I wasn’t sure if they were more uncomfortable or more afraid of Ginny’s tone.

Well done, Ginny Weasley. There goes that notorious flame of yours…

I watched her irritated face with probably the same expression, but inside, I had no idea how I felt. I was annoyed that she brought it up, but on the other hand, I had to agree. If I were in her position and my friend refused to enjoy her single life to the fullest—especially after leaving a pretty shitty relationship with a total dickhead—I’d probably give a similar speech. However, this was about me. I was the restrained woman who refused to sleep with someone just because there was a very handsome doctor I saw at work, which was completely illogical because he had no idea about it. It wasn’t like I had made a move, told him, or asked him out. I just had one silly little crush, and after spending so long in a committed relationship (at least from my side), I couldn’t suppress the feeling that I’d be cheating on him if I slept with someone else… Oh, that relationship really screwed me up.

I sighed.

“Alright.”

Ginny looked at me like she misheard. “Excuse me?”

“You are right,” I shrugged. “It would be silly to ignore all men tonight just because McDreamy asked me to visit his apartment.”

McDreamy was the nickname of the main character from the TV series Grey’s Anatomy. He was also a doctor, a neurosurgeon, and had similar hair to Dr. Nott. That’s what we’d talked about earlier today while getting ready, and when Ginny pointed out their resemblance, I couldn’t agree more. So, Dr. Theodore Nott would be our McDreamy.

Cho’s and Luna’s faces said they had no idea what was going on. Luna, braver than the small cardiologist, dared to ask: “McDreamy?”

Ginny looked at me to make sure she could say it. I shrugged once more.

“It’s one of the doctors from our hospital,” she explained. “An anesthesiologist.”

Cho’s eyes popped open. “McDreamy is from our hospital…? Do I know him?”

“I don’t know… Do you know any anesthesiologists?” I asked.

“Yeah, I know some… especially one who’s been sleeping with two of our doctors lately. He’s really nice, always so polite and handsome, and his hair—” Her hand flew to her mouth, and she looked between me and Ginny in shock. “McDreamy is Theodore Nott?!”

My heart dropped. What did she mean by sleeping with two…?

Ginny immediately asked the same. “He’s… sleeping with… two of your colleagues?” She cringed.

“Yes,” Cho nodded.

“Like… what? Like…together or...?” My brain tried to process it. Judging by Ginny’s and Luna's cringed expression, it was probably a-

“I think they said they are into threesomes, so…I guess all three are present during one act...? I honestly have no idea how that works, I'm just telling you what they were talking about yesterday…” Cho explained, nervously looking around. "I really didn't want to listen to it so I ignored them. It was really uncomfortable...in that or...."

I felt like shite.

I just spent whole day thinking about Dr. Nott's attractive offer of living with him, having a teeny-tiny hope of him maybe thinking I was not just a boring girl and that maybe I could have a chance with him and he was talking about threesomes with...TWO of his colleagues? 

Disgusting.

The line at the cash register now had only two people left, the rest of people was already leaving bistro in winter jackets.

We collectively agreed not to intrude much longer and quickly started putting on our jackets, but before we stood up to pay, I finished my strong G&T in two big gulps.

Theodore Nott is into threesomes...

Theodore Nott—the sweet, humble, cutie-pie Dr. Nott, my McDreamy—was not only sleeping with other women who were also doctors, but he was sleeping with two of them?! At the same time?!

Man, I was going to get sloshed tonight.

None of the girls commented on the sight of me finishing my drink, nor did they say anything when I asked for an extra shot of vodka as I stood at the register to pay.

“Let’s dance it out,” I said simply and went outside to call an Uber.

The spirit we left the bistro with continued in the club and as soon as we steppe inside, we headed to the bar. Ginny ordered the first round of the same cocktails we had at the bar, except for her order—instead of beer, she got herself a big Margarita like Cho, while Luna and I stuck with Gin and Tonic.

The music was playing loudly, luring a few individuals to the dance floor, but we weren’t drunk enough to join them and start the proper party. We found a table and remained there in relaxed conversation.. Luna and Cho discreetly glanced around from time to time, searching for interesting or familiar faces, and every time they turned back to our conversation with neutral or disappointed expressions, I felt slightly relieved. I especially paid attention to Cho’s face because she worked with the same people as I did, and if she spotted someone familiar, it would be a threat to me. Although meeting Dr. Nott here was very unlikely, I couldn’t shake off the trepidation I felt with every move of her head.

But, I reminded myself every few second, it would be pointless to worry about Dr. Nott’s presence since there was no chance I’d go to him if he appeared. Therefore, I focused on our conversation. We mostly fell into the typical topic that all healthcare workers love—medicine. We talked about the conditions we worked in, the latest hospital news, and then shifted to gossip. Luna, who patiently listened to every nasty thing we talked about, was an excellent listener and even better storyteller, filling us on spicy moments from publishing and instagram celebrities area. And as the only non-healthcare worker, she didn’t complain a single time, even when we went into rather detailed and gruesome topics.

It didn’t take long for our girl group to attract attention.

Five young men took a table right next to us, but since the wooden desk didn’t allow them to sit together, two of them asked to sit at our table to chat with their friends. Before long, their conversation wasn't entertaining for them enough and they started shifting toward us. One word led to another, and suddenly, a tall glass of G&T was placed in front of me, and a tall blonde guy was sitting—more like leaning—close to my side while our group continued discussing healthcare.

It turned out they were all medical students—three studied in the next city, and two attended our prestigious local university. When they heard where we worked and what we did, their curiosity turned into passionate interest. Most of them were drawn to Cho, of course, since she was a cardiologist. Ginny quickly shook them off after a few sentences by mentioning ‘her fiancé, Harry.’ But the blonde guy, Tobias, seemed interested only in me.

“Wanna dance?” he whispered in my ear in the middle of an explanatory moment where Cho was describing the function of beta-blockers to the students preparing for their cardiology exam.

I glanced at the scene in front of us: Ginny eagerly absorbing Cho’s lecture, along with the four students, while Luna sat in the back, typing something on her phone. One of the guys next to her noticed and lightly tickled her forearm to get her attention.

If I left, they probably wouldn’t even notice.

“Sure,” I nodded and let him take my hand, leading us to the dance floor, which was now filled with people. We had been talking long enough for crowds to flood the building, and right now, the DJ was playing a song that made me want to move my hips even when I was still seated.

Tobias was a good dancer. He moved with the rhythm, avoided bumping into people, and managed to lead me effortlessly. He anticipated the beat changes, predicted what others would do, and made sure we stayed smooth and cool. He subtly inched closer and closer, disguising it as a natural evolution of our dance, until I was leaned against him, my back pressing into his chest. The music shifted from pop to R&B, and we naturally adjusted to the slower, more intimate pace. I didn’t mind it. He was tall, stylish, and clearly intelligent, given the school he attended. He smelled nice, knew how to move, and was obviously interested in me, which was flattering. I enjoyed the way he pushed his hips closer to mine, slid his hand from my side to my stomach, up to my chest and neck, and finally grabbed my chin, tilting my face dangerously close to his. The pulsing music around us only heightened the moment when he lowered his face, locking eyes with me as if searching for consent or rejection. I definitely didn’t give him the latter. When all he could read in my gaze was a daring ‘Are you going to do this?’, he closed the last millimeters of space between us and kissed me.

Not a sloppy drunk kiss I was kind of afraid of. His full lips took control over mine and he led the rhythm as effortlessly as he was dancing. He was a good kisser. His hands traveled over my body, caressed my hair, and when our bodies turned toward each other, he firmly grasped my backside with large palms, wordlessly conveying how much he liked what he saw.

So I didn’t hesitate when he broke the kiss and asked, “Wanna go somewhere more private?”

“Yes,” I breathed, excitement igniting inside me. “Let’s go.”

---

The lion-tamed girl didn’t pay attention to what was happening around her. She lost herself in the loud music, moving her body fluidly like water, her hands exploring the young man’s frame with curiosity, her face glowing with passionate intensity. That wild look in her eyes when he broke the kiss and whispered something… it stirred something dangerously inside me.

I watched as he took her hand and started leading her away, neither of them bothering to stop at their friends’ table to announce their departure. For a brief moment, I hoped they would pause, that maybe the magic of the moment would break. But it didn’t. I had to watch them walk away, hand in hand, side by side. That boy was luckier than I was. Tonight, he would get to do more than just touch her…

I tracked them until they disappeared completely, then forced myself to return my attention to the people around me.

My parents’ associates were here tonight, fresh from a successful business party, and they were in the midst of their best fun yet. Surrounded by expensive-looking women in tiny, sparkling dresses, they held glasses of top-shelf liquor while discussing former events and the faux pas of younger employees—those naive enough to hope for a promotion. Unfortunately for them, these rich bastards were only using their bright minds and ambition without any intention of actually promoting them.

This evening, even I had been ‘assigned’ one of the girls—a blonde woman in a rose-colored dress that barely covered the curve of her backside. She had been practically trying to sit on me all night. She was the daughter of one of my father’s former associates, a man desperate to get back into my parents’ good graces. So desperate, in fact, that he offered up his own daughter as bait. And judging by the way she acted, she didn’t seem to mind one bit…

Muttering an apology in her ear (and receiving an incredulous ‘Where are you going?’ look in return), I stood up, grabbed my phone from my back pocket, and headed toward the railing above the dance floor.

Chapter Text

The TV screen was illuminating the living room, otherwise drowning in darkness. Dialogues played loudly, accompanied by dramatic music and the sounds of cars and crowds of people. But for me… it all felt like it was coming from the farthest distance.

“…In the 30s, Jews refused to believe they could be sent to concentration camps…”

“Mark and I are no longer together, Dixie…”
“Oh my God! My sweet girl! When did it happen?”

“…In 1972, we refused to believe we would be massacred at the Olympics…”

“That’s impossible!... My sweetheart… why… why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would have been there for you!”

“…In the month before October 1973, we saw Arab troop movements and unanimously agreed they didn't pose a threat… Well, a month later, the Arab attack almost drove us into the sea… So we decided to make a change…”

“But enough about me, Mr. Crookshanks! What about you? How are you? Is everything alright?”
“Well, about that… There’s something you should know, my dear…”

“…the rule of the 10th Man… If nine of us look at the same information and come to the exact same conclusion, it is the duty of the 10th Man to disagree, no matter how improbable it may seem. The 10th Man has to start digging with the assumption that the other nine are wrong…”

“…Oh my God! Dixie! What on Earth…?! When – why… why didn’t you say something? Why-… you should have called me sooner?!”
“Oh, Hermione, dear, listen to me… it’s not that simple—”
“It IS that simple— We have to do something. I know many doctors who could help…!”
“Sssshush! Keep it low, Hermione, please.”
“Oh. Sorry… sorry…”
“It’s alright, dear, it’s alright. I understand you’re upset now, but please, listen to me. When I say it’s not that simple, I mean it.”
“…Alright…”
“There you go, my girl. So – do you remember that fire in our kindergarten last year? When that drunk influencer set our kindergarten on fire because he thought his party wasn’t cool and lucrative enough and wanted a distraction?”
“…Yes?”
“So, the owner got enough funds to reconstruct the building, but… there were some… issues with the legislation. After all the scandalous trials, articles, and everything, he tasted the power of money and wanted to earn more. So he created new contracts for us, his employees, with new conditions and all. One of them was a strict policy for obtaining healthcare insurance. He decided we all must work there for at least a full calendar year before we could apply for one paid by the employer.”
“W-what?! That’s insane, Dixie. But you don’t have to worry about it, do you…? I mean, you’ve been working there for how many…? Thirty years?”
“That’s what one would think, yes. But—he came up with what he called a ‘whole new concept’ for our kindergarten, including a new name for a brand-new company, announcing it as a completely new kindergarten in our city. With that, he met the conditions set by many donating agencies, allowing him to receive as many donations and grants as possible, since the city council was in need of new kindergartens and had announced, shortly before the accident, that they would support new institutions like that. However, he also had to comply with new legislation, which, unfortunately, allows all new businesses and organizations to avoid paying for their employees’ healthcare insurance during the first working year. That bastard didn’t care that we had been working for him for so long that we were on a first-name basis. He could have argued with someone or hired a good lawyer to do so for him… for us. But he refused to spend any of his hard-earned money. Instead, he gave an official statement about setting up a new company and handed us new contracts, meaning he started counting our workdays from that moment on.”
“Then… it means…”
“That I’ve been working there for only nine months and seventeen days so far.”
I gasped. “That’s insane! That’s illegal!”
“Yeah, we all—including himself—know pretty well that it’s unethical and immoral, but according to our new state law, there’s nothing illegal about it, my dear, believe me. Unfortunately, I later heard that he saw a loophole but decided to ignore it in order to keep all the money and stay safe. He knew full well that none of us had enough money to afford a good lawyer to fight this for us. Some teachers left, some of us stayed. We had no other place we wanted to work after all these years, you know. So I stayed, even with the risk of the health insurance rule. But the deadline is coming, and then… then I can visit my GP.”
“Dixie! Your condition is far too serious for a simple GP! You need to see a specialist. A cardiologist. And most likely, you’ll need surgery as well!”
“Yes, yes, my dear. I know. I know that. But for now, I have to wait.”
“…There’s no time to wait. Not in your condition. You—you could die. Do you understand that?”
“I’m aware of that, Hermione, I know. But I’ve been fighting for several months now. I’m already on borrowed time, so if I make it until the end of January, I’ll be more than happy to say I kicked death’s ass. And if I make it until then and get some help? Then I’ll tear that bastard down.”
“Dixie, please. Let me help you…”
“Absolutely not, my dear. You’d come up with some ridiculous solution that either involves your money—which I know you don’t have much of right now—or you’d be willing to have me admitted to the hospital and get me care for free… but illegally. And if it blew up and we ended up in court… that would ruin me both physically and financially. You know I’m already helping Kevin with his situation, so… Neither of those options is possible for me. With my heart so weak right now, I’d die of stress practically in minutes…”
She was right. Of course, she knew I’d do anything to help her, even illegally admitting her into the cardiology department—most likely using someone else’s insurance.
“Alright… so until January, then?”
“Yes, my dear. I have seventy-three days before I can heal my heart—”

“-Earth to Hermione Granger!”

Harry’s distant voice echoed somewhere far away, snapping me back to the present. I could barely pay attention to it.

Dixie—Mrs. Crookshanks—her heart was failing.

The woman who helped raise me, who remained the closest thing to a parental figure I had in the last couple of years, was dying.

From what she told me, I understood that she had collapsed shortly after the fire incident, and that’s when they discovered how sick she really was. Her heart was failing. Her Echo, ECG, blood tests, X-rays… all of it said the same thing—heart decompensation.

Normally, health insurance would cover her treatment plan, but then her boss decided to change the entire company’s structure, leaving her—the veteran among teachers in our city—with two choices: stay and wait until she reached the 12-month deadline for new healthcare insurance, or find a new job where God knows how long she’d have to wait for coverage. If she ever got it at all… With her age and symptoms, it wasn’t guaranteed.

Our government had tools to help those who didn’t need it while completely disregarding those who did—especially when they posed a high economic burden.

So she took the path she knew best. She stayed. But the cost was too high.

I looked at her then, realizing she was showing all the symptoms of heart decompensation—coughing, dyspnea, her swollen body. Her hands were cold when she held mine. Her breath smelled like acetone… secondary-onset diabetes… a sign of high blood pressure affecting her pancreas…

She was not doing well.

Oh God, this was bad.

“‘Mione…? You alright?” Harry tried again.

This time, I finally snapped out of my thoughts and lifted my gaze to meet his.

He was sitting next to me on the armrest of the couch, a big bowl of half-eaten popcorn resting on his thighs, uneasiness written all over his face.

He was looking down at me. He must have been trying to talk to me for a while.

“Eh—sorry, Harry, I was a bit out of it. Is everything okay?”

“Is everything okay? Is—ugh, ‘Mione. You’re asking me if everything’s okay?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Hermione, you’ve been sitting here staring into space for nearly thirty minutes now. Your favorite movie is playing, I’ve been trying to talk to you since I got home, and nothing could snap you out of it. And you’re really gonna ask if I’m okay? C’mon…”

What…?

I looked uncertainly at the TV. World War Z, my favorite movie for years, was playing a scene far beyond the last moment I remembered.

Harry was right.

I vaguely recalled his attempts to talk to me, but it had all just echoed in the back of my mind. I hadn’t realized he had been trying for so long…?

But then again… Losing track of time and space sometimes happened to me, usually when I was dealing with some heavy life drama. I had gotten so lost in thinking about today’s tea with Mrs. Crookshanks that I had completely zoned out in the middle of my favorite movie—the one I had been waiting to watch all week since I saw the ad on Monday morning.

But with Dixie’s worsening heart condition, her refusal to go to the hospital because she was using her money to help her son with his debts so he wouldn’t lose his children…

World War Z was really the last thing I could focus on right now.

I—I had nothing to say to that. So instead, I just gave him my best guilty face. “Sorry.”

He sighed again.

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay to drift away sometimes. But what is it? Is something wrong?”

I resolutely shook my head.

“I’m sorry, Harry, there’s… a lot going on right now.”

His warm palm landed on my head, making me look at him. His bright blue eyes were filled with concern, and I realized just how unsettling it must have been for him to talk to me without getting a response.

A few months ago, this had been my default state. And this probably reminded him of it.

“What’s wrong, Hermione? Please, tell me…”

Although it wasn’t my place to share Dixie’s secrets, the look on Harry’s face told me he needed to know what was on my mind—so he wouldn’t lie awake all night worrying.

“Is it…?” he asked cautiously.

“It’s not Mark,” I assured him quickly.

Of course, his instinct told him that was the reason for my mood. It made sense. All summer, he and Ginny had picked up the pieces of what Mark left behind.

I had been zoning out all the time, not sleeping, not eating—just moving from home to work like a robot, functioning on pure muscle memory. I wasn’t talkative. I just operated on autopilot, making sure no one got hurt and that I didn’t forget any responsibilities. But the rest of my life? It was a complete mess.

The hopeless glimmer in his blue eyes screamed at me in silence.

I couldn’t blame him.

My friends had been terrified the whole time. They had stayed with me, helped me, supported me. But they had been so scared for me.

And I suddenly remembered the exact moment I finally chose to wake up from my almost vegetative state.

