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2021-04-01
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2021-11-30
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Adrift

Summary:

Life is closing in on all sides and Draco Malfoy is drowning in expectations. Something has to give. A chance encounter with Hermione Granger infuses his life with something new―but she doesn’t even remember her own name.

Notes:

Author's Note: Hi everyone! Welcome to Adrift, a new novel-length Dramione story. I've been working on this one for a few months now and I'm stoked to share! Updates will be weekly-ish. I hope you enjoy!

Cover art credit to the amazingly talented Jaxxinabox. Much love and many hugs to my ride or die alpha, Kyonomiko, and my wonderful beta, FaeOrabel. Thanks for all your help and encouragement, friendos!

The lovely Arya_Fenix is translating Adrift into Russian.

Please mind the tags.

Disclaimer: This story is fan-created content and I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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

Chapter Text


 

Here stands a man
At the bottom of a hole he's made
Still sweating from the rush
His body tense
His hands, they shake
Oh this, this is a mad boy

The War - SYML


"You just sacrificed the lives of three Aurors." Emerald green eyes tightened; taunting, malicious.

Unimpressed, Draco Malfoy pursed his lips. "It was a simulation. You don't need to be so dramatic."

Potter rolled his eyes and released a long, drawn-out sigh that made Draco bristle. "Simulation or not, had you been in the field, your inattentiveness would have cost the lives of your team. The first rule is to always watch every angle. But go ahead, be flippant about it."

"I'm not flippant." Irritation flooded his being, and Draco paced the small space. "It was a bloody mistake. One that I won't make again." He stretched his palm, soothing the stiff muscles of his wand hand after the steady onslaught of wandfire into which he'd been drawn. His lip curled with distaste. "Or am I not here to learn?"

"You are here," Potter ground out, "because you should be further along than this. I don't know why Robards thought you were ready for this phase of training yet. This is a waste of both of our time."

Draco holstered his wand, pressing his fingers into the inside corners of his eyes. He could feel a vicious headache coming on, the second in twice as many days. "Then why don't you throw my training off on someone else. Obviously, you don't want to work with me―and it's mutual, by the way."

Releasing a long sigh, Potter folded his arms. "Look, it is what it is. Robards asked me to work with you on your spellwork because, as of now, you aren't ready for the field, and no matter what else, you'll never pass training otherwise." He dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head slowly. "Let's call it a day and come back to this tomorrow, alright?"

Although Draco wanted to press onward and try again, tensions had been running high between them for hours. The last thing he needed was for Potter to give up on him, because if it came down to his word against Draco's, he knew exactly who Robards would listen to.

Despite having spent nearly two years in Auror training, most of the department still didn't trust him. But the road to the full badge and robes was a long one, and he still had at least another year of training. If everything went well—and if he wasn't so bloody discouraged all the time—Draco was certain he wouldn't continue to fumble such simple spellcasting.

The worst of it was that Potter was right. Although Draco had scored impeccably on the theory and written exams, none of that mattered in the heat of the moment out in the field.

Working his jaw, he finally nodded. "Fine. Tomorrow, then."

Potter's face softened a bit. "Get some rest. We'll figure this out, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Failure stung―it always had. And even more so now than ever, when Draco had everything to lose. When he decided to enrol in Auror training, he'd already known he'd be at a disadvantage to his classmates who had applied to the DMLE immediately after Hogwarts. Never mind the fact that his intentions and efforts had consistently been called into question by both his peers and his superiors.

When he'd been assigned to train in fieldwork with Harry Potter―four years ahead of him in the program, but he'd excelled in every aspect―Draco felt as though his worst nightmare had come to life.

Even now, they rarely got along. But over the past few months, they'd developed a sort of begrudging camaraderie. Mostly.

There were days when Draco thought they still might throttle one another.

More often than not, he wondered whether he ought to simply walk away. A former Death Eater acquitted by sheer dumb luck, he didn't belong in the slightest—not in the DMLE, not in the wider Ministry, and certainly not, according to the stares, in the wizarding world as a whole.

But still... it was those same deficiencies that pushed him beyond his limits every day.

Some innate drive to make a difference. To prove that he was more than the decisions he made as a teenager; more than a meagre shadow of his father.

Returning to the Auror offices, Draco hung up his robes, grabbed his satchel from his desk, and studiously ignored the stares of the other trainees. Then he slung the pack over his shoulder and made for the atrium. He emerged onto Whitehall, feeling his stomach curdle at the early dismissal.

Overhead, the sun shone as though mocking him. He slipped a pair of dark glasses onto the bridge of his nose and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets as he walked down the road.

The last place he cared to go at the moment was his small flat, its white walls closing in on him increasingly day by day.

He could feel his goal slipping from his grasp like grains of sand; it had begun slowly at first, and now the grains slid with abandon, falling to the floor before him. It was the only thing he had cared about in years—this need to prove himself as something more than he was.

Draco wrenched a hand through his hair, despair and disappointment co-mingling as one in his veins.

Ducking into the nearest Apparition point, he Apparated across London. Pacing down the pavement, he hesitated outside of a small Muggle cafe that looked respectable enough. He usually kept a few Muggle notes on him, and he could use something to steady his nerves, so he slipped in the front door.

A chime sounded over the door as he entered. The place was small but tidy; only a handful of patrons lingered in the middle of the afternoon.

A teenage barista at the counter fixed him with an expectant stare.

"A pot of your finest Darjeeling, please," he muttered, throwing a few notes on the counter.

The girl pursed her lips and spoke in a thick Northern accent. "We've only got the one."

"The one will do," Draco clipped, leaving his change behind as he selected a booth by the window; he hated carrying Muggle coins. Several minutes later, the girl delivered a pot, and he nodded in acquiescence before pouring himself a cup of black tea.

Stewing in his own melancholy and fixating on a plate of sugar cubes atop the finely crocheted tablecloth, he sipped his tea.

One by one, he placed several of the cubes in a row, then stacked one fewer atop them until he'd constructed a pyramid of sugar.

He poured another cup.

By the time he finished his second, the tea in the pot was over-steeped and lukewarm, and he didn't even know how long he'd been sitting there. He debated ordering another pot, at last glancing up from his sulk.

And froze.

Another barista stood with the first behind the counter, her face remarkably familiar, and Draco looked harder. It took him a moment; it had been a few years since he'd last seen her, and her hair was different than he remembered.

He'd recognised her, thrown at his feet on the floor of his ancestral home, and he recognised her still.

But Hermione Granger had been presumed dead years ago.

Instinctively, his hand shifted towards his wand before remembering himself, and he merely sank a little deeper into the booth, eyeing her from across the shop. He could scarcely remember the articles, and he hadn't been with the DMLE yet so he hadn't ever seen the reports. From what he could remember, she had left London shortly after their eighth year ended, and no one had ever seen or heard from her again.

So what was she doing working in a tea parlour in Muggle London?

Surely he ought to report he'd seen her. Or at the very least, mention it to Potter. Unless Granger had her reasons―and if she wanted to reach out to her friends, that was her prerogative to do so.

He took a long sip of tea, nose wrinkling with distaste as the water grew colder.

It had to be Granger. The rich brown curls were tamer and a little more controlled, and she wore a fringe across her brow, but her face was unmistakable.

The last thing he needed was a run-in with Granger, and he decided against the second pot.

Grabbing his satchel, he slid towards the edge of the booth, casting another furtive glance her way, when her gaze slid over to him and their eyes locked.

A banal smile pulled at the corners of her lips; the polite smile of customer service. No surprise flitted across her face. Not the slightest hint of recognition. And surely, if Draco had recognised her after a handful of years, she must have done the same.

He waited on the edge of the bench, heart racing and mind whirring, and before he could decide if he was going or staying, she walked over.

"Hi there," Granger said mildly, eyeing his teapot. "Would you care for some more tea?"

It had to be a lark.

His fingers loosened from the strap of his bag, and he narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Granger blinked, startled, and offered a bit of an uneasy chuckle. "I work here, sir. Can I get you anything?"

For a long moment, he eyed her with caution, sinking back into his seat. "Sure. The Darjeeling."

"Coming right up." She flashed him a grin, her teeth straight and white, and collected the empty pot. A breath caught, frozen, in his throat as she walked towards the counter and vanished behind an adjoining wall.

Draco huffed a sharp exhale, dropping his head back against the booth.

There was absolutely no rational explanation for why she had completely disregarded who he was. Maybe she knew he'd been working with Potter and had given up on the old grudge that had once existed between them.

A minute later she returned, setting the new teapot down carefully. Her eyes lingered for a moment on his pyramid of sugar cubes, another just-below-sincere smile pulling at her lips before she planted a slice of pie in front of him.

Draco's eyes slid towards her.

"The pie's on the house," she said, her voice bright and cheery. "Something tells me you could use it."

He cleared his throat, attempting to remove the thick lump lodged in his trachea. "Is this apple?"

"It's today's special."

Scrubbing at his face, he blew out a breath. "Alright. Thank you. I can pay you for this―"

"Nonsense." Another of those vaguely friendly smiles crossed her face and irritation flared within him. It was one thing to make an effort at civility, but to completely act as though they didn't know one another at all felt like an insult. She began to walk away before turning back for a moment. "Whatever's got you down, I'm sure it's about to get better. Just you wait."

Draco gaped after her as she retreated towards the counter again.

The last thing he needed was greeting card wisdom from Hermione bloody Granger.

But the encounter had left him unsettled, as though he were missing something. And one thing he had always been able to rely on was his instinct.

As he poured a fresh cup of tea, he eyed her from across the shop. The way she interacted with the other patrons; how she went about cleaning the vacated tables with a practised surety. As she gossiped and tittered with the other girl on the shift.

Draco couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. Because surely Granger wouldn't have settled into a job as a barista in Muggle London; she'd been the most promising wielder in their entire class. None of it made any sense, not least of all the fact that she appeared to have virtually no memory of him.

He sheared a bite from his pie with the edge of his fork, chewing a careful mouthful, and her eyes landed on him again. Quickly, he glanced away, but she'd already begun walking over.

"How's the pie?"

Draco forced a thick swallow. "It's great, thanks." He took a sip of his tea before drawing a deep breath. "So are you just―you know, ignoring me or something?"

Her brows jumped up, mouth parting. "I'm so sorry―do you need something? More sugar, perhaps?"

They both knew he'd wasted the sugar that had already been on the table.

A furrow knitted his own brow as he leaned forward and dropped his voice. "I don't mean the bloody sugar. I mean me."

She sucked in a breath as though taken aback. "Have I done something to upset you?"

Draco simply took another long sip of his tea, shaking his head.

"Perhaps you have me mistaken for someone," she offered, edging back from the booth; alarm flitted through her eyes, and Draco sank back into his seat, raising his hands in supplication. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

He dragged a hand through his hair, mussing it further. "Come on, Granger."

"I'm not quite certain," she breathed, "who you think I am, but that isn't my name." She offered a thin smile that didn't quite live up to the ones from before. "My name is Melody."

His heart plummeted into his stomach, shallow breaths slipping from his lungs. "Melody."

"Right." Her smile brightened a little as she nodded. "Perhaps this is all just a mix-up."

"A mix-up," Draco echoed, alarm bells flaring in the back of his mind. "Of course. My apologies, Melody. You just... you look like someone I used to know. My mistake."

His gaze drew slowly to her forearm nearest him. He could see the faint pink lines of scarring on the inside of her arm, carved there by his sadistic aunt.

His brain darted from one possibility to the next with frightening speed as he took another sip of tea. "Pleasure to meet you, Melody. The pie was excellent."

For the first time, the smile she offered him looked a little less posed and a bit more genuine. Never before had he seen her look at him like that. But apparently, the woman before him didn't remember him at all.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said at last. She took a step back, then another, but before she turned around, she added, "I meant it―I have a feeling that something good is coming your way."

Draco ground his jaw, forcing a thin smile in return. "I appreciate the confidence. Enjoy the rest of your day, Melody."

"You too."

The headache from earlier crept back in, insidious and haunting all at once; a dull, insistent throb behind his temples. He finished the last of his tea, grabbed his bag, and threw another paper note on the table.

Draco couldn't get home fast enough.

Chapter 2

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco had scarcely been able to dredge forth an ounce of focus in the days since he had stumbled across Hermione Granger in Muggle London.

It had taken him the rest of the week to finally pass that particular magical training simulation without losing any additional Aurors from his team―and even then, he'd only managed a satisfactory grade. He could see the strain in Potter's face as he failed steadily, but to his credit, he didn't berate Draco for his mediocre efforts as he had done the first time.

And Draco knew the trials would only grow increasingly difficult. He needed to improve upon his reaction time or intuition―or both―if he ever expected to be fully qualified as an Auror.

The idea threatened to discourage him still further, but at the least, Potter hadn't yet given up on their training.

More than once, Draco had opened his mouth to tell the man he'd run across Granger. But each time, something stayed his tongue. Whether it was some misguided sense of propriety or a niggling fear that something else was afoot―and maybe it wasn't Granger after all―he couldn't say.

Still, the conversation they'd had skulked in the back of his mind for days.

After the simulation concluded, Potter looked at him, a little out of breath. "That's adequate for now. Good work today, Malfoy."

Praise or encouragement of any sort was a rarity, and Draco felt a grin split his face. "Thank fucking Merlin."

Potter gave a bit of a chuckle. "I'm on assignment this afternoon, but I'm sure you can find something to do in the office. Sorting files or something. Robards appreciates initiative around that sort of thing."

Although the idea of organising the ubiquitous chaos in the file room held no appeal whatsoever, Draco appreciated the offering for what it was. "Right. Suppose I can do that."

An hour later, Draco blew out a breath as he gazed upon towers of boxes, the tall filing cabinets covering every wall, and he almost instantly regretted agreeing to such a thing. He had never been keen on the idea of manual labour―but for years, he had gone out of his way to do things his younger self would have scoffed at.

As his eyes slid towards the filing cabinets, he glanced back at the door. Aurors regularly bustled in and out but rarely did they ask questions.

Slipping his hands into his trouser pockets, Draco edged along the wall, his eyes scanning the contents until he arrived at the cabinet for 'G'.

Surely, there was something in her file that might prove informative or useful. He flicked through row after row of bland, beige files until at last, he noted one that read GRANGER, Hermione.

With another furtive glance towards the door, he drew the file and settled at a table nearby.

The word Unsolved had been stamped on the front, along with another overlaid: Cold.

The Aurors assigned to her case had never solved the matter of her disappearance and had eventually run out of leads. Draco's stomach churned at the thought, and the warmth of her smile flitted through the back of his mind. He simply couldn't imagine anyone giving up the hunt of such a notable figure in society―especially when Harry Potter had been one of her closest friends.

So what, then, was she doing in Muggle London?

She obviously went by an alias, which lent credence to the idea of her simply vanishing into Muggle society. But something must have come up.

He skimmed her files, keeping half an eye on the door in the event anyone slipped in to see him investigating when he was meant to be organising. It wasn't against the rules to look into old cases; he simply didn't want to draw any questions just yet.

The file contained several things of little importance; records of her introduction into the wizarding world, her OWL and NEWT scores, and school awards. She had been top of their class every year aside from seventh when she had been absent, although Draco already knew that much. But his attention stalled on the details of the investigation following her appearance.

She had ordered and taken an international Portkey to Brisbane, Australia shortly after their eighth year ended and hadn't even settled anywhere in the interim as far as he could tell. The return Portkey two weeks later had materialised without a passenger. Several days later, the investigation had been launched, and, despite numerous leads, nothing had come of it. The case had quickly gone cold.

The next page contained sworn affidavits from her friends, including Potter.

Apparently, her parents had been in Brisbane, and she had gone there to visit them—to reverse some sort of memory restriction spell she'd cast on them during the war.

The thought stuck in the back of Draco's mind.

There was no record of anything else connected to her parents after the war. Richard and Jean Granger, both dentists, had met while studying at Newcastle. Married shortly out of school, they'd raised one daughter and kept a joint practice in London until the summer of 1997 when they simply closed the doors and walked away.

Studying her parents and her personal history felt oddly intimate. An intrusion of her privacy, despite that Draco knew little about her to begin with and owed her virtually nothing. Most everything within the file was certainly information within the public domain, aside from the sparse details about her case.

Still, he couldn't shake the way she had spoken to him.

As though theirs wasn't an ugly and tumultuous past. The way he had once treated her roiled within the pit of his being, and unease tugged at the back of his mind to read how her case had ultimately been put aside in favour of more urgent matters. Idly, Draco wondered how Potter had stood to let her go when the pair of them had been so close.

Whether the memory of her still haunted Potter's thoughts.

Draco ought to tell him about what he had discovered.

But something coursed through the situation on a deeper level―he could feel it in his soul, and every instinct within him roared to look further. Nothing about the matter made sense, and he was hesitant to involve anyone else until he understood more.

He may not have been a fully qualified Auror yet, but he knew enough to play with the idea of an investigation of sorts.

Dissatisfied with the contents of her file, Draco flipped through the last few pages. Medical records, both magical and Muggle, as well as a few other extraneous registries. A letter of application to the Ministry she had sent in caught his eye, but he didn't care to infringe on her privacy by reading it.

The letter suggested she had intended to return, and he wondered again what had gone wrong. Nothing had been recovered from her disappearance, and Draco couldn't help but wonder about that either. He assumed she'd had her wand, at the very least.

If she had taken a one way trip to Australia, her memory intact, what the hell had happened between then and now?

Stowing the file back into its place, he glanced at his watch with a grimace.


"You're back!"

Draco glanced up from his newspaper, jolting with surprise to see Granger standing beside his table. Carefully schooling his expression, he lifted a hand. "What can I say? The pie was just too good."

She had tied her hair into a curly ponytail at the back of her head today, her fringe framing her face nicely.

A secretive smile curled her lips. "Then I'm sorry to be the one to tell you it isn't apple today. It's blackberry―but, personally, I prefer it."

"I'll trust your judgement."

"Okay." Biting down on her bottom lip, she eyed him for a moment. "Do you like ice cream?"

Draco nodded solemnly. "I am pro-ice cream."

Another smile tugged at her lips before she walked away, and as an idle moment passed, Draco tried to recall her ever smiling so much. Certainly not towards him, and definitely not during the war. A few minutes later, she returned with a slice of pie and a large scoop of vanilla ice cream perched atop.

"This looks fantastic," he mused, rolling his head along the back of the bench to face her. "Thank you, Melody."

He searched her expression for anything―any hesitation, any hint of something―but she only nodded. "Enjoy. If you need anything else, just let me know."

Slicing off a bite of his pie, Draco settled back to observe.

Like the last time, she went about her duties with casual ease, as though well familiarised with them. He wondered how long she had worked at the cafe. According to the files, it had been nearly five years since she had gone to Brisbane, Australia. And that was the last recorded mention of her whereabouts.

He blew out a breath, deep in thought.

Shortly after he finished his pie, sipping his tea in silence, she returned. "And? How was the blackberry?"

"Impeccable."

He didn't have the heart to tell her nothing would ever surpass a warm slice of apple pie in his measure.

But her eyes lit up. "Excellent. Do you need a fresh pot?"

"Not quite yet, thank you." He eyed her for a moment, setting the cup down on its saucer while he collected his thoughts. "You know, I just can't quite figure out why it is that you look familiar. Where did you go to school?"

Although she looked briefly taken aback, she offered a smile. "Here in London. May I?" She gestured towards the other side of the booth. Draco nodded, taking another sip of tea, and she slipped onto the edge of the seat. "I only work here part-time to cover expenses. I'm studying at Queen Mary―perhaps that's where you've seen me?"

Draco hummed with a grimace. "I haven't been there, no. What are you studying?"

"I'm a history major." She gave a bit of a self-deprecating titter. "I know; who wants to study old things, right?"

"I always enjoyed history myself," he returned. Or he had, in his personal studies. Binns' class had been a notorious bore, but Draco's life had been steeped in magical history and culture long before Hogwarts.

But she beamed at him. "If that isn't it, I'm afraid I can't say. Maybe I simply have one of those recognisable faces? It's a thing, apparently." Shaking her head, she laughed a little. "Are you a student as well?"

"Sort of." Draco took another mouthful of tea, buying himself a moment. "I'm training in law enforcement."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "That's fascinating. With the Met?"

"The what?"

Her face faltered a little, smile dropping off. "The Metropolitan Police?"

Draco's heart clenched, a breath stalling in his throat, and he forced a bit of a chuckle. "I was only testing you."

Granger stared at him a moment longer, her lips slightly parted before she released a laugh. "Oh, right. Of course." A smile crossed her face again. "You got me."

A smirk dragged at his lips. "You were right, by the way." She tilted her head in bemusement. "After the last time we saw one another. When you said whatever had me down would get better. You were right."

Her eyes brightened. "Wonderful news! I'm glad to hear it."

"Right," Draco drawled, watching her face closely. "It's almost as though it were magic."

Another polite smile softened her face, but she only shook her head. "Now that's silly. You and I both know magic isn't real." She rose from the booth once more. "But there's never any harm in putting a little goodwill out into the universe, is there?"

He cleared his throat. "I suppose not."

Granger still eyed him, something akin to hesitation beneath her stare, and he wondered when she would tire of his tests. She propped one hand on the back of the bench; his eyes darted to the scarred flesh on her forearm, but he didn't dare bring that up.

"I ought to get back to work," she said, "but you still haven't told me your name."

"It's Draco."

"Draco," she mused, the word rolling from her tongue with a casual grace that made his insides tighten. Her head tilted, eyes drifting upwards. "The Dragon. Associated with the Draconids, the brightest star is known as Etamin, and the Greek myth is based on the dragon Ladon who guarded the golden apples of the Hesperides."

He gaped at her, his mouth going dry. If he had still harboured any doubts whatsoever that the woman before him was Hermione Granger, she had just obliterated every single one.

But she tittered, shaking her head. "I apologise. I suppose I have a bit of a casual interest in astronomy."

"Sweet Merlin," he choked under his breath. Clearing his throat, he offered her a grin. "Very casual, I see. I suppose you could say my family was also interested in astronomy―constellations, mostly. It's a bit of an old-fashioned tradition."

"I think it's fascinating."

Swallowing his nerves, he pressed on. "And you? Did your parents have an interest in music, then?"

The warmth fell from her face with almost startling haste. Her brown eyes lingered on his for just a moment before she glanced away. "I don't actually know. I suppose they must have."

"You never knew them to show an interest, or―"

"I really should get back to work." She plastered a false smile back onto her lips that had nothing on the radiance of the real one. "I hope you enjoy your tea. Let me know if you need more sugar or anything."

The small plate of sugar cubes sat untouched beside the window.

"Thank you, Melody."

With a stiff nod, she collected his empty plate and retreated, and Draco eyed her as she returned to the counter. He blew out a long breath and murmured to himself, "This should be interesting."


"You haven't heard a fucking word I've said, have you?" Theo Nott cocked a brow, fixing Draco with a stare.

"Sure I have." He took a swig of ale. "Your father's an arse who's decided to make you get a job."

Clicking his tongue, Theo shook his head. "Honestly, how does the man still manage to be such a prick from inside Azkaban? You'd think he'd have bigger things to worry about than what I do with my spare time."

"To be fair"―Draco brandished a hand―"don't you get bored?"

"Not at all." Theo finished the last of his pint and waved at the server for another round. "I have plenty to fill my days, and my father just doesn't understand because he thinks I'm lazy."

"Aren't you?"

"No."

"Speaking of fathers in Azkaban," Draco mused, "Mother's been trying to persuade me to visit again. She doesn't bloody get it." He dragged a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "I've severed ties for a reason. Not least of all the fact that I'm training to become a fucking Auror."

Theo slumped in his seat, a commiserating smirk pulling at his lips. "Least you can tell your father to go to Hell."

"So could you," Draco reminded him. When Theo only rolled his eyes, Draco ducked in across the table. "You could. He's in on a lifetime sentence; you could challenge his claim to the house seat and take it for yourself, and then you wouldn't need to worry about a thing the bastard does ever again."

For years, Theo's father had terrorised him to the point where his friend was afraid to make any sudden movements.

The waitress delivered a fresh round of drinks, and Theo scrunched up the bridge of his nose before taking a deep pull. "I suppose I'll give it some thought."

Draco leaned back, recognising the dismissal of the subject. He only took a sip of his drink, gazing around.

"So what's got you so distracted?" Theo asked. "I haven't seen you this fidgety since Hogwarts."

Draco clicked his tongue, gazing at the ring of condensation his mug had left on the lacquered wood. "Have you ever known something and you wanted to tell people, but you didn't know how to bring it up nor how they would take it? Or if it was even a good idea to share at all, and then it started eating at you."

Theo lifted one brow absurdly high. "Is this a comment on my sexuality?"

"What? No. Of course not." Draco scowled at him. "You know I don't care if you're into blokes."

"Fine. Well, as it turns out, I can relate." Fixing Draco with a hard stare, he remained silent for a long moment. "I guess you have to ask yourself whether it's worth the discomfort of sharing or if the nature of the sharing will have negative consequences for anyone else either way. Furthermore, is it your secret to share?"

"And what if that's a grey area?"

Although Theo released a long sigh, he only shook his head. "If this is work-related, Draco, you probably shouldn't be talking to me about it. If it's a grey area, I recommend you try and put yourself in the shoes of anyone else involved. If in the course of making yourself feel better, you damage someone else... well, that isn't really a good idea, is it?"

Draco gazed at the ceiling for a long moment. "Okay, one more postulation. If the involved parties aren't aware of the hurt involved, but revealing the truth could either bring healing or hardship, is it worth the risk?"

"It's like that cat." Theo waved a hand several times as though trying to remember. "The cat in the box. You know the one."

Draco's lips curled wryly. "Schroedinger's cat."

Theo snapped his fingers. "Right. The paradox asks if it's dead or alive in there. No one knows until they open the box, so for the time being, it could be considered both."

Although his smile remained, Draco shook his head. "That helps me exactly zero."

"That's my quota of advice anyway." Theo took another long swig of ale. "You should know better than to ask me about these things, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Whatever it is," Theo added, dropping his voice. "I'm sure you'll eventually make the right decision."

It was nice to know Theo had faith in him, even if Draco didn't have any in himself. He'd made too many wrong decisions in life, and he didn't know what sort of chaos he could unleash if he didn't give this situation enough adequate thought. He would have to return to his research for now and see where that path led.

He had a couple more leads to follow before he would need to make any concrete determinations, and if it came down to it, he could always bring the matter up with Potter.

Belated, he quipped, "Thanks, mate."

"And if it's to do with a woman..." Theo clicked his tongue. "Be sure you're making decisions with your brain and not your―"

"Thanks, Theo."

Notes:

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter xo

Alpha and beta hugs to Kyonomiko, and FaeOrabel, respectively.

Chapter 3

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The situation with Granger had been eating at Draco more than he could have anticipated, and every time he thought of her, he wondered how she had ended up in London without any recollection of her previous life.

He couldn't help but suspect it had something to do with the fact that she had gone to Brisbane to reverse a memory modification spell in the first place. Memory magic was no joke, even for someone as technically proficient as Granger.

The thought that she had been forced to make such a decision during the war was a sobering one.

To think she had feared for her parents' lives enough to send them away and to run the risk that they might never remember her again?

And Draco thought he had enough problems with his parents.

Prior to bringing anyone else in, the next stage in his investigation was a meeting he'd arranged with a healer at St Mungo's. Perhaps if he could understand the possible ramifications of the situation better, he would be more informed with regards to a decision on how to move forward.

He couldn't help the niggling thought that attempting to jar Granger's memory in some way―or overwhelming her with people from her past―could end up doing more harm than good.

Following Auror training, several days after his last visit to the tea shop where Granger worked, he Apparated to St Mungo's.

The healer he had arranged to discuss the matter with was a cognitive functions specialist; Draco knew he would need to keep the incident as hypothetical as possible, as obviously, he couldn't simply bring her to see a healer.

Frequently, Draco asked himself why he cared so much.

Maybe it was related to the old trappings of guilt he still felt every so often when he thought back on the role he had played in her formative years―including the way he hadn't come to terms with his part in the war until after the fact.

A part of it revolved around the fact that it was strange to see Granger not Granger. She'd had so much magical promise and ability in their world, and if there was anything he could do to help the situation, he had to try. Now that he'd come across her, it felt like a responsibility of sorts, no matter whether that was actually the case.

But there was a tiny, quiet part of him that thought it went a little deeper.

He'd tried not to pay that part too much attention.

Rapping sharply on the door to which he'd been directed, Draco proffered a hand when the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man with silver-framed glasses and short greying hair.

"Healer Huxley," Draco said, flashing his badge briefly so the man couldn't note the Training status. "My name is Auror Malfoy. Thank you for meeting with me."

"Of course," the man said in a mild tone. He offered a bland smile and gestured towards a chair opposite his at a nondescript desk. "You said you had some questions regarding memory modification magic. I'd be happy to help in any way I can."

Draco settled into the seat, folding his hands across his front. "Absolutely. More specifically, I'm interested in the possible ramifications of the spell reversal."

