A/N: This little story was originally written for the 2014 round of the Dramione LoveFest on LJ. Much thanks to my darling beta krazyredhead0317 and the rest of the small village it took to pull this story together! As always, I own none of the Harry Potter universe.

Draco read the tiny print lining the label of the small blue box, cursed, and read it again:

Do not ingest more than the recommended dose.
In the case of an erection lasting four or more hours, seek medical attention.
Property of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, Inc.

"Bloody fucking hell. Willy!" His son's house-elf appeared in the study with a loud pop, took one look at the ire written across the Malfoy patriarch's face, and popped out of sight again with a frightened squeak.

"Damn it!" He was going to kill that elf. And his son. Not necessarily in that order. Growling under his breath, he reached beneath his desk to again adjust the hard length pressing against the placket of his trousers.

Damn Weasleys and their overly-effective products. Which one was it that ran that godforsaken store? Not that it mattered. He was going to kill them the next time he saw them. And the house elf. And his son.

Two hours and thirty-six excruciating minutes later, Draco Malfoy could be found sitting in a tub of icy water, his curses turning the air blue as he flipped frantically through a dusty medical tome. It was the third such book he had searched and he was having just as much luck as he had with the first two, all of none.

But damned if he was going to 'seek medical attention'. The Malfoy name would never live the scandal down, for there was no doubt in his mind it would turn into a scandal. And it wasn't as if a man could die from an erection.

Scoffing, Draco shut the book with a snap and rose from the bath, wincing as the unabated stiffness between his legs throbbed with every movement. Sleep, he would sleep, and when he woke the damn thing would be gone. It had to be.

The damn thing wasn't gone! Fumbling through the drawer of his nightstand, Draco latched onto the first vial he found and swallowed the pain potion in a single gulp. With a groan, he laid back on his pillows, careful not to move his lower body.

He had tried everything, cold showers, a numbing cream he was fairly certain wasn't intended for this particular use, and even wanking like he was seventeen again. None of it had helped. He was damned well never going to eat toffee again, even if it wasn't a Weasley product.

Lifting his fingers from where they had fallen over his eyes, he peered at the clock, the numbers barely visible in the dark. Just past eleven. That made it…hell, nearly five hours since his…affliction had become apparent. That blasted fluorescent packaging had specified four hours, but surely–

At that moment, a particularly strong tinge pulled in his groin, wringing an unmanly yelp from the prone man. Fucking hell he missed the days when the Malfoy family had a physician on call. He would have to go to St. Mungo's. Rising from his bed and hobbling across the room, Draco barely remembered to grab his cloak before stepping into the fireplace.

The lobby of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was blissfully empty when Draco stumbled from the green flames of the Floo. Apart from an elderly wizard drooling in a chair in the corner, the only occupant of the large room was the purple-haired witch behind the reception desk, who hadn't even bothered to glance up when he had appeared.

The blond wizard made his way gingerly across the room, pulling his cloak more tightly around himself in an effort to disguise both his identity and his affliction. He stepped in front of the desk, only to be summarily ignored as the witch loudly popped her gum, idly flipping the page of Witch Weekly.

"Ahem," Draco cleared his throat, earning a heavy sigh from the receptionist as she tossed the magazine to the side and produced an obscenely lime quill from behind her ear.

"Name?" She asked, sounding as if she would rather be talking to the Giant Squid.

"Malfoy, Draco."

Her eyes flicked briefly upward at his response before returning to the parchment. "Date of birth?"

"5 June, 1980."

"Malady?"

Heat rose in his cheeks. "I just need to see a healer."

"The form requires a malady to be included, Mister Malfoy."

His face flushed further and he pulled his cloak tighter as he mumbled an answer as quietly as he could.

"What was that?"

"Ihaveanerectionthatwon'tgodown," he rushed in a single breath.

He scowled as the witch's brows flew up into her hairline, but she was wise enough to remain silent as she finished filling out the form.

With a quick economy of movement that belied her seeming inefficiency, the witch copied the parchment, shoving one copy into a filing drawer and snapping the other into place on a clipboard before pointing towards the door with her garish quill.

"Down the hall, third door on the left. Healer Johnson will be with you momentarily."

Grateful that he didn't have to divulge any more embarrassing details, Draco nodded his thanks and hastened down the empty corridor, letting free a sigh of relief as he made it to the room without being seen. The fewer people to bear witness to his humiliation, the better off he was.

The exam room itself showed little sign of making his life any better. The small, clinically sterile space offered exactly two seating options, the standard exam table and a chair that looked suspiciously identical to a rickety piece of furniture that had occupied Severus Snape's office. And he damn well wasn't going to ever sit on that again.

