Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love

Chapter 3: House Call by Genius Inventor

Draco's eagle owl was given a decent workout in the coming days as Draco and Granger negotiated back and forth on a few of the recommendations that he'd made. She suggested that some of the measures were positively draconian ("pun intended; do forgive me") and tried to push back on them, with an especial focus on the home visit for personalised warding.

Eventually, Draco pulled out his most severe quill, and composed the following:

Granger – Shacklebolt's orders on the warding of the Granger domicile aren't up for negotiation. Do let me know when would be convenient to come by this week for the warding. If you don't, I shall drop by at an inconvenient time by default. - D (for Draconian)

Malfoy – Unsure if you heard my sigh of exasperation from London, so I am recording its occurrence here for your information. I am more than capable of improving the warding on my own property, or of hiring a warding firm. But, if Shacklebolt is insisting on your particular expertise, so be it. See my schedule for options, I have just updated it. N.B.: they are very few; Tuesday evening looks the most promising, but I will be the doctor (Muggle Healer) on call at the local surgery and may have to leave in the middle. - H

Granger – I know what a doctor is. - D

-

So, what did the home of a nationally famous scholar/war heroine/Healer /Champion of Just Causes/Researcher-In-Danger look like?

A modest sort of cottage in Cambridgeshire, as it happened. Three bedrooms, at Draco's best guess. Granger stood at the gate. As he approached from his Apparition point, she waved her wand to allow him to pass whatever preliminary wards she had set up.

"What's wrong with your face?" she asked as Draco neared the gate.

Always to the point, was Granger.

"Bludger," said Draco.

"Oh. It looks bad."

(It probably did, too; Zabini had a mean swing.)

As he neared the gate, Draco saw Granger scrutinising the injury with a well-practised eye. She vacillated for a moment, then, apparently unable to resist Do-Gooding, blurted out, "Do you want me to have a look at it?"

"No. I've already put a salve on," said Draco, brushing his fingers against his slowly bruising jaw.

"That's going to make a lovely hematoma."

"I'm fine. I came here to ward your house, not for a consult."

Granger's mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Are you going to invite me in?" asked Draco, irked by her standing there, watching him with something like concern. Now he felt like some kind of vampire angling for an invitation over the threshold.

"Come in, then," said Granger, a little snappish, pulling the gate open.

Draco saw that she was dressed in another version of the white coat, this time accessorised with a dangling contraption wrapped around her neck.

"You've left your auto-asphyxiation device on," said Draco, pointing to it.

"It's a stethoscope," said Granger, with an unspoken, you cretin, attached to the end of the sentence.

"Right," said Draco, not deigning to request clarification. "Give us a tour and let's crack on."

She brought him through to the cottage's front room, which might've been a living room, except that it was an explosion of books.