Healer Huxley leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers. "I suppose it would depend on a number of variables. The ability of the caster, the type of spell, the length of time the magic had to take root. Without knowing the specifics, I can really only offer you a hypothetical answer."

"The caster was proficient," Draco said with a nod. "To my knowledge, the spell was a selective removal rather than complete Obliviation, and the length of time would be around two years. Possibly up to five."

He didn't care to get into the details of the situation, and bringing up Granger's name was out of the question. Especially since his investigation was more off the record than not, he would never speak of it if it didn't bear fruit. Technically speaking, Draco wasn't crossing any lines with the Auror's office unless the situation crossed into ethically or morally grey territory. Which, it could.

"Memory manipulation is fickle at the best of times," Huxley mused, gaze drifting towards the ceiling. "The caster may have done everything right initially, but the time in which the magic had to delve into the minds of the caster's target could have allowed the magic to take hold in ways different than intended. So then, even if the counter-spell would have worked, it could backfire."

The words spun in Draco's mind, falling awkwardly around him. "And what if the caster lost their memory in the attempt?"

Surprise flitted across the man's face. "Partially or fully?"

"Fully."

A heavy furrow pulled at Huxley's brow. "I can't give an explicit reason why that may have happened without seeing the patient in question. Again, memory magic can sometimes take on a mind of its own within the mind of the target."

Draco leaned back in his seat, sorting through the response for anything helpful. "Alright. Healer Huxley, if this were the case—in your understanding—would the memories still be trapped within the caster's mind? Able to be drawn out in some way―vial or Pensieve. Or would they simply have vanished?"

"Memory magic leaves traces," Huxley said quietly. "And I cannot answer that fully, but to say that for a person's whole memory to be removed―their recollections, knowledge of the people they loved, all the nuance that composes who a person is at heart―would be rare indeed."

The last encounter with Granger flitted through his mind. The way her old self had crept out when he told her his name.

"I will caution you, Auror Malfoy," Huxley went on, "that any attempts to draw out buried memories can cause more damage than good. The most harmless way to restore magically lost memory is for it to come organically. Reminders or hints of things they once enjoyed; subtle guiding points to nudge them in the right direction, rather than anything too overt and jarring."

"That all makes sense." Draco clapped his hands to his thighs, leaning forward in his seat. "Thank you for your time, Healer Huxley."

"Of course." The man offered a thin smile as he rose, and the pair of them walked to the door. "I wish you well in your investigation."

Draco ducked from the room, wondering whether he'd gained much of anything at all.


"You know, if I didn't know any better, I might think you were following me."

Draco glanced up from his notes, jotting several things in a small notebook with a quill glamoured to appear as a pen. He blinked, surprised to find Granger standing before him.

"That might be true if I was sitting in your shop drinking tea," Draco postulated, "but we're on neutral territory." He flashed her a grin, sliding towards one side of the bench. "What are you doing here?"

After his appointment at St Mungo's, Draco had found a spot to think along the River Thames by the Tower of London.

A hint of colour crept into her cheeks, but she slung a book bag from her shoulders and took a seat beside him. "I've just finished classes for the day. Queen Mary isn't too far from here, and I like to come here to read. I find it relaxing."

Draco lifted a brow. "Is that so? I do, too. A bit of nature in the bustling city."

"Were you training today?" she asked, snagging her lower lip between her teeth. His eyes followed the movement for a fluttering instant before snapping back to her stare.

Draco shut the spiral notepad and tucked it into his satchel. "Working on a bit of a case, actually." He offered a tight smile. "Unfortunately, it's been a string of dead-ends so far, but I'm starting to piece some things together."

"Very investigative of you," she said, and it occurred to Draco that she was teasing him. "I hope you figure it out. Can you talk about it? I'm a bit of a talent at solving puzzles."

"Confidential, I'm afraid, or I'd take you up on that."

She shook her head with a laugh. "Of course. I ought to have known that."

Draco eyed her for a moment longer. More times than he cared to count since he'd first come across her over a week ago, he'd wondered whether they might have connected had they been on the same side of things at Hogwarts. Or at the very least, in the same house. She was the only student in their year who consistently surpassed him in classes, the only one who frequented the library more than he did.

Maybe these encounters were simply a glimpse of what might have been.

But it didn't do to dwell on such things.

"So what made you decide to pursue law enforcement?" she asked, a soft smile playing across her lips as she gazed out towards the river. "Does it run in the family or something?"

Draco nearly choked. "Not at all. The opposite, in fact." He gave her a sidelong look for a moment. "My father hates that I've decided to take this path, but that's because he's in prison."

Granger's eyes widened, remorse flitting across her face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry."

"That's alright." He propped one ankle up on the opposite knee, interlocking his hands. "I suppose maybe it's because of my father that I decided to do this. I nearly ended up like him when I was younger."

Her shoulders sat heavy with tension, eyes lingering on him. At last, she offered a smile. "Then I think it's admirable that you pulled yourself out. It says a lot about you as a person, I think."

The words pulled at something in his chest. "Thanks, Gr―Melody." He bit down on his tongue to catch the near-slip.

"Dare I ask what he's in prison for?"

"You can ask," Draco chuckled, "but you might not like the answer." When she only waited, eyes expectant, he went on. "Multiple counts of murder, treason, attempted overthrow of the government, jailbreak, assault, torture, and various… others."

He nearly laughed at the look of horror on his face; his lips merely twitched with amusement.

"I can't tell if you're being serious," she breathed.

He shrugged, casting her a doleful look. "That's your conclusion to make."

Granger's hands were clenched tightly in her lap, her knuckles white and chest stiff with shallow breaths. "Was your father in the mafia or something?"

"Something like that."

"Holy shit." She blew out a sharp breath. "Well, I don't blame you for wanting to differentiate yourself from him."

Pursing his lips, Draco averted his eyes. Not once had he ever sought Granger's affirmation, but he couldn't deny that it meant something, even if she couldn't remember the past that existed between them.

"What sort of history are you studying?" he asked softly.

"I haven't narrowed my focus quite yet," she returned, "but primarily European origins."

His gaze lingered on her pack, leaning against the leg of the bench. "In the interest of sharing stories you don't know if you believe, one of my ancestors travelled from France to England with William the Conqueror in 1066."

"Now that I don't believe," she said with a snicker. "Who knows their ancestry that far back?"

Draco cocked a brow. "My family. I can show you the documentation."

"Your family sounds quite interesting," she mused, "though now I don't know whether I should believe anything you're telling me after all. Maybe your name isn't Draco at all, and it's Paul or something, and your father operates a souvenir shop."

"Paul." He snorted, feeling a grin tug at his lips. "I don't care for it, but call me that if you must."

Still, she eyed him a moment later. "I think I believe you, though."

He released a haughty sigh. "It's the hair, isn't it?"

Granger released a laugh and offered him a full grin. "No, it's the posh accent. You speak as though you grew up a member of the peerage. Never mind the way you drink your tea."

Idly, he was curious why she'd paid him such mind. But he simply held up his hands in surrender. "You got me." When a companionable silence fell across them, and Draco felt himself relax in her presence, he felt an uneasy niggling in the back of his mind. As though he should be utilising the time with her in a more productive manner. "Do you have to work tonight?"

"At the tea shop, no," she said, "but I've got plenty of school work to do."

"Right," he drawled. "Well, don't let me distract you."

Startled, she glanced down at her watch. It was nearing dinner time, and the first hints of sunset began to play against the horizon out over the Thames. "I suppose I should get going soon. I'm about to lose my daylight reading window."

"Sorry." A smile pulled at his lips.

"No!" she exclaimed. "Don't apologise. I approached you, remember?"

"I do." Draco clicked his tongue, nodding. "So maybe you're the one who's following me."

She rolled her face towards him, unimpressed. "Your logic is severely flawed, given you've come into my shop twice, and I've stumbled across you once."

"A chance encounter, then." Despite himself, he laughed, enjoying the easy banter between them. He never would have imagined actually getting along with Hermione Granger. The thought immediately sobered him; in no rational world where she remembered him, would they ever get along.

Granger shifted to the front of the bench, thinning her lips as she watched him for a moment. Hesitation danced in her gaze, and Draco felt a strange tension between them. Then she grappled in her bag for a sheet of paper, scrawled something onto it, and offered it to him. Her cheeks flushed a dull pink.

Draco stared blankly at the lined page, his eyes skimming the ten crisp digits she'd written.

"I just thought," she muttered hastily, "in case you ever wanted to... rather, a more intentional encounter."

He swallowed, casting her a glance.

"You know what, never mind," she surged on, colour brightening in her cheeks as she reached to take the note back. "I must have misread―"

Folding the paper in half once and then again, Draco slipped it into his bag and offered her a smile. "I'd like that."

Granger fell silent, biting down on her lip as a smile tugged the corners of her mouth. "Alright then. I hope you enjoy your evening, Draco."

Merlin, he might have died at the way his name fell from her lips.

"Thank you, Melody," he murmured. "The same to you."

She hopped up from the bench, slung her pack around both shoulders, then with another tentative smile, departed towards the road. Draco watched her retreat for a moment, attempting to steady the racing of his heart.

He drew the sheet of paper from his bag, squinting closer at her writing.

He had no idea how to use a Muggle telephone. But now, he supposed, he would have to learn.


Realistically, why did he care so much whether or not Granger's memory came back? It was far from his business in the first place; there had never been even a shred of anything positive between them. And Draco knew even if he were able to help her, she would probably abhor the fact that it was him in the first place.

The further he indulged himself with the strange connection brewing between them, the worse the situation would be on the other side.

What he should have done was pass the situation to Potter or Robards or a healer or honestly anyone else.

But now, he felt invested.

And Draco knew more about the situation so that he could properly compile a report if―when―Granger's memory was restored. She wasn't dead, and now she wasn't technically a missing person anymore, either. The situation had gone from a criminal investigation to a search, and now it was simply a matter of dealing with the magic that had been cast upon her. Whether by herself or someone else, Draco didn't know, but the signs pointed to backfiring magic.

There were specialists for that sort of thing. One of whom Draco was decidedly not.

Still... folding his arms, he scowled at a public access telephone booth. A few times over the past two days, he'd taken to observing the booth and its visitors to determine how he was meant to use it to reach Granger.

The fact that she had given him means of personal contact left an uneasy twist in the pit of Draco's being.

While he didn't carry the same aversions he once had as a youth, the idea of reaching out to her with any sort of intentionality―the thought of spending real, unhindered time with her―left him in a lather.

Granger was beautiful. She was smart, ambitious, and kind.

She was everything Draco might look for in a potential partner.

But she didn't remember a damn thing about him.

So while Draco might have jumped at the chance to ask her out if she were someone else―or if she knew him properly and was fully cognizant of the past they shared―the situation at hand was infinitely more complicated.

He also knew enough about women to recognise that she would feel slighted if he didn't reach out to her after she'd gone out on a limb to offer, and it wouldn't serve to do either of them any good if he were to anger or upset her.

Some hidden, selfish part of him wanted to see where things could go, or where things might have gone had he not spent their childhood years acting like a right prick towards her.

But it didn't feel like his decision to make for both of them.

The occupant of the booth slipped out, and Draco's eyes tightened with concentration as he stepped inside, sealing the door shut behind him. He stared at the mechanism, its array of keys with numbers and symbols, and his eyes slid towards the handset.

Surely he could figure it out.

He picked up the handset, lip curling with distaste as he pressed it to the side of his face, and a dull tone rang in his ear.

"Hello?"

Clenching his jaw, Draco waited while nothing happened. He tapped several numbers on the keypad. He recoiled when a placid woman's voice spoke to him and slammed the handset back into its receiver.

He peered at a block of small text on the machine, grinding his jaw as he withdrew his wallet and fumbled for Muggle change. He hated Muggle coins and seldom kept any on him.

Cursing to himself, he extracted the sheet of parchment Granger had given him, picked up the handset once more, and tapped in the series of digits.

The same woman's voice came onto the line, advising him to insert money.

"Damnit," Draco huffed, slamming the handset down once again. As he swept a hand roughly through his hair, a sharp rap came on the glass from outside. Draco jolted with surprise, scowling at an irritated-looking Muggle man in a suit on the other side.

The man's muted admonition came through the glass, and Draco fired him a rude gesture.

But the last of his nerve seeped away as though into thin air, so Draco pushed out of the claustrophobic booth, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets as he paced down the road.

Forget the telephone thing, then.

He didn't know what he would say to her, anyway, as he didn't care to lead her on. Moreso, he was afraid to open that door, to begin with. If nothing else, he knew where she worked and where she went to school.

He wouldn't dare cast any sort of magic on her, knowing the precarity of the situation if a memory charm had gone poorly. But if he made a tremendous fool of himself—or somehow she decided he was, essentially, stalking her—he could simply vanish from her life.

Potter could figure the rest out.

Draco had always been stubborn. And he had never cared to walk away from a problem he was keen on solving. The issue remained that the matter of Granger's memory was infinitely more complex than anything else.

But he simply wasn't ready to give up just yet.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. As a heads up, this story is currently written to around 150k, and should wrap up around 180k-ish.

A million alpha and beta hugs to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.

Chapter 4

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Tea with his mother was always an arduous affair.

One of the key reasons Draco had moved into his own flat following the end of his eighth year had been in an effort to distance himself from his parents―namely his father―but Lucius had been sentenced to a lengthy stay in Azkaban regardless.

Everything he had done since completing his education―moving out, pursuing a job at the Ministry, and ultimately earning his way into Auror training―had been to prove he wasn't stuck on the same path as his father. Despite the role he had played in the war and the hurt he had caused.

Although his mother largely understood his hesitance, she had been raised under so much of the same pureblood rhetoric that Draco knew it was simply ingrained in her psyche. And if she wasn't pushing him to make amends with his father and to visit the man in Azkaban, it was something else.

Tea was never simply tea.

If he was honest, he would have preferred a pot of Darjeeling at the corner booth in Granger's Muggle shop.

It was a little startling to think how fast that had become the case.

Draco didn't care to venture to the Manor, and he'd yet to decide whether he would ever take up a seat at the Manor in his later years, but thankfully that wasn't one of the things on which his mother cared to dwell. So they met in a small, posh parlour on the north end of Diagon―the sort of place where the china always matched impeccably, each place setting contained far too many spoons, and lace doilies adorned every possible surface.

The aeshtetic had never appealed to Draco, but in the interest of obliging his mother, he fixed his expression into a banal smile as he greeted her, ducking in to brush a kiss to each of her cheeks before drawing her seat.

"Draco," Narcissa said, pursing her lips as she adjusted her serviette. "It's wonderful to see you."

"And you, of course," he said, preparing two cups of tea.

"Your hair is getting quite long, isn't it?"

"Right, well." He suppressed the urge to clench his jaw as he took a sip of tea. The Earl Grey was steeped to perfection, though it left a bitter taste on his tongue. "I suppose I've been busy."

His mother's smile wasn't quite sincere. "Working too much, I suppose."

Neither of his parents had been pleased when Draco decided to apply with the Ministry, and even less so that he had selected the Auror's Office. His mother hadn't carried the same level of disdain for his career choice, though her derision in the matter largely came from the fact that she thought him above such things.

He offered a thin smile. "As you know, Mother, it's important that I complete my training."

Many topics were consistently off the table for discussion when Draco met with his mother, and he knew without a doubt that any mention of Granger would be one of them, whether stated outright or merely implied.

His work at the Ministry was hit or miss.

Narcissa clicked her tongue and Draco could already tell she was in a mood.

"There are plenty of career paths you could have taken that wouldn't have you running amok in the streets," she snipped with a scowl, "and without putting yourself at risk."

Draco busied himself with stirring an additional lump into his tea.

"And as it turns out," his mother carried on without regard for his silence, "I've learned of an opportunity for you just this week."

At that, he glanced up, cold dread swirling in his stomach. It must have been the crux of her request for tea this time.

"What is that?" he drawled, infusing his tone with as much boredom as he could muster. "We've had this conversation before, and I don't intend to give up on my present goals."

"I met with Penny Greengrass earlier this week, and she believes Gerard would have a position for you." His mother pursed her lips and ducked her chin. "It sounds like an excellent career, Draco, since you're so insistent on working. Upper management; well-paid and with plenty of opportunities for ownership one day."

"And let me guess," he said, releasing a huff, "it comes along with a pre-arranged bride." Draco snorted, shaking his head. "I don't know why you continue to bother. I've told you time and again, I have no interest―"

"I have told you," Narcissa interrupted with a new sharpness to her tone, "that you need to start considering the future of this house. As the sole heir, the responsibility falls upon you to wed a well-bred―"

The words dropped from her lips when Draco's half-empty cup clattered against its saucer.

The handful of occupants in the parlour looked over.

"I do not know why it is so difficult to comprehend," Draco ground through his teeth, "that I have no interest in a scroll of parchment telling me who I must spend the rest of my life with. I am plenty aware of your expectations, and I have given you my own. That I will wed a bride of my choosing, at such a point as I wish to do so, and that is the situation on the table."

His mother's blue eyes flashed. "Your insolence is astounding, Draco. This is not your decision to make."

"Actually, it is." He slammed the last of his tea, fury roiling white-hot in his veins. "Because the alternative is that I simply will not wed at all. And the lines will die with me."

It was only a partially legitimate threat, because Draco did hope to raise children of his own one day―at some point well into the future―but his parents didn't know that. And he had no intention of raising children with someone he didn't care about in the slightest.

Like Astoria-fucking-Greengrass.

His eyes flitted towards the door. "If that's all we had to discuss, I have work to do."

"Merlin, Draco," Narcissa huffed, "you're behaving like a petulant child. Your father and I recognised our duties to our houses and―"

"Right." Draco nodded, thinning his lips. "Right, and getting fucking branded for the cause of a madman had nothing to do with duty to my house. Because that was of my own fucking will."

"Mind your language," she snapped, gaze darting around to ensure no one was close enough to listen in. She dropped her voice to a breath. "Regardless of what happened during the war, Draco, you must fulfill your responsibilities. And if you aren't going to select an appropriate bride, we'll draft the arrangement for you."

"Like hell you will." The words fell from his lips with bitter distaste. "You can write up as many pretty contracts as you like, but I don't have to sign them, and with Father in Azkaban the patriarch seat falls to me."

His mother fixed him with mild disdain as she sipped her tea. "One day, Draco, you'll recognise that you aren't a child anymore."

"Or, maybe, you'll simply stop pretending as if you could possibly know what's best for me."

"It isn't about what's best for you."

A muscle feathered in his jaw. "As you've made abundantly clear." He glanced at his watch, slipping his cloak from the rack. "I've got plenty of work to catch up on, so if that's all you wanted from me today. A pleasure as always, Mother."

Anger pulsed behind his ears with a dull roar, a headache beginning just at the edges of his temples, and he slipped into his coat to leave.

"Draco." Her face stoic, his mother simply sipped her tea.

"Mother."


Without knowing any further details regarding Granger and her current alias, he had no way of tracking down her medical records from any of the time that followed her accident. And although it felt an abrasive invasion, Draco was curious to know whether her condition had been reported upon by any Muggle doctors.

The medical records within her file at the Ministry only contained information prior to her sudden exit from the wizarding world, when she had been nineteen and declared missing.

Surely, she must have been to visit a doctor somewhere.

Draco had attempted several times to put himself in her shoes, and he knew if he suddenly had no recollection of who he was or any knowledge of his life, he would have sought help.

If he could find something reported on her, it would be a good step in the next direction to follow. But since he only knew her age and the given name she now went by, there was little to no way for him to find such a thing.

Potter had been putting him through his paces, and it had been almost a week since he had run into Granger on the bank of the Thames. He wondered whether she was annoyed he hadn't called her telephone number―but indecision had warred within him as to the intentionality with which he actually wanted to pursue the situation. Especially when his primary interest was in determining the mysterious circumstances around her vanishing several years ago, and what had happened for her to lose her memories.

"You grew up with Muggles, yeah?" A little out of breath, Draco leaned against the wall between duelling volleys.

Potter lifted a dark brow. "Yeah? What of it?"

"How do the bloody―" he waved a hand "―telephones. How do they work?"

For a long moment, Potter's exaggerated skepticism niggled at Draco's nerves. But finally he sighed. "I can't believe you are asking me about Muggle things. Anyway―each line has its own number, and you can use one to connect to another. It's like an invisible signal between the two, and you can hear the other person's voice across the line."

Draco scratched the back of his neck, attempting to make sense of Potter's vague explanation. "So if I have a telephone number."

"You should be able to call it from another phone," Potter said. Then he snickered to himself. "Why has someone given you a phone number? Don't tell me you're dating Muggles now."

Pursing his lips, he adjusted his tie and drawled, "I am not, thank you. I tried one of those stupid booths."

A grin spread across Potter's face. "I would have paid good money to see that. You'll need Muggle coins to operate a phone booth."

"I hate Muggle coins. They mix in with the knuts and then―"

"I know," Potter muttered, "but you'll need them if you want to phone someone."

Draco released a long, irritated breath. "Fuck. Fine."

Amusement still danced in Potter's eyes as he pulled out his wallet. "You're in luck. I've got a couple." He dropped a few small silver Muggle coins into Draco's palm. "Tell whoever she is I said hi."

A breath hung, incomplete, in Draco's throat before he forced a swallow. "Yeah. Sure I'll do that. Thanks, Potter."

"If you're really serious about this," Potter pressed on, "Muggles have mobile telephones, too, now. You carry them in your pocket and they connect... I don't know, something to do with towers and frequencies. But you can take them on the go. Then you can have your own phone number, because the booths only work one way."

Draco's eyes flitted towards him. "And where would I find one of those?"


After another two days of fidgeting with the mobile telephone he'd purchased, Draco had still yet to decide whether he wanted to phone Granger. The Muggle at the telephone shop had explained a lot of things that made no sense whatsoever, and to his great embarrassment, Potter had needed to explain the simplest functionality of the blasted device―sending and receiving phone calls. The phone itself was an eyesore―rectangular and blocky―and it felt heavy and cumbersome in his pocket.

There were a number of rubbery buttons with numbers and symbols, but he didn't care.

Because he still didn't know if he wanted to reach out to her.

One evening after work, almost without thinking of it, Draco found himself wandering Muggle London. Lost in thought, he nearly didn't notice as he walked right past her tea shop.

He could only imagine Granger was upset he hadn't called her, but it had been exhausting enough just to figure out how to do so.

Drawing a deep breath, he pushed open the door, the slight tinkling of the bell over the door causing him to flinch. Although a sudden urge to run away crept into the back of his mind, Granger had already looked up. Her wide chocolate eyes bore through him from across the small shop.

"Hi." Draco paced towards the counter, slipping his hands into his pockets.

She parted her lips to speak, but only stared at him for a moment, before she offered him a smile instead. "Hi. I was certain I'd scared you off."

Despite the flippancy in her words, Draco could see the caution in her face. "Not at all. It's been..." He grimaced, dragging a hand along the back of his neck. "A busy week."

"Of course." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Here as well."

"Look... it isn't that I didn't want to call you..." When he trailed off, searching for the right words, she released a laugh.

"You can spare me the speech," she said quietly. "I get it. No big thing."

"No," Draco pressed, his heart jumping as he tried to pull himself together. She had a way of throwing him off his guard in a way no woman had ever done. "It's just... work's been crazy, and my mother's been driving me up the fucking wall."

Her face faltered, but she pressed her lips into a thin smile. "Mothers, right? Anyway―can I get you something?"

Draco blew out a long breath. Perhaps he ought to have at least considered what he would say to her. "Just a cuppa would be great. Something herbal, please."

"Of course." Her face slipped almost seamlessly into that bright, polite smile she reserved for customers; his jaw clenched at the sight of it. "We've got raspberry, spearmint, lemon―"

"Surprise me." He planted a paper note on the counter and, with a stiff nod, she made his change and proceeded to prepare his tea. Draco didn't care for the stifled silence, so he peered at a selection of baking in the display. "Do you recommend the biscotti?"

She froze, eyes sliding towards his. "I do."

"Perfect." He added another paper note on top of the coins.

"You had plenty to cover both the first time," she said, amusement crossing her face. "Or do you not know how to count money?"

He hadn't even looked at the value of the notes, but he waved a flippant hand; Muggle money never quite felt real. "You can keep it."

She eyed him strangely for a moment before separating the change once more and dropping it into a glass jar near the register. "Thanks." Finishing up his tea, she slid the mug across the counter towards him and a plate with his biscotti. "Enjoy."

Draco couldn't shake the feeling that he'd offended her and that the tension was a result of something he'd said―or maybe not said. Either way his chest tightened at the thought.

Glancing around the small shop, devoid of patrons well into the evening, he drawled, "Thanks, Melody. Perhaps you'd care to join me?"

She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes resting on him, before she nodded. "I suppose that would be alright for a few minutes." As she settled into the booth across from him, she asked, "So what's your mother done?"

"Honestly? You might not believe me." He took a sip of the tea―raspberry. An intriguing combination of tangy and sweet. "For almost two years now she's been on my case about getting married. She's trying to arrange a marriage contract with the daughter of a friend of my father's."

Granger's jaw dropped open. "You can't be serious."

"Afraid so."

"Is your family legitimately insane?" Her brows flew up high on her forehead. "I didn't even realise people still did such a thing. Very old-fashioned, isn't it?"

"Incredibly."

"And besides, you aren't even that old."

Draco shook his head slowly. "Not quite twenty-four."

She blew out a breath, deflating a little into the upholstered booth. "I can't imagine. I don't think my parents ever would have tried to do such a thing. Imagine marrying someone with whom you have nothing in common and no interest."

He noted the mention of her parents and tucked it away with a careful pin.

"Oh, you'd just like to see the women she's tried to set me up with," he added with a grimace. "Not my type at all."

"Well surely she can't force you."

"Legally, no, she can't." He took another thoughtful sip of his tea. "With my father incarcerated, the head of the household falls to me, and I have the final say on such things. But she can make my life miserable over it, which she's more than happy to do."

"Wow," Granger said, emphasising the word. "I see what you mean now about your week."

A smirk dragged at his lips. "Right."

"Honestly, though, you're from some obscure and foreign line of royalty, aren't you? You must be." She pursed her lips, tilting her head in consideration. "From everything you've told me, it almost doesn't even sound realistic."

"Trust me," he muttered, "it isn't. Not by most societal standards."

There was something almost cathartic about discussing his problems with Granger, even though he couldn't be fully honest with her. Allowing her to believe his family was involved in some strange royal crime syndicate felt easier than having her know the truth about what his father had truly done―and what Draco had done in the attempt to follow in his footsteps.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Can't imagine my parents choosing my husband for me."

His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he leaned forward in his seat. "You don't think it would go well? I can only imagine your parents have a better concept of normalcy than mine do."

The warmth faded from her face, gradual, like a memory. "I'm actually not certain. I didn't know my parents that well."

"I see." He held her stare, uncertain whether his heart was still beating; he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to hear that. I must be a right prat, going on about my family."

"Not at all." Something like a smile tugged once more at her lips, though it was infinitely sad. "I like to hear about them."

"Do you mind my asking―what happened to your parents?" He realised he clenched the handle of his teacup with tense fingers and released the china.

Her throat shifted with a swallow as she glanced away. "Honestly, I'm not certain. There was an accident and... I don't know."

"You don't have to talk about it."

As he watched for something―he didn't even know what―her eyes tightened as though she were confused. "It's... I've tried to piece it together so many times, and I can't." The words fell soft and a little discombobulated, and Draco didn't think he had any words to offer.

At last her eyes lifted back to meet his, coated in a glassy sheen. "Anyway―how's your biscotti?"

Emotion tugged at his chest, furrowing his brow in response to the visceral reaction he hadn't expected. "I'm sorry, Melody."

"It's alright, really," she breathed. Then she shook her head with a bit of a laugh. "Not sure what's come over me. It's just that... sometimes things simply make no sense, no matter how I try to rearrange them in my brain, and―listen to me, babbling like I've lost my mind."

Draco couldn't have torn his focus away if he tried. It was the first mention she'd made of anything being slightly south of right, and he didn't know what to make of it. Clearly, the lack of memories from the first nineteen years of her life was a challenge, at best.

Her hand sat on the table between them, and he itched to reach for it―to wrap her smaller fingers into his and offer some shred of comfort.

But he ducked in, allowing a smirk to pull across his face. In a conspiratorial voice, he mused, "Maybe you have―lost your mind."

"Perhaps I have," she tittered.

Draco took another sip of his tea. "Makes life a little more interesting that way. Unless you're my mad aunt, of course."

A grateful laugh bubbled forth from her lips. "Alright, now why am I not surprised you've got a mad aunt?"

The grin slowly faded from his face, sobering with the remembrance of all the heartbreak his aunt had caused. Especially in the life of the woman before him and her friends. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the mess of scar tissue on her forearm. In an effort to quell the anxiety rising within him at the thought, he took a sip of tea―but slowly returned the cup to its saucer at a slight tremble in his hand.