Scowling and making a mental note to find a Healer willing to make house calls to the Manor as soon as possible, Draco produced his wand from his pocket, flourishing it at the offensive chair. So distracted was he by the chair's total failure to transfigure that he didn't even register the brief knock at the door until it had opened and a soft, husky voice reprimanded, "Outside magic doesn't work in St. Mungo's, sir."

Draco spun, instinctively raising his wand to defend himself against the unknown threat, only to be met not by someone trying to kill him but by a petite witch clad in lime green robes, only her obscenely curly hair visible over the chart she had her nose buried in.

"I'm Healer Granger. Healer Johnson had an emergency, so I'll be helping you this evening. What seems to be the problem, Mister"–her voice stuttered as she read the name and her shocked eyes flew to meet his equally wide gaze–"Malfoy?"

Silence reigned for a long moment until Draco finally gathered himself enough to speak, though he couldn't keep the incredulity from riddling his tone. "Granger? What the hell are you doing here?"

It had been years since he had seen the woman in front of him. He had seen her name in the papers, of course, but he had spent the majority of the years since his father's sentencing avoiding the wizarding world at large. There was, after all, a large section of the public who wished he had been Kissed along with Lucius.

But now, despite his steady avoidance, he was standing across the room from Hermione Granger. Who was one of the few people who had testified at his trial.

Who was now in charge of his medical care.

Who was going to see his very stubborn erection.

Fuck.

He was torn away from his mental self-castigation by the sound of her voice, easily recognizable now that he'd seen her.

"I'm a Healer, Malfoy." Her tone dripped with the implied'idiot'. "Now what seems to be the problem?"

Shit, not even five minutes into their reacquaintance and he had managed to rile her temper. It was like Hogwarts all over again. Her ire became even more evident as she repeated her question, apparently deciding he had hesitated for too long.

Heat rose in his face, his pale complexion going red as he stammered for an answer. "Isn't there…er, Isn't there anyone else I could... see?"

At that, Hermione visibly bristled, her knuckles whitening as she clutched at his chart. "No, there is not, Malfoy. Now I haven't slept in thirty-three hours, and I have a blister the size of a Sickle on my heel, and I would seriously consider murder if it meant I could take a shower. So either tell me what the problem is, or get out, please."

He was sorely tempted to choose the second option, and likely would have if a sudden lance of pain hadn't rocketed from his groin at that moment, reminding him very clearly why he couldn't leave. Instead he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms across his chest as casually as he could manage under the circumstances, and fought to keep from flushing as he finally answered her question.

"I have an erection that won't go away, Granger."

Her brows flew up and he rushed to justify his concern.

"Well the box said to seek medical attention, and of course it's perfectly ridiculous, but…"

His explanation faded into silence as he took in his healer's face. Her eyebrows had risen so high he feared they would disappear and her lips were pursed in a manner that was eerily reminiscent of one Minerva McGonagall. It was the sparkle glittering in her wide amber eyes that finally clued him in. The blasted witch was laughing at him! His balls were about to fall off and she was laughing.

He damned well wasn't going to sit around and suffer as some sick form of entertainment.

Like you used to do to her? A distant voice echoed in his mind.

He winced internally at the thought but his glare didn't lessen.

Annoyed, he was on the verge of storming out; he would Floo to Paris to find another Healer if he had to! Before he could move though, the witch finally spoke again, her expression suddenly smoothly professional, although he would swear there was still a gleam in her eye. "That certainly sounds uncomfortable, Mister Malfoy, but I'm sure we can do something to help you. Now, I'll need to know what your product of choice is?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your erectile dysfunction product, Malfoy. What are you taking?"

He sputtered in indignation. "I don't have one!"

Hermione glanced up from where she had been scribbling on his chart. "It's perfectly normal for men to have a little trouble. I'm sure a married man such as yourself–"

"Widower," he interrupted her painful attempt at soothing his ego.

"Pardon?"

"Widower. My wife died three years ago."

The sympathy in her expression was surprisingly sincere, but then Granger had always been a bleeding heart.

"I'm sorry, Draco, I hadn't heard. Astoria…she was lovely."

"Yes, well." He shifted uncomfortably. "She's actually, I suppose, the reason I'm here."

Surprise flashed in her eyes. "Your dead wife gave you priapism?"

"Not her directly! It was my son."

Shock widened her eyes and he rushed on with his explanation before she called the authorities on him.