After injuring her spine in a severe car accident, a young girl was brought to me.  
She had to be placed in a warming vacuum mattress to prevent any unwanted spinal movement since none of us knew the exact extent of her injuries yet, and risking further damage was out of the question. Her brown hair spread around her head in wide, regular stripes, almost resembling a magical aura. She was covered in soaked clothing, shivering from head to toe. Beneath the dirt and dampness, I could see traces of blood.  
“He did this to me,” she whispered as the doctor and nurse who had accompanied her to the CT room stepped into the next room, leaving just the two of us between the four lead-protected walls.  
It was just one sentence, but it carried so much weight that it made me stop what I was doing immediately.  
“Who… who did this to you?” I leaned closer, my voice barely above a whisper. Even though we were alone, it felt like saying it too loudly might somehow summon the person responsible. Things like this weren’t meant to be spoken aloud; they were secrets carried on hushed voices, hidden between two witnessing hearts.  
She stared straight ahead, unblinking, unmoving. The only sign of life was the steady beeping of the monitor attached to her. The rhythm indicated she was calm and stable, but her complete lack of reaction made me worry she had suffered brain damage, possibly internal bleeding affecting her speech center.  
I quickly moved to adjust the controls, preparing to slide her into the CT scanner when she spoke again.  
Her voice was softer than a page rustling in the wind. I might have missed it if I hadn't been watching her so intently.  
“Him. Jamie. He did this to me.”  
Instinctively, I reached for her hand, offering silent reassurance. If someone had done this to her—if someone had put her in that car and made her drive off the road—he had to be held accountable.  
“What did he do? Did he force you into the car? Was he driving?” My whisper held a tightness I couldn’t suppress, my professionalism wrestling against my empathy. I was ready to fight for her right then and there.  
“N-no. He… he made me sit in that car.”  
“Alright, alright…” I nodded and discreetly signaled to the nurse in the next room that we were dealing with something serious. The blonde nurse stood up immediately but stopped mid-step when I lifted a finger to pause her. I turned back to the girl. “How did he make you? Did he threaten you? Did he hurt you?”  
“He left me.”  
Wait, what?  
“Can you say that again, sweetie?” I asked carefully.  
Silence. Nothing but the steady beep of the monitor.  
“Sweetie?” I tried again.  
She exhaled—a single, deep breath that seemed to carry the weight of her entire being. It was the kind of breath that held everything from the moments before the accident, the realization of what had just happened.  
She closed her eyes and inhaled again, her breath shaky, her nose stuffy, like she was on the verge of tears.  
“He left me,” she repeated, “…and all I could think about in those next few minutes was that I would never make it without him… Like… how am I supposed to live without him? So, I sat in the car.”  
My eyes widened.  
“Sweetie, did you cause the accident… on purpose?” My voice trembled. It shouldn’t have, but it did.  
She barely moved, just the smallest shake of her head.  
“N-no.”  
“Are you sure?”  
She nodded.  
“Alright,” I said tightly. She didn’t try to harm herself. That was good. “We need to proceed with the scan now.”  
I carefully positioned her for the full-body scan and was about to step away when she squeezed my hand. Her gaze locked onto mine.  
“I’m so silly,” she whispered, and this time, a single tear slid down her cheek.  
“Oh, honey, you’re not,” I soothed, though time was running short. We couldn’t afford to delay the scan any longer—if there was internal bleeding, every second mattered. I explained that she needed to stay as still as possible and hurried to the control room. As the machine whirred to life, I anxiously tapped my foot, watching the images appear on the screen.  
Before I could fully analyze them, an alert sounded—she was vomiting. I rushed back inside. The contrast liquid had upset her stomach, and she was heaving all over the gantry. The nurse and I quickly turned her to the side in the heavy mattress, waiting until the retching stopped. When we finally settled her back into the bed, our eyes met again.  
“I hate throwing up…” she murmured into the napkin I used to clean her mouth.  
Despite the situation, I smiled. “I know. It’s the worst thing in the world.”  
From the quick glance I’d gotten at her scans, she was okay—no bleeding, no ruptures, nothing immediately life-threatening. My shoulders relaxed slightly. She was going to be fine.  
Her fingers twitched, silently asking me to hold her hand again. I did, and a small smile formed on her lips.  
“How silly of me… I was so focused on the idea that he would be happy without me that I… I almost died. Just because one prick left me,” she exhaled. “I hate throwing up… and I just did. Because of him. His actions made me hurt myself, and now I threw up.” She mumbled, half to herself, her words a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. “I hate throwing up.”  
“I know, sweetie, you already said that,” I said softly, stroking her hand.   But she was completely lucid now. Not distant, not fading away. Just… processing.  
“He left. I hurt myself. I put myself in danger. And now I threw up… Why would someone who loves me put me in this situation?”  
I froze for a moment, taken aback by the raw simplicity of her question.   It was… a brilliant question.  
I had no answer. I could only watch as they wheeled her away, waving silently as she disappeared around the corner. And then, I stood there, alone, thinking.  
Her boyfriend had left her, and she had nearly died because of it.  
A person who loves you wouldn’t leave.  
Never, in my right mind, could I imagine seeing someone I love and wanting them to suffer. I would do anything to protect them, to make sure they never had to feel that kind of pain.  
I had loved Mark. I had envisioned our future together—our cozy apartment, our moments, our life. And he took that away from me. Not just by leaving, but by choosing someone else while he was still with me. He had spent time with her, let himself fall for her. That kind of thing doesn’t happen overnight. It takes intent. How could someone who truly loved me—who saw me as more than just a girlfriend, but as a person—do that?  
That night, I came home and asked Ginny to get sloshed with me. She smiled and agreed.
The next day, we called in sick and stayed home, drinking again.
We laughed. We cried. We broke Mark’s stuff. We cried some more. And somehow, it helped.
I started to heal.

Harry had every reason to worry. Watching me withdraw into myself and avoid every moment of joy in my life for weeks wasn’t exactly pleasant. I couldn’t blame him now, not after I had just missed half of my favorite movie and, more importantly, him talking to me. I was obviously lost in my thoughts.  

“Alright, I’ll tell you. It’s not like I didn’t want to talk about it with someone eventually. I just hoped it would be someone… medical, you know?” I finally spoke.  

“Medical? Like… it’s about your health? Are you sick?” A flicker of nervousness sparked in his eyes.  

“No, Sweet Lord, I’m not sick, Harry,” I reassured him quickly, hoping to ease his tension. I patted the free spot next to me. “Why don’t you sit closer? I don’t feel like saying it out loud.”  

He moved from the armrest and slid under the blanket I was wrapped in. I pulled it over his shoulders, and he instinctively grabbed the other end, holding it tightly around both of us, trapping the warmth. He then looked at me expectantly, his raised brows silently inviting me to continue.  

“Do you remember Mrs. Crookshanks?” I started, testing the waters.  

“That older lady from your kindergarten?”  

“Yes, that’s her. I had a cup of tea with her today and… she’s very sick, Harry.”  

I told him everything. Harry only vaguely remembered her from my past mentions, so I filled in the blanks. She had been my kindergarten teacher, but as a somewhat autistic child, I struggled to adapt to new people. My parents had asked her to stay on as my nanny after I left for primary school, and she continued “babysitting” me well into my teenage years. My parents—both dentists and prominent figures in the International Dental Association—were rarely home. Dixie became my lifeline. Sometimes we stayed at my house; other times, I visited her apartment downtown. When I no longer needed a nanny, our meetings turned into occasional visits, but we never lost touch.  

Then, a few years ago, my parents had an accident. They survived but lost a significant portion of their memories. Their professional knowledge remained intact, but when it came to me… they barely remembered my name. They were never the affectionate, family-oriented type to begin with, and despite regular therapy, their memories never fully returned. That left Mrs. Crookshanks as the closest thing I had to a parental figure.  

Harry listened patiently, his face growing paler with every word. By the end of my story, he was holding me tightly.  

“I don’t know how to help, Harry,” I whispered, my voice tight, caught between the urge to cry and the urge to scream.  

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured firmly. “I have some contacts—good lawyers—who can look into this. We’ll find a loophole, and we’ll help her. I’ll call them first thing in the morning. We’ll move mountains. I swear.”  

“Thank you, Harry,” I whispered. He was a good friend. He always knew what to say, how to help.  

“But what about the real problem—should we, like… I don’t know… secretly call an ambulance to her place and make them check her blood pressure and run an emergency ECG? They’d have to admit her, right?”  

I shook my head sadly. “No, I already asked. She said she’d discharge herself against medical advice immediately.”  

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”  

“She’s too scared of debt. She’s already helping her son financially. If she racks up more medical bills on top of that, there’s no way she could ever pay them off.” I had heard her reasoning many times before, and I knew her well enough to understand how stubborn she could be. If she refused my money once, there was no way she’d accept financial help now.  

“Well… she could also die soon, and then her son would be left with nothing anyway,” Harry muttered darkly.  

“You’re absolutely right…” I sighed. “But she’s already made up her mind, and she won’t change it. For now, the only thing I can do is bring her vitamins and supplements, even if it’s just to make it look like I’m helping.”  

“Which is pointless, considering she works with children all day,” he noted dryly.  

Despite the heavy mood, I couldn’t hold back a small smile. “You’re right.”  

I leaned my head against his shoulder, and he lifted his hand to gently stroke my hair.  

What could we do?  

She wouldn’t accept money. She refused to risk more debt. But she needed treatment if she wanted to live long enough to see her grandchildren grow up.  

I had read every article I could find so far, scoured every law I could think of. But there was no solution. No legal way to help her. And her employer… he knew exactly what he was doing. He found a way to avoid paying taxes and health insurance for his employees while still pocketing the donations meant to cover those very expenses. He was living comfortably while people like Dixie suffered.  

What kind of person does that?  

She had once considered him a friend. And yet, he had thrown her under the bus without a second thought.  

“Well then… if we can’t give her money, we can at least buy her healthy food or something,” Harry suggested, his voice breaking the silence.  

I perked up. “That’s actually a brilliant idea.”  

Food. Cardiac patients needed to lose weight, reduce water retention, and maintain a balanced diet. Certain foods could help with that.  

I straightened.  

“Harry, you’re a genius!” I squeaked. “We can buy her food and supplements! I mean… it’s not the most direct help, but it’s something! We’ll ask the pharmacy for recommendations. She may not be able to get completely better, but she can get healthier. She’ll be taken care of, which will reduce at least some of her stress. And that, theoretically, could lower the risk of a heart attack. No rush. One step at a time.”  

Harry’s eyes sparkled. He looked just as excited as I felt. Sometimes his own ideas surprised even him. Lucky guy.  

Somewhere in the hall, the sound of a key turning in the lock interrupted our discussion.  

“I’m home!” Ginny called out. Judging from the grumpy tone in her voice, it wasn’t good news. And in a mood like that, she’d be relentless—curious, ruthless, and absolutely ready to pry into my last night’s experience.  

“Oh no,” I groaned. Ginny and I hadn’t talked since… last night. She saw me leaving and had only texted to make sure I was safe and alive, but I knew that once she returned from her afternoon gathering at her parents’ house, I would fall victim to the deadly interrogation skills of Ginevra Weasley.  

“Sorry, Harry,” I mumbled thoughtlessly, hurriedly unraveling our shared blanket and slipping into my slippers, desperate to escape the inevitable.  

Poor Harry had no idea what was going on. One moment, we were excitedly planning how to help Dixie, and the next, I was scrambling to flee from his girlfriend.  

He didn’t try to stop me or slow me down. He simply watched, wide-eyed, instinctively pulling his legs closer to his body so I wouldn’t trip over them as I bolted out of the room and toward the stairs.  

From the corner of my eye, I spotted Ginny, bent over in an awkward struggle to yank off her tight Chelsea boots—boots that had been giving her high-arched feet hell all week.  

I couldn’t have been more grateful for her questionable footwear choices.  

“No!” Ginny yelled the second she caught sight of me darting upstairs. I didn’t look back, but I heard her cursing and grumbling as she wrestled with her boots, followed by the satisfying thump of them hitting the floor. Then came the rapid pounding of her footsteps as she took off after me.  

Luckily, I had a solid head start. I reached my room just in time and slammed the door shut, locking it the moment her steps reached the staircase.  

“Sorry, Gin! Maybe later!” I called through the wooden panel, making sure she heard the distinct click of the key turning in the lock.  

Her footsteps came to an abrupt stop midway up the stairs.  

“You bastard!” she yelled, but there was amusement in her voice. “That door might save you now, but later—later, I’ll jump you out of nowhere, and you’ll tell me everything. Do you hear me?! This house is not a safe place for you, Hermione Granger!”  

With that, her footsteps retreated, heading toward the living room. I waited, listening for proof that she wasn’t bluffing.  

A moment of suspicious silence was soon broken by the monotone voice of the weather reporter.  

“…Meteorologists are warning of heavy storms expected to occur next week…”  

Harry muttered something, but his voice was too low to make out.  

Ginny’s response was just as quiet, confirming that she had, indeed, settled downstairs.  

Phew. That was close.  

I exhaled, walking over to the side of my bed where my phone lay charging. After a night at… Tobias’ place, followed by that intense catch-up session with Dixie, my battery had been completely drained by the time I got home.  

Tapping the screen, I checked my notifications.  

To my surprise, I had two messages from Tobias.

I couldn’t help but smile.  

Last night was… really good.  

He had the body, the strength, the flexibility. He knew exactly how to move me without me lifting a finger, always keeping control, leading me effortlessly. I’d reached orgasm multiple times—which, honestly, was unusual for me. But I suppose that’s just a regular occurrence when someone goes through multiple rounds in one night, right?  

He was only twenty-four, after all.  

And yet, despite the mere five-year gap between him and Mark, the difference in performance and stamina was ridiculous. He held back just enough, his touches soft yet deliberate. My only real complaint? He refused to go down on me—something he made very clear. That alone made me a little skeptical about future encounters. But even without that, it was an undeniably great first-time shag after a very, very long dry spell.  

And so far, he was the only one showing real interest in me.  

It would be foolish to discard him so soon.  

Without a second thought, I replied.  

I waited a couple of minutes for his reply, scrolling through social media and reminding myself of all the flaws I’d been given, but nothing came. With a disappointed huff, I put the phone aside.  

It was hard to look at all the perfect lives and perfect faces on my screen.  

The post-alcohol anxiety had been creeping up on me all day, but now, lying in the darkness of my room, it had completely taken over. My thoughts replayed every disappointing decision I had ever made, dissecting every mistake from last night in excruciating detail—no misstep too small, no awkward moment spared.  

My brain had a mind of its own.  

It forced me to relive the entire night.  

Right from the club, we had taken an Uber to his apartment—a sleek, modern space with a black kitchen right by the entrance. Just a few steps down the wide hallway, four different doors led to rooms belonging to his three roommates, who were probably still out with my friends. But I hadn’t had time to explore. The moment we stepped inside, his lips were on mine, and with expert hands, he guided me toward his room.  

I walked backward the entire way, his grip on my hips firm and assured, his fingers pressing just enough to steer me exactly where he wanted. By the time we reached his bed, I was already melting under the heat of his kisses.  

But then…  

He pushed me down onto the mattress and stood over me, hesitation flickering in his eyes.  

That moment of pause was all it took for my anxiety to flare up. I knew I had to act quickly before it ruined everything, so I grabbed the collar of his red T-shirt and pulled him closer, eliminating the unbearable distance between us.  

Then it was all heat and skin and hands and lips.  

But now, in the silence of my room, my mind refused to let go of every tiny moment of awkwardness—when he slipped out of me, when my arms gave out as he thrust into me from behind. Seconds of embarrassment that had barely registered at the time were now playing on an endless loop in my head.  

I grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved it over my face, releasing all my pent-up frustration.  

“SOFAKINGSTUPIDDDDDD!” I groaned into the silk, my voice muffled but still filled with agony.  

Stupid anxiety. Stupid one-night stand. Stupid Mark for leaving me with this ridiculous inferiority complex. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid…!  

How other women handled this kind of self-doubt on a regular basis was beyond me. They were superheroes. Fucking superwomen.  

A soft knock came from the door.  

“’Mione?” Ginny’s voice was careful, gentle.  

I froze for a moment, terrified she had just heard my mental breakdown. But no—her voice was too soft for that.  

Oh no. Harry must have told her…

Internally bracing myself for an uncomfortable conversation, I sighed and pulled the pillow away from my face.  

"Yeah?"  

"Can I come in?" Ginny’s pitiful tone from behind the door made me squeeze my eyes shut until white spots appeared.  

I had zero desire to let her in and talk about it, but she was my best friend, and I knew avoiding the conversation was pointless.  

Trying to hide my real feelings behind a joke, I said, "Fine, but we’re not talking about me and Tobias," making sure my warning tone was clear.  

A short silence followed before Ginny spoke again.  

"His name is Tobias?" I could hear the sly smile in her voice.  

"Ginevra..." I warned, already exhausted. I wasn’t in the mood for this. For anything.  

She knew this was my way of coping when I felt overwhelmed, so she backed off a little.  

"Alright, alright," she conceded.  

I got up, unlocked the door, and stepped aside.  

"Welcome to the Zone of Miserable People," I greeted sarcastically before collapsing back onto my bed, sprawled out like a drying starfish.  

Ginny shut the door behind her and walked over, stopping right behind my head, staring down at me.  

"Hermione..." she began cautiously, her face full of the same concern I’d seen on Harry earlier.  

"Shush, Ginny," I cut her off before she could say anything else.  

I knew she wanted to check in on me about Dixie’s situation, and I appreciated it—I really did—but I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I was proud of myself for telling Harry, and we had come up with a solid plan. That was enough emotional vulnerability for the day.  

"Harry has a plan," I informed her instead.  

"So I’ve heard."  

"Vitamins and healthy food..."  

"We’ll make sure she gets the best care." Her confidence made something tighten in my chest. Of course, they’d help me with this. They were too good of friends to let me handle it alone.  

Tears welled in the corners of my eyes—damn alcohol-induced anxiety—so I quickly wiped them away.  

Needing a distraction, I brought up something else that had been on my mind all day.  

"Should I really go to that apartment tour at Nott’s?" I asked seriously.  

She studied my face for any trace of sarcasm, but when she found only uncertainty, her expression turned thoughtful.  

"Are you planning on shagging him?" she asked after a beat, her tone just as serious.  

"Probably. Eventually," I shrugged. "He’s hot."  

She stared at me, considering my words.  

She knew my situation at hers and Harry’s place was only temporary, no matter how often they tried to convince me otherwise. And sure, I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of living with another person, but if that person happened to be one of the most attractive doctors in the hospital, why not? Assuming, of course, that I liked the apartment and the price wasn’t outrageous.  

"Why not?" she shrugged back. If she had any reservations, she kept them to herself.  

We silently watched each other.  

She was still in her jeans and the white shirt she’d worn to her parents’ house, and even in casual clothes, she looked intimidating. Not that I’d ever admit it.  

"Should I text him, then?"  

Her brows shot up in genuine surprise. "You have his number?"  

"Well… yeah. How else am I supposed to communicate with him?"  

"Where did you get it?"  

"From the notice board. By the main entrance," I replied, as if it were obvious.  

Ginny’s blue eyes narrowed dangerously. She was trying to recall me ever mentioning this before—but she wouldn’t find anything. I hadn’t told her. I hadn’t told anyone.  

It had happened earlier this week after I walked in on her and Harry… in a very private situation in the kitchen. They had no idea I’d entered the room. No idea I’d seen their naked backsides. But for me, the trauma had been too real to ignore. From that moment on, moving out became a top priority.  

"Yeah, I remember that ad of his. Pretty retro," she muttered.  

"Ginny! It’s not retro!" I gasped, offended. "I look at that board every morning!"  

She gave me an innocent look. "Well… how do I put this? You’re not exactly the epitome of modern society—"  

"Ginevra!"  

"—and your partial autism isn’t helping—"  

"I dealt with that in childhood!"  

"—which clearly didn’t do much, because Nott is way too handsome and way too rich to be looking for a random flatmate."  

"He’s just being nice! Maybe he’s feeling generous lately! Who knows?" I tried to stay optimistic.  

"Riiight. And that’s why you feel it’s perfectly safe to move in with him?"  

"He said he has a deadline. Maybe he’s low on money!" I argued weakly.  

"In anaesthesiology? Really?"  

…Damn it. She had a point.  

He was too handsome, too nice, too rich to be looking for a roommate. And the fact that he even paid attention to that old notice board was definitely suspicious.  

But he also didn’t seem like the type to have threesomes, so…  

I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.  

With a groan, I rolled my eyes. "Alright, alright. Maybe it’s a little suspicious…"  

Ginny smirked victoriously. "Not to mention, it’s literally just you and old people reading that board. If he’s joining your little club, it only proves my point."  

"Ugh, stop it!" I grumbled, defeated.  

Her smirk widened in triumph. "You know I’m right. He’s either a psycho… or something else entirely. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s one of the hottest doctors in the hospital."  

"One of…? Oh, girl. He’s *the* hottest," she corrected confidently.  

"Sincerely, if I weren’t with Harry, I’d have definitely given it a shot with him."  

"But you are with Harry."  

"Yep. I’m with Harry," she sighed dramatically before dropping onto the bed beside me. She propped herself up on her arms and unbuttoned her jeans with a loud exhale, grumbling about her mother’s dangerously good cooking.  

Laughing, I reached for my phone again, my heart suddenly racing.  

I was more nervous about texting Nott than I had been texting Tobias, which was ridiculous considering I was just asking about an apartment tour and not thanking him for a night of sex.  

I scrolled through my contact list and paused at two identical “T” entries stacked one above the other.  

Oh.  

Right.  

I’d saved Nott as "T" the other day. And then I’d done the same for Tobias.  

Quickly correcting my mistake, I renamed the first contact “Dr. Nott” before sending the message.

With sweaty palms, I set the phone aside and placed both hands on my stomach, tilting my gaze toward the ceiling. Streetlights cast golden stripes across the grey paint, their soft glow stretching over the dim room. It was oddly calming—the warmth of light in the darkness, promising protection and hope to anyone wandering outside alone.  

I wished I had that kind of protection.  

Somewhere, somehow, I hoped there was something watching over me, shielding me from the monsters lurking in the shadows. Because right now, that’s exactly how the situation with Dixie felt—a massive, terrifying monster scaring the shit out of me.  

"It’s going to be fine, ‘Mione."  