Bellatrix was one of so many reasons he had decided to become an Auror.

Unbidden, recollections of Granger, screaming in agony on the drawing room floor flashed through the back of his mind. Tears of pain and hopelessness drifting dried tracks down her cheeks.

Forcing himself back to the present, Draco murmured, "Must fit the profile, I guess." Curiosity tugged at him despite the sobering train of thoughts. "What happened to your arm?"

Surprised, she glanced down at her forearm and planted her opposite palm over the worst of it. "Is it crazy to say I don't remember? I must have been quite young, I suppose. No matter what I've tried, I can't quite get the scarring to go away."

Draco knew exactly why. Only magical means could subdue such a cursed mark.

"I know of a chemist who makes the best ointment for scarring," he mused, taking a bite of his biscotti. "If you'd like. I swear it's like magic."

He watched her eyes for a moment for any hint of recognition, but her stare only lingered on her arm. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt at this point." Her lips curled, and she glanced back towards him. "You're quite keen on the idea of magic, aren't you? Which I find to be odd, given you seem so pragmatic."

Technically, discussing the topic with her was harmless, since he knew her to be a witch. He offered a bit of a shrug. "Do they have to be mutually exclusive? Don't you think it's possible that things might happen in the universe of which we're unaware? In your studies on history, do you ever wonder if there's a shred of truth to the old fabled witch hunts?"

Granger only watched him, amusement hanging in her stare. "Are you serious? You believe in such things?"

With a secretive smile, he simply shrugged once more. "Who knows. I only think it's fascinating to consider that there are secrets out there that you and I may never know."

"I suppose you're right," she said with a sigh. "And I guess anything's possible. That's what I love about studying the history of the world―the things that happened that no one predicted. The ancients who built structures and cities more advanced than we could have possibly imagined with the limitations they possessed. Things we only learned about by looking back in time."

Listening to her speak on such things―the quiet reverence and respect in her tone―left Draco's heart tight in his chest. It was evident she cared a great deal for the subject matter she studied.

With another casual sip of his tea, he watched her. "What if I told you I also believe time travel is real?"

"Then I would say..." The warmth in her eyes as she shook her head told Draco he was in trouble. "That you're simply full of surprises, Draco."

He couldn't have stopped the words that tumbled from his lips if he tried. "Do you have to work this weekend?"

Granger's lips parted with a quick intake of breath, and his eyes lingered for a moment. "Not here, no. On Saturdays I teach a yoga class on campus." She tittered a little, face sparkling with amusement. "I can't imagine you have any interest in that, but it's open to the public, if you like."

"Yoga," Draco repeated. He scoured his brain for any recollection, eyes tightening as he remembered something vague he'd heard once. "Exercise?"

She nodded. "It started as a bit of a thing with friends and now it's just a little extra to pay for books, I suppose."

He couldn't stop a grin from spreading across his face. Even trapped in an existence as a Muggle, Granger had a love affair with the written word.

"I'll come." Before he could overthink the situation, he nodded. "Just let me know the details."

She lifted a skeptical brow. "Seriously? Have you ever done yoga before?"

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. As an Auror, he naturally needed to keep his form in top shape; he wasn't any stranger to exercise. "No, but it'll be great, right?"

Eyeing him, she pressed her knuckles to her lips, as though to withhold a laugh. "Right. Just great."

Before he could say anything else on the matter, the bell over the door tinkled and Granger started, eyes swinging towards the door as she flashed him a smile and extracted herself from the booth.

Several minutes later, as Draco finished the last of his tea, she returned with a slip of paper―a time and a location.

"Perfect," he said, slipping the note into his pocket. "Thanks for the tea."

A smile lingered once more on her lips. "See you Saturday."

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter - I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Alpha and beta love, respectively, to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 5

Notes:

Hi everyone! I'm so thrilled so many of you are looking forward to Draco's first yoga experience. Hope you enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Once the impulse of the moment passed, regret began to sink in.

The more he thought about yoga―and after a little casual research on the topic―Draco was convinced he was likely going to make a fool of himself in front of Granger. He didn't care for that―but even less did he care for the idea of telling her he would be there and then failing to show.

At the time, quite frankly, he had only wanted to see her smile at him. The vibrance and warmth of her smile was not something Draco had ever anticipated being sent his way, but he couldn't quite shake the way it made him feel. Enough so that he was willing to follow through on his word even though most of him simply wanted to come up with an excuse as to why he couldn't make it to her yoga class.

"You've been abnormally fidgety," Potter commented as he approached from across the Auror's office.

Draco had been working on mundane paperwork for nearly two hours and felt about ready to jump out of his skin. Friday had crept by at a snail's pace.

If the snail were dead.

He swept an aggravated hand through his hair. "Yeah. This paperwork."

Potter rounded his desk, peering down at the work. "Looks bland. What say you wrap that up and we'll go run a trial simulation?"

"Thank Merlin," Draco huffed, drumming an anxious rhythm on the desk with fingertips. "That sounds excellent."

He still hadn't brought his spellcasting up to the level where it needed to be if he meant to advance in the training―or if he ever wanted to become a full Auror. And if he was honest, it was more important than filling out paperwork.

Besides that, he needed to exert some of the pent-up energy racing through him.

Potter chuckled, folding his arms. "What's got you so worked up? Have you got a date or something?"

"No."

It wasn't a date. But if he was honest, even the thought of it left Draco off-kilter in a way he didn't entirely care for. Sure, he thought Granger was fit and brilliant, and he couldn't control the way he felt when she―

"You've been acting suspicious as hell for days now." Potter cocked a brow but shook his head. "Your business, anyway. Finish up what you're doing and meet me in the training studio."

Draco stared at him for a moment, his heart freezing for a brief moment before galloping into a sprint. He could just tell Potter, and that would be the last of it, and he would never have to worry about the matter again.

He'd never stumble across Granger again. And if she did somehow regain her memories, she would never again look at him as though he mattered.

The idea left him cold.

"Right," he muttered, forcing a thick swallow. Dredging forth the last remnants of his focus, he turned back to his work. "Give me ten."


He was to arrive at Granger's yoga class at half two Saturday afternoon, and Draco had been unable to steady the anxious lurch in his chest whenever he thought of it. She had crept into his thoughts with a startling voracity. He realised as he slipped into a casual t-shirt and joggers before throwing a few items into his satchel in preparation. For a moment, his gaze lingered on the mess of scar tissue on his forearm that had once been his Dark Mark but he quickly glanced away.

True to his word, he had brewed her a batch of ointment for the scarring on her arm and disguised it in a small nondescript jar.

Then he Apparated across London to a point near her campus. It had been years since Draco had been a student, and even then, the feel of a Muggle university campus was entirely different from the grounds of Hogwarts.

When he was younger, Draco often considered the fact that he might pursue some sort of higher education in order to earn a mastery after Hogwarts―but that was before the experiences of the war shifted his perception on most everything. For years after completing his eighth year, he had simply drifted along, lost in the perils of his own mind, before he finally made a decision about the Ministry.

Despite that it was a Saturday, students paced by in every direction, caught up in loud, boisterous conversation, and Draco curled his fingers around the straps of his satchel as he drew a deep breath. He scarcely had cause to be around so many Muggles, and despite that he no longer harboured many of his old prejudices, the situation was jarring.

It was a world where he didn't belong―which pretty much summed up his existence in Granger's life in any capacity.

Several times he became turned around, and he was on the verge of giving up and going home, claiming some sort of conflict, when he located the building she had specified.

Drawing a deep breath, Draco walked in.

Granger was in conversation with several others, but she glanced up, her eyes alight with surprise upon seeing him. With a bit of a smirk, he lifted a hand as he assessed the room; it was a wide open space with scuffed vinyl floors and dim lighting. The gathering was mostly female, although a few men lingered as well, and Draco found himself eyeing the lean muscle on one of them when Granger walked over.

"You made it!" she exclaimed, a warm smile overtaking her face.

"Right." Draco forced a casual laugh as he dragged a hand across the back of his neck. "Said I would, yeah?"

Her eyes caught on his for a moment, as though she meant to say something else, but instead she offered him a thin foam mat, coiled into a roll. "I didn't think you'd have your own mat."

"I do not," he acquiesced, taking the roll. "Thanks."

"We'll be starting in about five minutes," she said, "so find yourself a spot and get comfortable."

Draco rummaged for his wallet. "How much is the class?"

Her eyes sparkled with warmth. "Don't worry about it for today."

Before Draco could argue the point, she turned to walk back towards the front of the room, and for several long, paralysing moments, his eyes lingered on the way her exercise trousers clung to her legs. His mouth went dry at the smooth curve of her arse, and he clamped his jaw shut with a cumbersome swallow.

Through their years at Hogwarts, her form had been concealed beneath robes, and even when he'd seen her at the tea shop, she wore jeans and jumpers. He'd known she had a fit physique―but it was a physical effort to drag his stare from her before someone noticed him.

A rush of blood warmed his face as he turned back to find the room mostly full, so he selected a spot of floor towards the back and laid out his mat the way everyone else had done.

Everyone else was barefoot, and with a flicker of distaste, he removed his shoes and socks and set them by the wall.

Merlin, this had been a bad idea.

"Welcome, everyone!" Granger exclaimed, clapping her hands together as she gazed upon the room with a smile. "Thanks for coming today." She pressed a button on a machine, and soft, ambient music started to play. "Let's get started."

Within minutes, Draco's suspicions were confirmed. As Granger led the group through a series of strange poses, graceful and seamless, he found himself struggling to keep up. Most of the class followed along as though experienced in yoga aside from a pair of clumsy girls near the back with whom Draco identified a certain kinship.

More than once, he found himself gaping at the flexible way she twisted and bent herself, his mind running away without him, and he had to steady the way his heart raced.

By fifteen minutes in, he was sweating, exhausted, and he felt as though he had strained every muscle in his body.

Draco was used to exercise; this was something else entirely.

But as the class carried on towards a close, he began to comprehend a little better as he fumbled his way from one move to the next. The movements felt more natural, and though he knew he likely looked an outright fool, he started to enjoy the quiet peace in it.

Once he moved past the idea of anyone was paying him any attention whatsoever―and indeed Granger hadn't looked his way more than once or twice―he allowed himself to relax.

By the end of the class, though his energy was depleted and body aching, he could admit to himself it hadn't been as awful as he'd originally anticipated.

Chugging a long drink of water from his canteen, he slipped a hooded jumper over his sweat-damp shirt. A layer of perspiration clung to his forehead and hair, and he swept his fringe back from his face.

Many of the participants lingered in conversation, and Draco glanced towards the front to find Granger speaking with the muscular men he'd noticed at the start. He clenched his jaw and averted his gaze.

Cleaning and rolling up his mat as everyone else did, he made towards the front of the room only to find Granger beaming at him.

Her cheeks were a bit flushed, but she looked considerably more put together than he felt. "What did you think?" she asked, taking the proffered mat.

Draco snickered. "Brutal. But it was alright."

"I didn't want to embarrass you," she said with a secretive smile, "but you seemed to be catching on by the end."

"I am exhausted." Flashing her a grin, he waited while she gathered her things and walked her towards the door. She hit a switch on the wall, sending the room into darkness, and then locked the door behind them.

"You'll feel it tomorrow," she tittered, "but it gets better as you become used to it."

Having experienced the intensity of one of her workouts, Draco wasn't surprised by her physique―but still he couldn't quite help the way his eyes lingered for another moment. Up close, he could see the lean definition in her arms and shoulders.

"Fair." Draco squinted in the sudden brightness of the sun compared to the darkened room. He tightened his hold on his satchel, walking alongside her. "So this is where you study."

Pulling a thin jumper over her head, she nodded. "I'm only in my second year, so I have at least two more to go, unless I decide to pursue a graduate degree."

None of that made any sense to Draco, so he hummed in return. "I'm sure you can do whatever you'd like."

"Thanks." Snagging her bottom lip between her teeth, she turned to him as they walked. "Are you in a hurry? Would you like to get something to drink?"

"Sure." He slid his hands into his pockets, attempting to act like he belonged on a Muggle university campus, and trailed along as Granger guided him through a convoluted network of pathways into another building that appeared to house a cafeteria of sorts. She led him towards a small food service booth that offered frozen beverages composed of fruits and yogurt. Draco selected a random drink from an abrasively colourful menu board.

He slipped a Muggle note onto the counter before Granger could dig her money from her bag, and she offered him a smile. "Thank you." As they waited for their order, she cast him a look. "You never take your change. Why is that?"

Draco scrunched up his nose. "I hate coins." Muggle coins, but he couldn't very well say that surrounded by Muggles. "The way they collect and jangle."

She only tittered, shaking her head.

His drink was surprisingly fresh and delicious, and they settled at a table back outside.

Despite the bizarre context to the day, Draco felt more at ease with her than he had expected. The sun was warm as it beamed down from a cloudless sky, warming his mood with it.

He had to be very careful with himself not to grow too accustomed to her presence.

Eventually, he would either need to try jarring her memory or simply hand the issue to someone more knowledgeable in such things. But Merlin, he wasn't ready for that.

"I almost forgot," he clipped, setting his bag on the bench next to him. Rummaging through it, he brandished the jar of healing paste. "For your arm."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, lips tugging downward. "You didn't have to―what do I owe you for this?"

"Nothing." Draco waved her off, watching as she eyed the unlabeled jar with caution. "I only hope it helps."

Although she pursed her lips, she didn't argue the point. "Thank you, Draco." The softness in her voice caught him off guard as he sipped his fruity concoction, and her eyes caught on his for a moment.

Swallowing his mouthful, he nodded. "No problem." He cursed the ridiculous clamouring of his heart.

Granger curled her fingers around the jar and tucked it carefully into her pack.

Making to stow his satchel beneath the table, Draco noticed a curious but familiar warmth emanating from within, and he froze. As Granger gazed around them, he dug inside for his badge, casting it a furtive glance inside the bag. It was a means of communication with which the department had imbued their badges for emergency contact.

Malfoy, where the hell are you? Nott's Floo'd the office looking for you twice.

The message―presumably from Potter―faded from the smooth metal surface on the back of the badge. Moments later, another message appeared.

You need to go to St Mungo's now.

At once, Draco's heart sank into the pit of his stomach and leapt into his throat. He stared at the blank surface long after the message faded, adrenaline building and coursing behind his ears with a dull throb.

Vaguely, he was aware of Granger's voice echoing in the space around him. "Is everything alright?"

The contents of his fruity drink curdled, bitter, in his stomach. He shoved the badge into the bottom of his bag and looked up at her. "I have to go," he breathed, his mind running off in a million directions at once. "Something's happened―I have to get to the hospital."

"Oh," she whispered, clapping a hand over her mouth. Wide-eyed, she gave a voracious nod. "Of course―are you alright to get there from here?"

Distracted, he shook his head, hastily tying the closure on his bag as he rose to his feet. "I'll be alright, thanks." He glanced her way, reading the genuine concern in every drawn line of her face. "Thank you for today. I'm sorry to run like this―"

"Not at all!" She wrung her hands tightly together. "I hope everything's okay."

Blowing out a breath, he gave her a grim smile and collected the rest of his drink. "Thank you. Me too." As he looked around, gathering his bearings, he backed away. "I'll talk to you soon?"

A hesitant smile curled her lips. "Alright."

Turning in the direction from which he'd come, he ducked behind the nearest building and Apparated directly to St Mungo's.


Pacing rapidly towards the visitor's desk at the hospital, Draco was almost instantly ambushed by Theo.

"Theo," he huffed, grasping his friend by the shoulders. "What happened?"

Theo shook his head, a deep furrow in his brow. "It's your mother. She's in with the healers now but they aren't sure what's happened. They only said she arrived via the emergency Floo and collapsed. I've pestered them for information on your behalf but nothing yet."

"Fuck." Draco dragged a hand through his hair, still slightly damp from his yoga class. It was hard to believe that just a quarter of an hour prior, he'd been enjoying cold, fruity beverages with Hermione Granger.

Face twisting, Theo drawled, "What the hell are you wearing?"

Draco waved him off. "Never mind. I was at yoga."

"Yoga."

He rolled his eyes.

"You were doing yoga. Who's the girl?"

"Fuck off, Theo."

After a moment, Theo sobered, and the pair of them sank into seats in the waiting room. "Sorry, mate. I'll stay with you until we learn something more."

Draco released a tight breath, feeling the tension claw up his back and through his shoulders. "Thanks." He dug his badge out of his pack and sent a brief message of response to Potter.

Several minutes later, the man strode into the waiting room, green eyes wide as he sought Draco and Theo across the room.

Draco gave a slow nod. "Potter."

"Malfoy. Nott."

"Potter."

"What happened?" Potter dropped into the seat on Draco's other side, as though deflating.

"We don't know yet," Draco drawled, sipping his half-melted drink through its straw. "Something's happened to my mother."

"Shite, mate." Potter's gaze trawled the length of him. "What the hell are you―"

"He was doing yoga," Theo interrupted.

Potter screwed up his face in confusion for a moment, before he snickered. "He had a date."

"It was not a date."

Theo and Potter exchanged a grin, and Draco might have been willing to contest the issue more if he hadn't been thrown off so entirely by the thought of something happening to his mother.

The last time he had seen her, he had more or less strode from the tea shop after their argument without so much as a goodbye. His stomach churned, wretched and bitter, at the thought that it could have been their last meeting.

Dragging a hand down his face, he slumped deeper into his seat. Theo and Potter carried on in quiet conversation around him, but Draco simply clutched his plastic cup and gazed at the floor. Fear and anguish clawed at his skin; moisture stung at the backs of his eyes.

And he thought of Granger. At the way real fear had crossed her face.

She didn't even remember his mother―her only concept of the woman was the way Draco had complained about her. And if she ever did remember...

There was no way Draco would ever deserve someone like her, and he resolved to relinquish the game before he ended up in too deep. He had never wanted to lead her on, and the last thing he meant to do was hurt her. There was a very real chance he could end up hurting himself, too, if the way she hung on his mind almost constantly was any indication.

He didn't have it in him to discuss the matter now. Not with fear and anxiousness heavy on his heart.

But come Monday morning, he would hand his assembled research over to Potter. Granger had been one of his best friends, after all; Draco was nothing in comparison.

He had allowed himself to indulge in the brightness of her smile, the warmth of her eyes, but it was all fleeting. He hadn't done anything to earn any of it.

Although he ought to have reported it immediately, it wasn't too late. And he had information to go along with it, so his efforts hadn't been entirely for naught.

Melancholy swelled within his mind like a thundercloud, overtaking his thoughts as he sank deeper into himself. The last thing he wanted was for something to happen to his mother. Despite that they didn't always get along, she was the only family he had left, and he didn't know how he would cope. How he might possibly deal with his father in the aftermath.

Draco didn't know how much time had passed, only that eventually Theo plucked the plastic cup from his tight grip, the last remnants melted and swirling in the bottom. His eyes followed as Theo trashed it in the bin. Then his stare lingered on the silver receptacle, its top swinging slowly until it at last came to a stop.

"Mister Malfoy?"

He flinched, blinking as he straightened in his seat. Scrubbing at his eyes, he peered at the lime green robes of the healer before him. "Yes?"

"My name is Healer Brooks, the chief attendant on your mother's case. Many of her vitals were dangerously low when she arrived here this afternoon, and we're going to have to keep her here at the hospital for observation for a few days." The man's voice was soft and patient, and Draco sifted through the words as they glossed over the edges of his brain. "She's awake for now; you may visit her but only for a few minutes."

"Okay." Draco blew out a sharp breath, dragging himself to his feet. He felt a little unsteady, a combination of sitting inactive for so long and the strain in his muscles from earlier. He caught the concern on both Theo and Potter's faces, and forced a thin smile he didn't quite feel. "Thanks for waiting with me. You don't need to stay."

"Nonsense," Theo quipped; Potter simply folded his arms.

Swallowing back a threatening prod of emotion, Draco followed the healer down several long corridors and into a numbered room.

His mother's visage was startling when he broached the threshold. Her usually perfect hair was lank and out of place, her face pale and wan. The thin line of her mouth nearly blended into her blanched skin, and her sharp blue eyes were dull and incognisant.

"Mother," Draco breathed, pacing forward and slipping into the seat at her side.

"Draco." An attempted smile pulled at her lips, before her eyes tightened ever so slightly. "What in Merlin's name are you wearing?"

He ground his jaw; he ought to have changed out of his Muggle joggers and jumper, but he'd been in such a hurry to get to the hospital that his attire had been the last thing on his mind.

"Never mind," he said quietly. "I was out for a run."

Narcissa's eyes fluttered shut, a shallow breath falling from her lips, and any trace of irritation swept away. "That sounds nice."

"The healers are going to keep you here for a few days," Draco murmured, sweeping a rogue chunk of hair out of her face. "I'm going to make sure you have everything you need; the finest room, the best care―and you need to let them do their jobs, alright?"

A hint of life flared within her eyes, and he thought if she had the energy she might have admonished him. She had a tendency to ignore the recommendations of others.

Her hand grappled for his as he adjusted her pillow, the strength in her fingers almost non-existent as they wrapped around his. "Draco."

Swallowing his anxiety, Draco met her stare and nodded. "I'm right here." Emotion swelled within him, pressing against his chest and leaving him at a loss.

"I've never..." Drawing in a breath, she tried again. "I didn't mean to make you so upset with me last week―"

"Forget about it," he murmured, clenching his jaw shut. "It's not a problem, okay? We'll deal with all of that later. You just have to focus on getting better right now because you don't want to stay in this blasted hospital, do you?"

A soft laugh fell from her lips, stinging Draco's heart. "Certainly not," she breathed, the words feeble as her eyes fluttered shut again.

A streak of fear darted through him. "The healers are going to do everything they can to figure out what's wrong."

"Yes," Narcissa said softly, "we'll rely on the healers."

If he didn't know her as well as he did, he might have taken the words at face value. But he knew her well enough to recognise the veiled contempt. "Mother."

"Fine." Her breathing grew shallow again, a grimace pulling at her lips, and Draco clenched her hand in his.

Two young healers bustled into the room with a tray of assorted vials, and Draco eyed each of them in turn, attempting to discern their contents. The chief attendant, Healer Brooks, fixed Draco with a stare.

"I'll need you to step out for now," the man said, though his voice was soft. "We'll keep you posted as soon as we learn more."

Draco turned back towards his mother. "I'll come back and see you soon."

The slightest hint of warmth tweaked her lips, but her grip on his hand slackened, eyes sliding shut. He blew out a breath, tension heavy in his shoulders as he rose from his seat and walked towards the door.

"Please," he muttered, stopping beside Healer Brooks. "Spare no expense in her care. Whatever you have to do."

The healer nodded stiffly. "Very well, Mister Malfoy."

With a poor effort at a smile, Draco vacated the room. He found Theo and Potter still waiting for him in the waiting room, conversing between themselves, and he sank back into his seat in silence.

"Alright, mate?" Theo clapped a hand to his shoulder.

Draco didn't know how to respond as he blew out a long breath and scrubbed at his eyes. "Yeah. Alright."


That night, after the healers told him he would be unable to see his mother again until the next day, Draco went home. Theo and Potter had stayed far longer than he'd expected either of them to―especially Potter, with whom Draco wasn't particularly close―but he'd appreciated their solidarity more than he'd been able to put into words.

It felt as though days had passed since he had enjoyed his afternoon with Granger.

His body felt fatigued, his mind lost.

If the healers had at least been able to provide a diagnosis, or some sort of assurance, he would have at least been able to rest. But without any firm knowledge of what was wrong―along with the fear that the healers didn't even know yet―Draco doubted he would be able to get any sleep.

He brewed a pot of tea, selected a book from his collection, and sank into the armchair in his sitting room.

The flat was small but tidy, borderline mundane in appearance and decor. And while he usually preferred to have the space to himself, every so often he couldn't stand the silence.

His eyes stared, skimming the words but unfocused, until at last he gave up and set the book aside.

Mind darting to the resolution he'd made to himself that afternoon, Draco felt a chill creep into his being. Ultimately, he had no place in Granger's life, and the longer he dragged the situation on the worse it would get. He was the last person who could possibly help her, and the weight of the knowledge that went along with her continued existence had begun to grow heavy.

Although the thought stung, it was for the best.

For too long, he had coveted the way she looked at him―the warmth in her voice when they spoke―but it was for nothing.

He hadn't touched the Muggle mobile phone he'd purchased in days, and he pulled it from the side table drawer. It was blocky and thick, the weight of it cumbersome in his hand. After almost fifteen minutes of fumbling with the buttons and double-checking the manual, uncertain what he was doing, he managed to draft a message to her number.

It would be cruel to run out on her and leave her hanging, wondering. He could still remember the way genuine concern for him had danced in her eyes.

Hi Melody, it's Draco. My mother's in the hospital; they don't know what's wrong yet but she's alright for now. Thanks again for today.

He stared at the message for a long time, scrubbing at his eyes. There were so many things he longed to say. Not only did he not possess the courage, but he didn't think any of it would help the situation at all.

Come Monday morning, he would hand over everything he'd learned to Potter. And that would be that.

The clock on the wall read shortly past midnight. Draco hoped if she were already asleep, the message wouldn't wake her. But he didn't know what he might do or say if she were to respond.

His heart felt raw in his chest from the strain of the day, combined with the decision he'd made.

Before he could panic and overthink the situation, he mashed a button to send the message. Releasing a long breath, he squeezed his eyes shut, then returned the phone to its drawer.

Pouring out the dregs of his tea, Draco dragged himself to bed for what would surely be a futile effort.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! Alpha and beta credits to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively. I hope you enjoyed the chapter xo

Chapter 6

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sunday passed in a jumbled blur.

The healers attending to his mother—despite hours of observation and dozens of tests—were no closer to determining what was wrong. Draco had spent the majority of the day in the St Mungo's waiting room in exchange for a few brief visits wherein Narcissa was hardly coherent. Her remaining strength had waned, her countenance frail, to the point where she had taken on the appearance of some thin, weak woman who simply looked like his mother.

He was a wreck.

Potter had sent numerous messages through to Draco's Auror badge, and Draco had ignored them all. Theo had sat with him for a while, but Draco had nothing to offer, and by dinner time, his friend ventured back home.

He hated the way the healers looked at him as they walked past, pity in their eyes at the defeat weighing heavily on his shoulders. He'd scarcely eaten and spent the day sipping the bitter coffee from the hospital canteen.

When he arrived back home at the end of the day, spent of energy and emotionally depleted, Draco dragged himself into the shower and allowed the scalding water to pour down on him until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

A small, niggling curiosity had hung in the back of his mind all day, through everything else, and before he retired for the night, he checked the phone in his sitting room.

He had received a message―and after considerable cursing at the stupid thing, he navigated to it. It was from 2:43 that afternoon; Draco glanced at his watch. Nearly eight hours earlier. Drawing in a deep breath, he opened the message.

Hi Draco. I'm glad to hear from you. I'm so sorry to hear about your mother, and I hope you're doing alright. Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help. Take care.

He felt as though someone had tightened a vise around his heart. Tight, shallow breaths chased from his lungs as he read and reread the message until his eyes blurred from the small rectangular text on the pale yellow screen.

Even without her memories—and living out some alternate Muggle existence—she was still Hermione Granger at her core essence. Or as well as he could tell, having never been close to her in school. But even he knew she had a heart of gold and was always willing to look out for others.

His stomach rolled, nausea threatening the meagre contents he'd managed to eat that day.

Clenching the phone tightly in his fist, he squeezed his eyes shut.

As he set the phone back on the table, all at once, the emotion of the weekend swept over him like a tidal wave, crashing down upon him with a great, powerful roar. Adrenaline raced with the furious speed of his pulse, creating a dull buzz behind his ears, and moisture spiked at the corners of his eyes.

Burying his face in his hands, he attempted to catch his breath. His heart raced, mouth going dry, and for the first time since he had heard about his mother, the genuine realisation settled over him that he might lose her.

Tears broke, tracking down his cheeks, and Draco wrenched at his hair with a frantic hand. A ragged sob choked from his lips.

The storm brewing in his mind was too powerful, too all-encompassing, and he sank deeper into the sofa.

He didn't know what to make of anyone caring about his well-being, because he sure as hell didn't deserve it. He never possibly could. Which would be made abundantly clear tomorrow, when he would give up everything to do with Hermione Granger.

And his life would go back to the way it had been before the warmth of her smile had crept into his world.

Only now, his world felt as though it had turned over, and he didn't know anything anymore.

As silent tears tracked down his cheeks, Draco cocooned himself in a blanket, and at last, a sort of anguished fatigue took him in sleep.


On Monday morning, Draco sucked in a long, deep breath and returned to life.

He looked paler than usual in the mirror, a dullness to his messy hair, and he ignored the way his eyes were faintly rimmed with pink. Although he'd slept the night before, he didn't feel any more rested than he had the previous day. He had allowed himself one night to dwell on his grief and anguish; now, he had to pick himself up and carry on.