"Scorpius has apparently decided that I should start seeing women again. He's at the age where everything is about girls, you understand. Anyhow, he managed to swap the candies in my office with something from the Weasley's joke shop and well…" He gestured helplessly downward at himself.

This time Granger didn't even bother trying to mask her amusement; her lips curving upwards as she made a note on the chart. "Exactly how many of your precious sweeties did you manage to eat before you realized something was wrong?"

Draco sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face in an effort to clear his mind. "I don't know, four... maybe five. I was busy!" He added defensively as her brow quirked upwards.

"Clearly. And how long have you been exhibiting symptoms?"

He checked his watch briefly and winced as he did the math. "Six hours or so."

"Merlin, and you're just now coming in? I'll get you something for the pain as soon as I can, as I'm sure you need it."

Draco grimaced and gave a brief nod.

"Alright then, I'm going to step out for a moment. If you'll just change into this gown, then we'll see what we can do for you." It seemed the witch had recovered from her earlier shock; she was, by all appearances, the epitome of professionalism as she produced a thin blue gown from a cabinet and slipped quietly out of the room.

Not that her suddenly-regained professionalism made a difference. He had seen those gowns before, they hardly covered enough to be considered clothing let alone enough for him to be comfortable in Hermione Granger's presence.

With a resigned sigh, Draco discarded his cloak and began removing his clothing as gingerly as possible. He had just finished tying the strings, valiantly attempting to keep the back of the gown closed, when there was a brief knock at the examination room's door. At his acknowledgement, it again swung open, admitting his Healer.

"Right then, you ready? Up on the table, please."

Her manner was briskly impersonal, almost distracted—something he would have been immensely grateful for had he not spied what she carried.

"Merlin, Granger, what the hell is that?"

"Hmm? Oh, it's a needle. Most people recognize them."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I know it's a needle! But what the hell is it doing here?" He wasn't much of one for needles to begin with—utterly barbaric things!—but that was certainly no ordinary needle. The bloody thing was the length of his forearm!

Hermione glanced up briefly from where she was laying instruments out on the counter, her expression far too stoic to put his suspicions at ease. "Would you rather tp never be able to use your fiddlestick again? Because I can take the needle away, if you'd like."

Draco flushed at her words, as they were an unfortunate reminder of a round of fifth-year bragging she'd once overheard him making in regards to his penis size. Talk about words coming back to haunt!

"For Circe's sake, Granger, where the hell are you planning to put that needle?"

Completely ignoring his question, his malapropos Healer turned back to face him, a small vial in hand. "I've brought a mild sedative, most patients prefer it for this procedure, thought it's really not necessary. It's really fairly simple: just a little prick with the needle and I'll draw the excess fluid from the organ, and then hopefully your problem will be resolved."

Draco could feel the colour leech from his cheeks at her nonchalant explanation. Then she removed the cap from the torture device she intended to use upon him... and suddenly everything went black.

"Draco, Draco, can you hear me? Malfoy, for Merlin's sake, wake up!"

Draco groaned as the strident voice interrupted the most pleasant of dreams , a rather vivid one involving an anonymous, curly-haired witch riding him like there was no tomorrow.

"Draco!"

A sharp, pungent odour wafted beneath his nose, jerking him firmly back into the land of the living. "Wha–...?" he blinked, trying to focus on the blurry figure hovering about him. "What the hell happened?"

Concern was evident in Hermione's eyes for a moment, and then gone again as she straightened. "You fainted, Malfoy."

"What?" He sputtered as he propped himself up on his elbows. "Malfoy men don't faint, Granger!"

His Healer raised a brow as she brusquely grabbed his wrist, counting his pulse. "You were conscious, and then you weren't. We call that 'fainting', Malfoy. Are you feeling light-headed at all?"

"So, I blacked out. That has to be common enough when sedatives are involved."

"Would you rather I say you swooned?"

"Oh, fuck off, Granger."

A snort of laughter sounded from the witch, quickly devolving into...was she giggling? His gaze narrowed, glaring at the insufferable witch. How dare she!

"I'm sorry!" Hermione gasped between laughing breaths. "I'm not laughing at you. It's just–" Another gasping laugh. "–you can't tell me this isn't the most ridiculous thing! I mean honestly, how does it even happen, you being here on tonight of all nights, and withthat?"

She dissolved again into giggles, looking so undeniably gleeful that Draco couldn't keep his lips from quirking upwards in sympathy. Then a snicker escaped, and next thing he knew, he was laughing along with the insane witch. She was right, as usual. The whole thing was just so damn ridiculous.