Ginny, sensing the shift in my mood, reached out and ran a soothing hand down my arm. "Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but Harry’s making calls first thing in the morning. His lawyers are good. There’s a solid chance things will move, and she’ll get her insurance."  

I tore my eyes away from the grey ceiling to look at her. "I wish that were true."  

She didn’t say anything. She just stayed beside me, offering quiet comfort.  

I went back to watching the golden shades dance on the ceiling while she took out her phone, scrolling through social media. I knew she’d put it down the second I started talking again—she was here for me, no matter what.  

The room was filled with the distant sound of some funny video she was watching when my phone buzzed, announcing an incoming message.  

Ginny’s illuminated face peeked through the space under her phone. "Is that Tobeyyyy?"  

Instead of answering, I grabbed a pillow and launched it at her. She let out a squeak when the soft plush smacked her face.  

"No, actually, it’s Dr. Nott," I corrected, unlocking my screen to read his reply.  

"What?! You actually texted him?"  

She propped herself up on her arms, looking at me with an almost comical level of expectation. As if she hadn’t been sitting right next to me when I literally sent the text.  

"Sometimes, I can’t believe your head is even attached to your neck," I muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.  

Ginny shot me a murderous glare, but I ignored her, fully aware that I held the power now. I had a text from a ridiculously attractive doctor in my hands, and she wouldn’t dare interrupt that.  

Instead, she simply nodded toward my phone.  

"So…? What’s he saying?"

Truth be told, seeing his message on my screen made me more excited than I cared to admit. I didn’t hesitate with my reply, and to my surprise, his response came just as quickly—less than a minute later.  

As our conversation continued, a few messages in, I suddenly felt Ginny’s cheek pressing into mine as she eagerly read along, practically glued to the screen.

He replied with a short, "Looking forward."  

When I didn’t see the usual three dots indicating he was typing more, I reluctantly accepted that our conversation was already over—barely lasting a few minutes, even though I had secretly hoped for more.  

Ginny’s eyebrows practically disappeared into her hairline as she stared at me expectantly, waiting for details.  

“Well… seems like I have an appointment tomorrow,” I said flatly, my dry tone telling her everything she needed to know about how I felt.  

“Yeah, at four. What are we wearing?”  

I shot her a look. “What do you mean? Something normal. Jeans and a hoodie, most likely—”  

“Nuh-uh, no way,” Ginny interrupted, lifting a strict finger. “The devil’s in the details, ‘Mione. It’s not a coincidence I just happened to have picked out those new dresses for you last week…”  

I narrowed my eyes at my ginger friend. “Ginny, I am not wearing a dress for a simple apartment tour.”

"Oh, you look stunning in that dress, Miss Granger," Dr. Nott complimented as soon as I stepped through the threshold of his apartment.

Ginevra had, indeed, managed to get me into a casual black mini dress today. It might have happened due to the hypernervous state I had worked myself into over the course of the day, and instead of succumbing to an irrational mental breakdown, I chose to listen to her—mostly because her voice had sounded steady and reasonable. But because it was me, and I would never voluntarily wear a dress to a simple apartment tour, I compromised. I threw on a woollen sweatshirt over it, covered my legs in black tights, and completed the look with high boots—doing my best to minimize her attempt at turning me into some pick-me girl in overly revealing clothes while meeting my potential future shagging material.

I had to admit, though, the dress fit well. It hugged my figure in all the right places and made me look younger. But still, it was shorter than what I considered appropriate for a casual apartment tour, and it was far too cold outside to wear sheer nylons.

However, when my Uber finally pulled up to the given address, I found myself silently thanking Ginny for her fashion foresight. Looking out the window, I realized we had stopped in front of a famous high-rise—one that unmistakably housed only the rich and powerful.

"Thank you, Dr. Nott," I responded automatically, forcing a polite smile while feeling an embarrassing warmth creep into my cheeks.

"Oh, please, it's just Theodore," he corrected with a charming smile, motioning for me to step further inside. Ever the gentleman, he walked beside me as he led the way.

His apartment was huge.

A modern, open-concept penthouse, bright and breathtakingly expensive. Naturally, it occupied the 52nd and 53rd floors of the 64-story skyscraper. The floor-to-ceiling windows spanned the entire space, offering a panoramic view of the city skyline, while the white walls and polished floors reflected the golden glow of the city lights.

We stepped into the spacious living room, where a sleek, built-in kitchen occupied the right side, and we had to walk past it to reach the staircase. Beyond the stairs, a narrow hallway stretched along the entire length of the apartment, with a glass balcony on one side and several closed white doors on the other.

"Guest bathroom, office, personal gym, storage room… and back there is a sauna," he listed off casually, opening each door to give me a glimpse. "And, well, one more bathroom. Just in case."

I barely managed to keep a neutral expression. A sauna? Just casually tucked away like an afterthought?

Despite my initial shock, I had to give credit where it was due—Dr. Nott was an excellent guide. He moved through the space with professional ease, explaining every detail while throwing in the occasional lighthearted joke. He made sure we didn’t just skim through the rooms but explored them properly, taking in every view they had to offer.

Eventually, we made our way upstairs to the second floor, where four bedrooms—each with its own en-suite bathroom—lined the spacy hall. The first two doors, opposite each other, remained closed—an obvious sign they were already occupied. The remaining two, however, were left open for us.

"This is the guest room," he gestured to the room on the right. A king-sized bed, neatly covered in plain white sheets, stood at the center, framed by a high-quality wooden bed frame. (I’d love to say more about the material, but I was completely out of my depth when it came to luxury interior design.)

"I keep it clean and ready, just in case someone needs a place to crash. So if you like this one more, feel free to use it." He then shot me a sly smile before stepping into the room on the left. "However, my humble opinion is that this one is much better."

The layout was similar, with white sheets covering the king-sized bed, but here, a light-colored rug with three graphic lines stretched at the foot of the frame. Two mahogany nightstands flanked the sides, and—

"Bookshelf!" I practically beamed at the large white Kallax standing in the back corner of the room. Not waiting for his permission, I rushed forward, eager to take a closer look at the titles.

Austen, Shakespeare, Wilde, Tolstoy, Kafka, Murakami…

"These are all authors I love," I grinned, running my fingers over the book spines.

Theodore scratched the back of his head, looking almost nervous. "Well… your taste must be excellent, then, because these are my favorites too."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "You expect me to believe you like all of them?"

"Yes." He nodded earnestly. "And I’ve read all of them. This is just the overflow from my personal library—since this room is mostly unused, I figured I might as well keep them here."

"Oh."

Dr. Nott liked to read. And not just any books—real, actual literature.

I made a mental note to add this to the list of his insurmountable qualities, which I would definitely report back to Ginny later.

He then led me into the bathroom, where I found a large bathtub positioned directly in front of a massive window—offering the kind of breathtaking skyscraper view one would expect in an overused luxury real estate cliché. Still, I had to admit, it was spectacular. They hadn’t skimped on practicality either—tucked into the corner was a spacious walk-in shower, and the same elegant wooden furniture from the bedroom carried through into the space, adding warmth to the sleek modernity.

As we made our way back toward the front of the apartment, I cast one last wistful glance at the Kallax bookshelf, filled with all the authors I—and apparently Theodore—adored.

Passing by the four doors in the upper hall, I brought up the guest room.

"It doesn’t have a view like that," Theo shrugged. "And no books, either. You’d have to bring your own."

"Oh, I see," I nodded knowingly, as if I hadn’t already accepted the universal truth that moving anywhere meant hauling countless heavy boxes of books and then spending hours painstakingly arranging them in just the right order.

We returned to the kitchen area by the entrance too quickly, and I found myself regretting how fast the tour had ended. I wasn’t sure what I had hoped for—more rooms? More time? Just… more?

Almost as if sensing my thoughts, Theo spoke.

"Would you like a coffee? I have a feeling that if what you've seen so far hasn’t convinced you, my coffee beans will."

Uff. "Yeah, sure," I accepted, slipping back into the easy comfort of his presence.

He gestured for me to sit on one of the bar stools around the kitchen island before stepping over to a sleek white cabinet in the corner. Pressing lightly on the lower edge, he activated an automatic system, and the doors silently swung open to reveal what was inside.

My jaw dropped.

Theo glanced over his shoulder, smirking, clearly expecting this exact reaction.

"What can I say? I like my coffee well," he chuckled cockily before turning to the large, gleaming silver machine in front of him.

It looked straight out of a professional coffee shop—the kind where you take one look at the barista and the equipment and know you’re about to get the best coffee of your life.

The brushed stainless steel surface caught the light in a soft, muted reflection. At the front, two symmetrical knobs gleamed beneath a sleek digital display, their ridged edges inviting a firm, deliberate turn. Just below, the portafilter cradle jutted out, a sturdy metal arm waiting to be locked into place. To the side, a steam wand stood tall—slender yet powerful—its matte black handle a striking contrast against the silver sheen of the machine.

The whole thing exuded craftsmanship—built not just for function, but for ritual.

"What coffee would you like?" he asked nonchalantly, pressing the automatic grinder as finely ground coffee dust fell into the portafilter.

"Can you make a flat white?" I asked, choosing my favorite option but fully prepared to downgrade to a cappuccino if necessary. And if that turned out to be a hassle because of the steamed milk, I was ready to settle for a simple double espresso with milk.

"Sure," he nodded, securing the portafilter into the holder. As the rich espresso began pouring into a mug, he crossed the kitchen to a larger cabinet, opened a panel of doors, and retrieved a bottle of milk from an enormous American-style fridge.

Watching Dr. Nott prepare his well-made coffee was, without a doubt, one of the most spectacular moments of my life.

He moved with the same natural ease that Dr. Malfoy possessed in the OR—completely in control, entirely in his element. His strong hands pressed the tamper down with precision, eliminating any unwanted air from the ground coffee before inserting it into the machine. The motion flexed the muscles in his forearm, and for a totally professional and not at all inappropriate moment, I found myself admiring the sharp definition of his vena basilica as he turned to the steam wand.

The milk frothed to perfection beneath his careful movements before he poured it smoothly into the espresso, creating the signature velvety texture of a proper flat white.

I quickly lowered my gaze when he turned back to me, placing the finished drink in front of me.

I accepted the mug with a quiet "Thank you," warming my hands around it before taking a tentative sip.

"Oh my…," I breathed, momentarily at a loss for words.

Theo’s blue eyes sparkled with satisfaction.

"Right?" His smirk returned as he turned to make his own coffee, once again giving me a front-row seat to the most mesmerizing show of the evening.

Once he was seated across from me at the island, he finally broke the comfortable silence.

"Before we get into the unnecessarily uncomfortable questions—like rent, rules, and all that—I should probably mention…" He took a casual sip of his coffee. "I don’t live here alone."

Chapter Text

Once sat directly on the other side of the island, he started new conversation.

“Before we start with the unnecessarily uncomfortable questions like rent and rules and others, I think it should be mentioned that I don’t live here alone.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“W-what?” was all I could squeeze out.  

He had a girlfriend?! 

I quickly tried to recall any sign of another woman’s presence in this apartment—any indicator that Theodore was sharing this flat with his girlfriend or maybe… fiancée? Or even wife? But nothing really suggested so.  

Even though the apartment didn’t feel like it accommodated a Lady Nott, maybe I had missed small details—a tiny photo in his office, the weight of dumbbells in his gym, something too light to be lifted by a fit man, or perhaps some hygiene products in the guest bathroom. But then again, if she lived here, wouldn’t she keep them in their bathroom? Their shared bedroom?  

The thought unsettled me more than I cared to admit.  

Theodore’s face lit with unhidden amusement. He didn’t have to understand the reason behind my grimace, yet he clearly found my distress amusing.  

“It’s Malfoy,” he said quickly, as if to spare me from burning my brain with wild theories about who this mystery woman could be and why I hadn’t heard of her before.  

Oh.  

It was Malfoy.  

...Of course it was Malfoy.  

My traitorous cheeks burned again. I felt like a child caught doing something embarrassingly obvious. This not-so-little crush I had developed on him in last weeks was clouding my logical thinking more than I’d like.  

Of course, there was no girlfriend—at least, not here. There were two locked doors on the upper floor, both supposedly bedrooms, and it wouldn’t make sense for his girlfriend to sleep in a separate room, right? And then there was that thing Cho had mentioned on Friday—the threesome remark. Sure, one of those doctors could be his girlfriend, but that wasn’t the point he was making here.  

Not wanting to humiliate myself further, I forced my brain to start working properly and for once - think.  

“I thought Dr. Malfoy lived in the… famous part of town?” I didn’t try to hide the fact that, like the rest of the hospital staff, I’d heard about the location of his house. Or rather, mansion—as some who weren’t shy about admitting they had gone to a trip into neighbourhood to see it themselves, liked to call it.  

Theodore barked a laugh, immediately catching the implication behind my words. “Ah, the famous mansion… Well, yes, that’s true. Partly. It’s a house he inherited from his parents, but it's used for formal events and hospital business meetings and such. But most of his regular nights, he spends here. It’s closer to the hospital, and it allows him to spend time with the best person in the world—me.”  

I couldn’t help the laugh bubbling in my throat.  

“Of course, because how could he possibly survive without you? Just imagine—stuck alone in a gigantic house with a personal gym, a library bigger than the town’s public one, and… some ridiculous rooms like, I don’t know, a cinema or something. Urgh. Pure horror.”  

Theodore’s grin widened. “There is a cinema, yes.”  

OF COURSE THERE WAS.  

“Ugh,” I groaned, pretending to grimace in disgust.  

“Mhm. Utter monstrosity.”  

“But luckily for him, you were so kind to let him stay here, in your space, so he wouldn’t have to endure such torment.”  

“And I even make him coffee.”  

“Ah, sure. And you make him your well-made coffee…”  

I would love to say that the playful tone of our conversation was helping me relax in his unnaturally attractive presence. But in reality, it was the exact opposite that his light tone caused to my body. Even though he, as an owner of this apartment who was literally at home for this tour, put on regular pair of used Levis’ and oversized white t-shirt, my brain was still getting uncomfortably blank all the time.

Allowing myself to get distracted by how effortlessly good he looked in something so simple, I barely noticed when his expression turned serious again.

“But jokes aside. I felt like I had to make this clear because his presence can be…”

“A little challenging?” I smirked.

His blue eyes sparkled with amusement again. “Yes, challenging is a nice way to put it. But, not to be a completely terrible best friend, I have to admit that his mood is better here, in the safety of this very modern, cozy, welcoming, entertaining apartment with the best view of the city’s skyline…”

I immediately recognized that Theodore was just reciting the commercial that played on TV every weekday during prime time. It was well-made, unnaturally stylish, a small marketing trick to lure in hopeful, rich souls still searching for their dream apartment. And this building? Definitely the one for them. The ad had become painfully annoying for every hard-working citizen who could barely afford a single month’s rent in this area. Their phrases were already irreversibly stored in my brain.

“Am I just ‘a step away from the simplest phone call that would bring me to this heavenly good apartment’?” I played along, quoting another line.

Theodore’s beautiful mouth curved into a wider smile, flashing me a glimpse of just how attractive its owner was. Then, slipping into the same dreamy tone from the ad, he continued, “555-603-72. Remember to call later.” He winked at me.

We both burst into laughter.

It felt strange to be enjoying a lighthearted joke like this with the very man who had been interrupting my zen so much these past few weeks that I was starting to lose my focus at work. But at the same time, it made me feel oddly sympathetic toward him—realizing that something as simple as a stupid commercial was just as cringe to him as it was to me, a far-less-fortunate citizen.

This building screamed wealth and power in every possible way and every time I was driving past, I wondered what kind of people were those living in its walls, affording so diametrally more than I could. I had built up so many assumptions about its owners—the rich, whose minds seemed radically different because of the lifestyles they led. Seeing someone from their world, from the other side of the wall, share my exact reaction? It was hard to believe.

But prejudice was the creation of unhappy people, and we shouldn’t let it thrive.

As our laughter started to fade, space opened up for the real conversation we were supposed to be having.

I knew it was inevitable to talk about the rent and conditions eventually, so before Theodore could speak, I let my gaze wander across the spacious apartment once more, allowing my mind to enjoy all images coming in it.

I took in the vast open area, the light, the breathtaking view, the sheer quality of every material used—it was hard to accept that some people could afford this effortlessly and considered it a standard living conditions, while I… probably never would.

I studied the expansive living room, the massive TV mounted on the only gray wall in the entire apartment. The screen was definitely bigger than one of the walls in my own bedroom.

It would be thrilling to say I lived here—to write down this address and see the surprised looks from those who knew the area. The idea of it warmed my ego. But it was just that—an idea. With all its luxury, prime location, and the building’s reputation, I was sure the rent alone was as high as my entire monthly salary, if not higher.

And yet, Theodore had offered to share this space. Willingly.

Why would he do that? 

He mentioned he had some deadline to follow, but not once he mentioned why he had the deadline and who was the one to control had he fulfilled the deal. Was there a catch?

Looking at his handsome, polite face made me feel uneasy about trying to find one—and made me feel like a piece of crap. He knew my presence here was completely random, it wasn't too hard to find how much regular radtech earned. But if it was somehow amusing to him that I clearly wasn’t the wealthiest person in his circle and yet dared to visit his place, he hadn’t shown it. Not here, and not earlier this week in the hospital cafeteria.

So what was this really about?

With a heavy heart, I took another sip of my coffee, bracing myself for the inevitable brain massage this conversation was about to bring.

“So…” I started nervously, grateful for the mug occupying my trembling hands. This was the moment when the dream of this apartment would slip away, and the realization was painful.

“You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

The question startled me. I glanced up at his face, unsure where he was going with this.

“What exactly do you mean?” I asked cautiously, the uncertainty clear in my voice.

“Malfoy,” he clarified. “Sharing this space with him, suffering his presence, et cetera.”

Oh. Right. Malfoy. I had completely forgotten we were even talking about him. But then again, my brain never worked properly in Theodore Nott’s proximity.

I took a slow breath.

It was hard to determine my exact opinion of Dr. Malfoy’s persona. I wasn’t about to convince myself he was some amazing, rainbow-filled delight when, in reality, he was quite the opposite. He could easily be the most intimidating presence in the room, leaving behind a trail of traumatized souls who hadn’t managed to escape his bad mood. I had personally witnessed his murderous glares and razor-sharp remarks that had made grown men cry.

And yet, he had always been neutral—maybe even nice—toward me.

More than that, the last time I had worked with him in the OR, he had actually stood up for me. He had helped me during that whole situation with Pucey. It would be unfair of me to simply label him a terrible person, and by extension, a terrible flatmate.

For the most part, I had positive experiences with him. And if Theodore claimed he was nicer in the comfort of his own apartment, then maybe… I should try to be optimistic about it?

But still… imagining someone like Dr. Malfoy in grey sweatpants and a comfy T-shirt, lazily lingering in the living room, flipping through TV channels in boredom?

No. That wasn’t the image that came to mind.

He was definitely the type who played classical and jazz records on a fancy gramophone, poured expensive red wine, and danced in the moonlight in this massive living room, with that breathtaking view of the city lights…

Oh.

I bit my lip.

That mental picture of Draco Malfoy was… more exciting than expected.

Realistically, I had no reason to object to him. We were neutral. No harm had ever been caused between us. And it wasn’t as if we had to become friends or spend that much time together.

At uni, before I had moved in with Mark, I had gotten used to stepping aside when someone else was in the kitchen or living room. I had been fine waiting in my room for hours until everyone else had finally left so I could move around without interrupting or bothering anyone. Yes, as an adult, I wanted more comfort in my own space—freedom to move around without adjusting to someone else’s presence. But this wouldn’t be just my place. I would be a guest in Theodore’s home. And so would Malfoy. We both needed to behave.

Like I said, I was still convinced that this visit was mostly just a funny little adventure to kill time on an otherwise boring Sunday. The obvious outcome? Me staying at Ginny and Harry’s. But letting my mind wander—entertaining the idea of living here—was an enjoyable distraction.

And if, theoretically, the cost of living in the most incredible place I had ever seen in person was simply sharing it with someone whose personality sat in a morally grey area… then I would happily do it. In an apartment this size, avoiding him wouldn’t even be difficult.

“Of course I wouldn’t mind,” I finally answered, refusing to let my brain develop any further theories about what it would be like to live with them. Because why would I?

Theodore’s brows shot up. “You wouldn’t?”