Organising the information he'd gathered on Granger's case, he tucked it all carefully into a file and inside his satchel. If nothing else, his knowledge had allowed him to begin the investigation on her existence anew. And he could only hope Potter wouldn't strangle him for keeping the truth from him these past weeks.

Only a slight tremble shook his hands as he knotted his tie, smoothing the silk as he tucked a piece of hair back in place.

While a part of him wanted to stop by the hospital before he was due at work to check on his mother, Healer Brooks had assured him that they would update Draco of any changes in his mother's condition―for better or worse.

Although no further messages had come through from Granger, he tucked the mobile phone into a pocket in his bag.

With a long, steadying breath, he Apparated to the Ministry.

In the Atrium, he awaited a lift with a crowd from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes in their recognisable robes. Draco felt a strange disconnect from the rest of them as he offered a stiff nod.

His heart began to beat in his throat as the lift shuddered into motion from level eight.

If nothing else, at least he wouldn't have to worry about the matter any longer.

Between levels five and six, a small ping went off in Draco's bag, jolting straight through his heart. The other occupants paid him no mind, and Draco forced a thick swallow. He debated simply ignoring it, but there was only one person who could have possibly contacted him.

Affecting nonchalance, Draco shifted his body towards the wall and pulled the mobile from his bag. He opened the message, and for several long moments, he simply stared at the small block of text encompassing the screen.

Hi Draco. I've been thinking a lot about you and your mother, and I hope she has a fast recovery. This might sound strange, but I just wanted to thank you for coming to my class on Saturday. Sometimes London seems so large, and it's easy to feel as though I'm alone here. I appreciate the reminder that I'm not. I hope you have a nice day.

His eyes fixated, unblinking, on the words for so long he nearly missed his stop.

By the time he exited the lift on level eight and ventured into the DMLE, Draco's mind swam with indecision.

Maybe he could simply tell Potter and maintain contact with her. He doubted that would be the case. And already, he'd begun to feel a certain protectiveness over her. On a deeper level, curiosity―and most certainly, interest. More interest than was proper, he was sure.

Caught in a mental fog, Draco crossed the department towards the bank of cubicles where the training Aurors kept desks, and he settled in at his workspace to begin on some paperwork. Active enough to keep his brain occupied but not so tenuous that it would require his full focus.

None of the other training Aurors in the bank were at their desks that morning, which wasn't unusual given the wide array of tasks they could be working on. But the silence where there was often a dull hum niggled at Draco's brain.

After only fifteen minutes, Potter strode over.

"What are you doing here?" Folding his arms, he fixed Draco with a stern look. "Did you read any of my messages yesterday?"

Draco lifted his brows. "No."

Potter's expression softened. "You didn't need to come in today. Robards approved it―if you need to be at St Mungo's."

"What I need," Draco clipped, tapping the end of his quill on the desk, "is to be somewhere other than St Mungo's. I'm going spare with worry, and I need something else to distract my attention."

"Fair." Potter hummed, glancing around at Draco's bare workspace. "But if you change your mind, it's alright. We can train this afternoon, if you like."

"Sure. Thanks, Potter." Although Draco turned back towards his paperwork, he set his quill down after another minute when Potter still lingered. "Did you need something else?"

Staring hard at the opposite wall, Potter shrugged. "I was just curious. What's Nott's deal?"

Draco stared at his desk for a moment, brow furrowing with confusion. Then comprehension dawned, and he snickered. "Are you asking after my best mate, Potter?"

With a sort of strange, nonchalant gesture, Potter's gaze drifted to the ceiling, and he perched on the corner of Draco's desk. "Maybe. Is that weird after everything growing up? I only thought—we're all adults now and everything."

Gaping at him, Draco drawled, "I didn't even know you were―"

"Bisexual?" Potter interrupted, giving an idle shrug. "It isn't exactly public knowledge, but it's not the Prophet's business who I date, is it?"

Despite himself, Draco snorted. "It certainly is not." He eyed Potter for a moment, and a vague recollection fluttered around the back of his mind. Theo and Potter had kept up a steady flow of conversation all day on Saturday while the three of them had been at St Mungo's, only Draco had been too caught up in his own thoughts to pay them any mind. "And at any rate, Theo is gay." A smirk tugged at his lips. "And single."

Not that he wanted Potter around even more―but he supposed the bloke wasn't so bad.

And Draco didn't have any room to talk, the way he'd been pining after Granger.

The thought reminded him of his intent to pass the investigation into her situation over to Potter. At the present moment, Draco didn't care to make Potter angry so early in the day, and especially not if they would be training that afternoon.

"Maybe I'll send him an owl." Potter's eyes flitted towards him. "Do you think?"

"Theo loves birds. I'm sure he'd be delighted."

A scoff of exasperation fell from his lips. "I'm being serious. But maybe I deserved that. Merlin, I suppose it would be like if you wanted to date―" He thinned his lips with a grimace. "Never mind."

A breath hung, suspended, in Draco's chest.

He wanted to pry―he wanted to ask Potter why he had allowed Granger's case to go cold. To dig up every last parcel of information he could possibly find on her. Maybe he and Potter could resolve the matter together.

But even if the two of them had reached an amicable place with one another, the same wasn't true between himself and Granger. The only reason she had even looked at him twice was because she didn't remember the way he had once treated her.

Which made the situation feel that much worse.

Quietly, he mused, "Theo hasn't said anything about it to me, but I don't see the harm in asking him for a drink."

Potter flashed him a grin, clapped Draco on the shoulder, and rose from the edge of the desk. "Great. Thanks, Malfoy. See you this afternoon."

"Right," Draco muttered, shaking his head as the man walked away.

Although Draco had never felt the slightest affiliation to Gryffindor house, he couldn't help but wonder what it must feel like. To be brave and reckless enough to see someone that caught his interest and simply go after them without overthinking himself into a corner the way he had done with Granger.

Again, his mind drifted to the folder of research in his bag.

Slowly, as he returned to the reports on his desk, his thoughts slid adjacent to the message she had sent him that morning. If Potter was interested in Theo, he couldn't very well be mad at Draco for going after Granger.

Except the situation wasn't remotely similar.

Most notably, Theo knew who and where he was―most of the time.

Maybe if Draco could simply jar her memory, he wouldn't have to confess that he'd known her whereabouts for weeks and have his head chewed off.

Awareness sat, thick and rancorous within him. The longer he delayed and justified, the worse it would become. And he would pass the case off.

He just might need to give the situation a little more consideration.


On Tuesday evening, Draco went to the tea shop in Muggle London.

After two long, difficult days, the healers at St Mungo's were no closer to determining the case of his mother's sudden and debilitating illness. Whether out of genuine interest, or because he simply didn't want to leave Draco to struggle alone, Potter had stayed late at the Ministry both days, pushing Draco through his paces with some of the department's more intense battle simulations.

Draco had failed miserably each time.

But the solidarity in Potter's company meant more to him than he knew how to express. The man didn't owe him anything, and Draco appreciated that he'd stuck around.

After a long, hot shower, he left the Ministry and wound up outside the shop where Granger worked.

When the chime above the door rang, Draco cast a quick glance around. The young girl from the first time he had visited worked the counter, and Draco offered a thin smile. "Raspberry herbal, please. To go." As he slipped a paper note onto the counter, he gave the place another quick sweep. "Is Melody working tonight?"

"First Tuesday of the month," the girl said in her thick dialect. The words didn't mean anything to Draco, and it must have shown on his face, because she huffed an irritated sigh. "Mel had appointments today."

A frown pulled at his lips. "Is she alright?"

"Yeah." The girl slid a tall paper cup across the counter towards him. "So far's I know." Her mouth spread into a wide grin. "I'll let'er know you came by."

"Sure. Thanks." Swiping his cup, Draco made for the door again.

He tried to remember being that age, but when he had been sixteen, he'd been trapped by the wiles of a madman under threat to his parents' lives. The last thing that had concerned him was gossip.

A chill began to lift into the air as the sky darkened, but Draco wasn't in a rush to go home. He sipped his tea, sliding his other hand into his pocket as he paced the street. On the next road down, a nightclub bustled with activity, people shouting to one another as a loud, impatient beat sounded from the music system inside.

Draco carried on towards a small park tucked back from the street and settled onto a bench.

The bright, fruity tea kept him warm from the encroaching night air.

Idly, he wondered what sort of appointments Granger had on the first Tuesday of the month, and whether it had anything to do with her condition. He pulled the mobile phone from his bag, skimming through the two messages he had received from her, and his attention lingered on the second, as it always did.

Draco knew all too well how it felt to be alone.

After the emotional strain of the last few days, he had only wanted to see the secretive warmth of her smile again. He took a long sip of tea, staring at the message.

He set his tea on the bench beside him and tapped a message into the phone.

The tea doesn't taste as good when you don't make it.

Glancing at his watch, he settled deeper into the bench and allowed his eyelids to flutter shut. He hadn't slept well since his mother went to the hospital, and the peaceful quiet of the park was soothing.

It was already nearing ten o'clock, and he didn't expect her to respond. But he tried to picture the light in her eyes.

Draco knew he was in too deep, but he couldn't help himself. He hadn't met someone who captured his interest, so fast and so entirely, his whole life.

Just his luck, it happened to be Hermione-bloody-Granger.

The phone in his hand vibrated, startling him, but a soft smile curled his lips as he opened the message.

I'm not surprised. Sorry I missed you, though. How are you doing?

He released a long breath, gazing at the deepening cobalt of the sky. It was rare to find a moment of peace in the heart of London, and he considered his response for a moment.

Okay, thanks for asking. No news yet either way. Are you alright?

Granger had likely assumed he'd been told the reason she wasn't at work that day, although Draco didn't care to pry. But if she was willing to talk about the situation, he might be able to learn more.

Almost fifteen minutes passed by the time she responded, and Draco wondered if he had offended her. Briefly, he debated dialling her mobile number to talk but didn't know if she was busy. Or maybe she simply didn't care to.

At last, the phone buzzed again.

Yes―a few routine appointments. Nothing to worry about.

Although relief swept through him, he wondered whether it was a touchy subject and she didn't care to talk about it. Maybe the appointments had nothing to do with her memory, and it was something else entirely.

His tea was nearly empty, and the chill had crept into the air in earnest. Fatigue began to tug at his eyes as he tapped another message into the keys, feeling as though he was beginning to get the hang of it despite the arduous task of using numbers to convey letters.

Glad to hear it.

As he stared at the outgoing message, Draco's heart jumped into his throat. He thought of Potter's forwardness that morning, and speculated as to whether the man had already owled Theo for a date. Draco wondered if he would hear about it from Theo tomorrow.

He knew he ought to walk away. That all of this would only end poorly, in potentially more ways than one. But he so badly wanted to know her.

Sucking in a deep breath, he typed another message, ignoring the slight shake in his hands and the roar of adrenaline behind his ears.

Do you want to get a drink sometime?

He stared at the screen for several minutes, his breaths falling shallow and fingers tense around the phone. Finally, he jumped to his feet and shoved the phone into his pocket. He finished the dregs of his tea, tossed the empty cup into a nearby bin, and paced the short distance back to the main road.

Slipping between two buildings, Draco Apparated home to his flat. Still, she hadn't sent him a return message.

Realistically, it would make the whole matter easier if she simply didn't respond. Obviously, if she wasn't interested in him, he wouldn't need to worry about whether or not he ruined his shot with her. It would make things a little awkward if she was able to have her memory magically restored, but hopefully that would pass in time.

Draco prepared for sleep, stifling a wide yawn. He debated leaving the phone on the sitting room table but carried it into the bedroom instead.

He stared at the stupid thing for several minutes longer, before finally resigning himself to the fact that she either wasn't going to respond tonight, or maybe not at all.

Blowing out a breath, Draco Noxed the lights and settled into bed.

The phone rattled against his nightstand with a buzz. Draco grappled for it in the dark, peering at the small lit face.

I'd like that. I work tomorrow and Thursday until half eight.

A slow grin spread across his face, lifting into his cheeks, and for the first time in days, Draco felt the heady warmth of anticipation. Surely he would regret this. But he couldn't bring himself to that point tonight.

He typed into the phone, Tomorrow sounds great.

Then he succumbed to the eager pull of sleep.

 

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter - I'd love to hear your thoughts on everything.

Alpha and beta hugs to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 7

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"What's got you so upbeat?" Potter shook his head with a snicker. "Another date or something?"

Draco froze, cocked a brow, and frowned at him. "What is it with you? You suppose if you just keep asking if I've got a date, eventually I'll have a date, and you can say you're right?" He stowed his wand in its holster. "Presuming, of course, that I'll actually tell you if I do."

"Malfoy, you mope around the department ninety-five percent of the time." Potter scrunched his face up in concentration. "But recently you've been considerably brighter. Excuse me for noticing."

The words resonated oddly in Draco's skull, especially since his mother had been in the hospital going on five days now. A shard of guilt stabbed him through the stomach. But he only cocked a brow. "Maybe it's seasonal."

Although he rolled his eyes, Potter didn't press. "How is your mother doing, by the way?"

"The same." Draco blew out a breath. "I went to St Mungo's at lunch to visit her. Doped out on potions and halfway coherent. The healers have begun looking into more obscure causes―potential curses that might have flared up."

The grimace on Potter's face embodied how Draco felt about the idea as well. Blood curses were never a good route to have to consider and rarely ended well.

"I hope for her sake and yours that isn't the case," Potter mused.

"Why do you care so much, anyway?" Draco snickered, and the words didn't carry any of the intended levels of derision, but the question had been bothering him all the same. Although now that he knew of Potter's interest in Theo, the fact that he'd spent the bulk of Saturday at the hospital with the two of them didn't come across quite as altruistic.

Still, Potter's face faltered. "Your mum saved my life, Malfoy. Unless you've forgotten about that. Sure, it was in exchange for information about you, but I'll never forget it."

Draco caught his gaze for a moment, and something settled a little deeper between them before he nodded. "I suppose so. Either way, I appreciate your support this past week."

"Of course." A sincere smile pulled at Potter's lips, and for a moment, Draco wondered if he might one day consider the man a friend; it was a bizarre thought. "And just in case you were wondering, I have a date."

"There it is," Draco huffed. "You just wanted me to admit I don't have a date so you could wave in my face that you've got one." He rolled his eyes with a chuckle. "Obviously, the owl went over well, then."

A bit of a shrug lifted Potter's shoulders. "We're seeing one another Friday."

"It is fucking weird that I'm hearing about this from you and not Theo." Draco clicked his tongue, thinking he ought to admonish Theo, but he hadn't even been home the night before to receive any Floo calls. "And I suppose with Theo's only living parent in Azkaban, I'll have to be the one to tell you that if you hurt him, I'll break your neck."

Potter fixed him with a hard stare from which Draco had seen lesser men flee. "Are you threatening me, Malfoy?"

A grin spread across his face. "I'd do it. For Theo."

Idly, Draco wondered what sort of threat Potter might give him if he knew Draco was going out with Granger that night. Maybe he would surpass threats and resort directly to violence.

The idea had rooted itself deeply enough that Draco could hardly ignore it anymore―at some point, he would have to tell Potter about the matter. Thinking back to his original hypothetical conversation with Theo, while Draco knew it wasn't specifically his secret to share, it also wasn't his to keep.

But for now, he simply wanted to look forward to their evening together.

"Anyway," Potter said quietly, drawing Draco's attention back to the matter at hand. "I don't intend to hurt anyone, honestly. Part of the Auror's oath and all that."

"True," Draco said with a chuckle. "And Theo can look out for himself. He's weird as hell, but he's got a heart of gold. Don't mess it up."

They shared a grin. "And you," Potter mused, "enjoy your non-date or whatever it is."

Draco only shook his head.


As the day passed, Draco felt nerves swell within him to the point where he couldn't sit still anymore. After he finished training for the day, he went home to change and freshen up, and after the fourth time fixing his hair, he couldn't stand to wait at home any longer.

Apparating to the hospital, Draco made the already instinctive trip towards his mother's private suite. The Malfoy coffers had taken a small hit to ensure the highest level of care in Narcissa's situation, but more Galleons were sitting away in the vaults than Draco would ever know what to do with.

Despite the fact that he hadn't taken any for his own use since he'd enrolled with the Ministry.

"Oh, Mister Malfoy," Healer Brooks said as they nearly collided with one another in the corridor. "I meant to reach out to you. Do you have a few minutes to speak with me in my office?" When Draco hesitated, eyeing the door to his mother's room, the healer added, "Your mother is asleep at the moment."

Draco slipped his hands into his pockets with a nod. "Sure."

As he followed the man around the next corner, he felt a prickling of nerves crawl up his spine. Surely, this long without results in magical healing was a bad sign. But the man's countenance remained stoic as they settled in his office.

"As you know," Healer Brooks began, "we haven't yet determined the root cause of your mother's illness. While we still have avenues to pursue, and this isn't unusual, we would have expected to find something by now. The good news is that we've been able to eliminate some nasty blood curses from the possibilities."

"Right," Draco drawled, resisting the urge to glance at his watch. He didn't have long before he was meant to meet up with Granger. "And what's the bad news?"

Brooks released a long sigh. "If we don't discover the cause soon, we'll need to consider other paths for your mother's care. More than once, she's expressed her distaste in remaining at the hospital long term. The case may be that she might need to return home―and it may even prove beneficial to be back in her own space."

The thought jarred through him. "I have a job, Healer Brooks―I wouldn't be able to take care of her."

"No, of course not. We would recommend a live-in healer for the time being. Someone who can still provide the consistent care she's receiving here, bring her to appointments, that sort of thing." The man ducked his chin. "We can discuss cost options if money is prohibitive, but to be honest, it wouldn't be that much more than what you're paying for a full private suite right now."

Draco hadn't stepped foot on the Manor grounds in years, and he clenched his jaw. For all of his mother's flaws and the many arguments they'd had over the years, he knew he was willing to do whatever it took to help her. "Fine. If you think it's for the best, we'll do it."

"Many times, we see a patient thrive in their home environment, even if they've struggled to improve here at St Mungo's." The man's expression faltered. "I want to assure you that we're doing our best to find the cause here. And if the home care doesn't work out, she can always return to the hospital."

Releasing a long sigh, Draco clasped his hands to resist the urge to wrench at his hair. "Very well. Thank you, Healer Brooks. Let me know if there's anything you need from me."

"I will get you more information tomorrow." As they both rose to their feet, Draco shook the man's proffered hand.

He had no interest in returning to the Manor beyond absolute necessity, but it seemed as though he wouldn't have an option in this case. The idea left him cold in the pit of his being.

Although he walked by his mother's room on his way back from Healer Brooks' office, the attending healers informed Draco his mother was still asleep and would be unable to accept visitors. Blowing out a breath, Draco returned to the Apparition point.

He checked his watch; it was a quarter past eight.

His heart rioted in his chest as he Apparated across London.


Despite the unease that still sat heavily on his soul―and had only swelled in magnitude since his discussion with Healer Brooks―Draco felt no small measure of anticipation take its place as he slipped through the door of the tea shop.

The teenaged girl eyed him with unveiled scepticism when he sat in a booth to wait for Granger, as she wasn't due to end her shift for another ten minutes. But her eyes flitted to him from across the shop as she tended an elderly couple, a smile pulling at her lips.

He could scarcely manage the racing of his heart, and he forced himself to take several long breaths. For Merlin's sake, it wasn't as if he had never been on a date before.

But the case remained that he had never been on a date with her before.

The strangeness of it added a certain dimension of complexity to the matter. The stakes had never felt so high on any other date.

A few minutes later, she slipped into the other side of his booth, a sparkle in her eyes as she met his gaze. Her wavy curls were loose and glossy, and she wore a lovely lace top.

"Hi." Draco ducked his chin, a smirk curling his own mouth. "You look nice."

"Thank you. So do you," she murmured, and a faint hint of colour danced in her cheeks. "Where would you like to go tonight? Did you drive?"

For a brief, terrifying moment, Draco only stared at her. Realistically, he ought to have considered such a thing, but he had never dated a Muggle―or someone remotely Muggle-adjacent―and the idea had never crossed his mind. He didn't know whether most Muggles drove vehicles, particularly in the city.

Clearing his throat, he glanced away. "I did not. I don't have a car."

Although her brows lifted in surprise, there was no judgement in her stare. "Oh. That's alright; I wasn't sure, given your family background. There are places nearby that we can walk to."

He sincerely hoped she wasn't going to suggest the nightclub he had passed the night before, with music so loud it had nearly vibrated the pavement outside. It didn't strike Draco as a place she would enjoy, however, and he doubted they would even be able to hear one another.

"That sounds good," Draco mused, glancing around. "Are you set to go?"

"Nearly. I just have to grab my coat." Flashing him another brief smile, she rose and vanished into the back. Moments later, she returned and conferred with the young girl working before flitting back to Draco's side.

The sky had already begun to darken, but the air was mild as they walked down the road, and Draco shoved his hands in his pockets to quell his nerves. "How was your day?" he asked, suppressing an urge to grimace at the banality of the question.

"It was good," she said as they walked. "I have two exams next week to prepare for, but I've caught up with all my readings and assignments, and the shop was a little slow this evening." She cast him a glance. "All incredibly riveting to you, of course."

Although Draco couldn't particularly reconcile with the idea of exams and assignments anymore, he snickered. "I like hearing about it."

"And what about you? How is your mother doing?" Concern flitted through her eyes as she bit down on her lower lip.

He hesitated for a moment, uncertain how much he ought to discuss with her on the matter. "My mother is... tough. Even as sick as she is, she's been complaining about her care providers." He released a long exhale. "They still don't know what's wrong and have started to run some tests to scour for deeper issues. But her head attendant thinks she might be better off with in-home care, which means she would return to the manor."

Granger's brows lifted. "Wow. I hope they can figure out what's wrong soon."

"Thanks. So do I."

"You live in a manor?"

Something in the inflexion of the words caught his attention, and his head snapped towards her. But nothing beyond genuine curiosity sat in her face, and he shook his head.

"I have a flat." When she only eyed him a moment later, he elaborated. "I used to live in the manor. But I moved out a handful of years ago. If it were up to me, I'd never return, but I'll have to in order to visit my mother."

"Your family life is complex, isn't it?" Her lips twitched with a hint of humour, and Draco chuckled.

"I can't even begin to explain it all."

Granger glanced down the road, pausing in the middle of the walk. "Do you prefer university club or scholarly watering hole?"

It felt like a test, and he narrowed his eyes as he stared at her. "Scholarly."

"Good choice," she mused before lowering her voice and adding, "and the correct choice."

A grin tugged, unbidden, and he felt the warmth of it surge through him. "Changed my mind," he quipped. "Let's go to the club."

Granger wheeled towards him, shaking her head a little, and breathed, "Prat."

Stumbling to a stop before he accidentally collided with her, Draco stared at her for a moment. He was at least half a foot taller than her, but she sparkled with easygoing confidence that made her more imposing than her slight stature. It was something that had always jumped out about Granger.

And she was beautiful.

That determination had taken him a few years, and while he would have denied it had anyone asked when he was younger, it didn't change the fact that it was true. Especially now, having grown into the charms of a young woman.

Draco forced a swallow around the lump that solidified within his throat. "If there was only one correct answer," he drawled, "why did you give me two options?"

"Because," she whispered, "I'm still trying to get a read on the sort of person you are."

The response was more forward than he might have expected from anyone else, except Granger.

"Yeah?" he murmured, holding her stare. "I'll look forward to the results."

Although her expression faltered for a moment, a soft, alluring smile overtook her face. "So far, they're promising." She blinked, glancing away, and Draco sucked in a shallow breath. "Anyway, the pub is just here."

Surprised, Draco followed her gaze towards a brick facade set back from the road where they stood. Draco reached for the door on instinct, holding it open, and her eyes searched his for a moment before she slipped inside.

Since stumbling across her in the Muggle side of London, Draco had experienced more Muggle things than he had ever expected. But it was reassuring to know that pubs were more or less the same.

The atmosphere was dimly lit but inviting, with lacquered wooden tables and tall bookshelves stood along the walls packed with thick-spined books.

He could see exactly why Granger liked the place.

They slipped into an empty table in the corner, away from the general hum of the place, and after a waiter arrived to take their order, Draco sank into his seat. A strange tension played about his shoulders as the truth of the situation settled in.

"So when do you expect to be through with your training?" she asked, gaze drifting around the room.

Draco latched onto the topic, feeling as though he wasn't a very interesting date. "At least another year, likely more. It'll depend on a few things, like if I get kicked out of the program."

He snickered at the thought, but Granger only stared at him with wide eyes. "Why would you get kicked out?"

"Realistically, any number of reasons," he teased. "But I'm only joking. It's just very intense, and I'm not exactly excelling."

Her face softened, head falling into a tilt. "I'm sure you'll get there. I can tell how much it means to you. And if you ever like, I'm happy to help you study; I'm a bit of an aficionado."

"I don't doubt you are," he breathed, a flicker of fondness darting through him. He could remember countless nights spent across the block of study tables at the library until the pair of them were the only ones left and the candles had burned nearly to the bottom. "Most of my tests are practical scenarios, but I'll take you up on that if they ever offer a written exam."

"Of course," Granger tittered. Although she glanced around them, he could see the tension in the set of her shoulders.

The waiter delivered their drinks, and Granger flashed him a smile before taking a sip of her beverage―some sort of red cocktail. Draco eyed her for a moment as he took a pull of his ale, and she was more fidgety than he had ever seen her. He wondered whether he had misjudged the situation in asking her out―or if maybe they had a different perception of what the night meant.

"Melody, is everything alright?" Draco felt a flicker of doubt when she plastered on a thin smile.

Merlin, he had already learned to differentiate one smile from the other.

"Yes!" she exclaimed with a quick nod. "Quite alright." She blew out a breath and took another drink from her glass. "I suppose I'm only a little nervous because I'm not certain whether I should even be here. I don't imagine I can afford your dowry."

Draco blinked at her.

Her lips twitched.

"Did you just... make a marriage joke?" he asked.

"Too soon?" she tittered.

A laugh broke free, incredulity mixed with relief, and he grinned. "Quite timely, in fact."

"I mean..." she trailed off, smiling in return. "Honestly, from everything I've heard, I wouldn't be surprised. Next, you'll be telling me about your family vaults buried below the earth."

He cocked a brow. "Was that a guess? Because―"

"You're kidding."

Clicking his tongue, Draco took another swallow of ale. "You honestly wouldn't believe it. And for the record, I do not have a dowry, so you're safe to be out with me tonight."

She released an exaggerated breath of relief, the smile lingering on her lips for another moment longer before falling away. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Seriously, though," Draco hedged. "Is something the matter?"

The sparkle he'd come to rely on in her eyes was absent when he caught her gaze. He shifted in his seat, wishing he could dispel the cloud of melancholy that had seeped in.

"Jitters, I suppose," she said quietly. "I ought to tell you something, and it's a little difficult to explain."

Draco's heart stalled in his chest and skipped a beat as he stared at her, frozen. "No judgement, Mel."

A tight breath fell from her lips as she glanced away, tapping her fingernails against the surface of the table. "When I told you it's easy to feel alone here... it's because I don't know anything about how or where I grew up." He stared at her, forcing a thick swallow down his dry throat. "A few years ago, I had an accident and suffered a complete long-term memory loss episode."

Even though he already knew as much, to hear the words from her voice―to see the despair in her face―felt as though someone had punched him in the chest. "What sort of an accident?"

"I don't know," she breathed, shaking her head a little as though to dispel her thoughts. "The first thing I remember is waking in Australia, of all places, and I couldn't remember anything that had happened. At all." She offered a meek attempt at a smile. "Which, let me tell you, was a weird experience."

He didn't have it in him to dredge forth a shred of humour. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It was as though I'd lost everything that made me, me." Her face was contemplative when she looked up at him. "I had these skills that I must have learned―speaking, reading, writing, that sort of thing. Intrinsic knowledge, but no frame of reference for where any of it had come from."

"Nothing?" Draco asked, his voice hoarse.

"Nothing," she echoed quietly. "All I had on me was a wallet with some Australian dollars and some English pounds. And my identification―Melody Simon, with a London address. So I figured out a way home, desperate for someone who knew me. But... the address wasn't real." Her voice dropped to a whisper, devastation tugging at her brow. "I don't even know if this is my real name."

Listening to her tell the story was so visceral, Draco felt the full weight of it crush him. He swept a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. "So what did you do?"

"I had hoped to find some family, or friends, or someone who knew me. But I had no idea where I could even begin to look... so I just had to survive. I found a job, and then I decided I ought to go to school, and... well, that's about where I am now." She offered him an apologetic grimace. "I haven't shared the story with very many people."

"I can't even imagine," Draco breathed. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that, Mel."

"It's alright," she mused. "At first, I was hopeful the memories would suddenly come rushing back in, and it would all have been a temporary mess, but it's been a number of years now, and I've all but given up on a past I may never know. I've seen so many doctors and specialists at this point―every month, it's new tests and new people hooking machines up to my brain―and I wish I could just put it behind me. But I feel like I'll always wonder, you know?"

A heavy breath sank from his lungs as indecision threatened to wrench him in two.