Their shared mirth was edging dangerously near hysteria when they were suddenly interrupted by a knock at the door. The pair sobered abruptly, Hermione taking several gasping breaths in an effort to compose her features before opening the door. "Yes, Peter?" she asked the uncomfortable-looking orderly who stood on the other side of the portal.

"A George Weasley has left a message for you, Healer Granger," he said, producing a folded piece of turquoise parchment from his pocket.

The witch's expression brightened and she snatched the missive from his hand, blurting an excited, "thank you!" before shutting the door firmly in his face. She hadn't even turned back to the room before she had opened the message and was scanning it intently. She read silently for several long moments, Draco watching with a sense of anxious trepidation as her expression flickered through a gamut of emotions. "Hmph," she finally remarked, looking up at him. "I don't suppose you know which candy you had, the Honey Hard-ons or the Toffee Todgers?"

Draco flushed. "I... If I recall, it tasted like a toffee."

Hermione beamed. "Oh, good then. I'll just have George send his antidote over, and we'll be set."

"What?" Draco burst as he leapt to his feet. "You mean to tell me there's a damn antidote, and you were just going to stab me with a needle for... for fun?"

"Oh, calm down, Draco," she soothed as she folded the paper and stashed it in one of her myriad pockets. "It's the middle of the night. I honestly didn't expect him to answer. And I can promise you, things would not have gone well for you if we had waited until morning."

Draco just stared in disbelief. Circe's blood, she was a sadistic witch!

"And anyway," Hermione carried on, "I imagine it will be quite a while before we hear back from him. Now, I don't know about you, but I would positively murder for a cup of tea. I don't suppose you'd like to venture to the cafeteria with me in desperate hopes they have something that's more than lukewarm?"

Draco blinked, continuing to stare at the witch, who he could only surmise had gone out of her bloody mind, until she turned to face him.

"Draco?" she prompted. "Tea?"

He jumped, jolted from his inexplicable reverie. "Tea," he muttered to himself. "The batty witch wants tea."

And then aloud, "If you insist, Granger."

"Willy said you wanted to see me, father?"

Draco glanced up from his papers, peering over the rim of his reading glasses to gaze intently at his son. "Yes, come in, Scorpius, and please take a seat."

He then bent back to his work, watching from the corner of his eye as his heir made his way across the study, his nervousness belied only when he took his seat on the very edge of the offered chair. The elder Malfoy let several long moments pass by, until the boy was shifting uncomfortable in his seat. It was only then that he set his quill down, took his glasses off, and looked his son directly in the eye. "I discovered the most interesting thing last week, Scorpius," he remarked, his tone surprisingly even.

Scorpius paled slightly, a change that would be unnoticeable to all but those who knew him best. Draco couldn't help but admire his son's composure; many a lesser man had been reduced to a quivering mess in front of his desk. Instead, the boy finally relaxed back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest in a show of feigned nonchalance.

"Is that so, father?"

Draco quirked a brow at the thinly veiled sarcasm in the younger man's tone. "So, it's true then. You're seeing one of the Weasley spawn."

At this, his son snorted. "I'd avoid calling Rose that to her face, if I were you," he warned. "She's got a nasty bit of a temper." This last bit was stated with unmistakable pride.

Draco leaned back, mirroring his son's casual pose. Silence reigned for a long moment before Draco finally cursed. "Damn it, you actually like the witch, don't you?" It was obvious just from the look on his face that the boy was smitten. "It just had to be a bloody Gryffindor, didn't it?"

At this, it was Scorpius's turn to arch a brow. "I'm not sure if you remember in your dotage, father, but you married one of those 'bloody Gryffindors'."

Draco scowled. "Forty-eight isn't that fucking old," he muttered under his breath, and then louder, "and that situation was entirely your bloody fault, too!"

Scorpius burst out laughing. "Yes, and you should be thanking me every day for it." He stood and reached across the desk, clasping Draco's shoulder. "You adore Hermione, and the entire wizarding world knows it." With that, he turned and strolled out of the room. Right before he left, he tossed a parting shot over his shoulder. "Oh, and I'm not just seeing Rose, father. I'm going to marry that girl!"

Then he was gone, leaving Draco staring after him.

"Was that Scorpius I just saw running out?" his wife's voice echoed from the hall, right before she appeared in the doorway. "He looked awfully cheerful for looking so exhausted recently."

A wry smile twisted Draco's lips as he looked at his new wife, still clad in those awful green robes. "He has good reason to be."

His son did, after all, have a point, and he really couldn't blame the boy for losing sleep chasing down his Gryffindor sweetheart.