“No.” I shrugged. 'I don’t have money for this apartment—that’s the bigger issue, isn’t it?' I wanted to tell him but held myself back. Then, with a smirk, I added, “I’m used to living with… various kinds of people. As long as he’s not sleeping in my bed, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Well, I believe he won’t enter your bed unless he’s specifically invited,” Theodore smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Oh my God. I couldn’t believe he just said that.

“Ehm. Well… I believe that won’t happen,” I muttered, grabbing my mug again to keep my fingers occupied because somehow that sentence send dangerous thrill into my body and my hands welcomed the warm mug very happily. “But aside from Dr. Malfoy—” I cleared my throat, hoping to move past this very unexpected comment. “Is there anything else you’d like to know about me before we get to the most uncomfortable part of our discussion?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard. “And that would be…?”

“Rent, obviously.” I frowned. What else could be a worse topic than money?

For a second, I wondered if Theodore was so rich that he had completely lost touch with reality. He was looking so concerned with what I brought up, that I though to much.

“Ahhh, I see, I see,” he exhaled. The slight crease in his forehead smoothed out, replaced by… something else.

Genuine surprise?

Why would he be surprised?

“It honestly didn’t even occur to me that rent would be such an issue here…,” he murmured thoughtfully, leaning back against the bar chair and folding his hands behind his head. His eyes held a distant, calculating expression—like he was thinking something over.

My face must have contorted into the weirdest grimace I had ever made.

“You didn’t—I mean—the rent—it’s clearly—what?” I struggled to process what he had just said.

He returned my concerned look with very calm one.

I blinked at him, baffled.

“What—what did you expect the worst part of this conversation to be?” My voice definitely slipped at the end, making me sound a little mad. Because seriously—what could possibly be more uncomfortable about this arrangement than money? Had Theodore not seen where he was living?!

“I don’t know, honestly,” he finally said. “I kind of assumed the biggest issue here would be Draco. Everything else I was concerned about, we already discussed in the cafeteria. Unless… you weren’t being honest back there.”

“I was,” I answered quickly. “I was honest… I’m tidy, I pay rent on time, and… what was the last one?” I looked at him for help.

“Troublemaker, hoarder, or serial killer?” he smirked.

“No, none of those,” I rolled my eyes. “I believe I’m mature and friendly. I like to talk and—if you pour me a nice glass of wine—I’d say I make pretty good company. I enjoy spending quality time with my flatmates because I believe the place you live in should be an oasis of calm and peace. But that also means I need my selfish time—quiet nights alone in my bedroom with a book, or occasionally inviting a small group of friends over." Words were falling out of me, never-ending string of qualities I could provide as a flatmate. My coping mechanism decided to reveal all my cards instead of focus on the fact it was useless because - I. Still. Didn't. Know. What. The. Rent. Was.

“I can also assure you I’ll be respectful after night shifts—I’ll keep things low and quiet. But I’d expect the same in return. I don’t do house parties. I don’t smoke. I don’t have pets—yet—but I do want one in the future. Would that be an issue here? And I believe I’m responsible. If I find or cause a technical problem, I report it. And, of course, I pay for damages—unless the house repair fee is covered in the rent. I don’t have many past flatmate reviews to give you, but I can confidently say none of them were ever negative. Well… except maybe for my occasional lectures when something bad happens at work and I need to vent as soon as I get home. If that would be an issue, I can definitely save those rants for my friends and not bother you here..." I distantly realised I was just talking too much, my brain already swirling on full speed and I had troubles to stop myself, but finally I did. "Anything else…?” I trailed off, trying to think of any other relevant details, but gladly nothing else came to mind.

Theodore listened patiently as I laid out my list of qualities and expectations, and with every new characteristic I shared, his smile grew smugger and smugger. Once I finished, he silently nodded to himself, folding his arms across his chest as he considered everything.

“Well,” he finally said, his tone light and amused, “this clearly isn’t your first apartment application, Miss Granger.”

I exhaled a laugh, relieved that his response was warm and not the cold, offended tone my inner demons had tried to convince me would come. If he had found my long monologue cringe, he didn't let it show.

“You gave me a very nice and thorough list of what one can expect from you as a flatmate,” he continued. “Let’s go through it, shall we?
First of all—the pet situation. I’d say that would require a further discussion. The truth is, I’ve only ever owned horses and hunting dogs, and they were always taken care of by my family’s servants. So I don’t know much about living with animals in an apartment. For now, I’d say that one remains open.
As for the rest… I like it. It all sounds good. You sound like a good flatmate.
I can assure you that both Draco and I are tidy, fair, and happy to share. If we order something, we’ll let you know—and we’ll definitely recommend all the best food we find.
I believe we all share the same mindset: we love to talk, but we can and will be quiet when necessary. We don’t throw parties—or at least, not without giving fair warning in advance. And…” He smirked. “I think I can find a bottle or two of good red wine.”

We both chuckled.

“Of course,” he continued, “this is an apartment, not a summer camp. You’re welcome to invite whoever you like. Just let us know beforehand if you plan to use the living room for your social gatherings, so we can make other plans. Oh, and also—so the doormen don’t call the police. And if you happen to come home in a bad mood from work, please—vent away. We do the same, and trust me, it’s the best therapy. Besides, if—”

“Dr. Nott-Theodore,” I interrupted softly, leaning slightly forward, my fingers tracing the edge of the white marble countertop.

I pressed my lips together, nervous.

“I really appreciate your warm welcome and everything, but… we haven’t even discussed the most important question here, and you’re already talking like I’m moving in tomorrow.”

His expression didn’t change, but I felt an immediate shift in my own mood. I hated saying this. It made me feel like an ungrateful traitor to someone who was warm and welcoming and already had opened his arms to me fully.

“I don’t mean to sound unappreciative,” I went on, choosing my words carefully, “but shouldn’t we… talkabouttherentfirst? You might think you know how it is but... People say we’re well-paid in our field, and sure, compared to some, we are. But I’m not a doctor. I don’t hold a high position in my department. I’m just a regular employee with a somewhat above-average salary. And I have to be honest, Theodore… I think we’re mostly here out of curiosity.
I-I wasn’t aware before I saw the building, but now—after seeing this apartment—it’s even clearer. I’m afraid I won’t be able to afford any of this.”

I took a deep breath.

“I’m afraid you’re wasting your time and energy on me.”

As sad as my words sounded, they were true.

Yes, I had listed my conditions for co-living, but that was just… the way I functioned. Having a clean shield. I had no idea he would immediately respond with the same enthusiastic energy that only encouraged my brain to imagine there was a chance to somehow make it work. 

He was so nice. So friendly. So warm.

And here I was, sitting across from him, letting him talk so positively about something I already knew was impossible.

I wouldn’t be moving in.

His bright, shiny eyes slowly faded into a very lucid, very confused expression. He tilted his head slightly, as if my words were reaching his brain at a slower speed than usual.

Or maybe… maybe he had known all along but decided to give it a shot anyway. Because who knew? Maybe I was the secret daughter of an important senator. Maybe my parents had inherited old generational wealth, and I worked only out of curiosity. Or maybe he was just hopeful—hopeful that he could finally find some relief, that after weeks of searching, he wouldn’t have to start the exhausting process all over again.

But the look on his face wasn’t one of disappointment. Just confusion.

“Hermione,” he finally spoke, and his voice wasn’t harsh or uncomfortable—it was… careful? “Hermione, dear, how much do you think I would ask you to pay?” He gave me a look as if I had any idea who I’d been talking to this entire time.

My cheeks burned instantly.

“I—” I stammered, my brain scrambling to calculate something at least somewhat logical. The space. The location. The doormen. Fees for cleaning services—because I knew there had to be one. Rent. Household waste fees. At least five other hidden fees that would surely exist…I quickly did the math, drawing from the numbers I’d seen this morning while apartment hunting.“Uh… f-fifteen hundred? Two thousand?”

Theodore’s eyes popped open, and he actually shook his head as if physically trying to clear it.

“Jesus Christ,” he choked out a laugh, clearly stunned by what I had just said.

I stiffened. Was it because he had planned to ask for more? That had to be it. My stomach twisted, and I immediately sat on my hands to stop myself from anxiously biting at my nails.

His beautiful blue eyes flicked over me, studying my nervous posture. Something in them softened.

“Hermione,” he said slowly, deliberately, as if trying to soothe a skittish animal. “I had no idea you came here expecting the rent to be… that ridiculously high. And I’m sorry for that—I honestly thought I made it clear that I’m in a desperate situation and need flatmates ASAP.”

“Well… you did,” I admitted. “That’s why I assumed the rent was so high. Because you were… low on money and needed help covering a huge rent, right?”

The second the words left my mouth, I realized how utterly ridiculous they sounded.

Theodore just stared at me. Wide-eyed. Mouth slightly open. And in those few agonizing seconds, I suffered in quiet torture, questioning my own sanity.

But then—his lips slowly curled into a smile. Higher and higher, until he suddenly burst out laughing.

“My, my,” he wheezed after the strongest wave of laughter subsided. “I had no idea it could look like that—” another round of laughter interrupted him—“Uhm—sorry, I’m really sorry, I-I’m… shocked.” He wiped at his eye, still chuckling. “No. No, Hermione. I’m not having financial issues. Nor would I ever try to solve my problems by finding some poor soul to pay my debts with a ridiculously high rent. No, sweet Lord, none of that.”

I exhaled slowly, trying to keep up.

“The reason I’m looking for a flatmate is actually very simple—and it has nothing to do with money. However…” His expression sobered slightly. “The reason is supposed to be a secret. Meaning the applicant—you—wouldn’t know about it beforehand. That way, whoever moves in won’t do it because of the reason, but just… by his free will.”

I frowned.

“It’s nothing crucial,” he reassured me. “So don’t feel bad if you decide to decline the offer. But it’s something I’d really like to be able to manage without revealing the true reason. And I’ll gladly explain further—once you, or someone else, officially takes the room. Until then… you’ll just have to deal with this very poor explanation.”

I hesitated.

He… wasn’t doing this for money.

He was looking for a flatmate—someone to help him with something by living here with him and Draco Malfoy. But it wasn’t about rent. And he had found my estimate of a thousand or so dollars for a room...Hilarious.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, suppressing the sudden wave of a headache creeping in.

“So,” I exhaled, “you can’t tell me now? Not until I’m your official flatmate?”

“Exactly.”

“But if I decide not to become one…can I know at least then?”

He gave uncertain look. “…Maybe?”

“You don’t know?” I raised brows.

“I believe I can tell you…once I find another flatmate instead.”

“Hm.”

His blue eyes sparkled with amusement again. “You don’t like that idea of not having a single clue about that reason behind the offer, right?” he teased.

I unintentionally frowned, not liking the fact he just saw right into my mind. My dysfunctional brain was in danger here.

I crossed arms on by chest and silently fumed.

“I will not answer this question,” I shook my head. “Instead, why won’t you tell me something you are allowed to tell me.”

“Hmm, of course. The rent,” he nodded and dramatically placed both palms of the marble. “The enormous sum for that room AND all fees and energy would be…275.”

My mouth fell completely open.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE SAID 275?!”

Ginny shrieked so loudly that the doctors in the next room stopped their hours-long discussion, leaving us with nothing but the distant sound of heavy rain.

"LIKE 275 DOLLARS? Wasn't it a mistake. Didn't he tell you it was the Norwegian currency?"

Instinctively, I took a small step back, pressing myself into the nearest corner of the control room, right at the edge of the desk. I kind of hoped putting some space between us would help to ease her stress a little.

Yesterday, when I returned from Theodore’s, I found a group of our friends in the living room, eagerly battling it out over the new edition of Monopoly. The sheer level of heated conversations and underhanded tricks they managed to pull off in a single board game was beyond my imagination—so when an attractive invitation to shag a 24-year-old medic popped up on my phone, I gladly took it.

There’s a storm warning starting tomorrow. Why don’t we enjoy the time we have until then? Wanna come over? ;)

That was all it took for me to turn on my heel and call an Uber.

Unfortunately, the shag was far from satisfying. It was quick, sloppy and...adequate for two strangers who were not relaxed thanks to alcohol this time. I came home late, into an already sleeping house, feeling weirdly out of sorts and—most tragically—orgasmless. Updating my friends had to wait until next day.

BUT—turns out, mid-shift in the middle of a very busy day wasn’t the best time to fill my best friend in.

“That’s what he said,” I shrugged carefully, refocusing on the kidney scan currently displayed on the PC screen. I kept my eyes trained on it, trying to not look too intimidated by my fuming best friend as I started working on the necessary post-processing corrections.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ginny cross her arms tightly over her chest, glaring into space as various possibilities and explanations for Theodore’s behavior played through her mind.

Ginny came from a huge family of people who loved each other unconditionally—yet money had never been a common commodity among them. Her mother was a stay-at-home mom who had dutifully and passionately raised seven children—Ginny being the youngest and the only girl among six brothers. Her father worked as a social worker at the municipal authority.

They had occasional side businesses, but none brought in enough to lift them into even the middle class. Her parents had worked tirelessly to build and maintain their big, self-made house on the city’s outskirts, and that’s where she grew up—sharing too little space with far too many ginger brothers.

But despite their cramped upbringing, every single Weasley kid had managed to get a proper, high-quality education, and they were all in vastly different financial situations than their parents had been when raising them. Ginny had a university degree. She valued her well-paying job. She even thanked God on a regular basis for giving her a relationship with a man who didn’t have to worry about money the way her parents had. Because—like she had once drunkenly admitted, shortly before blacking out after chugging an entire bottle of Fire Jack—living hand-to-mouth was her biggest nightmare.

So the fact that someone, somewhere, had just offered me a place in a luxurious apartment for a price lower than some university dorms?

Yeah. It was almost enough to give her a heart attack.

“I can’t believe this,” she muttered. “You said—” She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly, taking a few steadying breaths. When she spoke again, it was slower, calmer—but the storm of emotions was still brewing beneath the tight mask she was desperately trying to keep in place. “Yesterday, you said that living with him wasn’t an option for you.” She gave me a sharp look. “You said—and I quote—‘Oh, no, the apartment was really lovely, and Malfoy… I don’t mind him, but I don’t know… with all the stuff around, it’s hardly acceptable for me.’”

Hearing my own words coming from her now, that I saw her reaction to the offer I declined, I realised how foolish it was for someone like her. I was sure she would jump on that offer immediately and moved in right on that day. Not because she was that desperate but because she valued good business and when she saw an opportunity worth her energy, she usually took it and turned into something even bigger. 

But now her best friend did the exact opposite. 

She must have been really disappointed of me.

Without another word, she stood up from her chair and walked out the door—the CT scan was finished, and she slipped inside to take care of the patient.

I quietly wrapped up my work on the PC while she called in the next patient. Her face was nothing but professionally kind as she guided them through the process, but the moment the heavy doors shut behind her, she frowned again and planted herself beside me, hands on her hips like an angry mother.

“I really don’t get it, ’Mione. You’re one of the smartest people I know, and yet—when faced with the offer of the century—you refuse?!” she hissed, her voice sharp but low, still mindful of the curious ears behind the door leading to the dark room. (Never underestimate how much doctors love drama.)

“It’s hardly the offer of the century,” I muttered, rolling my eyes as I adjusted the scanning button once more.

“Seriously, ‘Mione?” she asked, her suspicion thick behind me. I didn’t dare turn around—I knew that if she found even the slightest trace of doubt on my face, she’d be ready to call Dr. Nott right this second from our work phone.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “If I were to move out of your place, it would only be because I’d found the perfect place for myself—and myself only. Until then, only natural catastrophes or too many naked butts at once could convince me to leave you two earlier.”

Corners of her mouth fought to lift themselves on the joke I just made, implicating too many uncomfortable moments I caught her and Harry in, yet she managed to keep her facade strict. Quietly, she mumbled something under her breath, but whatever it was got swallowed by the loud buzz of the hospital announcement system.

“Attention, all hospital staff and patients. - This is not a drill. Repeat: this is not a drill. - A severe hurricane is rapidly approaching our area. All personnel must initiate emergency procedures immediately. - Patients will be evacuated to designated safety bunkers in the basement. - Estimated arrival of hurricane in one to two hours. - Please follow staff instructions and remain calm. - Further updates will be provided as the situation develops. - This is not a drill. Repeat: This is not a drill. - A hurricane is approaching. - Begin evacuation procedures now.”

The announcement crackled over the speakers just as I was starting new CT scan.

My stomach tightened.

Last couple of days, we were informed about upcoming wave of strong thunderstorms and floods, the news being updated almost every hour or so. But not a single one mentioned hurricanes.

I glanced over my shoulder to search for Ginny, only to find her standing behind me, pale and probably same tight look written in her face as me.

A hurricane.

That wasn’t just a bad storm—it was a force of nature that could rip this hospital apart.

Through the glass of the control room, I watched the patient lying motionless inside the CT scanner, the red positioning laser still tracing a faint line across his forehead. The hum of the machine, usually a comforting constant, now felt ominous against the growing tension in my chest.

Just like on demand, the overhead lights flickered for a brief second—just a glitch, I told myself. But my hands clenched into fists.

Outside the control room, the hallway was alive with movement. Nurses rushed past, their footsteps hurried, voices clipped and urgent. I could barely hear them through the thick control room walls, but I could see it in their faces on camera screens we used to check up on patients in waiting room—hurricane was about to come.

Then, the hospital-wide announcement crackled through the speakers again.

“Attention, all hospital staff and patients. This is not a drill. Repeat: This is not a drill. All staff, prepare for immediate evacuation to basement bunkers. Follow designated protocols. Prioritize patients as instructed. Move swiftly, but safely."

My heart lurched.

I turned back to the patient on the table, his eyes now open, scanning the room with confusion. He heard it too.

Ginny stood beside me in the control room, frozen, her eyes locked on the speaker as the announcement echoed through the department. Her breathing was shallow, her fingers gripping the edge of her hoodie like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

The lights above our heads flickered again.

“This is really happening,” she whispered.

I didn’t have time to process it. We had a job to do. I turned to her, squeezing her shoulder.

“Ginny, I need you to focus,” I said firmly. “I’ll take care of Mr. Harris. You take the doctors and the rest of the staff. Sweep every room, make sure no one’s left behind. Get them into the hallway and down to the basement. Now.”

She blinked, snapping out of her daze. “O-okay,” she said, nodding quickly. “I got it. We’ll meet down there.” Without another word, she turned and ran out of the control room.

I turned back to the scan room, where the patient was still lying inside the CT scanner. He wasn’t confused—he knew exactly what was happening. But he didn’t move. His fingers were curled into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

I hit the control panel, aborting the scan. The table slowly slid out, the red positioning laser flickering off.

Stepping into the room, I kept my voice calm. "Mr. Harris, we have to evacuate. The scan’s over."

His eyes darted to me, then to the machine around him.

"I—" He swallowed hard. "Am I safe to move?"

"Yes," I assured him. "You’re completely fine to move. But we need to go now."

He nodded but hesitated before finally swinging his legs over the side of the table. His hands gripped the edge, knuckles white. I could tell he was really shaken. Did he think we have left him there?

I stepped closer, offering an arm. "Can you walk, or do you need me to go grab a wheelchair?"

"I can walk," he said, though his voice wavered.

The overhead lights flickered again.

I clenched my jaw. No more time to waste.

"Alright, let’s go," I said, steadying him as we made our way toward the door.

I didn't waste a second. I pushed open the heavy lead door and rushed us into the hallway, where the controlled chaos had already begun.

Nurses were checking clipboards, ensuring priority order. Dr. Moody stood in the middle of the hallway, pointing and talking to everyone in charge, in his full general mode and this time being listened to without any comments. Finally his field training was fully appreciated. This was the moment we've been waiting for.

"Babies first!" he barked at one of the elder nurses who was running around paediatric department. "Then children and mothers, expectant ladies—get them to the basement now!"

I spotted the NICU team wheeling incubators toward the elevators. The tiny, fragile lives inside were utterly oblivious to the looming storm. Right behind them ran small children and their terrified mothers, one of them haphazardly grabbing bands of her dressing gowns so she wouldn’t slip on it.

I turned toward a nearby waiting room where a young boy with a broken leg was struggling to stand up. The cast on his leg seemed just fresh and he hadn't had a chance to adjust to the movement with it. His mother was looking around in desperate search for help, until her glance found mine and she looked at me with wide, panicked eyes.

I guided Mr. Harris toward the queue forming near the elevators, where nurses and orderlies were lining up patients in wheelchairs. There was no frantic pushing, no shoving—just precise, dutiful efficiency – and then rushed to the mother and her son.