He wouldn't even know how to begin to explain what he knew from the other side.

"Anyway," she said with a bit of a laugh that didn't sound remotely genuine. "That's the baggage I bring, at any rate. And if there's more, I don't remember it."

She began tapping an anxious rhythm on the tabletop again, and Draco stilled her hand with his own, working his jaw. Her fingers were soft and small beneath his, and he gave her hand a brief squeeze. Her eyes flitted up to his, wide and searching.

"Your baggage doesn't matter," he said quietly. "And even if it did, it's mixed in with the mountain of my own. I'm only sorry you had to go through all of that."

"Thank you, Draco." Her throat shifted with a swallow, and her fingers entwined with his own. "That means a lot."

"Maybe," he hedged, "you'll find the truth out yet. Don't lose faith, yeah?"

"It's hard," she whispered, her smile faltering again. "It's as if I'm torn between wanting to find out―to see who I might be missing―and there's guilt for wanting to let go of that pain and begin anew. Constantly warring within me."

Draco's heart raced, voracious and insatiable, as her words struck some part of him that hadn't even begun to consider the anguish the situation must have inspired within her. "It wasn't your fault. Whatever happened back then―you can't carry guilt over something that happened that was out of your control." Swallowing a tidal wave of emotion within him, he felt warmth spread through his face. "Maybe you'll find the answers one day, but you can't torture yourself over it."

Her large, watery eyes blinked up at him, imploring. As though she wished she could believe him.

She swiped at the corner of one eye with her free hand and released a quiet snicker. "Look at me, making our nice evening together weird and emotional. You'll probably not want to see me again."

"On the contrary." He gave her hand another squeeze, ducking his chin. "I find I'm more interested in getting to know you than ever."

Something akin to hope curled the corners of her mouth as she whispered, "Okay."

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading. I hope you're all enjoying the story! And in exciting news, the update schedule for this story is going to shift from every 7 days to every 5-6 :)

So many hugs to my loves, Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, for all their help with this story.

Chapter 8

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

After two and a half years of avoiding his ancestral home entirely, Draco found himself staring up at the untouched facade. Malfoy Manor looked the same as it always had, yet nausea roiled in the pit of his stomach at the swelling of memories that crashed over him.

He could already feel a headache begin to settle in.

The ordeal of seeing the manor again, however, was the second of his two greatest concerns. The healers attending to his mother had already arranged a room for her to stay, and one of them would be living in the manor around the clock in the event of any unforeseen issues.

Draco was grateful for their thorough preparations, but St Mungo's was neutral territory. The manor felt like the embodiment of most of Draco's nightmares.

According to Healer Brooks, the team had discovered the cause of her sudden and vicious illness, and Draco wasn't certain whether he was more or less reassured now that they knew the root of the issue.

A rare and poorly understood sickness that targetted the magical core of a person. He didn't know what to make of the matter, and every healer he'd spoken to had been unable to give him any proper answers regarding treatment and prognosis. The only thing he heard was that the disease could cause a slow deterioration of the core, and the thought had settled within him like ice.

Healer Brooks had been quick to assure him that they would be doing their best to restore her health and to cut off the insidious ailment at the pass.

Draco wasn't sure whether he believed any of them.

But there was nothing he could do at the moment beyond rely on the healers' expertise, and the idea of it left him uneasy.

He strode into the manor, feeling an intrusive frisson chase down his spine as he crossed the threshold of the wards. Despite the years since he had last been home, the ancient blood magic embedded in the foundation itself welcomed him as Patriarch of the house.

He didn't care about any of it, not since blood fanaticism had torn his life and family apart.

The halls of the manor were as quiet as they had been the last time, but still, the corridors were haunted with memories, and Draco found himself looking over his shoulder at every turn.

Cold, malicious laughter danced in the back of his mind; the slithering of a massive snake along the marble floors caused a shudder to race through him.

None of it was real anymore, but the sounds were always close to the surface of his memory.

Not long after Draco returned to England following the completion of his NEWTs, he had moved into the small flat that had become his home. After months of waking in a cold sweat―on nights when he had even been able to sleep―he couldn't stand it anymore.

And now, returning for his mother felt like an effort to withhold the memories that threatened to encroach.

Not one room hadn't been soiled by the Dark Lord's presence in the manor. Still, his feet led him through the labyrinthine halls towards the main floor wing where his mother's makeshift hospital room had been arranged. As he neared, a pair of healers bustled past, offering him matching smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes.

He could only imagine how they felt about being relegated to Malfoy Manor. "Good day," he murmured, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets as he walked into his mother's room. She was disoriented but awake, and a lazy smile drifted across her face as Draco ducked in to brush a kiss against her temple.

"Draco," she said, gazing up at him. "You've come to visit me."

"Of course," he clipped, glancing around the usually vacant bedroom. It was almost unrecognisable from the last time he had seen it; machines and instruments had been set up around the bed, and the pungent scent of potions hung in the air. "It looks like they've got you set up well."

His mother scoffed, lifting a brow. "They might have at least allowed me the comforts of my own room."

"It makes more sense for you to be on the ground floor," Draco said patiently, "and near the exits. You know they can't Apparate from within the wards without you alongside if anything happens."

"So they say," Narcissa mused, "but I happen to prefer―"

"Please be nice to your healers, Mother," he drawled, feeling the pressure mount behind his temples. Just breathing the blasted air in the manor left him anxious and short of breath. "They know what's best for you―and we're paying plenty for their presence on the ground floor."

She only pursed her lips. "Yes, Draco."

"That's the spirit," he quipped, holding tight to the sharp edge of himself that wanted to scream.

The pair of healers returned, checking several diagnostics, and one of them looked to Draco with a pointed stare. "We'll need to run some tests shortly, Mister Malfoy, if you don't mind stepping out."

"That's fine," he said. "Thank you for everything. I appreciate it."

The woman's smile softened. "Of course. We'll do our best to see she's comfortable and well cared for."

Narcissa muttered something under her breath that Draco didn't catch; it was probably for the best. He paced from the room, feeling his heart clamour a frantic rhythm in his chest as he slipped into the parlour down the hall. He drew a long breath in, letting it fall from his lungs as he assessed the room.

A crystal decanter of aged Firewhisky sat on the cart as it always had, and Draco eyed the bottle for a moment before pouring a generous measure.

Then he threw a handful of Floo powder from the mantle into the grate and called out 'Nott Manor'. Moments later, Theo's wide-eyed face appeared in the flames.

"What the hell are you―" His eyes narrowed in on the tumbler in Draco's hand, and his face vanished. Draco smirked and took a sip from the glass, then poured another just as Theo walked through the grate, brushing the soot from his shirtsleeves. He gazed around the parlour, incredulous. "You are at Malfoy Manor."

"They moved Mother here today," Draco announced, offering the second glass to his friend.

Theo grimaced and took a sip. "That explains it. Thanks." He eyed Draco for a moment, as though uncertain what sort of situation he had just walked in on. "Are you doing alright?"

"Fine," Draco muttered, drawing in a shallow breath. "Obviously, I'd rather be anywhere but here, but I'll survive."

"Yeah."

"Anyway," he went on, "what time is your date?"

Theo glanced at his watch. "I'm meeting Potter at eight."

Despite himself, a grin tugged at his lips, and Draco shook his head with a chuckle. "Can't believe you're going out with him."

With a noncommittal shrug, Theo took another long swig of whisky before pouring himself another small measure. "I don't know, mate. Maybe it'll work out―and if not, it'll make things awkward for the two of you at work which is fucking hilarious."

"Nah," Draco mused, "Potter isn't that bad. Most of the time." He snickered into his glass. "Imagine me saying that."

"Oh, how things change," Theo drawled, sinking into a straight-backed armchair near the hearth.

"Tell me about it." Dropping into the sofa, Draco dragged a hand through his hair and took a pull of whisky. The warm liquor raced through him, the burn of it soothing his frazzled nerves. He supposed at some point he would have to tell Theo about Granger, but he would probably need to tell Potter first.

As if reading his thoughts, Theo sank back into his chair and prompted, "So. Are you doing yoga again tomorrow?"

Draco's eyes snapped up. Merlin, it felt like it had been so much longer than a week ago that everything had happened. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes."

Theo let out a whistle. "Remarkable."

"Is it?" Draco cocked a disdainful brow.

"I don't fucking know anything anymore, mate," Theo snickered. "I'm going out with Potter; you've got some Muggle girl―"

Draco released a long, aggravated sigh. "I have not. Merlin, do you ever just mind your own?"

"No." Theo rolled his eyes. "And you know me better than to ask."

Although the statement wasn't untrue, Draco didn't care to respond. He took another long swig of whisky, feeling the oncoming headache finally begin to recede. But he hadn't eaten since lunch, and his brain started to feel a little fuzzy as he strode across the room to pour another.

"Is this your plan for the night, then?" Theo asked conversationally. "Sit in your family's house and get sloshed on your father's liquor?"

Draco rolled out his shoulders and clenched his jaw. "Sounds as good as anything else." He nodded towards the decanter. "I'll take the whisky back to mine. It's too good just to sit here."

"Fair point." Theo brandished a finger, rechecking his watch. "I'd better get going soon. Can't be late for my date."

"The horror," Draco murmured.

Theo rose from his seat and left his empty tumbler on the cart. "Have fun―don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That's a short list."

With a wink, Theo quipped, "Exactly." His face sobered as he walked towards the grate. "Let me know how everything goes with your mother settling in, yeah?"

"I will, thanks, Theo. Enjoy your date."

Draco sank back into the seat when his friend stepped through the Floo and vanished. He helped himself to another healthy portion of the liquor, enjoying the burn as it crawled along his throat and diffused into his bloodstream.

He eyed his satchel for a moment and fiddled with the Muggle phone he'd started keeping inside it. While a part of him wanted to talk to Granger, he knew he would see her the next day at her yoga class. When she had asked him if he would be in attendance again, he'd responded in the affirmative before he even really considered the request. He hadn't hated the class the week before, but it wasn't necessarily something he wanted to make a habit of.

When he ventured back towards his mother's room, the healers informed him she had already fallen back asleep. He returned to the parlour, collected his satchel and the decanter, and Apparated to his flat.


Pain crept in behind his temples when Draco stirred awake the next morning. He bit down hard on his lower lip to stifle a groan and fumbled in his nightstand for a hangover draught. He'd drank himself to sleep late in the night on his father's best hundred-year-aged whisky, and while it might have been immature, a part of him was thrilled by the idea.

Popping the stopper with his thumb, he downed the vial and pressed his fingers into the corners of his eyes as he waited for the dull throb to diminish.

At least he'd had the forethought to stow away his phone, so he wouldn't be tempted to reach out to Granger whilst thoroughly sloshed.

The idea of seeing her again made him nervous, if he was honest, after their date several days prior. Between work and the situation with his mother, he hadn't had a chance to stop by the tea shop, and he still didn't care for the phone all that much. It took forever to type a short message, and he couldn't understand any of its other functions.

He'd had a lie-in, and he dragged himself from bed and into the shower before fuelling himself with several cups of coffee.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, and Draco had to leave for Granger's yoga class, he felt at once more and less nervous than he had the week prior. Less nervous because he knew what to expect―but more so because everything felt much more complicated now.

At some point, he would have to inform her that they had known one another before and see whether it might spark anything. But he couldn't handle the fear that she might be upset and want nothing to do with him. And he could admit—if only to himself—that he had begun to care for her. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he had misled her or for her to walk away.

He slipped a hooded jumper over his t-shirt, grabbed his pack, and Apparated to her campus. After the week before, he had no problems finding the building, and he was among the first to arrive.

Granger's eyes lit up as he walked into the room, and Draco couldn't fight the smile that lifted his lips as he walked towards her. "You didn't have enough trouble last week?" she asked quietly, proffering the rolled-up mat he had borrowed the week before. He took the mat, his fingers brushing hers in the exchange, and a jolt of warmth crept through him.

"No," he murmured quietly, eyeing her. "I suppose not."

Her smile softened. "I'm glad you could make it. You look tired―were you working late?"

Draco grimaced; he hadn't realised it was so obvious. "Not that late. I had to go to the manor to see my mother." Sweeping a hand through his hair, he glanced away. "And I might have drunk a bottle of my father's most overpriced liquor."

"Spite drinking," Granger mused, "sounds more interesting than what I did last night."

"I'll have to invite you to join me next time, then."

"Deal." Her eyes sparkled as he caught her gaze again, and though she looked as if she meant to say something more, a handful of people walked into the room. "Best find a spot. We'll begin shortly."

Idly, Draco wished it were just the two of them―and her tight trousers that clung to her arse in that delectable way―but he only allowed himself to linger on the thought for a moment before retreating towards the back of the dimly-lit room.

The same pair of clumsy girls from the week before joined him again in the back row; he gave them a smirk as the class began. And while he knew better what to expect, having already done it once before, he still fumbled his way through most of the poses.

His muscles quaked and seized by the end, a thin sheen of perspiration on his temples, and though he hadn't been entirely keen on attending, he didn't regret it. Not least of all because Granger beamed at him from the front of the room as he cleaned up his space and packed his things.

Draco lingered near the back while she visited with some of the other attendees, then ventured forward to return her mat when everyone else had gone.

"Thank you," she said quietly, stowing it into a cabinet. "How did you find the class this week?"

Fixing her with a hard stare, he drawled, "It was great. I'm starting to think I might be a natural."

She tittered, eyes crinkling with laughter. "You're getting there."

Clearly, they both knew he had no technique and little flexibility. But her smile was contagious, and the corners of his mouth curled with amusement. "And if nothing else, at least the company is excellent."

A pretty flush coloured her cheeks in the dim lighting of the room, and she drifted a step closer so that she had to tilt her head up. "I am inclined to agree with you."

Draco swallowed, catching her eye. Her hand hung loosely at her side, and he trailed the tips of his fingers along the back of it. "What are you doing now?"

"No plans," she breathed. Her hand twisted, interlocking with his own. "You?"

His mouth went dry. "Nothing."

He was meant to be doing something―it all circled around restoring her memory―but his brain felt a little fuzzy at her proximity and the feel of her hand in his. For a dizzying instant, his eyes drifted to her mouth.

"Maybe we should do something together," she said quietly, her eyes bright.

A harsh breath fell from his lips. "Yeah. That's a good idea." Her presence was overwhelming, his mind running wild as his heart throbbed in his chest. "What did you have in mind?"

Driven by instinct, he tugged her closer by their clasped hands, and he could feel the warmth of her body so close to him. Her chest grazed his, lips parting with a breath as she blinked up at him.

Granger's lips pulled into another soft smile, and before he could even wrap his head around the moment, she lifted her other hand to graze the line of his jaw. Pressing up on her toes, she leaned in, her lips brushing against his. The contact was soft, innocuous, but adrenaline flared to life in his veins.

He could feel her breath fall against his mouth, and when she kissed him again with a little more intent, her lips gentle but assertive, he sank into the contact, and his eyelids fluttered shut.

Falling into her indolent touch, he kissed her back while liquid fire seared through him. Her fingers slid back towards the nape of his neck, and Draco trailed a hand down the length of her spine, along the curve of her hip.

He couldn't quite comprehend the way his heart pounded within his ribcage. When her tongue grazed his own, teasing and tentative, he felt as though he might simply combust.

Her nails curled against the back of his neck, he snagged her bottom lip between his teeth, his tongue delving into her mouth when a quiet whimper fell against his lips. Granger's hand released his to wind around his neck, drawing her still closer against him, and he could feel every line of her flush against himself.

Arousal grew within him, desire pulsing in his core as her tongue tangled with his own, patient and meticulous, before she drew back with another lingering kiss to his mouth.

Her eyes sparkled in the low lighting of the room, and a smile brightened her face as she gazed up at him.

Draco could scarcely steady his heart.

It was almost alarming how thoroughly she had captured his attention. And he longed to draw her back in―to kiss her until he couldn't anymore―but he simply smiled back.

One persistent thought thrummed, resounding, in the back of his mind. He was in trouble.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, her face alight with warmth the likes of which he could never tire.

He grazed the pad of his thumb against her side. "I could eat."


By the time Draco returned home that evening, after spending several hours with Granger, he felt a curious mix of euphoria and cold, utter dread. There was no way he could carry on like this. Even if she thought the two of them might have a chance at something, Draco knew her opinion would have been different if she knew who he was. Vastly different.

Dragging a hand through his hair, he settled at the kitchen table in his flat and sorted through the notes he'd gathered so far.

He could still feel the warmth of her lips against his when he thought back on it.

But she wasn't his to chase, not while she didn't know the whole story. And he was already in too deep―had allowed himself too many liberties and indulgences. He wanted a real shot with her, but for all he knew, he'd already destroyed that option.

Despair crept in, burdensome, and along with it, self-hatred.

The only thing he could do at this point was to try and make things right because—if nothing else—Granger deserved that much from him. He couldn't stand the thought that she might never again look at him with that secretive warmth in her eye, as though he meant something.

Draco wasn't used to that.

He also wasn't used to the way he felt when he was with her, and his heart sank like a stone into the pit of his being at the thought of giving it up.

Notes:

Author's Note: Draco's digging himself quite the hole... thanks for reading, everyone! I hope you're enjoying the story so far, and I always love hearing your theories!

Hugs to my boss alpha Kyonomiko and beta extraordinaire FaeOrabel. MWAH

Chapter 9

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Merlin, the guilt was going to eat him alive.

It had been one thing to admire Granger from afar and to consider such things as the idea of her actually reciprocating his interest―her kissing him―but now that it had happened, he couldn't handle the way every thought of her led him down a path he didn't care for.

If he had any shot at keeping her in his life, he needed to know that she was as fully aware of the situation as he was.

Draco hadn't given the idea enough thought.

And why he ever thought something could possibly work out between them, when all along he knew more about her than she did―especially given the dynamics that had once existed between them―he didn't know anymore.

But most definitely, if Draco wanted to give the small, blossoming spark between them a real chance―and Merlin knew he did―he needed to clear the air.

Even if it meant losing her. Because if she knew the truth and he lost her, at least he could accept that. If he continued to lead her on without at least trying, he was only setting them both up for trouble.

He ought to have admitted the truth to Potter weeks ago―or at the very least before he'd gone and asked her out a week ago. Before he'd felt the searing heat of her kisses race through his veins.

Because now Draco longed for more, but he didn't know if that was even possible.

He hadn't always possessed a conscience, and some days he wished he still didn't, but nevertheless.

Bundling up the complete works of his research into Hermione Granger, Draco ground his jaw against the resistance within him, drew a breath for courage, and threw the file on Potter's desk.

The man's gaze lifted; he cocked a brow.

"Just read it," Draco bit out. "Without a million questions, please. I don't know how to explain this without you seeing it for yourself―but there's the background information I've already gathered." When Potter opened the file, concern furrowing his brow, Draco added, "And don't fucking kill me for not telling you sooner."

Confusion sat plainly on Potter's face as he flipped through the pages of research that provided little context. "Who's Melody Simon?"

"Like I said," Draco drawled, "you'll need to see for yourself."

"Malfoy, are you in trouble?"

He considered the question with a grimace. "Honestly, sort of, yes. But this is connected to a case, so whenever you have some time―"

"I have time." Potter's jaw clenched into a hard line, and while it wasn't unfriendly, the look on his face caused Draco's nerves to prickle. A shiver ran down his spine.

Merlin help him if Potter went on a rampage.

"Fine." Draco looped a hand around Potter's arm as he rose from the desk, and before he could allow himself to dwell on the situation, he Apparated them to the alley several buildings down from the tea shop. He already knew she was working today, and fear settled within him, visceral and jarring. If something went wrong and he ruined his chances with Granger, Draco would never forgive himself.

But he never should have had a chance in the first place.

He turned to face Potter before they emerged onto the road, and the man's confusion had only deepened.

"I know this is strange," Draco murmured, rushed and quiet, "but you're going to need to do your best to stay quiet for a moment, alright? The situation isn't how it appears, and if you barge in and make an arse of yourself―"

"I get it," Potter hissed. "You'll do the talking, yeah?"

Draco swallowed. "Yeah."

"I swear, Malfoy, if you've landed yourself in trouble and now you're trying to drag me down with you―"

"Shut it, Potter."

Before he could talk himself out of it, Draco led Potter towards the tea shop, and the pair of them slipped through the door. A cursory glance around didn't reveal Granger's immediate presence, and they took up a booth along the window.

Potter stared out the window with a long sigh. "If you don't explain what we're doing here, Malfoy, I'm―"

"Hi there!" Granger walked over with a secretive smile towards Draco, then turned to face the booth more broadly. "What can I get you today?"

The blood drained from Potter's face in an instant. His wide eyes locked on Granger, lips parting in surprise. "Hermi―"

"Melody, hi. It's nice to see you." Draco offered her a thin smile. "This is a colleague of mine, Harry Potter."

Granger's face faltered when she turned towards Potter, who still stared at her as though he'd seen a ghost. "It's nice to meet you, Harry," she mused, uncertainty in her voice, but she regained the smile quickly. "My name is Melody."

To his credit, Potter snapped his jaw shut. "Melody. Pleasure."

Although Draco hadn't cared to admit it, he felt a last fluttering hope within him dashed. If anyone could have jarred Granger into remembering her old life in the wizarding world, it would have been her closest friend.

She eyed each of them and gave a conspiratorial look around the shop, her lips curling with a smile. "Are you working, then? Is this a stakeout or something?"

Potter's wide eyes slid towards Draco, and though he looked like he was about to speak, Draco chuckled and said, "Something like that. Let's get some tea, yeah, Potter?"

"Tea." Potter gave a stiff nod. "Yes, please. Earl Grey?"

"Coming right up!" Flashing the pair of them another smile, Granger walked towards the back.

"What the bleeding fuck, Malfoy?" Potter hissed, wheeling back towards him in an instant. "What the actual fucking hell is this?"

"You're going to upset the clientele, Potter." Only three other patrons lingered across the shop. "Okay, look, did you bring the file I gave you? It's everything I've learned, and―"

"No, I didn't bring the bloody file!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're being dramatic, but I suppose I can understand given the situation, so I'll allow it." He glanced across the shop to make sure Granger wasn't returning yet and leaned in. "I came across her completely by accident one day, and I was as surprised as you are right now. She doesn't remember anything prior to a few years ago, Potter. Nothing. She believes she's a Muggle."

"What? How?"

"That much I don't know. Obviously, you know she went to Australia after eighth year and never returned, and that's where everything went cold. At first, I thought I could try to jar her memory with some pointed questions, but that went nowhere. And when I spoke to a healer about it―"

"You spoke to a healer?"

Potter's face had grown steadily redder.

"Not about her specifically, just theoretically," Draco murmured, fixing Potter with a hard look. "Are you going to let me finish?" Wrinkling his nose with distaste, Potter remained silent. "It's all in the file, of course, but the healer said the safest way to jar her memory would be to allow it to happen organically."

Potter's eyes narrowed, and Draco gestured with a hand to proceed. "You knew she was here, and not once did you think to tell me?"

"I thought about it all the time," he muttered, "but I wanted to see what I could find out."

Potter's anger dropped off as though doused with cold water, replaced with a deep despair. "How is this even possible―how long has she been back in London?"

Draco felt a flicker of sympathy. "A couple of years, mate. She's studying at one of the Muggle universities here in London."

"She has no idea of magic," Potter whispered, shaking his head as though it couldn't quite contain everything Draco had just shared with him. A furrow of sadness pulled on his brow.

He could only imagine. Draco had been surprised enough to find her here, and they hadn't even been friends. Potter had been forced to live with the idea that she had vanished or maybe died somewhere, and he'd never been able to find any sort of closure.

"None." Drumming his fingertips on the table, Draco watched as she began to approach their table. "I've alluded to it a couple times, but she thinks I'm crazy for believing in magic."

Suspicion crept into Potter's face, and Draco wondered at what point he might reveal too much.

"Sorry for the delay," Granger murmured, slipping a steaming teapot onto the table and a plate with two biscotti. With a knowing smile, she breathed, "For your stakeout."

Potter stared at her again, as though trying to memorise her face―the cadence of her voice―and Draco kicked his shin beneath the table.

"Thanks," Draco quipped. "Can't say no to biscotti."

"Right," Potter choked. "I love biscotti."

Casting a surreptitious glance at the window, as if she could determine what they were staking out, Granger slipped into the booth beside Draco. Potter's brows lifted in surprise.

"So are you two partners?" she asked, beaming at Potter.

"Erm, no," he muttered, a flush dulling his cheeks. "Not like―"

"Potter isn't my type," Draco said, flashing Granger a grin; Potter scowled at him. "He's a few years ahead of me in the program. But we went to school with one another."

"Oh, that must be nice that you already knew one another," she mused. "Where did you attend school?"

"We went to a private school in Scotland," Potter said, a muscle feathering in his jaw. "Although we were not friends."

"Not at all," Draco added, pouring himself a cup of tea. "In fact, one time, Potter nearly killed me in the loo."

"What!" Granger exclaimed, her mouth falling open. Fixing Potter with a stern glare, she clicked her tongue. "I can hardly imagine what sort of altercation led to such a thing."

"Never mind the fact that he attacked me and my friends regularly," Potter snickered. "And broke my jaw once."

Granger's disapproval swivelled towards him, and Draco held up his hands in surrender. "Surely Melody doesn't want to hear about all of that, Potter. Honestly."

She tittered, rising to her feet. "You'll have to save the good stories for another time, yeah? Just give a wave if you need anything more."

"Thanks, Mel," Draco said softly.

"Talk later?" she asked. When Draco ducked his chin in a nod, she returned to the counter.

Picking up his biscotti, Draco found Potter's narrowed eyes on him. Nerves rioted within him at the look on the other man's face before Potter reached across the table and smacked him upside the head.

"What the fuck, Potter."

"What the hell are you playing at," Potter hissed, his brows low. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think―" He froze, lifting his chin as he drew in a long breath through his nose. "The phone. You have got to be kidding me, Malfoy."

Draco grimaced; they would be lucky to make it out without calling an Obliviation team if Potter blew up at him. "She gave me her number, alright?"

A gambit of emotions played out on Potter's face, even as he shook his head slowly. "Surely you realise how absolutely fucked up this is." He groaned, dropping his face into a hand, with a drawn-out, mournful, "The yoga."

Despite himself, Draco felt a smirk tug at his lips, and he snickered. "Take a deep breath, Potter. I haven't known what to make of any of this, alright? I don't want to haul her off to a healer, and I definitely didn't want to come out and tell the poor girl she's a witch, yeah? The last thing I want to do is make any of this worse. Obviously, this isn't a criminal case, so I need your help figuring out what to do."

"Robards will skin you alive for this," Potter mused, taking a sip of his tea. "Honestly. I'll be surprised if you still have a job."

Frowning, Draco took a bite of his biscotti. "I know. That's why I'm telling you."

"Weeks later."

"Will you relax?" Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, I get it; you're upset with me. But if you'd bothered looking at the file, you'll see I've already looked into several options."

Potter released a long breath, clenching his jaw and narrowing his lips. "I'm not upset with you for attempting to resolve the situation. I am bloody annoyed at you for mooning after her."

Draco felt a swelling of shame within him, and he stared hard at his tea, unable to meet Potter's gaze. "I know. And trust me―whatever you're thinking right now, I've already thought about myself a million times over. It just happened, alright?"

"Ah." He could feel Potter's eyes lingering on him. "So you've decided to come clean now because you like her, and your guilt has caught up with you." When Draco looked up with a self-deprecating eye roll, Potter simply released an exasperated sigh. "You know, I'm trying to figure out if Hermione would smack you for this. Or if she still might, if she gets her memories back."

"Probably," he muttered, carding a hand through his hair. "I just want to help her, Potter. No matter the outcome."

When he dared make eye contact again, Draco watched Potter's face falter with confusion, then something like comprehension dawned at last. "You're serious about this. About her."

He couldn't deny it, nor did he care to. "Yes."

"Is it mutual?" Potter lifted a judgemental brow.

A heavy lump sat in Draco's throat as he attempted to force a swallow. "I think so. But of course, that doesn't matter for anything since if she ever remembers me, she'll never speak to me again."

At last, Potter released a long sigh. "I'm furious at you for leading her on when she doesn't remember the way you used to treat her." Draco pursed his lips, but he couldn't dredge forth a response since he knew the feeling all too well. "But at the same time... thank you. For not simply walking away and leaving her here in the Muggle world. I appreciate you telling me about all this, as tremendously jarring as this is." He shook his head, glancing towards the counter. "Merlin, I thought I'd lost her."

For a long moment, they only stared at one another across the table, sipping their tea. All things considered, it could have gone a lot worse.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Potter grumbled, breaking the silence, "but if Hermione ever forgives you for this, I can see it. The two of you."

"That's a big if," Draco muttered.

Potter hummed, taking another sip of his tea. "I don't know; I can't say how she might take this, but it sounds to me as though your intent was never malicious. She might not hate you forever."

Draco squashed the flicker of hope that threatened to rise within him. "So what do we do?"