"I've got you, buddy," I said and looked around, quickly scanning the room for last piece of wheelchair. I managed to find one, hidden behind rushing elders in gowns.

I put him into a wheelchair while his mother checked the state of his leg.

"We're heading downstairs, nice and easy."

The hallway was a storm of movement—nurses pushing wheelchairs, doctors shouting updates, IV poles rattling as patients were rushed toward the emergency elevators. Despite the chaos, there was order. Years of training, emergency drills, and pure instinct kicked in.

I got us to the line into elevator.

“Next group, go!” Dr. Moody called out.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the wide, reinforced interior. A team of nurses quickly wheeled in the first group—three patients in wheelchairs, each with a staff member at their side. A doctor squeezed in after them, pressing the basement level button. The doors snapped shut, sending them down to safety.

Another elevator opened almost immediately, and the next set of patients moved forward in perfect sequence.

“Anyone stable enough to take the stairs, go now!” instructed charge nurse Tonks, guiding walking patients toward the stairwell and I got glimpse of Mr. Harris’s head disappearing among others who rushed there.

I scanned the line, checking for anyone in distress. A mother clutched her young daughter’s wheelchair handles, whispering reassurances into her ear. An elderly man sat with his hands folded tightly over his lap, his face unreadable. Some patients were silent, staring straight ahead. Others looked around anxiously, searching for some sense of normalcy that wasn’t there.

A sharp gust of wind rattled the windows, the storm getting closer. We weren’t moving fast enough.

“We can fit one more!” someone called from the elevator.

Without hesitation, I put the handles of the wheelchair into the mother’s hand and pushed her closer to the cabin. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

The doors closed, another group heading to safety. I exhaled sharply, gripping the next wheelchair in line.

We were getting them out.

But time was running out fast.

The hospital lights flickered again, longer this time. The hum of the emergency elevators filled the hallway, but beyond the thick walls, the wind was howling. A distant thud echoed through the building—something had been torn loose outside.

We were running out of time.

The elevators kept opening and closing in rapid succession, each one swallowing groups of patients and staff before sending them downward to safety. Nurses moved in a well-rehearsed rhythm, guiding wheelchairs forward, stabilizing IV poles, and whispering reassurances to those who needed it.

I jogged down the hall, scanning for anyone left behind. A young mother gripped the handles of her daughter’s wheelchair, her face tight with fear. I reached her just as the next elevator opened.

“Ma’am, you’re going with this group,” I said, steadying her child’s chair. She nodded quickly, stepping inside as I locked the wheels. A nurse followed close behind, pressing the basement level button.

The doors slid shut.

Across the hallway, Ginny was pushing an elderly man with an oxygen mask, her movements stiff with strain. I sprinted over, grabbing the wheelchair handles.

“Got it!” I said, taking the weight off her. She exhaled in relief and adjusted the IV tubing.

“Next elevator’s almost here,” she said, glancing up at the glowing panel above the doors. “We’re running low on time.”

The walls groaned under the force of the wind. The air felt heavier, thicker.

Another thud—closer this time.

I turned toward the last remaining patients. A nurse was guiding a man with a leg cast, helping him shuffle toward the stairwell. Beside him, an elderly woman leaned against the wall, trembling.

I hurried to her side. “Can you walk?”

She looked up at me with watery eyes. “I—I think so.”

“Okay, we’ll go slow.” I offered my arm, and she clung to it as we moved toward the stairwell. The doors opened again, and another round of wheelchairs disappeared into the elevator.

The storm outside howled louder.

I turned back—there were only a handful of patients left now, all of them locked in bed, ventilators beeping around them, the only way to get them down was to wait for elevators that could fit only one bed at a route. Few other nurses made sure they were about to get downstairs on time, but their nervous faces were telling me there was not time to make it with all of the patient. I didn't have the stomach to think of patients in coma who were still at the department, waiting for rescue group to return for them. The triage was cruel thing, but it was logical.

Ginny was waving more people toward the last few elevators and directing down the stairs those who could, her voice hoarse from shouting.

Then—boom.

The power cut out.

For a terrifying second, everything was silent. Then, the generators kicked in, humming to life and flooding the hallway with dim, yellow backup lighting. The elevators slowed before jerking back to motion, but the tension in the air was razor-sharp.

Gasps of panic filled the corridor.

“Stay calm!” a nurse called out. “Generators are working! Keep moving!”

I glanced at Ginny. She met my eyes, breathing hard.

“We need to move faster,” I muttered.

There were some beds left, but there was nothing me or Ginny were able to do about them. We weren't trained for bedside work. It was other people's job to stay for elevator or...leave them behind to save themselves. Either way, I focused on those I could help. I spotted a final walking patient—an elderly man clutching his walker, hesitating at the stairwell entrance. I rushed to him. “Sir, we need to go.”

He nodded, shuffling forward, but his steps were weak. Without hesitation, I crouched, slinging one of his arms over my shoulder and taking most of his weight. He let out a shaky breath as we moved together.

Behind me, I heard the elevator doors slide closed.

Another snap of electricity crackled overhead.

Then—total darkness.

The generators stuttered.

A low groan rippled through the building. The wind slammed into the walls with a force that made my stomach twist.

I grabbed Ginny’s arm. “We have to go. Now.”

We sprinted as fast as the man's body allowed us toward the basement stairwell, the emergency lights flickering faintly along the path. One of ER doctors shoved the heavy door open, holding it for us as we bolted through.

I looked back once—just once. The hallway, still not fully abandoned, was plunged in eerie darkness.

Then the door slammed shut behind us, sealing us inside the basement.

Safe.

For now.

But not everyone else was safe yet.

The basement was vast—built to shelter thousands in emergencies—but right now, it felt impossibly small. The space was packed, rows of makeshift beds lining the thick concrete walls. Nurses maneuverer between IV stands and oxygen tanks, whispering reassurances to those who clung to them. Patients sat huddled on the floor, their backs pressed against cold stone, their eyes darting to the ceiling with every distant boom from above.

The storm had found its fury.

Even underground, we could hear it raging—wind shrieking against the hospital, the occasional crack of something heavy being torn loose, followed by a deep, unsettling thud. The building groaned with each impact, and with every sound, the tension in the room wound tighter.

Ginny was right beside me, both of us still breathless from the sprint downstairs and helping the man to his department didn't help it as well. Her fingers gripped my sleeve, her face pale. “Where’s our department?” she asked, scanning the sea of bodies.

I searched, my stomach knotting. Somewhere in this crowd were the people I had worked beside every day, the ones I needed to see safe. At least Cho was safely at home and I didn’t have to worry about her as well.

We were slowly walking along the wall, reaching behind the corner of not so crowded area. In a moment, we would reach the end and would have to go search in opposite direction. Here wasn't much to search.

But before I could answer her, a sharp, ragged breathing caught my ear.

I turned around, looking for the source of it.

Walking few steps more, I saw it.

A man was hunched near the wall in tiny dark passage, far aside from other patients and workers. His hospital gown dishevelled, his fingers digging into his hair. The narrow passage was hidden in shadows, too much aside from the groups of people that nobody else could see him, unless they would search for him specifically. His chest rose and fell in frantic, uneven bursts.

He must have been lost.

A low, muttering whisper spilled from his lips, unintelligible at first—then clearer. “No, no, no—this isn’t right—this isn’t right—”

His breathing quickened. His eyes darted wildly around the basement, searching logic in what he was seeing, his brain clearly not quick or functional enough to connect those disconnected parts together.

“Wait here,” I told Ginny and slowly headed his way, carefully stepping into darker corner, approaching him like dangerous animal –

Then his eyes landed on me. The man in front of me suddenly frowned, hatred filled every pore on his winkled face, and he snapped. Frantic. Dangerous.

I knew this look and my brain knew what was about to come quicker than my body could react. I wasn’t fast enough.

“Get away!”

A hand shot out and latched onto my wrist.

I barely had time to react before he lunged, his grip like iron, typical sign of mad people.

“You— you locked us down here!” His voice was ragged, desperate. “We shouldn’t be here! We’re trapped!”

I stumbled back, trying to free myself, but he didn’t let go.

“Sir, please, you need to stay calm,” I said, keeping my voice steady even as my pulse pounded. I knew this wasn’t him—this was fear, pure and raw, manifesting in the worst way possible.

“Sir. Please. Let go of my hand,” I tried again, trying to pull back, but his fingers only tightened, digging into my skin. He didn’t hear me. His grip tightened, panic morphing into aggression. I tried to get out of his grip, to turn myself a little to get sight of someone who could help, but we were too hidden from everyone else that nobody could notice our situation here.

Ginny was quickly beside me—but before she could react, out of nowhere stumbled another patient; another body ran into her, throwing her off balance. A frail elderly man, shaking and pale, too confused to know what he just got himself into, had collapsed against her, clinging to her scrubs.

“Help,” he gasped, his breath wheezing. “I— I can’t—”

Ginny instinctively caught him, arms wrapping around his frail form to keep him from hitting the ground. Her wide, frantic eyes flicked to me, torn between staying with me and helping the man now sagging in her grip.

“I’ve got him—” she called, struggling to keep her footing. She tried to put him down on the ground, but the man was holding her as tightly as the man opposite me was gripping my wrist, their delusional minds working against logical voice they should be hearing in their head. “I just – I’ll walk him closer to them – just hold on –“ Her steps disappeared away from me, sounds of hollow feet clapping on stony floor behind her and I was left alone with my attacker.

‘No, don’t leave me,’ I wanted to say, but I knew she was right. She couldn’t help me being held by another old, yet firmly strong male holding onto her.

I knew I should just wait a little bit longer, that she wasn’t going anywhere far, just behind the corner, until she reached someone –

But I couldn’t hold.

The patient’s grip on me turned bruising. His panic had fully taken over, his body trembling violently. My heart skipped a beat when his other hand shot up as if to push me back—and he clenched his fingers into fist.

I barely had time to inhale.

In small corner of my brain I prepared for upcoming pain. And then—

A blur of motion.

One second, I was bracing for the impact of his swing—then suddenly, the weight of his grip was torn away.

The patient let out a strangled shout as his body was wrenched backward, his hospital gown twisting as he stumbled. A firm hand had locked onto his arm, pulling him with such precision that he had no chance to resist.

The sudden shift left me breathless.

I stumbled back, my pulse hammering in my throat, but before I could hit the ground, another strong arm wrapped firmly around my waist. Just for a second.

The patient struggled, his breath ragged and panicked. “You don’t get it—we’re trapped! We’re—”

“You’re not trapped,” Theodore Nott cut in, his voice calm but edged with authority. His hold on the patient didn’t loosen, even as the elder man tried to jerk away. “You’re safe. But you need to breathe.”

Cold voice next to me exhaled sharply, still holding me steady as he glanced at Theodore. “He’s not listening. If he spirals again—”

Theodore gave a sharp nod. “I know.”

My brain caught up a second too late. “H-He needs something—sedatives—” I managed, voice slightly shaky.

Theodore’s eyes flicked to me. And for just a heartbeat, I got a feeling his grip on the patient eased—barely noticeable, but enough that I saw the shift in his expression. Something unreadable. Something careful.

“I’ll handle it,” he said softly.

I tried to open mouth to argue, to help him but I was too stunned. I was in shock.

“Are you okay?” Dr. Malfoy’s low voice asked next to me.

His grip was firm but careful, his fingers just barely pressing into my skin as if anchoring me to the present. I turned toward him more, my breath uneven, and met his gaze—sharp, assessing, searching.

“I—” My voice faltered. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. I was okay…but didn’t feel like it.

His fingers, those fingers I loved to admire during surgeries, still resting lightly on my waist, flexed for just a second before he stepped back to get better view on me and moved his hold onto my elbow, distancing from my direct proximity. “Did he hurt you?”

“N-no,” I exhaled shakily, my heart still racing.

Across from us, Theodore still held the patient down, his expression unreadable as the man thrashed weakly beneath his grip.

“You’re not trapped,” Theodore told him again, his voice calm but unwavering. “You’re safe. But I can’t help you if you won’t breathe.”

The patient gasped, his fight beginning to falter.

“That’s it,” Theodore continued, his tone gentler now, controlled. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth.” He adjusted his hold, making sure the man couldn’t hurt himself—or anyone else. “Good. Just like that.”

The patient let out a shuddering breath. His body sagged.

Dr. Malfoy exhaled beside me, his fingers grazing my elbow one last time before he left my side and stepped closer to the patient.

“He’s calming down,” Theodore murmured. Then his dark eyes lifted again—to me. Something unreadable flickered there, just for a moment. Something careful.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked me again, watching me too closely.

I swallowed hard, nodding. “I’m fine.”

Neither of them looked convinced but they didn't say anything.

And for a moment—just a moment—I could still feel weird twirl in my chest.

Two pairs of eyes were holding gazes on me for couple of seconds more before they turned to the man and lifted him from the ground. Carefully holding him under arms, they slowly turned their backs to me.

“We’ll leave you to it, Granger,” was last thing Dr. Malfoy told me before he turned to the exit. “Let’s make sure no one else in here is about to break down, then.”

Theodore cast one last glance at me before following his blonde friend, still leading the patient away with effortless control.

Right when they were disappearing among other bodies around the corner, Ginny, finally freed from her own struggle, rushed to my side. “Oh my God—are you okay?”

I had no idea where she had been last couple of second.

I nodded, not paying too much attention to her.

“I send them here, they were asking about you,” she was saying, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

Because for a moment—just a moment—I could still feel the ghost of Malfoy’s touch. His fingers lingering on my body before he left my side, just slightly longer than necessary. Like a question.

And when Theodore followed that tall blonde man in front of him, he hesitated just a second longer than necessary.

I swallowed, my pulse still unsteady.

Well.

That was… something.

One thing with hurricanes is sure – as soon as they start, the same way they leave. Quickly and with too many damaged things behind.

The basement was eerily silent, except for the occasional murmurs of exhausted hospital staff and the soft hum of the ventilation system. Nearly three hours had passed. At first, the room had been filled with quiet conversations, the occasional nervous laugh, or hushed reassurances between colleagues and patients. But as time dragged on, fatigue settled in, and the noise faded to nothing.

People sat in clusters, doctors and nurses checking in on patients while the rest of us leaned against the cold concrete walls, waiting for news. Some dozed off in corners, their bodies giving in to sheer exhaustion, their scrubs crumpled, heads resting against folded arms. Others simply stared ahead, their legs stretched out or tucked under them, eyes unfocused as if trying to process the weight of the past few hours. The air was stale, thick with tension, and the occasional shift of someone readjusting their position felt loud in the near silence.

Ginny sat beside me on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, her head resting back against the wall.

“I hate waiting,” she muttered after what felt like forever. Her voice was hoarse, either from fatigue or the dry air in the sealed-off space.

I hummed in agreement, rubbing my face with my hands to shake off the drowsiness creeping in. My back ached from the hard floor, and my legs were stiff, but I didn’t want to stretch out—I felt like moving too much would break the fragile sense of stillness that had fallen over the room. Instead, I tilted my head back, staring at the ceiling as if I could somehow see through the layers of concrete and steel to the world above. Was it still storming? Had the hospital held?

And then, at last—

A sharp crackle from the PA system.

“Attention, all hospital staff and patients. The storm has passed. We will be sending a small team to assess the building. Please remain in place until further notice.”

A wave of relief swept through the room, but no one moved yet. We all knew better than to assume it was over.

Minutes stretched into more waiting. People shifted restlessly, some whispering theories about what the damage could be, while others sat in exhausted silence. A few nurses huddled together, quietly discussing how they would handle patient transfers if parts of the building were compromised. Someone was tapping their foot against the concrete floor in a steady, anxious rhythm.

Then, at last, the heavy basement doors groaned open, and the first exploration team stepped inside. All eyes turned to them in an instant. They were windblown, their scrubs damp from either rain or lingering humidity, and a few of them had dust smudged across their arms and faces. A doctor ran a hand through his dishevelled hair before speaking, his voice carrying through the hushed room.

“It’s safe.”

The words took a second to register. Then, the entire basement seemed to exhale at once. Shoulders slumped, murmurs of relief rippled through the crowd, and the tension that had held us all hostage for hours finally began to loosen.

“No structural damage inside,” another member of the team added, still catching his breath. “Some broken windows, debris in the hallways, and some flooding in the west wing, but nothing we can’t handle. The hospital is still standing.”

There were no cheers, no overjoyed reactions—just a quiet, shared understanding of how close we had been to disaster. But we had made it.

A soft buzz of conversation filled the room as people slowly began to rise, stretching their stiff limbs, some rubbing at sore muscles from sitting in one place for too long. The weight of waiting was over, and now, we had work to do.

“We’re going to start moving patients back to their rooms,” Dr. Moody announced loudly. “Anyone who can assist, report to your department.”

And just like that, we were back in motion.

The recovery process was swift and efficient. Everyone fell into place like clockwork—helping patients upstairs, checking equipment, clearing debris. There was damage, but the hospital stood strong. We had been lucky.

The return upstairs was slow and methodical. Dr. Moody, who had maintained order throughout our long wait, oversaw the process with his usual gruff efficiency, ensuring there was no chaos in the final stretch.

Staff moved with quiet determination, guiding patients back to their rooms, checking equipment, and taking stock of what the storm had left behind. Some areas were damp from minor leaks, a few windows had cracked under the pressure, but the hospital had held.

As I helped push a stretcher-bound patient toward the elevators, I caught glimpses of Dr. Nott and Dr. Malfoy working near the emergency station. They were focused on the handful of intubated patients who had worsened during our hours in the basement—Theodore adjusting a ventilator’s tubing with practiced precision, while Draco monitored vitals, his sharp gaze scanning for any sign of distress. They worked seamlessly, speaking in low tones, their presence grounding amidst the lingering tension.

Further ahead, Dr. Whitmore, a senior physician, coordinated the return of high-risk patients, barking orders with a clipped efficiency that left no room for error.

Despite the exhaustion settling into my limbs, I kept moving. Step by step, we rebuilt the order lost to the storm and by the time the basement was nearly empty, the worst had passed.

And finally, as my shift neared its end, I found Ginny, and together, we stepped out into the night—one crisis behind us, and, unknowingly, another waiting ahead.

Chapter Text

You know, life has a weird sense of humor when it decides to turn everything upside down.

Sometimes, you feel stuck—nothing happens the way you want it to, everything falls into this uncomfortable routine that you only appreciate if you have no other aspirations than to live a quiet, basic life with a steady income, a small circle of family and friends, and a stereotypical routine for the next 35 or 40 years. Then you retire, spend time with your grandkids, and… die.

I never wanted that for myself. Yet, over the last couple of years with Mark, I fell into that routine—and, surprisingly, I learned to love it. I woke up happy, kissed my boyfriend, went to a job I loved, and earned a decent income, which I eagerly invested in our household. I wasn’t even surprised when my money started disappearing from our joint bank account more frequently than from his. I was happy to spend on us, expecting my partner to do the same.

Ha. What nonsense.

When Mark dumped me this summer, he didn’t just take a piece of my heart—he also took everything valuable that I had bought for us. And because my stupid, naïve, lovestruck self had trusted him enough to share the PIN to my bank account, he also took a huge amount of money, leaving me… with nothing.

I thought I would die.

I spent hours zoned out, staring into nothing, barely communicating unless it was professionally necessary—because, of course, I couldn’t afford to take even a few days off to escape the pitying, humiliating looks everyone was throwing my way.

And it wasn’t just my work life that he messed up. He tainted everything that used to be a good memory.

The food we used to share? Off-limits. Our favorite cafés? Off-limits. The restaurants we used to visit to celebrate life’s small milestones? Off-limits.

My friends were so worried about me that they let me stay in a small but comfortable room in their house—one bed, two wardrobes, a desk for personal projects (not that I had time for any), and four boxes stacked against the walls from when I officially moved in. It was their way of making sure I was not causing myself any physical harm. For me it was very uncomfortable time in presence of people whom I loved yet I couldn't enjoy spending time around. I felt so numb I couldn't appreciate anything. No longer than a few days or weeks - we promised each other. I'll be just crashing there a few nights a week until the end of summer. Until I find some place to stay.

I officially moved in with them after the summer. This time I really promised themselves it would be like this until I save up enough to afford my own place.

From the beginning, it took me two months to climb out of the black hole of post-breakup depression and nearly two more to finally start living again—to, for example, seek out some male human for physical contact.

That was four days ago, on Friday evening, when Ginny, Cho, and Luna—friends who had reappeared in my life once I took control of my own responsibilities—dragged me out clubbing.

Since then, I’ve:

• Survived the hanxiety after a drunken hookup with a 24-year-old med student,
• Learned that the most parental figure in my life has a life-threatening condition but refuses to go to the hospital because she lost her health insurance,
• Visited the apartment of my weeks-long crush—only to find out it was a ridiculously luxurious penthouse for the high society, somehow available to me for an absurdly low price,
• And, to top it all off, nearly lost my life at work today.

Just a few hours ago, the hospital's broadcast system announced an evacuation protocol—a massive hurricane was approaching our town.

We managed to get everyone to safety in time and spent three tense hours in the basement safe zone before we were finally allowed to return. Then, of course, we had to put everything back—every bed, every wheelchair, every mother with a child, every severely injured patient—into their designated areas. All in just two hours. Because, naturally, our shift had to end on time.

And why am I mentioning all of this?

Well...probably I was in shock. 

I was in shock because I was looking at a huge tree hanging in our roof, tilting from side to side like old fashioned seesaw.

Ginny and I happily welcomed the night shift colleagues who came to replace us, then eagerly jumped into the usually ugly hospital showers—the kind you only use after the worst circumstances. After scrubbing off the day's exhaustion, we changed into our civilian clothes and, in an almost drunken-like daze, left the building that had saved our butts for the day. During this time, we had tried calling Harry several times, but he only responded with messages, refusing to pick up the goddamn phone. He also politely apologized for not coming to get us, explaining that the city transport system was down.

We stepped out into the night - It was nothing like the morning. The sky was dark, yet the stars blinked in all directions, with no ominous clouds in sight. A light breeze made our hair dance, but not in the chaotic way it had earlier when the wind had whipped it into our eyes. The atmosphere was… calm. Even a few birds were brave enough to sing their celebratory chirping songs.

We took the shortest route home, passing several fire trucks helping to repair damaged houses or clear fallen trees from the roads. In the distance, we could hear ambulance sirens heading toward the hospital, but our minds were already set on reaching home and forgetting that we had just survived the first hurricane of our lives.

Aside from the emergency crews, only a handful of cars passed us, and we appreciated how every intersection was clear, shortening our walk as much as possible. But as we neared our street, both of us instinctively frowned.

An alarming number of flashing blue lights illuminated the area, every single one uncomfortably close to where our house stood.

I saw the tension take over Ginny’s posture, her shoulders stiffening, her breath hitching. Her face was tight with worry, and I could read her first thought as if she had spoken it aloud—was Harry okay? Was there a serious reason why he hadn’t been answering his phone?

Like in a dream, we approached our house—along with the massive emergency response team of firefighters and police officers lingering nearby. The hair on the back of our necks stood on end as we got a better view of the reason behind so many emergency vehicles gathered in one place. My legs carried me numbly forward, and in the corner of my eye, I saw that Ginny was lost in her thoughts as well, her gaze locked onto the enormous tree that had crashed through the middle of our roof, its massive body tearing through the upper floors of the building.

Our bodies moved on autopilot, coping mechanisms overriding logic as we neared the long black-and-yellow tape warning pedestrians that the area was restricted.

“Ladies, get out of there!” a deep voice barked from our left. A tall, broad-shouldered officer stood by his car, frowning as he caught sight of us approaching the restricted zone. “Unless you live here, you have no business being here right now.”

“We do actually live here,” Ginny said, her voice tight and strained.

The officer lifted a thick brow, glancing from the house—now buckling under the weight of the massive tree—back to us.

“You Miss Weasley?” he asked, his tone doubtful.

“Yes. Ginevra Weasley,” Ginny confirmed, swallowing hard. “And this is Hermione Granger, our current flatmate.” She gestured toward me.

His sharp gaze flicked to me, searching for signs of mischief or some kind of sick joke in Ginny’s words. But after a brief hesitation, his expression shifted—he found none.

“Can I see your IDs, please?”

We indignantly, yet hurriedly dug through our bags, retrieving our wallets and handing over our identification. The officer studied the documents, then checked our faces against the photos. Finally, albeit reluctantly, he returned them and gestured for us to proceed.

The scene before us was chaotic. At least forty police officers were scattered around the property, three fire trucks stood parked with hoses at the ready, and two ambulances idled nearby. Red and blue lights flashed across the street, painting everything in an eerie, restless glow.

The atmosphere was anything but calming.

With every step closer to the house, I could feel my adrenaline spike, my heart pounding in my chest.

From a distance, the damage didn’t seem so terrifying. Quite the opposite—it looked almost gentle, as if the massive tree had simply decided to lie down softly, landing on the cushion of our roof. But standing here now, seeing it up close, I realized just how wrong that illusion was.

Our roof wasn’t soft, and the landing wasn’t slow or careful.

No.

The tree’s heavy crown of leaves dangled dangerously over the corner of the roof, its weight pressing against the already shattered structure. The thick trunk had punched a massive hole through the upper floors, the entire house groaning under the strain. Gravity pulled at the branches, the roots—torn from the ground—still clinging to the past while the crown threatened to collapse further. The roof was still standing, but the red bricks were cracked and broken. I knew that once the tree was removed, the entire mess would collapse, scattering debris everywhere. And it wasn’t just the attic that had been destroyed. The second floor was nearly split in two. Most of the windows were shattered—except for two at the farthest ends that had somehow remained intact. The rest had been blown apart, leaving only jagged fragments of glass in their frames.

I could barely guess which rooms had taken the most damage—except for one. Mine.

My room sat in the middle of the floor. It had held four large boxes containing all my essential personal belongings. The light walls, my comfortable king-sized bed, my parents’ photos, my favorite clothes, Mr. Crookshanks' letters from holidays… everything was now buried under bricks, cement, and dust. Gone.

Adrenaline still pulsed through my body as I tore my gaze away from the wreckage, blinking rapidly as tears burned the corners of my eyes. If I let them fall now, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop, that I’d lose my ability to think clearly. Instead, I forced myself to look around—at the people. The workers. The front-line responders who moved with trained precision, carrying out their tasks as if this were just another day at work.

Firefighters were setting up harnesses for those who would climb up to cut the tree into smaller pieces, their teammates assisting and strategizing alongside them. Policemen stood nearby, keeping the press at bay. One particularly eager journalist, her eyes locked onto me like a hawk, was aggressively questioning the chief on duty.

I felt a dangerous frown forming on my face.

I forced myself to look away before my adrenaline-fueled frustration got the best of me. If I didn’t, I knew I’d end up flipping her off—and as tempting as that was, I knew it wasn’t worth it. Instead, my gaze landed a little more aside from that scene, on a bright yellow ambulance parked nearby. Two paramedics sat inside, checking the vitals of a man perched on the steel edge of the vehicle. His raven hair was disheveled, his white t-shirt smeared with dirt and torn in a few places. His arms bore several shallow scrapes, a bit of blood smudging his skin.

Even before I fully registered his face, my heart knew who it was.

“Harry,” I whispered, my body tensing.

I lifted a hand and pointed, making sure Ginny saw him too.

The moment she realized where I was pointing, she let out a strangled shriek.

“Harry!”

She took off in an instant, rushing toward him.

He barely had time to lift his head before she collided with him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a fierce embrace. Luckily, he managed to react in time—if he hadn’t, his face would have been buried in her chest.

His face bore a few scratches, and a small purple bruise was forming at his hairline. But aside from that, he seemed okay.

A deep sigh of relief escaped him as he pulled Ginny close, hugging her just as tightly as she clung to him.

“I’m fine,” he murmured against her ear. “Just a few scratches, Ginny. I’m fine.”

He kept repeating those words over and over again, though I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to reassure her—or himself.

Then his gaze lifted, meeting mine. A fresh wave of relief flickered in his green eyes.

I saw it clearly—he had been afraid for me, too.

Wordlessly, I squeezed one of his hands where it rested against Ginny’s back.

“We’re fine,” I told him silently.

He returned the smile, but only for a moment. The warmth in his expression quickly faded, replaced by something heavier. Fear. Sadness.

His gaze flickered past me, toward the wreckage of our house. “’Mione, your room—”

“It’s okay, Harry,” I cut him off with a small shake of my head.

“No, you don’t get it—”

“It’s gone,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “The tree ruined it. I can see that even from here.”

The words sounded almost detached, too casual for the weight they carried. But I couldn’t bring myself to say them any other way or else I would...have to admit what it really meant and that my dearest belongings were...gone.

I turned over my shoulder to look at the disaster instead of showing my face directly to my best friend who could read me like open book and noticed two firefighters who hung from harnesses, their massive chainsaws poised to carve the fallen tree into manageable sections. Like clockwork, they both pulled the cords in unison. The dual roar of the chainsaws filled the air.

“But it’s alright,” I muttered, mostly to myself. “There were only four boxes anyway.”

There was no point in speaking. Any words would be lost in the deafening hum of machinery, and none of us had the energy to yell. So we stood there—by the ambulance, silently watching as the tree was removed piece by piece. Despite the chaos around us, there was something comforting in that moment. The three of us, standing side by side, together.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, it started raining again. Rescue workers threw on raincoats and continued their work. Two paramedics stopped by to check on us, draping warm blankets over our shoulders and insisting we sit inside the ambulance to keep dry. Soon after, two tall officers approached, informing us that none of our neighbors had been harmed by the hurricane or any falling debris. It seemed everyone else had been luckier than us.

The process dragged on for hours. By the time they began cutting into the trunk, Ginny finally loosened her grip on Harry, scooting closer to him under the shared blanket, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder. I shivered, my hands trembling, my feet cold and numb from the rain. But more than anything, I felt overwhelmingly alone. I wished, more than anything, that I had someone to lean on. Just one comforting shoulder to rest against.

Or maybe… two?

My restless mind surprised myself with that question. But instead of lingering in the turmoil of hidden feeling I held in myself, I focused on more important things - My room was destroyed. My bed, bedsheets, personal stuff, all of it was gone. The hour was already late when we were returning home, and with the speed of progress it seemed impossible to be inside the house anytime soon. It was time to focus on problems and their solution.

With a heavy sigh, I prepared myself to speak over the noise.

“It’s getting late, and we have work in the morning! We should get a hotel!” I shouted to Ginny.

She turned to me, eyes wide with disbelief of my sanity.

“Are you mad?! We are definitely not going in tomorrow, ‘Mione!”

“But the hurricane—”

“The hurricane just demolished our house!” she snapped. “There’s dust and debris everywhere! Soon enough, the rain will seep through the gaps and ruin everything else! This is a disaster! McGonagall might be a workaholic queen, but even she has her limits—she’ll understand that we. are. not. coming. in. tomorrow!” Her tone left no room for argument.

I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could, she shot me a murderous look.

“I’ll call her right now,” she said, already pulling out her phone. "I'll excuse us for tomorrow. Even for the day after if necessary. She'll get it."

I glanced at Harry, who watched me over Ginny’s shoulder. His face was serious—too serious for him to even attempt a joke. There was nothing else I could do but nod.

There was nothing else for me than letting her pick up her phone – with tens of missed calls from her family and friends – and be present as she dialled our superior to inform her about our situation.

“Well, that went well,” Ginny sang into the unexpected quiet place once she finished the phone call. The firefighters just stopped the machines calling it a night and were carried down to safety of ground. It was getting really late and despite safety protocols, the biggest issue was removed and the threat of breaking and damaging both house and its surroundings as well. The rest of the object could wait until tomorrow.

Next morning we returned as soon as the rushed morning traffic allowed. We were tired, stiff from uncomfortable beds and hungry, because their cafeteria wasn't open yet when were leaving, yet we were still optimistic about the full outcome of yesterday's disaster. The three of us had managed to find a small motel nearby, just enough for a couple of hours of rest before we returned. We had used that time to reassure everyone we were safe, though none of us truly felt that way. I also made sure to send a quick message to Mrs. Crookshanks, who'd left me over thirty missed calls since we left the hospital last night. The news about Harry's house had clearly spread all over the city, and I couldn’t bear the thought of her worrying herself into an early grave over me.   

The house still smelled of damp wood and crushed plaster. Rain had seeped into the cracks left behind, soaking carpets and warping furniture. My room, or what had once been my room, was completely obliterated. I’d expected to see the wreckage earlier but the real sight was still devastating—splintered wood, shattered glass, my bookshelves reduced to kindling. I tried to clean up as much of the mess as I could, though it felt like shoveling water in a flood. Glass crunched underfoot, and damp pages stuck together as I attempted to salvage what little remained of my books. But amidst all the chaos, four boxes of my most important belongings had somehow been spared, relocated to the living room on the first floor.  

As I passed Ginny in the hallway, she smirked and casually said, "You know, I had big plans to force you into Theodore’s flat right on Sunday by chucking your stuff outside and waiting until in started to rain. But you left that night, and then the hurricane hit on Monday, so I only got as far as asking Harry to put your boxes in the hall for later fun. Guess that worked out for you, huh?"   

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. "Oh yes, Ginny, truly brilliant. You nearly exiled me, and yet you are the hero here, the saviour of my belongings from being completely ruined. Shall I write you a thank-you note?"

Ginny grinned. "Please do. With gold ink."

With a sigh, I handed her a broom, and in silence we started clearing more debris that managed to get downstairs, the occasional grumble or muttered curse word punctuating our work.  

The sound of footsteps and voices outside made us both glance toward the door just as the rest of the Weasleys arrived.

"Well, this is a bloody mess," George observed, stepping inside with Fred right behind him. "Hermione, we've heard it was your room that got the best of the tree invasion yesterday. Are you sure you don’t want to move out for a bit? Maybe into a place that isn’t missing half its roof? If you can make it into car quickly enough, we can spare you from this atrocity and you can enjoy your life in piece."

"Oh, she’s being stubborn about moving out in miserable time like this," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "Never leave her friends behind. Classic Hermione."

Before I could reply, Harry entered, brushing dust from his sleeves. "Molly’s outside with Lavender. They’ve brought food and hot drinks. If you want to keep working, you should get some."

Me and Ginny didn't need to be told twice. The exhaustion and hunger was almost palpable in the room, and we rushed to put cleaning tools into twins' hands while we ran outside to greet the rest of the team.

Molly was just taking big boxes of snacks outside their truck, talking to Ron about important things he should protect his pregnant wife during hurricanes from, who had just arrived with spoken Lavender; the woman was balancing a large picnic basket against her swollen belly and despite the difficult situation, her face was positively calm and beautiful and...easy to look at right now. Seeing as she thrived despite the dark moment, made me smile.

We stayed there for a bit, inhaling delicious food Ginny's mother brought, quenching dusty thirst with her delicious hot tea and then rising our stamina with strong black coffee she prepared for us. Harry's and twins' voices were shouting something inside as they continue to help with removal process, but nobody hurried inside to listen what they had to say properly.

Not long after another car appeared on the driveway and three more red haired heads popped out of small 'Exotic animal transport' van that belonged to Charlie Weasley.

“Looks worse than I thought,” Arthur Weasley muttered as he stepped outside the van, taking in the destruction of his son-in-law's house. Behind him, Bill and Charlie were already rolling up their sleeves, surveying the mess with that particular brand of Weasley determination.  

Before they left us for their masculine jobs, small hands stretched in front of them, forcing them to stop.

“Food, and lots of it!” Lavender announced, beaming as she handed it off to each one of them “I figured you lot could use a proper meal before this all starts.”

“You’re a saint,” Bill said sincerely, taking a peek inside. “Me and Fleur have been living on toast and tea lately.”

Ginny nudged me, noticing how I faced on that piece of information coming from Bill and not getting it. “Morning sickness. He refuses to bring into their home anything that makes Fleur nauseous, which is a lot these days. Told you our men take care of their women.”

I managed a smile, though my heart ached from the feeling I have never experienced. Being taken care of. I finished the delicious coffee and took last piece of biscuit Lavender baked for us. “You’re a lifesaver, Lavender.”

Ron, who had been inside inspecting the collapsed part of staircase leading to the second floor, sighed. “It’s going to take weeks to fix all this.”

“We’ll manage,” Bill assured him. “I’ve handled worse damage on the job.”

And so we started.

We knew all reparations would indeed taken us more than couple of days, but essentially we focused on the most important parts that needed to be fixed - the roof and other open holes in the building. The first two days blurred into a rhythm of tearing out ruined insulation, moving what little furniture we could salvage from damaged area, and patching what could be patched. Harry used all connections and good will of city officers they had for him as the heir of Potter's company, and he coordinated with contractors who arrived later on Tuesday how to handle the hole in the roof as soon as possible. They managed to bring enough wood to construct first layer of roof, engaging every male species in the house in the process, while me and Ginny helped wherever we could, her stubbornness manifesting in lifting things twice her size and I spent most of my time trying to save books and papers from the water damage, knowing full well that half of them were beyond rescue. The kitchen had survived, thank Merlin, so Molly took command there, ensuring no one went hungry. Despite the state of the rest of the house, it became our safe haven, a place where we could briefly escape the chaos, refuel, and gather our strength before diving back into the repairs.

Finishing the roof took three days in total, and so did completing the extraction of every damaged furniture taken down by the three and later rain.

At the end of each exhausting day, when the house settled into uneasy quiet, I found myself alone on the couch in the living room while Gin and Harry rested at their bedroom next doors - another room that was fortunately spared from the disaster. I was a little jealous of them, but only because I knew their backs didn't hurt in the morning. The couch wasn’t the worst place to sleep, but it wasn’t great either. My back ached, my neck cramped, and no matter how much I tossed and turned, I couldn’t shake the feeling of displacement.

On Thursday night, when all workers left the area because the roof was finally finished, I gave up on sleep entirely. The couch was unforgiving, my muscles protested, and my mind wouldn’t settle. I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to the rain outside. Luckily it started just tonight, when the roof was sealed again.  

I loved being with my friends, their presence a much-needed comfort in the midst of all this destruction. They knew I would give them my life and I wanted to help them with the renovation as much as physically possible. But at the same time, I felt a little overwhelmed here. The house was always bustling with voices, movement, and endless tasks, leaving me nowhere to just be alone. That all would be acceptable, because mama raised no whimper - I just needed to process it all for a bit. Somewhere alone, in piece. But that was no possible. At night, I had no real place to retreat to—no privacy, no space of my own. And with my room upstairs set to be completely renovated, I knew that wouldn't change anytime soon. Which sucked, because from tomorrow morning, I was supposed to go to work again, unlike Ginny, who took another week of unpaid holiday, and it would make my situation even more miserable...

The house, though damaged, still held echoes of laughter, of memories too strong to be washed away in a storm. I didn't want to lose all that. I really liked it here. But knowing I had to wake up early for work...without proper rest, with another work to do on the house once I returned back, and with the chilly breeze that came through wooden panels we provisorily boarded up with the empty window frames upstairs, I wasn't particularly happy about my situation.

I couldn't help but think of...another option I had.

This thought appeared immediately after I laid on hotel bedroom and noticed dangerous sign 'Beware – cockroach on sight!’. But I was willingly putting it away, because I knew it was just lazy and comfortable solution to current uneasy situation. And like I said - I was stronger and better than that. But the thought, the idea just...rested away from main flow of my daily thoughts and slowly input into it once my head rested on pillow and I had time to process everything.

Theodore had offered his apartment; big, spicy, modern, expensive apartment for minimal price. A perfectly reasonable, perfectly logical alternative. Yet, I’d declined. The idea of leaving felt wrong. I would miss them terribly, miss the familiarity, the laughter, the way we all just worked together without question. But at the same time, I couldn't ignore the creeping feeling of anticipation, like something thrilling was just beyond my reach. The thought of living with Theodore - and Dr. Malfoy - carried an air of mystery, a promise of change, of something new and exciting that was so much missing from my life so far. Of course I knew there was probably nothing much going to happen, that the reality was likely far less dramatic than I imagined, but yet, the idea still lingered in the back of my mind for whole night.

Each of these past mornings, Ginny would raise an eyebrow at me once she saw my miserable body lifting from the couch, teasingly asking me 'Not going to Nott's?", waiting for me to change my mind. Each night, as I curled up under a thin blanket, I wondered why I hadn’t.

I felt guilty to listen to the soft whispers of my imaginary Red Devil sitting on my shoulder, begging me to choose the better, more comfortable option for me. I tried to ignore it, to rationalise it. But staying felt more and more painful.