"You said you spoke to a healer?" When Draco nodded, Potter's eyes tightened. "I wish we knew what happened."

"She claims it was an accident―in Australia. My guess was her attempted memory spell backfired somehow. I swiped her files, alright?" Ignoring the scepticism on Potter's face, Draco unfolded a paper serviette and drew a glamoured quill from his bag, jotting a few details down. "She came to without any memories whatsoever and only her identification―which was obviously a forgery or some other falsification―and she made her way back to England, only to find there was no one and nothing here to explain anything."

"Merlin." Potter rubbed at his eyes. "I can only imagine how alone she's probably felt. So, according to the healer you spoke with, we need to reintroduce her to the wizarding world slowly? I wonder if anything will trigger her memory after this long or if it's just gone. We'll need to get her to a healer."

Across the shop, Granger visited with one of the other patrons in the shop, and her laughter carried across towards them. When she looked up, Draco caught her eye, and a smile pulled at his lips when he glanced away.

Potter stared at him, stony-faced.

"Apparently, she has appointments with Muggle healers―whatsit―"

"Doctors."

"Right. Doctors―every month. And they poke and prod and never find anything."

"Of course not," Potter scoffed. "It's a magical issue; she needs a healer, not a doctor." He hummed for a moment, eyeing Granger as she moved about the shop. "But memory spells can be invasive, and the last thing we want to do is to make the damage irreparable, if it isn't already."

"That was my line of thinking," Draco offered. "An attempt to force her memories back out might only make it worse. According to the healer, her memories are most likely still in there, just tucked away somehow."

Sinking back into his side of the booth, Potter folded his arms. "She's told you about her memory, but she doesn't know that she used to know you?"

"Right."

"Maybe you need to tell her. See whether that knocks anything loose."

They shared a grimace; any misstep could prove disastrous, and neither of them was an expert in magical memory manipulation. But Draco steeled his resolve and nodded. "It isn't the worst idea you've ever had."

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

Just then, Granger walked over with a titter. "You two seem to get along well. Can I bring you anything?" She eyed Potter's untouched biscotti with raised brows. "I thought you said you loved biscotti."

A flicker in her tone was so reminiscent of the Granger they had known at Hogwarts that Draco snickered at the look on Potter's face.

"I do," he muttered, offering her a weak smile. He took a bite of the confection.

Her lips curled into a smile in return. "That's better. At any rate, do you need more tea for your stakeout?"

Draco cast Potter a glance before turning back to her. "I think we've about got what we needed. Thank you, though."

"Thanks, Melody," Potter added.

"You're both very welcome." Her face softened as her gaze lingered on Potter, and she opened her mouth to say something more. But she blinked several times, freezing still. For an instant―so quickly Draco might have missed it had he not been watching―despair flashed across her face. But she schooled her face into a warm, polite smile once more.

Draco's heart skipped a beat at the reaction, and he stared hard at her for a moment. But nothing else happened. His mind continued to spin.

He peeled a Muggle note from his wallet for the tea and slid it across the table. "Thanks," Granger quipped, snagging the money. "No change?"

"No change."

Potter eyed the two of them.

Granger's lips twitched with amusement. "Enjoy the rest of your day, you two. Harry, you should come to yoga with Draco next weekend!"

Although his brows flew up high on his forehead in alarm, Potter offered an uneasy chuckle. "I'll give it some thought."

Snickering, Draco caught her eye for a moment. "Thanks, Mel. See you later."

She gave the pair of them a little flutter of her fingers, a soft smile lingering on her face before she returned to the counter. Draco rose from the booth and slung his satchel over his shoulder, and belatedly, Potter followed suit.

They slipped from the shop and made a path back towards the Apparition point in silence. Draco wondered whether Potter still wanted to hit him, but simultaneously, he felt a great weight lift from his shoulders. If nothing else, he wasn't the only one who knew about the situation now, and he couldn't imagine Potter letting the matter drop until he solved it.

For better or worse, they would have to work together to restore Granger's memories.

And Draco couldn't control the real fear that gripped his heart at the thought that she might no longer want anything to do with him.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter.
Mega hugs to my Ride or Die Kyonomiko, and my Comma Llama, FaeOrabel.

Chapter 10

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Potter drifted by Draco's desk two days after Draco had explained the situation to him, his expression banal but brows lifted.

Draco sighed and set down his quill. "Yes?"

Pursing his lips, Potter flipped through the notes on Draco's desk. "What are you working on?"

"A report." He blew out a breath. "Nothing to do with that."

"Well, fine," Potter snipped, "but you're going to need to do something soon. Tell her, at the very least."

"I haven't talked to her since Monday." Draco wasn't in the mood to deal with Potter's shit; a headache had been brewing behind his temples for the better part of two hours, and the report he'd been working on was tedious at best. "And when I do, you'll be the next to know."

Potter didn't respond but to hum for a moment, leaning against the wall of Draco's workspace. "I might have peeked around a little. At the medical records of one Melody Simon."

Draco cocked a brow. "You what? Did you speak to her doctors or something?"

"Not quite." Potter glanced away, his face shifty, and Draco released a heavy breath. "Though you aren't exactly a paragon of morality these days, so don't give me shite. I just unlocked a couple of doors―no big deal."

Dropping his face into a hand, Draco shook his head. "You swiped confidential records."

"So did you," Potter reminded him.

"I reviewed an open case. I'm an active member of the Auror's department." Draco ground his jaw, releasing a breath. "Fine. What did you find, then?"

Potter brandished a folder, and despite himself, Draco felt curiosity well within him. But he frowned, crinkling the bridge of his nose. "Not a lot, to be honest. A lot of technical neurological sciences jargon that went over my head, but Hermione's initial assessments were in Brisbane where her parents live. There was no record of anyone with her at the time she woke, so..."

"So she was alone when it happened?" Draco asked, furrowing his brow. "That doesn't make any sense if she was trying to restore their memories."

"Unless it just didn't work and didn't register," Potter concluded. "Or the results of the backfired spell had a delayed onset." He frowned again, flipping through the pages. "Honestly, the part that I don't understand is that the spell backfired in the first place. Hermione's the most brilliant and magically proficient person I know. I can't imagine she simply made a mistake."

"I thought of that, too," Draco admitted. "But when I spoke with the memory specialist, he suggested the original memory extraction might have had some sort of adverse reaction, and as a result, her calculations in the reversal may have been askew."

They eyed one another for a long moment. "I suppose it's as good a guess as any until we know more." He flipped to another page. "The other key bit of information here is that her brain activity is abnormal. Whatever that means."

Draco didn't have any clue about Muggle medical practices. "Abnormal in what way?"

"In the way that her brain is wildly overactive." Potter hesitated, his lips twitching. "And not just in the way that she's always been a bit of an overachiever. But as if her brain is attempting to overcompensate for something."

Drumming his fingertips on the desk, Draco considered the thought. "As though it's strained? Doing more than it needs to be?"

"Maybe?" Potter's face faltered, green eyes locking on Draco's, and a flicker of vulnerability crossed his face. "Do you suppose it's trying to access her old memories?"

Draco released a long breath. "This is all speculation."

"Of course it is," Potter clipped, "but it's all we have right now."

"It's a question for the healer I spoke to in my initial investigation. Healer Huxley―his contact information is in the file I gave you on Monday."

"Good," Potter murmured, snagging a quill from Draco's desk and jotting the name onto a sheet of parchment. "I'll follow up on that. You need to see what you can do about triggering something in Hermione's memory. And for Merlin's sake, don't hurt her."

Swallowing a sudden lump in his throat, Draco offered a grimace. "That has never been my intent."

"I mean it, Malfoy," Potter ground out. "You're playing a dangerous game."

"No game," Draco muttered. "I told you I want to help her."

Although Potter's face softened a little, he still shook his head. "The longer you draw this out without telling her the truth, the worse it'll be."

"Don't you think I know that?" He worked a muscle in his jaw, staring hard at the desk. "I want to tell her the truth, and if she never wants to see me again, so be it. But I can't very well just out and tell her everything, can I?" They stared at one another for a moment while the idea danced around Draco's mind—to just throw it all out in the open and let the cards fall as they would. "She would think I'm bloody insane, Potter."

"You're probably right," Potter relented at last. "Merlin, I wish we had more to go on, but this is a start. I'll reach out to Huxley; you talk to Hermione. If nothing else, let her know she went to school with us or something. I haven't figured out the best way to approach Robards with this, but I'll have to make some adjustments to her case files."

Draco chewed on his tongue for a moment. "Fine. Let me know what you find out."

"I will. And you."

Potter slipped from his workspace, and Draco eyed his retreat for a long while, his heart anxious in his chest. He knew Potter was right, but Merlin, he didn't know how to bring it up without her getting upset with him. And if she refused to speak to him, it would cause trouble in resolving the situation.

He would have to come up with an idea.


Draco was nothing if not meticulous. He had to view a situation from every side and consider the merits and pros and cons before deciding or moving forward on a plan. And it was easy enough for Potter―a Gryffindor―to demand Draco simply tell her they knew one another at school, but Draco wasn't one to charge into a situation.

If he told Granger they had known each other growing up, she would be hurt that he hadn't told her before when she had bared her heart about the situation. Or any additional time they had seen each other.

Draco simply didn't have a good answer. Anything he could think of would potentially toe the line of upsetting or hurting her, and he didn't know how to explain that they had literally fought on two different sides of a war without raising red flags and pushing her away. If Potter wanted them to stay in her good graces, he couldn't rush in without considering each angle.

If anything, he had been acting more impulsive than usual since stumbling across her.

He knew better―and he always had―than to lead her on and let her believe there wasn't so much bad history between them.

Ultimately, when it came down to the heart of the matter, she deserved better than for him to withhold the truth. Even if it wouldn't make any sense to her because she had already informed him, she didn't believe in magic.

That conversation would have to come later―provided this one didn't end as poorly as he feared it might.

He had stared at the mobile phone for the better part of an hour, where it sat on the end table beside the sofa. In theory, he had learned how it worked well enough to reach out to her, even if he found it unnecessarily complex and cumbersome to use.

All he had to do was press a few buttons to navigate to her name and then one more to make the call.

But Merlin, he just couldn't do it.

With alarming haste, she had crept into his life, his thoughts, and his emotions. In the end, however, he had landed himself in this situation from his selfish actions years ago. If he truly cared about her finding peace and happiness in her life, he needed to do everything he could to help restore her memory.

He eyed the phone again; he plastered his damp palms to the rough fabric of his jeans.

As he made a move for the blasted device, it released a low, warbling ring, and he flinched on the spot. The small face of it lit up as it rumbled against the table, and his eyes shot wide.

He hadn't even touched it yet.

But he had studied the manual well enough to recognise that it was an incoming call. His heart tightened in his chest; it was as if she had read his mind.

It rang again, and he fumbled with the thing, jabbing his thumb into the button to connect.

Staring at it, Draco became highly aware of his breathing as he bit out, "Hi."

Granger's soft voice came through the line. "Hello? Draco?"

He squinted closer at the device and plastered it to the side of his head. "Hello, yes, this is."

A brief silence followed before she said, "Is this a bad time?"

"No," he muttered, clearing his throat. "Not at all. In fact, I was thinking of calling you."

"Oh." He could hear the surprise in her voice before she laughed. "Good timing, then."

"Right." Draco clenched his jaw, jumping to his feet to pace the small sitting room. "Is everything okay?"

Another pause lingered, long enough that Draco held the phone out before him to check whether it was still connected. Then her voice came through again, a little softer. "I suppose I just wanted to hear your voice."

Shallow breaths fell from his lungs, his chest tightening at the words. "Are you alright, Mel? Do you want me to meet you somewhere?"

"No, I'm alright. It's late already. Just a bit of a rough day." She was quiet for a moment, then added, "How was your day? Will you tell me about it?"

Sinking back into the sofa, Draco swallowed a breath and nodded to himself. "My day was alright―nothing out of the ordinary." He hesitated, but when she didn't respond, he went on. "Potter and I are investigating a case, but we're a little stuck on the specifics of it, and he's following a new lead. I'm hopeful we'll be able to resolve the matter soon."

"That sounds good," she murmured. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Her confidence in him was both jarring and humbling when he hadn't done much to earn it. "After work, I went to see my mother. She isn't any better, but her attendants said it's a good sign that she isn't doing worse."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Draco shifted on the sofa, laying out and propping his head up on the cushion at one end. With a wave of his wand, he lowered the lights. "Do you want to talk about your day?"

A pause hung on the line, but finally, she said, "Some days, I just struggle a little more than others. In wondering what my life used to be like. About the people I used to be close with."

Every breath that fell from his lungs felt measured, as though he couldn't quite breathe of his own accord. He opened his mouth to speak, to push forth the words he knew he needed to say.

But before he could convince himself, she went on.

"Maybe it sounds crazy, and it probably isn't true, but sometimes I wonder if maybe I just wasn't that close with anyone. To think that it's been years now and no one ever tried to find me." He could hear her suck in a sharp breath, his eyes wide and unblinking. "Maybe I was just a cold, self-absorbed person, and no one wanted to be friends with me. And I didn't have anyone who cared enough to look."

"That isn't true," Draco whispered, feeling his heart recoil from the words. "I know it isn't true."

"How?"

The words fell from his lips of their own accord. "Because I know you, Mel. You're brilliant and beautiful, and you light up the room every time I see you." He forced a thick swallow, emotion swelling within him. "Even though you lost your memories, it doesn't mean you lost the essence of who you are as a person. And I don't know why nobody ever found you, but that isn't a reflection on you. I promise."

As the words poured out, Draco realised the truth of them. His heart pulsed a rapid cadence in his chest, and the silence that followed threatened to swallow him whole.

"I think," she breathed, "that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." A soft laugh fell. "That I can remember, anyway."

Draco couldn't quite manage a smile. Blood roared behind his ears, his fingers clenched tightly around the phone. "It's the truth."

Never before had he been so wholly enraptured by another person. He always kept his thoughts and emotions close to the chest, lest he wind up hurt, but for some reason, Granger had drawn more from him than he thought he even knew how to give.

"Thank you, Draco," she said quietly at last. "I really appreciate that."

"I'm sorry you have to live with all these questions and doubts." His eyes fluttered shut, and he soldiered on. "I believe you're going to get the answers you're looking for―and I have faith that you'll have your memories back one day."

"How do you know?"

Emotion stung at the backs of his eyes, and Draco squeezed his eyelids tight. "I just have this feeling. And I'll help you figure it out, if you like."

The silence that followed again was stifling, and he wondered whether she could see through him, paper-thin and wavering unsteady in the storm of his own making.

When she finally responded, he could hear the emotion in her voice. "I'm really glad I met you."

Merlin, you won't be, he wanted to say. He wanted to kiss her forever and push her away in equal parts, the fear within him urging him to draw back before he hurt them both because how could she possibly want him around when she learned the truth.

Draco jammed his fingertips into the corners of his eyes. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

"Yes."

"We should meet," he pressed on, unwilling to allow himself to cower. At the very least, she deserved an explanation in person. "I'd like to see you."

"Okay. When?"

"Eight. Does eight work?" His stomach rolled as the words poured from his mouth, a sort of deep-seated anguish settling with him.

"Yes, eight is good." A pause. "Draco, are you alright?"

His voice softened. "Yes, of course." Sleep tugged on his eyelids, the strain of another long day catching up to him. "I'll look forward to it."

"Me too," she said. Draco could hear her stifle a yawn on the other end though he would have liked to keep talking. "I'll see you then. We can work out the details tomorrow."

"Okay. Good night, Melody."

"Sweet dreams."

The line clicked off with a dull tone, and Draco stared at the phone for a moment, his heart still thudding in his chest as he pressed another button. He stared at the ceiling in the darkened sitting room, wondering what exactly she would think of him when she learned the truth.


"So? Did you talk to Hermione last night?"

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes when Potter approached his desk. "Don't you ever have any of your own work to do?" he drawled, flipping through several pages of a report. Belatedly, he dragged his eyes up when Potter didn't respond. "I did speak to her."

"And?"

He released a heavy sigh. "And I'm meeting her tonight. Merlin, Potter, you could try having a little fucking faith."

"I would if I trusted you to follow through," Potter said with a scowl. Folding his arms, he leaned against the wall. "I think you're afraid to tell her you've been lying to her in case she drops you. If you don't tell her the truth, I will, and I won't sugarcoat things like you will."

Draco shot him a withering look. But every potential rebuttal died on his lips. He hadn't explicitly lied to her, but he hadn't been truthful about any of it, either. And if he was honest, he was afraid Granger was going to walk away when she found out they had known one another at school, and he hadn't told her sooner.

Sweeping a hand through his hair, he blew out a breath. "Like I told you, I want to help restore her memory. And if you think some details about the past will jar something, then so be it. Merlin, you've been fucking antagonistic ever since I told you about her."

"She's my best friend, Malfoy." Narrowed green eyes locked on him. "And she was important to me long before you ever decided to look at her twice."

A spike of adrenaline chased through him, and Draco felt his hackles raise. "If she was so important, why did you let her fucking case go cold?" It wasn't fair to throw the accusation at Potter, who would have only been in Auror training himself at the time, but Draco didn't care for the insinuation. No matter how true.

Potter slammed a hand on the desk, anger flashing across his face, and he hissed, "It wasn't my fucking call to make." Just as quickly, he flinched, something like pain darting through his eyes. "I begged Robards to keep a team on her case, alright? But they can't keep resources investigating a case that has no leads. You know that."

"All I know," Draco said steadily, "is that whatever happened to her has had time to manifest deeper into her brain, and now she's had to deal with these issues for years when if someone had simply kept looking for her, that wouldn't be the case. She's been right here in London, for fuck's sake."

He didn't even know when the issue had become such a hot topic, burrowing under his skin, but after speaking to her the night before, Draco was all the more committed to helping her. And for Potter to throw accusations his way stung.

Potter's jaw was hard, his stare unfriendly, but at last, some of the anger sank from his countenance. "I know. Do you think I haven't been beating myself up ever since I found out? If I had only kept looking for her―had more connections in more places―we might not be in this fucking situation right now."

Brandishing his hands in supplication, Draco drew in a deep breath. "Look. We can't change any of that. I told you I'm going to meet with her tonight. She needs us to figure this out, alright? Whether she realises that or not. And we won't be able to do that if we're at each other's fucking throats."

"Fine," Potter muttered, shaking his head. "You're right."

"I know you want her back."

Blowing out a breath, Potter nodded. "I do."

"And we're going to try it this way," Draco said quietly, "and see if a gentle nudge will help. I don't want to ask a healer to force her memories back out unless it's our last resort."

"Right." Potter dropped his chin and let out a long breath. "Yeah. Fine." He glanced away, looking out towards the bustling central office. "You're not going to like this, but Robards spoke to me this morning. About you."

Draco's veins froze to ice. "With regards to what?"

Contrition crept across the man's face. "Your performance―in the simulations and training. Apparently, one of your recent reports left out some vital information and―look, Malfoy, I know you've been dealing with a lot. With your mother, and with this situation with Hermione. But he doesn't cut anyone any slack."

The words crept into his brain, insidious and threatening, but Draco kept his expression carefully blank. "And what, exactly?"

"And you're never going to see the field if something doesn't change," Potter said with a sigh. "There isn't room in the department for Aurors who don't pass their practical training."

His heart sank and sank into the pit of his stomach, and Draco felt instantly nauseous. After everything, he couldn't imagine being kicked out of the program. He tried to recall leaving something out of a report, but his brain had been so utterly jumbled the past two weeks that he could scarcely remember the details.

Anger mingled with despair in his chest, and he sucked in a shallow breath of air. His mouth went dry with the slamming of his heart. "He's kicking me out?"

"He has you on a short leash," Potter amended, a furrow in his brow. "I tried to tell him you're improving; I need you to prove it."

Scrunching up his face, Draco scrubbed at his eyes. That was the last thing he needed to pile on top of everything else. His work life had remained steady while his family and personal life was in a state of chaos.

"Fine," he muttered, wrenching a hand through his hair. "Fine. Thanks for letting me know."

"Malfoy―" Potter began.

"Please," Draco breathed, "I just need a few minutes."

"Right." Edging from the workspace, Potter eyed him for a moment longer. "We'll figure it all out, yeah?"

Draco stared, unseeing, at his desk. "Yeah."

As Potter retreated, leaving him alone once more, Draco tried to determine which of the crumbling ramparts of his life he needed to fix first.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying the story. Just a reminder Adrift will end up approximately 45 chapters (I have 40 written) so we're in for a bit of a ride. xo

Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.

Chapter 11

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

If he hadn't made such a grand fuck up of the situation with Granger, he would have been excited to see her again. She had invited him to her flat and, while Draco had been hesitant, it was probably for the best that they didn't have such a conversation at a public venue.

True to his word to Potter, he intended to come out with the truth―or at least a sliver of it―to see if any part of her memory might be triggered organically.

But Merlin, if he wasn't convinced it would go poorly.

She lived in a small flat not too far from the campus of Queen Mary University. He arrived outside of her designated suite number, nerves already clawing up his throat. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, warmth swelling inside of him. Then he rapped sharply on the door.

Moments later, it swung open, and Granger beamed at him. "Hi," she said brightly, stepping back to allow him entrance before sealing the door once more.

Gazing around the entrance of her flat, he gathered his bearings. Directly off the entryway was a sitting room that fed into a kitchen, and a corridor went the other way.

He didn't know exactly how he anticipated the conversation to go. It had loomed heavily over him all day with no inkling on how she would take it; he could never forget that she had hit him once before.

"I was just going to make tea," she said, "unless you'd like something stronger?"

Draco slid his hands into his pockets with a nervous chuckle. "You know I can't say no to your tea."

Casting him a smile, she made towards the kitchen. "How was your day?"

He trailed after her, eyeing a piece of artwork on the wall nearest him. Dreadful. Abysmal. Nerve-wracking. He drawled, "It was fine. How about you?"

After fixing the kettle on the stove, she turned back towards him, leaning against the countertop. "Uneventful. Better now that you're here."

Draco couldn't quite help the smile that curled his lips at the genuine warmth in her words. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close for a moment. He released a long breath and planted a kiss on her temple. "Same."

In his hold, her form felt exquisite, as though they were made to belong together. Just in case it was the last time they spoke, he wanted to enjoy the moment.

When he released her, she smiled up at him again. "Raspberry herbal?"

"Sounds perfect." Draco peered around the small kitchen and its modern, well-organised features. A number of Muggle appliances sat on the counter, and he couldn't tell what purpose most of them served. "I like your flat."

A hint of colour flourished in her face. "It isn't much―I'm sure it isn't anything compared to what you're used to―"

"I think it's wonderful," he said quietly. "It's not that different from my flat, anyway."

"I wasn't referring to your flat," she teased, reaching into a cabinet to draw out a tea service, "but your manor. Just the sound of it is intimidating."

Idly, he thought back to the time when she had visited the manor, and a little of his determination faltered. Her life now was so much simpler than the youth she'd grown up with, surrounded by war and strife and pain. But he knew the desire to understand swelled within her soul as it always had.

"Honestly," Draco drawled, peering at a copy of that morning's Muggle newspaper on her island. "The manor itself is lovely. It's old but well-kept, and the grounds are beautiful, especially in the summer. My mother tends prize-winning gardens and―" He caught her gaze, lips twitching. "I like your flat better."

Granger tittered as she poured two cups of tea and placed them onto coasters atop the island; they settled into a pair of tall stools.

"I'm sure it isn't the manor itself that you don't like," she said quietly, "but I can't presume to know what exactly you faced there to push you away."

Draco took a sip of his tea, staring at her for a moment. His heart clamoured in his chest; now that he was there—and they were together—he knew he had to tell her. The longer he delayed the matter, the worse it would become.

He set his cup down, staring hard at the surface. "What if you did?"

She sat in silence for a moment, and he chanced a glance. "What do you mean?"

"If you knew something about it before."

The remaining warmth dropped from her face, replaced with beseeching eyes and a furrowed brow. She carefully settled her own mug. "What are you saying, Draco?"

Blowing out a long breath, he clenched his jaw and stared at her. "Look, this isn't exactly―I didn't know how to bring this up, and now it's..." Shaking his head, he trailed off. "I used to know you. Before."

Her only response was a sharp intake of breath.

Silence hung between them for so long, her gaze locked on him, that he looked away, searching for any words he could possibly say to make it better.

"You've been lying to me?" she finally asked, her voice calm but whisper-quiet. "All this time, you've known more than you let on?"

"I didn't know anything at first," Draco muttered, unable to quite meet her eye. "When I first saw you, I was―I'd thought you were dead. I didn't know what to say."

"You've had plenty of chances to say something," she said, her voice raising a little.

"I know." Scrunching his eyes shut, he dragged a hand through his hair. "I don't have any excuses as to why I've put it off, and I'll understand if you don't want to see me anymore. I only thought a reminder from your past might jar something."

When he looked her way again, a flicker of curiosity sat in her stare. "I don't know anything about that. But you've obviously come here tonight to tell me, so... tell me." Her voice fell to a strained whisper. "Everything, please."

Lifting his brows, Draco swallowed and nodded. He fiddled with the handle of his mug before taking a quick sip.

"We met at eleven. Do you remember meeting Harry Potter? My colleague." Her eyes widened, but she remained silent. "The private school we told you about―you went there, too. He was your best friend, Hermione."

"What?" she breathed.

"That's your name," Draco went on. "Hermione Granger."

"Hermione." She tested the word quietly. "Is that what you called me? That first day? Granger."

"Yes." Anguish pulled at her brow, and he pressed on, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage. She deserved as much of the truth as he could share. "Your parents were originally from London, but towards the end of our school years, they moved to Brisbane."

"Brisbane," she breathed, and her eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

Draco took another swallow of his tea, drumming his fingertips on the island. There were so many things he wanted to say, and he didn't know how to get through it all—whether she would even allow him. "You and I did not get along. My friends hated your friends, and it grew worse in later years. I was a prejudiced, spoiled shit and..." He trailed off, swallowing. "I treated you miserably."

Although he could still feel her eyes on him, shame swept through him, and he couldn't handle the coldness he was sure to find there.

"Do you remember what I told you about my father? And how I almost ended up in prison alongside him."

"Yes," she whispered.

"I had a lot of hard lessons to learn, then," he went on quietly, "and I'm still trying to deal with some of them now. I should have told you sooner, but I never meant to hurt you. I'll answer any questions you have."

Granger sipped her tea in silence, but he knew better than to think her brain wasn't spinning below the surface. At last, she said, "And how am I ever supposed to trust anything you say to me again?"

"I don't know." His stomach churned with nausea, blood pounding behind his ears and edging towards a migraine.

"Were you ever going to tell me any of this?" she asked, that same unnerving calmness in her voice. "And why are you telling me now?"

Draco swallowed, searching inside himself for courage and coming up short. "I don't want to lose you. But it's more important that you know who you are."

"Okay," she whispered, "then who am I?"

"You are Hermione Jean Granger." He stared hard at the ceiling. "Brilliant―you consistently beat me out for top grades every year. Your parents were Richard and Jean Granger, both dentists. You're incredibly brave and fiercely loyal. You had a lot of friends, all earned of your own merit. You and I would never have looked twice at each other back then."

He caught her gaze for a moment, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. "Most importantly―you're exactly that person now. Because even though you lost your memory, you didn't lose your character, or your integrity, or the absolute beauty of your heart." He lowered his breath, chest clenching tightly. "And I wish you knew how incredible you were―and still are."

Silent tears tracked down her cheeks as she stared at him, her lips parted in despair. "I don't remember you at all." Deep, lingering pain etched itself into the lines of her face. "What happened to me?"

"That I don't know," Draco said. His throat felt impossibly dry, and he took another sip of tea, the tangy sweetness strong on his tongue. "I didn't see you for a while after school, and all I heard was that you'd gone missing and then eventually, you were presumed dead. I looked into your case after seeing you initially at the tea shop. The trail went cold even before making it back to England."

She sniffled, swiping at one eye. "Dead." She shook her head slowly, confusion mingling with the anguish. "Why did I have false identification on me, then?"

"I can't say. The circumstances around your trip to Australia are unknown to me beyond a visit to your parents. Potter might know better."

"And he was my friend?" she asked with a thick swallow. "Why didn't he tell me any of this?"

Draco peered at her for a moment, hating the way she flinched from his presence. "We want to help you regain your memory, and the safest way to do that is to allow it to happen naturally."

"How is that even―" Grinding her jaw, she rose from her seat and paced the small kitchen. "Don't you think if that was going to happen, it would have already done so? I've been dealing with this for years."

Beneath the sadness in her words, Draco could hear the anger. The betrayal.

"I don't have any better answers right now."

She worked her jaw for a moment, staring at the far wall. "So you say you want to help me, but you've been lying to me all this time. Has this all been some cruel, horrid joke or something?" Tears streamed in earnest down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms across her front as though to protect herself. "I hate that you've kept this from me."

Leaning an elbow on the island, he dropped his face into his palm. "I hate myself for it, if it helps. I just didn't know how."