By the time my alarm rang for work on Friday morning, I felt like I hadn’t slept in years. Groggy and sore, I forced myself upright, rubbing my face with both hands. The living room was cold, and my clothes smelled faintly of smoke and sawdust.

Ginny stumbled into the room, her hair a mess but her face and body seemed very much rested. “Morning, sunshine.” 

Yeah, she was definitely well rested. Like yesterday and the day before.

Painfully, I lifted the blanket and dropped feet from the couch on cold floor. My head hurt from lack of sleep and my back was killing me. My skin prickled, the back of my neck soaked in cold sweat was sign of most likely very miserable hairstyle and the stuffed nose also indicated my face was swollen as hell.

Everything sucked. 

Too tired and too irritated, I couldn't hide my emotions anymore.   “I hate this couch," I groaned.

“I know.” My friend smirked down at me and in singing voice continued to the kitchen. “But at least you are experiencing first hand how exhausted mothers are - lack of sleep during the night, always half asleep, half up, with no rest on sight because responsibilities call during the day. You can learn and memorise it for later when you're about to have your own babies."

Her voice was getting over the corner to the open kitchen area, where I heard noises of opening cabinets. Yet her words were cutting my skull raw like she'd been whispering them right into my ear.

"Ginevra," I growled as I was rubbing my forehead with all the wrinkles left from sleepless night spent in frown-inducing thoughts. "Can you please stop for a bit? I can't think....yet."

I didn't have to see her to know she was smirking, knowing fully well how bad mood I just woken up to. Yet she didn't hold back the small song that played on her mouth while she started to prepare breakfast. Hopefully not for all three of us. The night overthinking left me nauseous.

Yet the familiar smell of bacon and eggs didn't cause my stomach to twirl. Instead, it somehow calmed me down a little and I...wanted to go to sleep.

Oh. How was I   supposed   to work today?

"You’re still not going to Nott’s, are you?” her teasing voice reached me from the kitchen again. 

I scowled. “No. Not today.”

“Alright," she answered in too cool voice. "Workers will come in half an hour. If you want to take shower, use mine shower so you have some privacy, otherwise you're risking some blue collar man would like to ogle you in your sexy short towel dress."

As terrible as getting up sounded like, I knew she was right. Those workers usually arrived fifteen minutes earlier to prepare their tools and stuff in the located room, and because living room was open area next to the staircase, everyone who wanted to go up, would have to meet me in there. Which was the last thing I wanted.

Angrily huffing, I grabbed the clothes I prepared last night, tugged myself into the blanket and walked to their bedroom.

Yes, one could say it would be terrible disturbing of their privacy, stepping into their bedroom with still sleeping Harry in bed...Because what if he was naked? But that one would have to accept the fact I saw Harry in hyper high number of situations in which he was...less than decent....and that if there ever happened to exist just a tiny tiney possibility of finding my best friend attractive in...male way, it was very long lost. Which my dearest red-head best friend knew very well and absolutely didn't care about any proximity of me and Harry in their house. Not even if any of us was naked during that.

But fortunately Harry's body seemed to be dressed under the blanket, which I didn't care about as I hurried to the bathroom.

I quickly did my morning hygiene and put on my scrubs, not bothering with hair or makeup, because I was dying inside, and I stepped out into their bedroom with another heavy sigh.

Their room was spared from the chilly breeze outside, the doors and heater working as proper heat provider here. My tired body  appreciated it more then I'd like and didn't even protest like during any other move, as I sat down on Ginny's half of the bed, reaching for the small drawer in front of myself, where I knew her socks were. I put them on, stretched my feet and exhaustedly looked at myself in the mirror.

Two bags under my eyes were telling everything how miserable my night was, but I was too tired to care. My look was the last thing when it came to my work performance, I didn't have to care about that. As long as my hair were in bun and my nails were short, McGonagall wasn't complaining.

Sighing for the millionth time this morning, I looked at the alarm on Ginny's bedside table; it was saying 6,15. My hygiene took me less than expected. I still had another fifteen or twenty minutes before I had to leave. And even though I could use the time to put myself together a little more, I decided for better idea - I set alarm on my watches for fifteen minutes and laid down next to Harry. Fifteen minutes weren't much. But it still could be another fifteen minutes to my sleep bank. And I needed every minute right now.

My tight muscles immediately relaxed as I sank into the soft covers of Ginny's bed, the mattress almost melting beneath me. Sleep tugged at my consciousness, and I felt myself drifting off almost instantly. Just fifteen more minutes...

The obnoxious buzzing yanked me out of sleep like a fish getting hooked straight out of water. I groaned, blindly slapping around for the source of the noise, fingers finally closing around my phone. Without even looking, I dragged it to my ear and mumbled, “Mmmhello?”

A voice, sharp and entirely unamused, cut through my hazy brain like a scalpel.

“Granger.”

I frowned, still mostly unconscious. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but my brain was running at the speed of a dial-up connection, and nothing was loading.

“…Why are you inside my phone?” I croaked.

A heavy pause. A judgmental pause.

“That is not how phones work.”

I cracked one eye open. The ceiling above me was unfamiliar. The bed under me was too soft. My brain was lagging behind, still tangled in sleep, still blissfully unaware that something was very, very wrong.

And then the voice—calm, clipped, and brimming with barely restrained irritation—spoke again.

“You were supposed to be in my OR forty minutes ago.”

For a second, my mind remained blank. Then, as if someone had detonated a bomb inside my skull, the realization hit.

I was late. I was very late.

And the person informing me of this catastrophic fact was not just anyone. It was Chief Draco Malfoy, head of cardiothoracic surgery, the man who could have me go x-raying toilets for the next year if he so desired.

A sound escaped my throat. A small, pitiful sound. A meep.

I bolted upright so fast the room spun, my blanket tangling around my legs like a death trap. The phone wobbled in my grip, and my voice—now very much awake and filled with existential dread—came out in a horrified squeak.

“Oh shit.”

I scrambled to untangle myself from the sheets, nearly dropping my phone in the process. My heart was hammering so loudly I was sure Malfoy could hear it through the receiver.

“I—I’m so sorry, Chief Malfoy,” I stammered, my voice still thick with sleep. “I—I wasn’t feeling well this morning. Probably from all the—uh—housework after the hurricane.” I shoved my feet into my shoes, nearly toppling over as I bolted for the door. “Heavy lifting. Dust. Very bad for the lungs. I thought it would be best if I—uh—rested.”

A pause. A long, skeptical pause.

I made it to the hallway just in time for a worker to pass by carrying a bucket of plaster, the smell of fresh paint slapping me straight in the face.

I winced, rubbing my forehead, and quickly jumped aside as another worker squeezed past me with a roll of insulation over his shoulder. My back hit the dusty railing of the staircase, and I coughed as a cloud of debris puffed into the air. The entire house was a chaotic mess—dust, debris, ladders blocking doorways, hammering noises echoing from upstairs. As if on cue, someone started up a drill, and the high-pitched screech nearly made me drop my phone again.

“Granger.” Malfoy’s voice was as smooth and cold as a scalpel. “Are you sure you’re resting?”

I coughed, waving dust out of my face as I tried to squeeze past a stack of construction materials. “Yes. Absolutely. I’m… in bed.”

A dry, humourless exhale crackled through the line.

“In bed.”

“Yes.”

There was another loud bang from the other side of the house. I flinched.

“In bed,” Malfoy repeated flatly. “In the middle of what sounds like a construction site.”

Damn it.

I shut my eyes, biting my lip. I could feel him seeing through my pathetic excuse, even though I was practically right. I was having a rest – originally for fifteen minutes. However, I somehow felt more ashamed to admit that had I overslept than stop playing this funny game I was. He was probably pinching the bridge of his nose in supreme irritation. Any second now, he was going to rip into me. I braced for it—ready for one of his signature cutting remarks, something laced with sarcasm, like “Heavy lifting, Granger? What, did you single-handedly carry a fallen tree out of your living room?” or “Ah, yes, tragic—death by mild physical exertion. Shall we inform the medical board you’re out indefinitely?”

I’d heard him eviscerate interns with nothing more than a raised brow and a single well-placed scoff. I’d seen junior surgeons practically crumble under his unimpressed, razor-sharp commentary. And now, I was next. He was going to call me out. Tell me I was unprofessional. Insist that if I was capable of running through what very much sounded like an active demolition site, then surely, surely, I was capable of standing in his OR.

I held my breath, already mentally composing my apology. Maybe I should just admit I had shitty night and lost it in the morning when I planned on quick fifteen minutes nap?

But the painful comment never came.

Instead, his voice was… calm. Still professional, still cold—but noticeably lacking the sharp bite he was so famous for.

“Well,” he said, “if you are sick, I expect you to take the necessary time to recover.”

I blinked. Wait. What? That was… it? No snide remark? No dramatic sigh of disappointment? No blistering monologue on my incompetence?

Something wasn’t right.

I frowned and, for the first time, thought to check the time. My stomach plummeted the second I saw the numbers glaring back at me. 8:52 AM. I was supposed to be in his OR at eight.

Oh, shit.

He was even nice and claimed I was late for forty minutes and not whole hour!

The guilt hit me like a truck. I pressed my palm over my eyes, willing my brain to wake up properly. I never overslept. I never missed my shifts. And now, of all days, I had managed to do both. Malfoy had every reason to verbally destroy me. And yet… he hadn’t.

The thought lingered as I dodged past two workers hauling in new drywall, nearly tripping over an exposed wire on the floor. I barely heard Malfoy continue speaking, too distracted by my own frantic movements.

"If you're currently residing in a—" he hesitated for the briefest of moments, as if searching for a tactful term, "—less than ideal living situation due to recent events, Dr. Nott still has an open room at his apartment, you know. You may contact him if necessary."

I stopped mid-step, thrown off balance—not by debris this time, but by his words.

Dr. Nott? The Dr. Nott? As in, Theo Nott, Malfoy's best friend?

My brain struggled to reconcile this with the Malfoy I knew. The Malfoy I expected would’ve told me to sleep outside with the rats and consider it a character-building experience. But instead, he was…offering me an option? A solution? And not for the first time.

Some while ago, I’d witnessed him stand up for me in the OR. He later had argued with Pucey—argued, with actual frustration in his voice—because Pucey had tried to pull rank on me over something I hadn’t even done. And instead of letting it slide, instead of doing what Malfoy would do, he had stood up for me. That had been odd. But this? This was even more bizarre. What the hell was going on over there?

I tried to picture the scene on his side of picture right now. Was he in his office, leaning against his desk, expression unreadable while his colleagues watched, waiting for him to eviscerate me? No, no…he had a surgery scheduled on 8 a.m., so he must have been…somewhere in the sterile zone in front of the OR? Or maybe in the OR itself…? Was his terrifyingly efficient scrub nurse—the one he was definitely sleeping with—hovering nearby, eager to hear him lash out in that professional but utterly devastating way he was known for? Were the surgical assistants exchanging looks, betting on how long it would take for him to make me cry?

And instead… he was calmly telling me to recover soon and casually offering me a place to stay?

Something was definitely not right.

I opened my mouth, a poor attempt at forming some kind of response—maybe an apology, maybe reassurance that I’d be back soon—but all that came out was a garbled, "I—uhm—" before he cut me off without hesitation.

"You're excused for the rest of the day," he added, tone still frustratingly unreadable. "And tomorrow. Make sure both you and your house are in order before you come back."

I swallowed. "I—right. Thank you, Chief."

A pause. Then, "If your residence isn’t going to be fixed as soon as possible, reconsider the offer. You can…" He hesitated again, just for a fraction of a second. "You can."

I waited, but he didn’t elaborate.

And then, in a dry, offhanded tone that definitely wasn’t offhanded at all, he added, "I assume your radtech friend Weasley won’t have similar struggles getting to work? Or am I going to have to start looking for new accommodations for her as well?"

My lips parted, caught between indignation and sheer disbelief. "Ginny—Ginny is fine," I stammered. "She—she's already up and about and very much capable of getting to work on time. She just decided to take another full week off—"

I clamped my mouth shut too late, realizing my mistake the second the words left me. Oh, brilliant, Hermione. Just brilliant.

"Good," he said shortly. "So today and tomorrow with no capable radtechs here I see. So, we'll have to manage. But I'm happy to hear there are still some people who apparently have no fear of taking full advantage of their allotted time off, while others seem physically incapable of it."

I didn’t even have time to process what that meant before he continued, "Rest, Granger. Today and tomorrow. And call Nott if necessary. I'll call your supervisor and tell her you’re not coming for the rest of the week."

And then the line went dead.

I stared at my phone, my mind a chaotic swirl of confusion, disbelief, and something else I couldn’t quite name. Relief? Unease? Both? Whatever it was, it left a strange, lingering weight in my chest. I didn’t know what game Malfoy was playing, but this—his oddly measured words, his lack of sharpness, the bizarre kindness buried beneath the surface—this was more unsettling than if he’d actually yelled at me. Because at least that would have made sense.

I trudged into the kitchen, my phone still clutched in my hand, my brain barely keeping up with what had just happened. The smell of coffee hit me first, rich and inviting, but it did little to soothe the strange, lingering weight in my chest.

Harry and Ginny were still seated at the table, mugs in hand, both looking up as I entered. They didn’t have to rush once the roof was finally repaired. Not fully, of course, but the main hole was sealed, and they could focus on improving the whole piece of house cover once more, but calmly and thoroughly, meanwhile the rest of workers could pay attention to broken windows, floors and stairs.

With the sight of me joining them at the table, they froze.

Harry, mid-sip, blinked at me like I had just apparated out of thin air. His brows furrowed, his head tilting slightly, and I could practically see the wheels turning in his head—processing, calculating, trying to figure out why exactly he’d woken up to find me in the bed next to him, still in my scrubs, looking like I’d barely survived a warzone and yet, he knew the time was a bit...off. It was too late for me to be at home.

Ginny, on the other hand, reacted far more predictably. A slow, devious smile spread across her face, her fingers drumming against the side of her mug in open amusement.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled, leaning back in her chair. “Would you look at that? Back so soon, are we?”

I exhaled sharply, already regretting coming here.

Harry, still staring at me, lowered his mug, his confusion deepening. “Wait,” he said, voice thick with grogginess. “Did you—did you cancel work?”

Ginny’s grin widened. “Oh, she did.”

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “I did not cancel. I was forced to take the day off. And tomorrow. And—” I hesitated, realizing it would only make things worse if I repeated Malfoy’s suggestion that I should reconsider my living arrangements.

I let my head drop onto the table with a dull thud, the sheer weight of my own stupidity pressing down on me. How had I not woken up? How had I not heard my alarm? Was I really that exhausted? Clearly, I was. Only a complete idiot would sleep through their own career imploding.

Then a thought struck me.

I lifted my head just enough to glare at Ginny. “You knew I was late.”

Ginny didn’t even blink. “I might have.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Ginny. Did you turn off my alarm?”

Harry inhaled sharply, eyes darting to his girlfriend, looking almost impressed—and slightly alarmed—like he had just realized he had been present during yet another one of her sly plans without having a single clue about it.

Ginny only took a slow sip of her coffee, completely unfazed.

“Would I do something like that?” she mused innocently.

I let out a sharp groan and slumped back against the chair. This was going to be a long day.

Harry shook his head, still bewildered. "Gin, why?"

Ginny stretched her arms out lazily, looking far too pleased with herself. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because someone refuses to accept that she needs a proper roof over her head?" She arched a pointed brow at me. "Maybe because someone keeps acting like she doesn't clearly fancy the very generous Dr. Theodore Nott, who conveniently has an empty apartment waiting for her and need a proper nudge to finally pick up her head from her arse and go there?"

Harry, still catching up, blinked between us. "Wait, what? You have a crush on this Nott?" He looked baffled, like he was struggling to piece together how this particular piece of information had completely passed him by. "Since when? And why am I only hearing about this now?" 

Ginny let out a victorious hum. "Oh, finally! Took you long enough to ask."

Harry turned to her, exasperated. "And do you really think turning off alarms is the best way to get Hermione to accept his offer?"

“She refused,” Ginny announced cheerfully, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Because, obviously, she prefers to sleep here, with you, in her scrubs, surrounded by sawdust and the constant sound of power tools.”

I sighed, collapsing into the nearest chair. “Ginny, I swear to Merlin—”

She propped her chin on her hand. "You know, beside plenty of others, Theo’s got two guest rooms—one with a luxury city view, a big-ass coffee machine, an expensive address, and no surprise Malfoy phone calls first thing in the morning, because he lives with him. He lives with the son of the hospital owner, so, you know, connections. The address is much closer to the hospital, it's right in the centre with everything on hand and all that for just for 275 a month." She tilted her head dramatically. "But no, no, you insisted on staying in hell with us, because this option is better."

I groaned again, rubbing my temples. "Ginny, this is not about Theo. This is about you sabotaging my ability to wake up on time."

Ginny shrugged. "Sabotage is such a strong word. I prefer...gentle redirection."

I turned to Harry, hoping for backup. He just held up his hands. "Honestly, she kind of has a point. You do need somewhere stable to stay."

I let out a long, suffering sigh.

“Honeslty, Hermione, that couch is showing you no mercy. There’s a good reason why Gin’s putting me there to sleep after our arguments. That couch is a crap. Maybe…maybe you could really reconsider? Because imagine you’re supposed to wake up in the same state tomorrow, this time smarter than today, and not letting your mobile linger anywhere for Ginny to take and cancel another alarm-”

“I’m not going to work tomorrow,” I repeated with exhale again.

Both faces turned surprised, like they really didn’t catch me saying it earlier. It must have been lost in the whole conflict of discovering who the hell did turn off my alarm.

“Yeah, I…I got a call from hospital,” I admitted and uncomfortably shifted under weight of realisation I had to admit I just got called by…the said son of hospital owner.

Ginny’s brows furrowed. “Why? I already called Minerva and excused you for today-“

“You what?” I thought I misheard.

“I was going to to let workers in, when I heard your alarm in the bedroom. I looked inside and found you dead on my bed and you looked so relaxed and peaceful that I didn’t have the heart to interrupt that. I turned it off and I…called Minerva to explain how things are here and excused you for the day.” She casually sipped from her coffee like she didn’t just say that out loud.

“Ginny,” I breathed out. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh and hug her or yell and punch her in the face. 

“You can relax, ‘Mione. She said she’d kind of expected that. So your good. But now back to the topic – who called you then? Minerva said she’s making sure your shift is covered.”

I mentally prepared what I was about to say aloud. “It was Malfoy,” I said hesitantly.

Her mouth fell open as she stared at me, her boyfriend wearing the same expression immediately. He knew the name from Ginny’s work stories and there was no need to explain further how unexpected it was.

“Why did Malfoy call you?” Ginny’s tone could be taken as insult, hadn’t I known that she was referring to the fact Chief Malfoy was rarely, almost never, talking to middle workers, and his direct orders were only to the doctors and his personal scrub nurse. (Which he slept with.)

“I-…honestly I have no idea,” I shrugged. “He just woke me up and asked why I was missing my work in his OR and I…I lied and told him I wasn’t feeling well from all the dust and stuff and he…took it surprisingly well and ordered me to stay at home today. And also tomorrow. He said I should take all the time necessary for my recovery.”

Ginny’s eyes were so popped out I feared they might fall out of her head.

“He did what?!”

I felt my cheeks turning pink. She was just loudly mirroring my inner feelings of not understanding a thing about this whole conversation with chief of cardio surgery, but I kind of feel ashamed to tell them that. It was uncomfortable when I was alone, and now, sharing it with them was even worse.

“I swear I have no clue what just happened, but I pinched myself during the call and made sure I wasn’t just having a nightmare.” I spread my arms wildly and started repeating what I just said. Maybe it was also for my own sake to repeat it and maybe I could notice something I'd missed. “He called me on my personal phone. He asked me, where I was and why I wasn’t in his OR.” I stopped to recall that moment again to remind myself it wasn’t just a bad dream. “Oh yeah, and he also told me to reconsider Theodore’s offer…”

“No, he did not…” Ginny exhaled in disbelief and shook her head dangerously. I looked at her on the other side of the table. Her face was mixture of awe and shock, her nervous system not sure what king of face she should be wearing now, so she froze with open mouth, yet the excitement in her eyes grew almost frantic.

She leaned to the desk, loudly clapping her palms on the wooden panel.

“That. Is. Fantastic.” Her mouth spread into mad man’s smile.

Me and Harry cautiously moved away from the table, not sure if this still was our Ginny or some excited demon in her.

“I’m not…sure, if that’s fantastic, Gin?” I croaked slowly, making sure there was a safe distance between us, because hell yeah, this woman just scared the shit out of me.

“No, no. It IS fantastic. He knows about the offer and by asking you to reconsider, he – as the second member of their household – confirmed the idea would be great even for him. And now that he said it, you even have a great excuse why are you calling so suddenly even when you’d declined the first time. Which is great because that also gave you chance to move in VERY quickly now because they think you are clearly desperate and in rush to find a bed for yourself…This is actually perfect.”

I followed Ginny’s train of thoughts, not skipping any part of her plan, despite the fact I kind of felt ashamed how quickly my body excited itself over this idea. My lips twitched and my palms sweated, both signs of my nervosity because…I was really considering that option.

Would that be really good idea…? Was moving in with my crush, who had no obliges to talk to me as his flatmate, and his very hot ass friend, a chief of cardio, really smart move?

The financial side was definitely pro. Leaving this noisy house and terrible couch as well. But I couldn’t get rid of the guilt I felt. It wasn’t connected to this house or my friends specifically, it was just there. Like the fact I’d move into this very fancy part of town could change the short-lived fun we had together since I returned to my normal lifestyle. I felt responsible for any possible risk this situation could bring us. I didn’t want to lose neither of their presence in my everyday life. I got used to them in my mornigns and evenings like it was the most natural thing in the world. I guess it was just a trauma from bad relationship where I felt so lonely that now just the image of leaving this warm home behind to move into - yes, very cool room – where I couldn’t be sure my flatmates would actually spared some of their time to have conversations with me, this picture made me anxious. And the guilt would be all mine because…there was no else to blame for my decisions. Even if Ginevra could be pain in the ass sometimes, forcing me into that place multiple times a day. But it would be mine decision, and mine only. I was afraid to lose what we had now for something I had no idea how would work in the end.

Ginny’s hand landed on mine and brought me back from my turmoiling mind.

“’Mione.” Her blue eyes were wide and serious, the excited sparkles from before were replaced with hint of anxiety because she was afraid where had my damaged mind brought me just now. “You know I was just joking. I’m saying all this to get you out of your comfort zone for your own luck, not because I don’t want you here. If this is too much and these comments of mine are too much, I’m sorry. You don’t have to overthink it; if you’re feeling better here with now, you should stay and we don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

I looked into her sincere face and squeezed her hand back. “No, Gin, it’s alright. It’s just…I enjoyed these four moths with you maybe a bit much and…it’s hard to think of not spending more game nights just like that…without returning somewhere else, you know.”

“But you can come here for game nights and sleep here as well.” It was Harry who answered. “But you can also enjoy time in very cool house with a view I would kill for – honestly, I saw photos as soon as you texted me the address – and it doesn’t even have to be for long. Once we repair everything, you can return. Who knows. Maybe you’ll find out their water isn’t warm enough because hot pipes cannot bring hot water into that height. Or the wind outside will be so loud you won’t sleep at all and you’ll call us to pick you up and bring you back here. And you would be welcomed immediately. But now…I see your back, Hermione, and your face. You are exhausted. All these people, the noise, the lack of privacy…And that couch is terrible. Please, for God’s sake, if you can listen to what Ginny’s saying and think for a moment about taking the offer? At least until we renovate the room upstairs and you don’t have to sleep on the couch?”

His voice was so calm and warm, that I felt tears pricking in eyes. Harry always knew what I needed to hear to make decisions. He was the fatherly figure in the form of my best friend. And I couldn’t be more thankful for the way he knew me so well right now.

I slowly nodded, “Yeah…yeah I think I can do that.”

“Alright. Please do.” He squeezed my hand.

This discussion turned somehow uncomfortably raw and honest and I found it hard to absorb it all easily, even more so without a coffee to help my brain cell concentrate better.

I stood up and walked to the counter where I grabbed full cup of black coffee, most likely prepared by Ginny earlier with the rest of the food also waiting on a plate next it. My stomach felt better than it did when I woke up, and I took a rich bite from the toast with an egg and bacon on it.

Mhm. Ginny seemed to inherit Weasley’s cooking skill after all.

I pushed my hair out of my face, exhaling slowly as I leaned against the kitchen counter. The morning light filtered weakly through the dusty window, making the air look heavier than it already felt.

Three days. Three days of hauling, lifting, sweeping, and trying to make the house feel like home again. And it was all it took for me to turn me into lazy ass who seemed more comfortable solution asap.

At least, we were done with the work we could take so far. The real work—the kind we couldn’t do—was in the hands of professionals now.

“There’s really nothing left for us to do, is it?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. We’d talked about yesterday, that there would be nothing else we could do, unless skilled Bill arrived and taught us something on the hoof.

Harry shook his head. “Not unless you know how to rebuild a staircase.”

Ginny snorted, tying her hair into a loose bun. “Or install a new window frame.”

I sighed, running my fingers over the chipped edge of the table. It was strange, having nothing to do. For the past three days, our hands had been full, our minds occupied. But now? Now there was space. And with space came thoughts.

“You two want to go out?” Harry asked. “I don’t know, get lunch somewhere, maybe just—be somewhere else for a while?”

Ginny nodded immediately. “Yes. Please. If I have to spend one more second inhaling this dust, I think my lungs will just give up.”

I hesitated for a second. Leaving the house meant leaving behind the illusion that I was still needed here. That I had a reason to stay. But staying meant sitting on that awful couch, breathing in the scent of old fabric and dried-out wood, waiting for the day to pass.

“Alright,” I said finally. “Let’s go.”

The city felt… alive.

People moved through the streets with purpose, the cafés were full, and the air smelled like rain, even though the sky was clear. It was strange, being out in the world after three days of being buried in sawdust and broken plaster.

We ended up at a small restaurant with a patio, the kind of place that served overpriced sandwiches on wooden boards. Ginny ordered a mimosa, despite Harry’s halfhearted attempt to remind her it was still before noon. I stuck with water.

The conversation drifted easily between them, but my mind kept slipping elsewhere.

Dr. Theodore Nott.

His offer had been so absurdly generous that I had laughed when he first mentioned it. A luxury place—fully furnished, practically untouched—for a price that was laughably low. I’d turned it down immediately, convinced it was too much, too good, too something.

But now… now I was exhausted. My back ached from sleeping in awkward angles on a couch that was older than I was. My clothes smelled like dust and varnish. And the worst part? There wasn’t even an end in sight. The house wouldn’t be livable for weeks. Maybe months.

I picked at my sandwich, only half-listening as Ginny launched into some story about a customer at the clinic.

Maybe I had been stupid to say no...

By the time we got back, the sun was low, casting the house in heavy shadows. The second I stepped inside, the smell of dust and stale air wrapped around me. I kicked off my shoes and rubbed at my temples, already feeling the headache settling in.

The couch was just as I’d left it: uncomfortable, slightly lumpy, and now covered in another thin layer of dust. I stared at it, something bitter rising in my throat.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, my heart skipping slightly when I saw the name on the screen. Thobias.

I let out a breath, closing my eyes for a second.

He was not teasing. I knew that. The idea of saying yes, of sneaking upstairs to my room—except there wasn’t a room to sneak into—made my stomach turn.

I bit my lip, typing out a response.

The messages were sent, and I stared at the screen, waiting.

The three little dots appeared. Then stopped. Then started again.

I swallowed hard.

Yeah. It did suck.

I set my phone down, but something about the whole thing—this house, this couch, this feeling of not belonging anywhere—unraveled something inside me.

My chest ached, my vision blurred, and before I could stop myself, I was crying.

But it wasn’t soft, sad cry. No. It was messy, angry fussing and cursing accompanied by tears of anger dwelling from my eyes.

I stopped all rationality and headed out for clear air, very sure of what needed to be done.

I stood in front of the house, watching the construction lights flicker against the half-repaired walls. The temporary tarp covering the roof flapped weakly in the breeze, barely holding back the damage. My fingers tightened around my phone, my nails pressing into my palm.

I shouldn’t have been crying. I had told myself that over and over, but the hot, angry tears kept slipping down my face anyway. Three days of pretending this was manageable, three nights of coughing up dust and twisting on that damn couch, three mornings of forcing a smile as Ginny asked how I slept—this wasn’t sustainable.

I took a shaky breath and scrolled through my contacts, my thumb hesitating over his name for only a second before I tapped it. The phone barely rang once before he picked up.

“What can I help you with, Hermione?”

I shut my eyes. Of course he had my number saved. “Yeah. It’s me.” I swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in my throat. "Dr. Nott, I—" I winced and quickly corrected myself. "Theodore. Sorry. I know you asked me to call you that." I took another breath, forcing my voice to stay even. "I’m sorry for calling so suddenly. I didn’t mean to intrude, but… is your offer still up?"

There was a beat of silence. My question must have surprised him, being asked so suddenly. “I, uh—” He cleared his throat. “I was actually talking to Malfoy earlier. He mentioned the house and how things were looking after the storm. I wanted to reach out, but I figured you had enough to worry about. If you needed a place to stay, I assumed you'd reach out first.”

His words sent a strange warmth curling through my chest, but I shoved it down. “Well, I’m calling you now,” I said, my voice quieter. “Because I need to know if I can still take the room.”

There was a pause, then the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. “Is everything alright, Hermione?”

“Yes.”

Another pause. Then, “You’re sure...?”

I exhaled sharply, pressing my fingers against my forehead as my composure cracked. "Theo... I can't do this anymore. The dust, the noise, the cold drafts—it’s like I’m trying to live in a construction site. I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep in three days, and I wake up feeling like I’ve swallowed sandpaper. I can’t even find a quiet moment to think, let alone breathe." I squeezed my eyes shut, my voice lowering into something raw and vulnerable. "I know I should be grateful to have a roof over my head at all, but I feel like I’m drowning, and I just—I just need a break. A place to exist without coughing up sawdust or stepping over broken furniture."

I let out a sharp breath, my fingers tightening around the phone. "Theo… can I-can I move in tonight?"

The line went silent. For a second, I thought I had pushed too far, but then he chuckled, low and warm. “You really don’t waste time, do you?”

“Not when I have nowhere else to sleep.” My voice wavered, betraying the exhaustion and frustration clawing at my throat. Lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down, tightening my grip on the phone as if it could hold me together. This was my quickest resort beside sleeping in hotel, which wouldn't be much financially responsible, and I hated myself for reaching out so soon.

A breath. Then another. The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken, something that made my chest tighten. For a slight second I was afraid he'd asked me to wait and he'd reconsider his offer but then - he finally gave a decisive response. His voice was steady, but there was something softer beneath it. "Come over. I'm home tonight and can wait for you. I'll text you the address again and you can text me once you'll be ready. I can pick you up if you need."

"N-no, that's not necessary. My friends will take me."

"Alright then. Text me when you'll be arriving, so we can be ready. I'm going to inform Erik, the doorman, and he will help you with your stuff."

"Uh...-" I didn't know how to react. His response was so quick and he didn't even hesitate to cooperate, like he was used to getting sudden calls from his friends who were about to move in with him.

"What? Do you need anything else?" his voice worn genuine curiosity.

I shook my head, not believing this was really happening, and I took deep breath of fresh air into my lungs, to collect myself. "No, everything's taken care of. I think I can be there by 8, so no hurry."

"Cool, eight it is then."

The call ended before I could thank him, and I stared at my phone for a moment before turning toward the broken house one last time. It wasn’t really a choice anymore. I had made my decision. 

Theodore was waiting for me.

I pocketed my phone, squared my shoulders, and went inside to pack.

Chapter Text

I moved around the digital anatomy table, watching as the holographic chest cavity rotated in midair. With a movement of my fingers over specific areas, I magnified them when I needed to examine their 3D structure once again. Two silver rings on my hands allowed me to adjust the digital image as needed—everything to ensure the upcoming heart transplantation would be perfect. I magnified the whole heart again, its semi-transparent chambers glowing under the soft blue light of the projector. My fingers hovered over the interface, adjusting the contrast, zooming in on the left ventricle. The donor’s heart was strong—textbook, really. No hypertrophy, no calcifications along the valves. A rare case of a perfect heart that had the misfortune of belonging to someone who no longer needed it.  

I turned to the open file on my desk and skimmed through the donor's chart. Professional athlete. Well... no wonder his heart was big and strong. He had worked hard, and his heart had no choice but to physically adapt to keep up with him; otherwise, he wouldn’t have been successful. The rest of his organs—liver, kidneys, even eyes—were in perfect condition, soon to be donated to those in need. His career had been successful, but he had decided to seek adrenaline beyond the field, buying himself a fast motorcycle and ultimately ending up in a fatal accident.  

Sighing, I turned back to the image on the digital table and switched from the donor’s body to the scan of the recipient’s chest cavity. First, I checked his heart, inhaling slowly as I took in the damage. The walls were weak, stretched thin from years of struggling against inevitable failure. The left atrium bulged slightly, like an overfilled balloon threatening to burst. Yeah, he was lucky we got this donor so soon. With a heart in this condition, his time was running out.  

I traced the path the surgeon would take—median sternotomy, pericardial incision, clamping the aorta, excising the dying organ. The donor’s heart would be flushed, cooled, stitched into place, and if everything went as planned—  

My phone buzzed.  

I ignored the device on my desk and tried to continue. In my mind, I imagined standing in the OR, observing the patient’s body with my own eyes. I adjusted the angle, looking into the heart again, I was watching how the light caught the fibrous strands of the chordae tendineae, the delicate tendrils keeping the valves in check.  

The buzzing stopped. Then started again.  

I exhaled sharply and glanced at the screen.  

Theodore.  

I let it ring for two seconds. If he was just bored at home, killing time between drinks, he’d hang up.  

The buzzing continued; Theodore wasn’t just bored. With a sigh, I abandoned the digital frame in front of me, wiped a hand down my face, and answered. “This better be important.”  

“When you come home tomorrow morning, I advise you not to parade around in your tight underwear because we’ll be having company.”  

I could hear the cheery, playful tone in his voice.  

I raised an eyebrow, though he couldn’t see it. “You say that like it’s not the highlight of your mornings.”  

Theo just laughed, low and amused. “Oh, trust me, I’ll miss the show. But unless you want to traumatize our dear guest, I suggest you keep it decent.”  

“Guest,” I repeated sarcastically. My smirk didn’t waver as I imagined yet another of Theodore’s various escapades that he so often called ‘having a guest.’ It didn’t really matter to me, even if it wasn’t just one woman at a time. As long as my room and sleep weren’t interrupted, I didn’t care. Even though I might have been interrupted on purpose once or twice… and I hadn’t really minded.  

“She’s taking the offer,” Theo said, satisfaction thick in his voice.  

I stilled.  

For a moment, all I could hear was the hum of the table ventilator, the faint buzz of the screen still displaying the recipient’s chest cavity. My grip tightened around the phone.  

“I thought she declined?” I murmured questioningly, turning away from the digital table entirely now. God, I was so bad with honest reactions that the best I could do was pretend it was just casual information about woman I didn’t care about. As if Theo wouldn’t know I was nearly peeing my pants right now…

“She called, out of nowhere and asked if the offer was still up.” Theo ignored my usual deflection. “I told you I had a feeling about her. Like she wasn’t entirely serious last week. She might have said no on Sunday, but… her face told me she was thinking about it. She just needed some time.”  

A week. She’d waited almost a week since visiting the apartment. Five days since the hurricane had demolished her house. Which meant she hadn’t wanted to say yes. Maybe not at all. Maybe not right away. Not until I had made sure she knew she was still welcome in our place, despite her initial decline.  

“What changed so suddenly?” I asked, keeping my tone light again, as if it didn’t matter. As if some part of me didn’t secretly know I’d had something to do with it. I hadn’t had time to tell Theo today—my day had been busy, and as soon as I had a free slot in my planner, the transplant team had called about the injured motorcyclist. I knew Theo might have had some suspicions, but he didn’t say anything and probably believed me enough to patiently wait for explanation. And I just hoped… she had mentioned that it was me who gave her the idea. That she wouldn’t have called without slight push from my side. I hoped I could take credit for this one time.  

Because I had called her this morning.  

I hadn’t needed to—I already knew she had the day off. Her redheaded friend had called McGonagall to excuse her, and that old witch had called my OR. My team had given me the unfortunate news as soon as I stepped into the sterile zone, my previous enthusiasm gone. I had hoped to see her in my OR again, and now she wasn’t going to be there. I had gotten a little mad, so I… pretending I didn’t care about anything but the inconvenience her absence had caused, I dialed her number. I needed to know the real reason she wasn’t at work. Was she… with someone?  

What I hadn’t expected was the way she answered, her voice thick with sleep.  

“Mm… hello?”  

It had sent a sharp, involuntary shiver straight to my stomach.  

I could picture her—still tangled in sheets, hair a mess, her face softened with drowsiness. The image stuck in my mind, unwanted but impossible to shake.  

But then I heard the noise. A hammer striking something, the distant scrape of wood against wood. She didn’t seem to mind those sounds, her sleepy voice lingering, her even breathing a definite sign of honest exhaustion rather than some half-assed excuse. And when she spoke again, the sleepiness wasn’t just heavy—it was raw.  

“…Why are you inside my phone?” she croaked, evidently still half lost in her dreams.  

Despite myself—despite everything—I couldn’t let it go. Why was she so exhausted? Where was she right now? Where did she sleep if her house was under loud reconstruction? From what I’d heard, the roof was the most urgent part. Was she staying there—in a dusty, cold house, with broken windows where anyone could enter and harm her?  

I had observed her for years. I had seen her slightly sick at work before. She wasn’t one of the weak ones. If she wasn’t here, it was because she wasn’t in good shape. She needed proper rest. And that wouldn’t be possible in a demolished house.  

I knew she needed help.  

If moving into Theo’s place meant she’d finally sleep in a real bed, in a place where she wouldn’t wake up coughing on debris, then maybe, just maybe, she’d finally start to let her guard down.  

Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something.  

Theo’s voice pulled me back. “She said she’s exhausted. Her room is ruined, and she’s been sleeping on the couch… except it wasn’t much of a sleep, really. She sounded desperate and sad and… oh, Dray, I wanted to offer to come right now. But then she asked if she could move in tonight. Like, this night. In an hour. Would you believe that?”  

I exhaled, a smirk forcing its way onto my face. This was perfect.  

“Not really.”  

“Good, because me neither,” Theo said, and I could hear his grin. “I’m so excited, mate. Now, we can start wooing her.”  

Theodore sounded just as desperate for her proximity as he claimed she was for ours. He was probably jumping around, tidying up the mess we’d made last night with Blaise and Goyle.

I hummed, considering it. “Right here? Just like that? Without me?”  

“Why not?” Theo said smoothly. “She’s exhausted, Draco. She’s finally letting herself accept help. That’s the first step. Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m ordering bouquets of flowers to fill her room. I’ll just… let her stay in her room like a gentleman, suggest a warm bath. Nothing more. I don’t want to push her too soon. We should give her time to settle, let her feel safe first. We can’t have her thinking we’re scheming something—she’d bolt.”  

He wasn’t wrong. Hermione Granger, in her usual state, would rather set herself on fire than accept anything from someone she was wary of. We should be thankful for what we had now—her in our apartment, within reach as much as reasonably possible. But now? Now she was moving into Theo’s house, a space designed for comfort, for indulgence. She’d be surrounded by warmth, by stability—things she clearly hadn’t had for several nights. And that was the most important part… because we both remembered what happened when she wasn’t well-rested before.  

I realized my palms were sweating from the sudden wave of emotions, and I wiped them on my trousers.  

She wouldn’t just be in Theo’s orbit. She’d be in mine, too. When I stepped into the apartment tomorrow, she’d be there—behind the walls, probably still asleep, but… she would be there. And we could make sure she was safe.  

I let my smirk deepen, pushing off the desk. “So, we’ll stick to poetry and late-night philosophical debates over expensive wine?”  

Theo laughed. “So… our usual nightly activities, you mean?”  

I knew enough about that woman to recognize that she didn’t fall for grand gestures—she saw through them too easily. Hermione had to be convinced subtly, gradually. She had to believe it was her idea that anything was developing between us. If we wanted this to work, we had to be honest and natural.  

Lucky for us, expensive wine and good conversations were, indeed, our natural habitat.  

“We’ll handle it,” I assured him simply, though I wasn’t sure whether I was saying it more for his sake or mine.  

“Good.” Theo’s voice was laced with satisfaction. “Then let’s begin.”