"So you let me believe there was actually something here―"

"There is," he pressed, looking up at her. "Or was."

She rubbed the tips of her fingers against her temples. "But you said we've always hated one another."

"We did."

"So why would you possibly―"

"Because you didn't look at me like you hated me."

They both fell silent, and Draco felt heat flare in his chest and throat, clawing up into his face at the admission. Her eyes landed on his, watery and filled with indecision, and his heart locked up as he stood and crossed the kitchen. He could see in her face that whatever might have once grown between them was gone.

"I never meant to lie to you, Hermione." Her eye twitched at the name. "I know I've gone about all this in the worst way, but when I stumbled across you, I genuinely didn't know what to do."

"If you wanted to help me," she whispered, "you should have told me. Because right now, I feel like I can't trust anything you're saying." She glanced away, pressing her lips into a thin line. "And I don't know how to wrap my head around any of this right now. I don't know if I have anything to say to you."

Even though he suspected that would be the case, Draco reeled at the way her words slammed into his chest like they carried physical weight. He forced a thick swallow, everything within him roiling against the thought that he might never see her again.

"I'll go, then."

She swiped with frustration at her eyes again. "Yes. No―I don't know." Despair still drew at her face, but she shook her head as though to clear it. "I don't know what to think anymore, Draco."

"You don't need to figure anything out tonight," he mused, offering his best effort at a smile. "And if you don't want anything more to do with me, I'll leave you alone. I just need you to know I never wanted to hurt you."

"I know," she breathed, and after a moment, she shifted closer, banding her arms around his middle.

Draco drew her closer, basking in her touch. The embrace felt like a goodbye.

"I need some time to think," she murmured against his chest, then drew away. "And I don't know anything else right now."

"Of course." He wanted to challenge her decision, to show her how important she had become to him in such a short amount of time, but a cold melancholy crept into his soul, sapping his energy and pushing his brain to shut down. "If you decide that you want more information…"

"Okay."

Shame and devastation swept through him as one, and he allowed himself one last moment before he made for the door. Granger followed at a distance, eyes red and dried tear tracks on her cheeks.

Before he could reach for the handle, however, she said, "I have one question before you go." He froze without turning around, heart racing as he waited. "How much of this between us was real?"

A harsh breath fell from his lips. "All of it." He turned the handle, offered a soft, "Goodbye, Granger," and left her flat.


"What's the matter with you?" Theo asked, peering at Draco overtop his ale. "You've been moodier than usual tonight."

"Nothing's wrong," Draco replied, taking a deep swig from his own glass. "Just a long week."

Although Theo rolled his eyes, his visage rife with disbelief, he didn't press. "Fine. But honestly, if you need to talk about it―"

"I don't."

"Fine." Theo pursed his lips, staring around the pub. "Is your mother faring better now that she's back home?"

The topic was hardly one Draco wanted to discuss any more than the reason behind his attitude, but at least it was something he was able to answer. "Not particularly. She's so damn stubborn about all of this that she's already driving her healers crazy. And they still haven't figured out a proper course of treatment."

Theo shook his head. "Sorry, mate. I hope she's back on her feet soon."

"Honestly, same. For as much as she and I get one each other's case, I hate seeing her like this."

Sinking back into his seat, Draco dragged his fingertips through a ring of condensation left on the table by his drink. In actuality, he had only owled Theo to go for drinks to get his mind off the guilt that had lingered within him for days already. It had been a physical and mental effort to keep from going to Granger's yoga class that afternoon. A part of him had considered going anyway, and an even smaller part had hoped she might have invited him.

He hadn't heard a word from her in the days since they had spoken at her flat.

The worst part was that he wasn't surprised―and he didn't blame her.

But Merlin, if he didn't hate it.

"You're honestly not going to tell me what's eating you?" Theo asked, his face surprisingly sincere. "I've known you since we were children, Draco, and if you don't know you can trust me by now." He fell silent and clenched his jaw. "Anyway―if it's something to do with yoga girl, I'm sorry."

Draco stared at him, exasperated. "Yoga girl isn't a thing." He didn't want to think about Granger, or talk about her, or imagine the brightness in her eyes that she had once reserved for him because she would never look at him in that way again. "How's Potter? You haven't told me anything about him, which either means it's nothing, or it's something, and you're afraid to get your hopes up."

Theo thinned his lips, brows shooting up high. "The second one."

A chuckle fell from Draco's lips, the feeling unfamiliar. "Fascinating," he drawled. "I am a little surprised, but not. Maybe if Potter's soft for you, he'll stop giving me such a hard time at work." They exchanged a glance, and Draco shook his head. "Probably not, yeah."

"Probably not," Theo agreed. "But I have enjoyed our time together. We've only seen one another a few times, but I think I don't mind him. All things considered."

The cryptic response coming from Theo was almost equivalent to a profession of intent.

"That well, eh," Draco murmured, taking a sip of ale. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're happy. And if that changes, I'll kick his arse for you."

"Please," Theo scoffed, "I'll kick his arse myself." They shared a grin. "I would like to kick someone's arse on your behalf, though. I can't remember the last time I've seen you so despondent."

"It's nothing, I swear." Finishing the last of his drink, Draco swept a hand through his hair. "Just a slump. I'm hanging on by a thread at work; my mother's very sick; I just need some time to get myself settled."

Theo released a long sigh. "Look, I didn't want to bring it up, but Harry mentioned you two came across Hermione Granger." The blood in Draco's veins turned to ice as his head snapped up and his hand clenched around his drink; Theo's shoulders sank. "And judging by the look on your face―"

"What did he tell you?" Draco ground out through clenched teeth.

Theo's face softened. "Not nearly as much as you just did."

"It's nothing," Draco repeated quietly. He ought to have known Theo would see right through him; the inverse would have been true had the tables been turned. "We went out a few times, but it was never going to work. She doesn't even bloody remember anything about me."

Humming, Theo took a long sip of his drink, then looked around the pub again as though Draco's words hadn't even registered. Finally, he released a long sigh. "That's what you were asking me about―a few weeks ago."

"Right."

"And if she did?" Theo asked. "If she remembered you―would it be the worst thing?"

"You remember how I used to treat her, I assume," Draco drawled, the words tasting like ash on his tongue. "And it's irrelevant because she hasn't spoken to me since I told her we knew one another before. She doesn't want anything to do with me."

Theo offered a wry, half-hearted shrug. "I mean... I don't think you're the same arsehole as you were at sixteen."

"Irrelevant," Draco snipped again, unwilling to even entertain the thought.

"I can only imagine it must be one hell of an adjustment," Theo went on, finishing the last of his drink. "Maybe she just needs time."

Draco didn't want to talk about her, almost as much as he wanted to talk about her. He wanted to see her and apologise, and he wished she would even so much as entertain the thought of giving him another chance.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Draco said, the words falling more assertive than he had even intended. "I fucked it up, and that's all there is to it. If she never wants to speak to me again, I won't be surprised."

Theo cocked a brow, but he didn't say anything more about it. Instead, he only waved towards the server with a grimace. "It sounds like we need another round or three."

Releasing a heavy breath, Draco felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over him. He hated the way the situation had drained him of everything, when already, he had so little left. "Thanks, Theo."

With a thin smile, Theo clapped him on the shoulder. "Nothing like drowning one's sorrows in alcohol, yeah?"

Draco snickered. "Cheers to that, mate."

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you (sort of) enjoyed the chapter. I'll be posting a smutty one-shot for Draco's birthday tomorrow to make up for it XD

Alpha and beta squishes to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.

PS come chill on twitter! @indreamsink

Chapter 12

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco wasn't certain how much more his heart could take.

Over a week had passed since he had last seen Granger, and a resigned certainty had settled within him that he never would again.

Despite his best efforts at work, his mind had been pulled in so many directions he couldn't even tell what he was doing most of the time anymore. He could see the strain in Potter's face when Draco struggled in their training sessions. When he failed trial after trial―and when Potter consistently bested him in duels.

And now, he stared across the desk from Healer Brooks, the shredded, devastated remains of his heart lodged somewhere in his throat.

"What exactly are you saying?" he breathed.

An apologetic grimace drew at the man's face. "You know your mother's condition hasn't improved. We're going to have to bring her into an intensive ward to begin a new phase of treatment. And if nothing changes... I'm sorry to say Mister Malfoy, but you might need to start considering other outcomes. Be sure your mother's affairs are in order."

Other outcomes.

Draco's head whirled and spun; a breath jammed in his throat as his heart raced in his chest.

"I'm given to understand your father is incarcerated?" The healer went on as though the remains of Draco's life weren't shattered and strewn across the floor. "Your mother has requested a visitation with him, and though the situation is a little unorthodox, we'll do our best to arrange something with the DMLE―"

Draco scrunched his eyes shut, the words echoing through his skull with a clamour. For years, he had done his best to avoid any mention of his father. He hadn't been to visit Lucius in Azkaban since he was nineteen.

"I'll talk to Head Auror Robards," he said, the words hollow as they fell from his lips. "If the situation is... as you say it is."

"We are doing our best to find an appropriate course for your mother's treatment," Brooks said, "but the condition is so rare and so poorly understood, and she's declining. We can only remediate her symptoms for so long, and the experimental treatments are not without their negative drawbacks."

"So figure it out," Draco ground through his teeth, anxiety swelling within his chest. "I don't care how many galleons you have to throw at this."

Pity shone in the man's eyes, and Draco hated him for it; hated himself for being so damn useless. "I have consulted healers around the world. I promise you we are doing everything we can."

Draco wrenched a hand through his hair, panic growing within him and threatening with a blur at the edges of his vision. "Fine," he breathed, clenching his jaw into a line so hard his teeth ground together.

He didn't know what else to say or do. His whole world had come together in a collision of tumult and chaos, ready to engulf him whole.

"We'll be moving your mother into the intensive ward in the morning," Brooks said, ducking his chin.

"Fine," Draco said again. "Just... let me know what I can do."

"I will."

Draco opened his mouth to say something more―to implore upon the man how important this was―

A dull ringing tone came from his bag; he froze, hands clenching the arms of his seat, and his eyes darted towards his satchel.

Healer Brooks' stare followed the sound as well. "Is that a telephone?"

"It is," Draco allowed. The ringing sounded again, his heart throbbing against the rhythm of it. "I should probably―"

"Of course." The man gestured towards the door. "I'll keep you posted."

With a thick swallow, Draco nodded and jumped to his feet, slinging the satchel over his shoulder as he made for the door. He grappled at the phone as he broke into the corridor, drawing in a deep breath of air away from the stifling office.

As it rang again, he jammed the button to answer and pressed the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

A beat of silence hung on the line wherein Draco was painfully aware of his heartbeat. Then Hermione's soft voice. "Hi, Draco?"

"Yes."

"Is this a bad time?"

He stared down the empty hallway. "I'm just at the hospital."

"Oh, right, of course," she said, her voice a little breathy. "I'm sorry to bother you; I can―"

"It's fine." Draco couldn't handle the way her voice left him in a devastated upheaval. When she didn't say anything more, he asked, "Is everything alright?"

"I didn't mean to disturb you."

His tone softened, hand tightening on the phone. "You didn't. I was just leaving."

"Oh, right." Another awkward silence hung on the line, and Draco frowned, wondering if he'd lost the connection until she spoke again. "I only called because... I have a few questions."

"Of course." Swallowing, Draco glanced down at his watch. It was half seven on a Friday night. "I can go somewhere else if you want to talk."

"Maybe... are you free to meet? Or if you have plans, I can―"

His heart leapt even as trepidation trawled through him. "Absolutely. I can meet."

"Have you eaten?"

Draco released a long, slow breath. "I have not."


Half an hour later, Draco glanced up when Hermione settled into the seat across from him at a small cafeteria close to where she lived.

"Hi," she said, a thin smile gracing her lips that didn't quite look genuine. "Thanks for meeting me. You got here fast."

It had taken him all of sixty seconds, but he wasn't interested in breaking open another dam just yet. "Thanks for your call."

A waitress walked over to take their order before he could say anything more, and Draco allowed his gaze to linger on Granger's face for a few breaths. It felt as though it had been so much longer than a week since he had seen her. But he couldn't dare get his hopes up as to the nature of the meeting.

She turned towards him when the waitress walked away, another not-quite-sincere smile on her face. "I apologise that I didn't call you sooner. I had a few things to think over."

Draco dragged a hand along the back of his neck. "Honestly, I didn't think I would hear from you."

Although her expression faltered, she only drew a notebook from her bag and flipped to a page full of tidy print. "I was hoping you might answer a few questions I have."

"Shit," Draco breathed, gazing at the list. Her lips twitched a little, and despite himself, he snickered. "This is no less than I would have expected from you."

Her stare haunted him for a moment. "It's very strange to think that you know so much more about me than I do. Either about you or myself."

"I can imagine." He ducked his chin, staring at her. "I'm sorry―that I didn't tell you sooner."

"Please don't," she breathed.

Draco leaned back in his seat. So it was to be a distant, pragmatic sort of meal. "Go ahead with your questions, then."

"You claim Draco and Hermione met at private school when they were eleven," she began, reading from her notes, then her eyes snapped up to his. "What was the school, and why was Hermione sent there?"

He stared at her, a breath snagging on its way from his lungs. "It was a prestigious school for gifted youth," he allowed.

Luckily, she nodded but didn't press. "Very interesting. And why did Draco and Hermione not get along?"

Draco felt a hint of humour tug at his lips. He wanted to laugh at her third-person line of questioning, but he sobered with the recognition that she didn't relate to Hermione Granger any more than he ever had. "We―they―were in rival houses. It started out simply enough, but as the years passed, it escalated―far more than it should have."

Her eyes lingered on him, a flicker of pain in their depths. "You said Draco was prejudiced against Hermione. Why?"

He released a long, rattling breath. "Draco was raised to believe that others of a certain station were beneath him," he said softly. "And it took some challenging circumstances for him to question those beliefs."

"And is that why Draco didn't want to tell Hermione the truth?"

The question was a stake through the heart.

"At first, Draco didn't know what to make of the situation," he said quietly. "He―I was so baffled by the fact that you didn't remember me, and then... it felt easier. You looked at me like you cared what I had to say, and I didn't know what to make of that." Drawing in another deep breath, he caught her eyes. "I knew if you remembered me, you would want nothing to do with me. But every time I saw you, I became more interested, and I didn't want you to walk away."

A breath fell from her lips. "And how did that work out for you?"

"Miserably," he bit out. "Obviously. Look, Granger... I think I knew it wouldn't work out. I know so much about you, and you don't know half as much. I've never deserved your attention, and I don't now, either."

"I quite liked you," she breathed. "As you were." His heart clenched at the thought. "So either you've been pretending to be someone you aren't, or you don't give yourself enough credit."

Draco held up a hand in supplication, curling his fingers. "Jagged edges and all."

"Next question," she whispered, "what do you know about my memory loss?"

It was the most loaded question to answer so far because magic existed at the root of it—the spell on her parents and the subsequent magical damage that had occurred within her. But even so, Draco didn't know how any of it had actually happened.

"Not much," he confessed, frowning. "When I spoke to a specialist, he suggested that if your memories are still in there somewhere, the best way to stir them out is gradual―reminders of the past, that sort of thing. It's why I had hoped something might click after our last conversation."

He didn't have to mention the fact that their conversation had gone terribly.

Granger only shook her head. "I've spent a week thinking about what you told me almost non-stop, and I can't say anything's come rushing in. What if the memories are just truly gone?"

"Then this won't have done anything."

Her eyes drifted back down towards her notebook, but Draco could see the defeat in the lines of her brow. "For years," she whispered, "I thought something might eventually come back. And I can't afford to hope anymore; I can't take the letdown again." She blew out a long breath, thinning her lips. "This experience has shown me that maybe it's time I just accept that I'm never going to remember all the things I used to know and finally try to move forward with my life. So I'm going to ask that you allow me the chance to let go."

From someone who had always craved and sought knowledge in all its forms, the words were surprising. But it was ultimately her decision to make.

"If that's what you want," Draco said quietly, "I won't try anything more."

Her eyes were glassy, a poor effort at a smile on her lips. "Thank you."

The waitress delivered their food, but Draco no longer felt any semblance of an appetite. He didn't know where any of this left them―or if she even wanted him around anymore. Maybe he simply served as a reminder of the life she had lost.

He picked at his sandwich and chips as they ate in silence. Granger tucked her notebook away, her expression pensive, and the last lingering vestiges of hope in Draco's heart sloughed away to realise he would no longer have any connection to her. Furthermore, he would have to be the one to tell Potter of her decision. Somehow, Draco suspected that would go badly.

Unable to finish the last of his meal, Draco sank back in his seat. "Was there anything else you cared to discuss tonight?"

Granger broke one of her chips in half as she stared at her plate. "I'm not sure," she mused, "because I can't tell if I want to know any more or if that will only make it more difficult to walk away." Her eyes lifted to meet his across the table. "And... I'm just trying to determine how best to proceed from here."

Draco gave a stiff nod. From everything she had said, it sounded as though there would be no place for them anymore. A suspicion he had almost convinced himself to accept over the past week―but seeing her again spurred an ember of hope that hadn't yet been extinguished.

"I hope whatever you decide," he murmured, "you do so with peace."

Her chocolate eyes were wide. "Thank you." Fidgeting with the spoon at her place setting, she released a breath. "Is there anything else I should know? Anything important?" Her eyes fell shut for a moment. "Please be honest."

As he eyed her, his brain whirring, he considered the question. More than once, he had inferred the existence of magic, and she hadn't believed him. And truthfully, it was something she ought to know, even though it could potentially blow away the gradual effort.

But in case they never saw one another again, was it fair to let her know? He wasn't sure.

Her stare implored the truth, however, and Draco managed a thick swallow.

"I suppose there's one more thing you ought to know," he said quietly, meeting her eye. He had never told anyone about the existence of magic―primarily since he had only run in magical circles growing up―and he didn't know the best way to go about it.

Granger's brows lifted, expectant. "Yes?"

Draco swept a hand through his hair, grinding his teeth together. "I don't know if you're going to believe this, and I can't force you, but... you should know that magic is real."

Her lips parted with a soft intake of breath, her chin low and eyes wide, and for several long beats, she simply stared at him. Then a gentle smile curved her lips, and she shook her head. "You really think you're funny, don't you? I don't know what it is with you and magic, but I'll humour you for now."

A smirk tugged at his lips. "You can believe what you like. I'm only letting you know."

"That's like asking me to believe that you can tell my future by the dregs in a cup of tea," she breathed, bemusement lingering on her face.

Draco was suddenly reminded of the way Granger had refused to take Divination past third year―that she had vocally given up on the course―and he wasn't surprised she was so resistant to the idea of magic.

"Divination is a valid branch of magic," Draco mused. "When practised by a proper Seer."

Granger tittered. "You have a strange sense of humour, Draco, but who am I to suggest you can't believe what you believe."

He interlocked his hands across his front. "Very well, then. I don't have anything else I can think of at the moment."

"Suppose magic is real," she pressed, humour still dancing in her eyes. "What context are you inferring through our discussion?"

"That I have magic," Draco said, brandishing a hand, "and so do you."

Her brows dropped, face scrunched up in consternation. "That's a bit of a ridiculous thing to say, isn't it? If you've got magic, show me something magical."

"I can't. We're in public."

"Ahh." Her lips twitched with the effort to withhold a laugh. "Of course."

A banal smile drifted across his lips. "Like I said―I can't force you to believe anything I'm saying."

After a belated beat, the warmth fell from her face, replaced with uncertainty. "Anyway. I suppose it isn't something I'm concerned with one way or the other tonight. All I care about at the moment is setting my life straight and moving on." An apologetic grimace pulled at her lips. "And I don't know where that leaves us."

"Right," Draco muttered, glancing away. Warmth crept up into his face, and a thick lump accumulated in his throat. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen it coming―she hadn't spoken to him in over a week―but a part of him had still clung to the thought that something had started to blossom between them. Something real and something worthwhile. "If that's your decision, then I won't bother you again."

Despair pulled at her brows as she stared at him across the table, her face faltering. "That isn't what I said."

He looked up, clenching his jaw into a hard line. "Look, Granger, I don't want to be the reason you can't get your feet underneath you. Don't get me wrong―I think you're great, and I've really enjoyed getting to know you."

The skin around her eyes tightened, but her gaze never left his.

"And," he pressed on with a shallow breath, "I thought there was something here between us. But I can understand if you have no interest in pursuing that any longer."

Granger averted her stare at last, and Draco wasn't certain what to make of the pause that hung between them. "I thought so, too." She drew in an unsteady breath. "I don't know exactly what I want right now, and I don't want to make you any undue promises." After another tense moment, she dropped her hand atop his, giving his fingers a squeeze. "But I can't ignore what I've felt while getting to know you. I have more questions, but for now, I don't think I want the answers."

Although Draco wasn't entirely certain what she was getting at, he couldn't help the way his heart stuttered in his chest at the words. He took her smaller hand into his and breathed, "I can wait."

Even if this path led to hurt and ruin, he didn't know how to walk away now.

"Okay," she breathed, snagging her lower lip between her teeth when her eyes flitted back to his at last. "I do know one thing."

At the intrigue behind her words, Draco's lips pulled into a smirk. "What's that?"

A smile drifted across her face in return, the sparkle in her eye the most genuine he had seen from her all night. "Your down dog needs a lot of work," she said quietly.

A bark of laughter fell from his lips. "Granger, every one of my poses needs work. Is that your way of inviting me to your yoga class tomorrow?"

"Maybe." Her face softened. "You weren't there last week."

"I didn't think I would be welcome."

A flicker of sadness chased through her countenance, and she offered a half-hearted shrug. "I've struggled to wrap my head around all of this if I'm honest."

"I don't blame you."

She hadn't extracted her hand from within his, and Draco grazed the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb.

"I'm curious," she mused, "why do you call me Granger?"

"It's your name," he said.

Her eyes tightened. "My surname."

Snickering, he shook his head slowly. "I don't know. It's what I've always called you; we weren't friendly, so we never referred to one another by our given names. It was the inverse as well, by the way. Hearing you call me Draco was surreal at first."

"And you call Harry by his surname as well? Even now that you know him better?"

"Right." He lifted a brow, considering the thought. "Although he's just an arse who likes to give me a hard time."

She tittered a little, then sobered. "At any rate, I suppose I'm not ready to walk away just yet, but... once I've fully processed all of this, I think it'll be time to move on with my life."

Draco still wasn't entirely certain whether that plan included him in any fashion, but he wasn't of a mind to walk away while she didn't mind keeping him around. Because at this point, he had little else worth holding onto―and she made him feel the warmth of which every other aspect of his life had grown devoid.

He ducked his chin, releasing a breath through his nose as he ground his jaw. "I'm happy to support you however you want to proceed."

"Alright," she whispered.

The slight shimmer of hope that washed over him made Draco think that perhaps he hadn't completely ruined everything just yet.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter.

Come hang out with me on twitter: @indreamsink

As always, alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.

Chapter 13

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

If Draco thought really hard about the situation, he became forced to reconcile with the fact that he was living a life he had never anticipated.

He was clinging to his position in the Auror training program by a thread, and he desperately desired to gain a foothold.

Despite everything his father had done during his lifetime, Draco would have to force himself to visit for his mother's sake. The hospital would allow a healer to attend the prison with Narcissa in the event of an emergency, but not the visitation itself. Draco wasn't certain of the protocol on the situation, but he suspected he would need to receive special permission from the DMLE in concurrence with St Mungo's.

It was a problem to deal with when he returned to work on Monday.

Because that afternoon, he would venture onto a Muggle university campus to attend a yoga class by Hermione Granger herself.

None of it made any sense―and Draco knew his younger self wouldn't have believed a word of it.

Never mind the fact that Draco had grown to consider that he was in over his head with regard to Granger. He had never been the romantic sort growing up―his parents' relationship had been characterised by mutual respect but coldness. Their marriage had been one of social and political gain, arranged between their houses, and while they had grown to care for one another eventually, Draco had rarely seen a positive relationship exemplified between them.

During his later years at Hogwarts, survival had been at the top of his mind. And in the years since, Draco had seen plenty of women casually but never had he truly felt himself lost to another person. He had grown too isolated and too independent for such a thing.

Spending time with Granger felt like standing on the edge of a precipice―and he could either back down to safety or jump into the void before him.

He didn't know what the void would hold.

Draco had never been the brash, impulsive type. He'd been sorted into Slytherin for a reason, and not only because of his blood. He was meticulous, careful, and to a certain extent, he had always been self-serving. So to throw caution to the wind―to offer his heart to another person to do with as they will―was terrifying.

But when it came to Hermione Granger, a small voice in the back of his mind suggested it might be worth the ride.

As he settled into the back of her yoga class, catching her eye with a smirk, he felt on the peak of that same precipice, a jagged cliff. On one side―retreat.

And on the other...

Riches or ruin―he had yet to decide.

The soothing tones of her voice flitted across the back of his mind, and when the class was over, and everyone else trickled out, Draco found himself waiting for her. She pressed up on her toes, wrapped an arm around his neck, and said next to his ear, "Thanks for coming."

"Of course," Draco murmured, drawing back to meet her eye. "So I'm told my poses need work."

A secretive smile played across her face. "Maybe I was only just saying that."

He grinned, allowing his palm to drift along her spine. "We both know it's true. Are you busy now?"

"I have to work at the shop in a few hours," she said quietly, chewing her bottom lip as she peered up at him but made no move to extract herself from his hold. "Should we get something to eat?"

"Sure."

Her chocolate eyes lingered on his as her fingers coiled in the hair at the back of his neck. "Do you like pizza? I've had a craving for pizza."

Merlin, he wanted to kiss her. But he didn't know where they stood after the last week, especially with the conversation the night before, and the last thing he needed was to overstep the boundaries between them and push her away.

So he pursed his lips and nodded. "I enjoy a good pizza." In actuality, he could count on one hand the number of times he had eaten pizza, as it wasn't something in which most British wizarding families indulged. But it wasn't a lie―he had enjoyed pizza the few times he'd tasted it.

"Okay." Her lips brushed his cheekbone―a brief, soft press, and he might have thought it hadn't even happened but for the slight tingling of heat that lingered. "Come on―I know the best place."


As it turned out, Granger's favourite pizza parlour was across London, and in order to get there, they would need to take the underground.

In all his years, Draco had never imagined taking Muggle public transit belowground, and it was a testament, he imagined, to the depth of his interest in Granger.

The last thing he wanted to do was to let on that he had no knowledge of the system―and furthermore that the idea of it frightened him more than it reasonably ought to.

He trailed along at her side as if he had any idea what he was doing, following her lead to obtain a ticket. With some luck and no small measure of cunning, he would be able to get away with it.

But as they descended onto the platform packed with people milling about on a Saturday afternoon, his eyes widened. The subways rumbled along on their tracks, and Draco flinched wildly when one roared onto the platform.

Granger's eyes flitted to him, and she lifted a brow, but he offered a meek grin. "I don't love traffic."

"Neither do I, to be honest," she said quietly, although her lips twitched with humour. "Though one would think as a Londoner you'd be used to it."

If Draco were truly honest, he didn't care for any aspect of it. The overbearing noise, the chaotic crowd, jostling one another to board, the rampant uncleanliness.

He didn't suppose he would ever complain about the hazards of travelling via the Floo network again.

Thankfully, Granger knew her way around, and she didn't question his general cluelessness as he perched on his seat beside her, hands clasped carefully in his lap.

After a few minutes, he settled in for the trip, and they made idle conversation whilst Draco tried not to imagine the ground above caving in on them.

At last, they arrived at their stop. Draco breathed greedily of the fresh air when they emerged onto the street once more, and Granger led him towards their destination.

With each stolen moment of time Draco spent with Granger, he came to see one thing more and more clearly. That despite everything else, and no matter what was going on in his life, she could make him smile. When everything else felt as though it were crumbling around him, Granger had come to feel like a constant.

They ordered a pizza to share in the small pizzeria, and Draco couldn't remember the last time he had so thoroughly enjoyed himself.

It wasn't in his power to control Granger's decision, and if she wanted to keep him around her in some capacity, he was happy to stay. That he had informed her they had once known one another―and that the relationship hadn't been positive―felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders. Certainly, if she actually possessed the memories, the situation might have been different, but he had been as truthful as he could without completely jarring her life.

If at some point in time, she was willing to entertain the idea of magic, he would explain to the best of his ability.

Draco couldn't remember the last time he had simply allowed himself to exist.

A grin spread across his face as Granger shared an anecdote from one of her lessons that week, and after the fraught week he'd spent without her, he was content to sit and listen.

The sparkle in her eye―which he had feared was gone for good―returned as they settled into one another's company.

Draco only regretted that she had to work that night, and they would have to cut their afternoon short.

And the veil would come down, and he would be forced to return to his world―where uncertainty and anxiety led his decisions.

Granger hadn't explicitly said so, but he had to hope she had decided not to cut him out of her life altogether, given she had still invited him to join her that afternoon. First for her yoga class, and then for pizza afterwards. The time spent with her only renewed his desire to do whatever it took to stay in her life.

For the first time, he considered the fact that if she decided she didn't want to recover her memories after all, maybe it wouldn't be the end of the world. Of course, there were still things she needed to know when she was ready―namely that she was a witch―but she had dedicated the last several years to rebuilding her life from scratch.

If she wanted to move on anew, he could support that. Not because he didn't want her to remember their past, but because he didn't want it to weigh her down any longer.

Granger paused in her story, her gaze landing on Draco as she took a bite of pizza. "You're quiet; is everything alright?"

"Of course." He offered a smile in return, staring at her a moment longer. "I'm just enjoying our afternoon together."

He couldn't help the way she drew a different side out of him. As if the time they spent together was separate from the rest of existence, and he was able to just be himself.

Her smile softened, expression shifting into something deeper as she took a sip of water from a plastic cup. "Thank you for joining me. I know I haven't been particularly reassuring with regards to what any of this means for us―but I appreciate that you're still here."

Draco ducked his chin, drawing a breath. "If you want me here, I'll be here."

Sadness tugged at her brow, but her eyes never left his. Catching her hand on the table, he entwined their hands, his heart pulsing at the tips of his fingers.

"Thank you," she breathed, "that means a lot." Her throat shifted with a swallow as she wrapped her other hand around the back of his. "I do want to remember, and I think a part of me will always wonder. I want to remember you and the life I had. But I feel like I can't keep living in between the past and the present, lost and never quite knowing who I'm meant to be. And... I hope you can support that."

"That's your decision to make."

The vulnerability in her stare pulled at his heartstrings as she gnawed on her lower lip. "Okay."

"And I'll support however you choose," he finished.

At last, a tentative smile curled her lips. "Thank you, Draco." She glanced down at her watch, the smile falling from her face. "I'd better go, or I'll be late for work."

Finishing his water, Draco nodded and rose to his feet. "I'll walk you."

As they paced back down the block towards the metro station, her hand drifted into his once more; Draco resisted the urge to pull her even closer.

When they arrived at the station, she turned towards him and reached up to coil her arms around his neck. Releasing a breath, Draco wrapped his own around her back and drew her in flush, brushing a kiss to her temple.

Granger pressed up on her toes and planted a kiss to the stubble along his cheek. But she lingered, her breath warm on his skin, and then pressed another to his jaw. Stealing an instant of courage, Draco shifted his head just slightly, capturing her lips with his. She sank into the contact, her tongue teasing the seam of his lips for only a second as she toyed with the hair at the back of his head.

Even from a brief kiss, Draco's heart jumped to life in his chest, and he lifted one hand to trace the smooth lines of her face before he drew back. He tucked a loose curl behind her ear as his eyes slid open to meet hers.

"Goodbye, Hermione," he said softly. "Thanks for today."

Her lips met his again, featherlight and hesitant, and when she pulled away, her hands lingered for a moment longer on his face. "Bye, Draco." She extracted herself from his hold before he could say anything more and ventured onto the platform.

Releasing a long, shaky breath, Draco slid his hands into his pockets and walked back down the road.


After a pleasant weekend, everything else flooded in with insistence on Monday when Draco returned to work. Although he already knew he was walking a thin line with Robards, he needed to approach the man about arranging a visitation between his parents.

His mother wasn't well enough to leave St Mungo's, or the matter would have been simple. But even a short trip away from the hospital could drain her of the little energy she was currently able to sustain.

And his father was a high-security prisoner, having been a Death Eater in Voldemort's inner circle. Lucius would be lucky to ever see the light of day again.

Draco wasn't certain on the protocol, but there was nothing within the department to suggest that his mother's request for visitation even needed to be honoured. But if things were as Healer Brooks suggested―and Draco didn't even like to consider the thought that his mother might not recover―he wanted to do his best to fulfil her request.

Steadying his nerves, he approached Robards' office and rapped sharply on the door. While the man was often mild-mannered in character, he had high expectations for his Aurors, and he could be downright terrifying when something incited his temper.

"Come in," Robards called, and Draco slipped through the door, pressing it shut behind him. The man glanced up from some paperwork and fixed Draco with a stare from behind his desk. "Auror Malfoy. What do you need?"

Draco gave a stiff nod, clasping his hands. "I have a rather delicate request, sir. My mother has been severely ill in and out of St Mungo's for some weeks now."

"I'm aware." Leaning back in his seat, Robards diverted his full attention towards Draco and waited.

"Her healers aren't certain whether she's going to make it." The words twisted his insides into a knot as he spoke them, and Robards' expression faltered.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Malfoy." Robards lowered his chin. "What can I do?"

Draco released a breath, wincing. "The thing is, she would like to hold visitation with my father, but she's not able to leave the hospital for any significant length of time."

"I see." Robards steepled his fingers as he leaned forward over the desk. "As you are aware, of course, your father is in a ward of Azkaban that isn't allowed outside leave." When Draco only remained silent, Robards clicked his tongue a few times. "Obviously, this is beyond standard protocol, but I'll see what I can do. Just this once, mind you."

"Thank you, sir," Draco murmured, "I really appreciate that."

Robards hummed as he jotted several things on a sheet of parchment and set down his quill. "You'll have to arrange for St Mungo's to relocate your mother to a secure hospital ward for the duration of the visit, and I'll allocate a team to ensure nothing happens. You'll be there as well?" When the man looked up belatedly, Draco swallowed.

"I suppose so."

"Very well." As though reading Draco's reticence, Robards' expression softened ever so slightly. "I can't imagine any of this has been easy on you, and especially now seeing your father again. I know how hard you've worked to get on with the department."

After all of the extra hours Draco had been putting in to keep his position with the Auror's office, the subtle recognition caused a swell of something akin to pride in his chest. "Thank you, sir," he offered. "It hasn't been. I've intentionally chosen not to see my father for the last number of years in concurrence with my training here. But it's important to my mother."

"I understand." They both remained silent for several thuds of his pulse, and Draco edged towards the door, expecting the meeting had come to a close. But Robards sighed a breath. "It can't have been easy to defy your father and your past. I respect you for that, Auror Malfoy." He cocked a brow. "And it's the reason you're still here. Don't let us both down."

Despite the veiled threat, Draco chuckled. "I certainly don't intend to, sir. Thank you again."

A rare smile pulled at Robards' lips. "I'll speak with Azkaban and inform you of the arranged time for the visitation. Now get back to work."

As Draco ducked from his superior's office, any trace of warmth fell from his countenance, and nausea flooded his being. A part of him had almost hoped that Auror Robards might have denied his request and that Draco wouldn't have been forced into seeing his father again. But that part warred with the side of him that wanted to make his mother happy―especially if she didn't improve.

"There you are," Potter clipped as he almost collided with Draco in the larger offices. "Come on―we need to talk."

The last thing Draco wanted to do after speaking with Robards was to confront Potter's ambush when he had more than an inkling as to what the other man wanted to discuss. But he didn't have the mental wherewithal to dispute the matter, so he trailed along to Potter's desk.

As a full Auror, Potter's workspace was much larger and more private, and Draco dropped into the seat across from him at the desk. He lifted a brow. "What is it?"

"What do you mean, what?" Potter scoffed. "You've been putting off the situation with Hermione for over a week now. Surely you've had some contact with her."

"I didn't put it off," Draco murmured, "she stopped talking to me after I did as you suggested and told her we'd known one another. As I already informed you."

Merlin, the man was a dog with a bone. "And you still haven't talked to her?"

Draco released a long-suffering sigh and glanced around the workspace. Where Draco's desk was bare and utilitarian, Potter's featured a handful of personal touches, including a photograph of him with Weasley and Granger. By the looks of it, it must have been taken shortly after the end of the war.

"I saw her on Saturday."

Wearing a look of disdain, Potter folded his arms across his chest. "And? Does she remember anything?"

"No," Draco clipped, "she doesn't. And truth be told, she doesn't want to."

Potter flinched, blinked several times. "What do you mean? Why not?"

Feeling a surge of indignation on her behalf, Draco scowled. "Because she's tired of living this way. Always questioning what might have been while trying to establish her new life. Can't you imagine that being tiresome?"

While Potter didn't immediately respond, a furrow pulled at his brow. "I suppose so―but she knows you knew her back then. Surely, she could just get more information―"

"She doesn't want to, Potter." In light of the harsh subject matter, Draco's voice softened. "I know it's difficult for you and me to understand. But I'm trying to put myself in her shoes. She's been dealing with this for years, and she's all but given up on the thought of her memories ever coming back. I suppose it would probably be different if there had been any hint of recognition, but honestly, I can't fucking blame her."

Potter slumped in his seat, and Draco felt a twinge of pity. The situation was difficult for Draco, who knew her better now than he had ever known her before. But Granger and Potter had gone through more in seven years together than most people could ever hope for in a lifetime.

"Look," Draco muttered, dragging a hand through his hair as prolonged silence hung between them. "I mentioned that she knew you. Once the initial shock of all this wears off, I'm sure she would be happy to get to know you again." When Potter lifted a brow, incredulity sweeping across his face, Draco grimaced. "I know―poor consolation to the friendship you once had. But isn't it better than believing her to be dead?"

Still, Potter didn't speak as he gazed at a framed photograph on his desk that Draco couldn't see. At last, he heaved a sigh. "I suppose so. But Merlin, isn't this like―utter shite?"

With a half-hearted snicker, Draco nodded. "Yeah, mate, it's shite. She had me ride the fucking underground. I would love it if she accepted magic, but I'm afraid to show her anything that might be too jarring."

Although he wasn't certain as to the nature of Potter's introspection, the man chuckled. "I would pay money to see you ride the tube." Then he lifted his stare back up to Draco. "Are you still going to see her?"

Draco shrugged, glancing away. "If she wants to keep me around."

"Isn't it weird?" He crinkled the bridge of his nose. "I know if Theo suddenly didn't know who I was or something, it would be fucking weird."

"'Course it's weird," Draco said, "but I never knew her then. Not really." He hesitated for a moment. "It seems as though you and Theo have really hit it off."

To his surprise, a dull flush of colour rushed into Potter's face. "We have, I suppose. He's interesting." Draco chuckled, fully aware of what Potter meant by the sentiment. "He makes me laugh."

For a moment, Draco softened. "Good. Theo deserves someone who's going to treat him well."

Although the flush remained in Potter's face, he pursed his lips. "You're trying to get out of talking about Hermione. Look―I don't think it would necessarily be a bad idea to show her magic, but just don't be obnoxious about it. We can talk to the cognitive specialist if you like."

"I never intended to be obnoxious about it," Draco drawled. "But she's so insistent that magic isn't real. I do intend to provide her with proof. And honestly, if she's tired of dwelling on the past and trying to move on, who am I to tell her otherwise?"

"The added bonus being that she won't remember what a fucking prat you used to be to her," Potter accused, brows high on his forehead.

Draco stared at the man for a long moment, read the challenge in his eyes, and peered up at the ceiling. "Honestly, Potter. If it meant her memories came back and she could finally be at peace, I wouldn't care what she remembers."

Potter's throat shifted with a swallow, his face blank. Then finally, he blew out a low whistle and muttered, "You've got it bad, mate."

Draco didn't know how to deny it or if he even could.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! It's my birthday so I wanted to get the chapter up today <3. I hope you liked it!

Alpha and beta love, as always, to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.

Chapter 14

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

For years, Draco had dreaded the thought of seeing his father again. He hadn't been to Azkaban to visit Lucius Malfoy since shortly after his eighth year concluded, long before Draco had even entertained the idea of entering the Auror's Office. And despite his mother's urging, Draco hadn't cared to learn his father's opinion on that matter.

He already knew well enough the sneering and disdain his father would present at the idea of Draco becoming an Auror.

Training to catch dark wizards like his own father.

Furthermore, there had been enough rampant suspicion through the department when he enrolled in training that the last thing Draco wanted was to be seen as a sympathiser to the Dark Lord's former supporters―family or not. It hadn't been easy to pursue a path that led directly away from his family's roots, but Draco had simply started moving and never looked back.

His mother had always been the sticky middle ground. Because while Draco loved her, she couldn't see why it mattered so much to distance himself from his father's teachings―and the further trappings therein.

Which included her outdated views on arranging a partner for him.

Although he had scarcely dwelled on the argument they'd had the last time they met for tea, he hadn't been able to forget the way he stormed out on her. Guilt flooded through him at so much as a flicker of recollection, but it hadn't been his mother's place to suggest. Not then, and not ever.

If and when Draco chose a partner to wed, it would be his decision.

Just the thought of such archaic practices sent a shudder of revulsion along his spine―a bitter reminder of the once-necessitated responsibility of leading a house of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

And all the more reason to pursue a path of his own, instead.

As the week passed, Draco felt cold, unrelenting dread seep in through his skin, to the point where he couldn't stomach the thought of seeing his father any longer. Returning to the Manor had been one thing―seeing his father's cold disappointment would be another thing entirely.

But Healer Brooks and his team were still no closer to finding answers. When Robards informed Draco he had arranged for Auror transport to bring Lucius into a secure, magically-restricted ward of St Mungo's, Draco hadn't had a choice but to accept the offering and make the arrangement with St Mungo's.

If nothing else, his mother would be pleased.

Wand holstered securely at his hip, Draco waited for the transfer. Because father or not, Draco had been entrusted by the Auror's department to fulfil a role―and he made his choice long ago.

If Lucius tried something, Draco would have no option. He glanced at his watch, feeling a tremor of nerves pulse through him like a clatter in his soul. With only minutes to go, he ducked into his mother's temporary suite, finding her already awake and watching him. A weak smile curved her lips.

"You've done it," she said, her voice soft and a little hoarse.

Draco offered a crisp nod. "You'll have half an hour from the point when the Aurors arrive, and no more than that, before he'll be transported back to Azkaban." When his mother only clicked her tongue, Draco felt a flicker of irritation. "My superior had to pull some strings with the prison even to allow this visitation to happen today."

"Fine," Narcissa said, sinking into her pillows. "I am glad you have finally found your sense."

"I don't have a choice but to be here today." Draco squared his shoulders with another anxious glance towards his watch. "If I did, rest assured, I wouldn't care to see him."

His mother's disdain for the statement lingered on her face, but Draco didn't say anything more on the matter. Minutes later, the doors swung open, and an armed escort of three Aurors led his father in.

Draco couldn't have prepared himself for the sight before him.

The last time he had been to Azkaban, his father had still worn his indignant haughtiness like a cloak. His hair had been a little lank, eyes a little dulled, but he had still been as self-righteous and derogatory as ever. The man that Draco's colleagues led into the room wasn't instantly recognisable.

Lucius' long blond hair had been shorn close to his head; his cheeks were hollowed and gaunt, the last of the fire in his eyes almost entirely extinguished. His prison robes were dirty and ill-fitting. He looked as though he had aged more than a decade.

Draco remained against the wall, frozen and unable to move if he tried.

He didn't even know what he had expected. The man had been in a high-security ward in the wizarding prison for going on five years; of course, the incarceration had taken its toll. Lucius stuttered to a halt in the middle of the room, his gaze roving between Narcissa, bed-ridden and a waif of the woman she had once been, and Draco, stoic in his Auror's robes.

His father's pale eyes lingered on Draco for a moment longer, and he simply inclined his chin.

And through the pallor and the utter hopelessness that trailed along in Lucius' wake, his upper lip curled with a derisive sneer. As though he had never seen something so despicable. Draco hardened his jaw into a tight line.

Without a word to his son, Lucius strode forward to Narcissa's bedside. He walked awkwardly, his hands folded at his front, and Draco knew him to possess invisible bonds around his ankles and wrists.

Draco could feel heat burn up along his throat and into his face, and he met the stares of the Aurors who had been responsible for the transport. One of them followed his father while the other two lingered by the door.

All three of them were senior Aurors―Draco knew each of them, but not well.

Not well enough that he could control the swell of shame that radiated through him at the pity in their stares. Instantly, Draco wished he hadn't asked Robards for this after all―or that he had found a way to get out of it.

He didn't want his colleagues' sympathy, and he didn't want their condescension. He only sought to earn their respect, as he had done for years. One of them, a woman whose name he couldn't recall, simply nodded in his direction and lifted her chin, realigning her focus onto Lucius.

Draco didn't know what his parents were saying to one another. It wasn't his place, and if he was honest, he didn't care. His father's words had poisoned his mother for too long―had infiltrated Draco's mind as well―and he no longer had any room in his head or his heart for such drivel.

Several times during the exchange, Draco could feel his father's cold, unforgiving stare on him.

His heart clamoured in his chest, painfully tight, and Draco wished he could breathe deeply of the fresh air beyond the oppressive white hospital walls. The secure magic of the ward made the room feel even tighter, more overbearing, and it became more of an effort to draw breath the longer he waited.

For several beats, he scowled at the back of his father's head. Never had Draco seen him without a luxurious curtain of hair, and it almost allowed him to believe it wasn't his father.

He watched the hands tick forward on his watch.

At last, one of the Aurors in his father's escort clipped a sharp, "Five minutes." The words jarred Draco from the strange halfway reverie into which he'd been drawn. He sucked in a deep effort at a breath, straightening his shoulders against the wall once more.

His father's frail, malnourished form rose from the seat at his mother's bedside, final quiet words spoken between them, and he walked straight towards Draco.

Steeling his jaw, Draco fixed his expression into that of the contempt his father had sown.

He met his father's eyes, grey and uncaring; untold horrors danced within. But try as he might, Draco couldn't dredge up any sympathy for the man who had raised him.

"Never in my life," Lucius growled under his breath, "have I been so disgusted with you."

Draco's eyes tightened. "I'll take that as a good sign."

Hatred flickered across his father's face, and Lucius took another step closer. When the Auror escort moved for their wands, Draco simply lifted a hand without looking away.

"You can be disgusted all you like," Draco breathed. "I'm only going to accept the validation that I'm nothing like you wanted me to be. Because you and I both know I was never going to turn out the way you wanted."

"You never had it in you." Lucius' gaze roved the length of him with scorn. "Parading about playing at being an Auror―you'll never succeed at that, either. No matter what you do, you'll never be anything but a coward."

Draco blew out a careful breath, fighting the urge to recoil from his father's foul breath. "I don't care what you think of me if I hadn't already made that abundantly clear," he mused. "Your opinion no longer means anything to me―you're the one who's going to rot in a fucking cell."

"You have forsaken everything," Lucius hissed. "I did not raise you like this―with such disrespect and belligerence to your duties and your house."

Sneering at him, Draco drawled, "Well, thank fucking Merlin for that."

Lucius bristled when one of the Auror's stepped in, wrapping a hand beneath his elbow. His eyes darkened with a searing hatred Draco had never seen directed towards him, and he spat at Draco's feet.

Draco's eye twitched.

But two of the Aurors dragged his father from the room; his mother had already fallen asleep once again.

He drew in a level breath, releasing it carefully, and watched as the door closed behind them.

"Auror Malfoy," the third Auror―the woman who had watched him before―spoke sharply as she paced towards the door. "You're alright?"

Draco pursed his lips as he forced a swallow and dipped his chin into a low nod. "I'm alright, thank you. I appreciate your assistance today."

As though recognising something unspoken below the surface, the woman nodded in return. "Very well. Take care."

"And you."

She ducked through the door with the rest of the escort, and Draco blew out a long, rattling breath as he dragged a hand through his hair. The startling juxtaposition haunted him when he was left alone with his mother's soft breathing and the quiet whir of the assorted healing instruments in the room.

His hands shook with a barely contained tremor, and he tightly pressed his eyes shut as he sank back against the wall.

But moments later, the door swung open once more, and Draco straightened, meeting the bright eyes of one of his mother's young attending healers. The woman offered him a thin smile.

Unable to dredge forth any words, Draco lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave and shoved through the door into the stark white corridor beyond. Before he could even gather his thoughts, he was fumbling in his satchel and drew out his mobile phone.

Dialling the only number he knew, he released a breath and lifted the phone to his ear as he paced the corridor as fast as his feet could carry him.

"Hello?" Granger's voice clicked onto the line after several rings.

"Hi," Draco bit out, his breaths falling heavier as he traversed the labyrinthine hallways of the hospital. "What are you doing?"

A moment of silence hung, and she asked, "Draco, is everything alright?"

He wrenched a hand through his hair. "No."

Although she vaguely knew the circumstances around his relationship with his parents, the matter was simply too complex for him to have explained in any detail.

Granger released a quiet breath. "Come over?"

Draco bit down hard on his bottom lip, feeling panic engulf him as he slipped into the Apparition point and travelled home.

"Okay," he breathed, already yanking his robes off one-handed. "I'm not far. I'll be there soon."

Hot moisture spiked against the back of his eyes as he ended the call, his heart thudding painfully against his ribcage as he dropped into the sofa and buried his head in his hands. A low groan of defeat and agony fell from his lips, tears breaking at the corners of his eyes.

But he swiped angrily at the moisture, sucking in a difficult breath through his teeth. Dropping his head against the back of the sofa, he stared up at the white ceiling for a long moment as he forced his heart rate to slow and his breathing to regulate.

Exhaustion swelled within him, but at length, he forced himself from the sofa and into the kitchen. He drank a tall glass of water, planting one hand to the counter as he redirected his thoughts from the evening.

Even now, his father had a way of getting under his skin, whether Draco cared to indulge him or not.

Draco couldn't let him win.

The man had controlled him for too many years, and Draco had fought so damn hard to break from his father's shadow. He wasn't going to let that all fall apart now after such a brief encounter.

He paced into the bedroom, slipping into a pair of jeans and a hooded jumper, stowed his holster, and jammed his wand into his pocket instead.

Then he Apparated to Granger's flat.

The door opened almost instantly when he rapped on the door, her eyes wide; sadness danced in the lines of her face as he entered the flat. "What happened?" she breathed, searching his eyes. "Are you alright?"

Still raw and below the surface, emotion tightened in his chest as he stared at her. A knit formed between his brows as, for a long moment, he remained silent. A harsh breath fell from his lungs. "I'm alright," he muttered, pulling her into his arms.

The words carried an entirely different sentiment with her than they had when they were spoken to his colleague at the hospital.

But when Granger melted into his hold, peering up at him, Draco's heart raced, and he ducked in to meet her lips. Almost instantly, the air between them shifted, a searing intensity caught in the kiss that he hadn't felt with her before. As her arms coiled around his neck, her body flush against his, Draco kissed her as though he had nothing else to give, delving between her lips with his tongue.

His hands skimmed her spine, one rounding the curve of her hip as he backed her into the wall, and a whimper fell from her mouth against his when he kissed her still harder.

"Draco," she breathed against his mouth, tugging at his hair hard enough to sting. He drew back, only far enough to nip her lower lip with his teeth, their breaths mingling for a quiet moment as his heart throbbed a dull pulse in his chest.

He traced a trail of kisses along her jaw, lifting a hand to her cheek as she tilted her head to oblige him.

Granger's hands fidgeted with the hem of his jumper, slipping beneath his shirt to graze his abdomen, and he dragged his teeth along the curve of her jaw before hesitating. "Sorry," he whispered, brushing another kiss against her cheek, and pulled back to meet her stare.

Her eyes sparkled, a flush in her cheeks as her lips drew into a smile. "You don't have to apologise." Her hand slid back into his hair again, and she pressed one last kiss to his lips. "I'm happy to see you, too."

Draco was relieved she was receptive when he still wasn't entirely certain where they stood with one another. But he also didn't know how to broach the subject.

"Shall I put on a pot of tea?" she asked softly, curling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck; Draco's eyes fluttered at the gentle ministration.

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Please."

His pulse still raced as Draco followed her into the kitchen at a distance, watching as she went about preparing the kettle. He leaned against the wall on the threshold, eyeing her as she turned towards him and folded her arms.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Her voice was soft, undemanding, sadness lingering in her countenance—sadness for him.

Draco swept a hand through his hair, measuring the words. "My mother isn't doing well. She wanted to see my father, in case..." His gaze drifted to the ceiling, and he pursed his lips. "I had to call in a favour with my superior to arrange a visitation, and―"

"And you had to see your father today," she surmised quietly. When Draco only nodded, she took a step forward, lacing her fingers into his. "How did it go?"

"Miserably," he admitted. "About how I anticipated, though." He blew out a long breath, shaking his head. "For seventeen years, my only goal was to impress my father, to make him proud. And now I'm a disappointment."

Granger's eyes flashed. "You are not a disappointment," she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. "You're making something of yourself and your life, in an arena where you can help people, Draco. It simply sounds to me as though your father doesn't care for you to chart a course of your own. And as far as I'm concerned, his opinion doesn't carry any weight in that regard."

Her vehement defence was startling, and his chest tightened at her words even as he squared his jaw. "Realistically, I know that. My colleagues put him in prison in the first place, so I'm not surprised. But it's still..." He shook his head again, words failing him.

"It's difficult to shake," she breathed.

"Yeah. I don't know―it's complicated."

Merlin, she didn't even know how complicated. A part of him wished she remembered the truth about his father, while another part of him wanted to protect her from the whole thing.

Granger gnawed on her bottom lip as though she meant to say something else, but then she relaxed the tension from her shoulders. "I'm glad you reached out to me."

"Is this alright?" Draco searched her stare. "That I called you―I didn't really know."

"It's alright," she whispered, giving his hand a brief squeeze. "I know I haven't been entirely forthcoming, and I appreciate your patience with me. But―" She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. "I think if I'm going to try and put the past where it belongs, it shouldn't bother me whether we didn't get along as children. Even if I won't always know everything that happened between us, that doesn't matter. I like the man you are now."

Her words stung at his already raw heart in a way he hadn't anticipated, and he forced a swallow. "Thank you."

"I just need to know," she pressed on quietly, "that you're not pretending to be someone you aren't because you've got me at a disadvantage here―although I can't imagine what purpose that would serve. On the other hand, I can understand that our initial meeting was probably incredibly jarring. While I wish you had said something sooner, I've tried to put myself in your shoes over the matter, and I'm not upset anymore."

"My shoes are uncomfortable and fucked up," he breathed, a smirk pulling at his lips as he trailed his fingers along the small of her back.

A small, relieved laugh fell from her lips. "So are mine." Pressing up on her toes, she brushed her lips against his just as the kettle began to whistle. With a rueful smile, she drew back.

As he watched her prepare the tea, a belated grin dragged across his face. Draco took a sip from his cup as they settled on the sofa in her small sitting room, and Granger tucked her legs beneath herself as she turned to face him.

"Is your father meant to get out of prison any time soon?" she asked, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. "Or if you'd rather not talk about it―"

"It's alright." Draco took another sip of tea and set his cup on a coaster on the end table. "His original sentence was thirty years with good behaviour. So not any time soon, no. But even if he does get out one day, I know nothing will change. He was in a few years before, and as soon as he got out, he was right back at it."

Granger stared at him with wide eyes. "I'm sorry. I wish he had been a better role model for you."

With a grimace, Draco shook his head. "I thought he was when I was young. Bloody stupid."

"You aren't remotely stupid, even if you were misguided," she said quietly, dropping her face against the back of the sofa. Draco thought it was rather a generous assessment. "Did I ever meet your father?"

The question was as jarring as it was unexpected, especially when she had voiced an interest in distancing herself from the past and any further attempts to restore her memory.

Draco swallowed, uncertain how much he should tell her. "You did. You met both my parents, actually. But you didn't know them well."

In Draco's understanding, his father and some other Death Eaters had attempted to kill Granger and her friends at the Ministry of Magic in their fifth year. And of course, there was the case wherein her father would have gleefully handed her over to the Dark Lord when Granger had nearly bled out on the drawing room floor.

Although he braced himself for further questions, a bittersweet smile drifted across her face. "No memory of him. Probably for the best, as it turns out." Her fingers drifted across the back of his hand where it sat on the sofa, her expression taking on a wistful hue. "What's your mother like? When she isn't hospitalised or bothering you to marry a proper girl."

For a moment, Draco wondered where her sudden curiosity about his parents came from. The answer hit him all at once, rattling and sudden; she couldn't remember anything about her own parents.

"Honestly," he said softly. "She's wonderful. Stubborn but strong; exceedingly clever. Despite the dynamic between her and my father—and the fact that their marriage was an arranged one—she never let him push her around or take away her spark. She drives me bloody spare, of course, but maybe that's because we're quite alike."

Her face softened as he spoke, and she took a drink of her tea. "I'm sorry she still isn't doing any better."

"Thanks." Thinning his lips, he added, "For the amount we're paying for her care, so am I." His lips twitched with levity as she tittered.

But Granger only stared at him another minute; her lips parted as though she meant to speak. At last, she blew out a breath and looked away. "Did you ever meet my parents?"

Draco's entire body sank at the casual tone, veiling the deep curiosity in her face. "I might have seen them once or twice, but no, I didn't. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she whispered. "I didn't expect you to have done."

Shame swirled within him at the words, but he didn't have a response. Even if he had seen her with her parents―in Diagon Alley or at the train platform―he probably wouldn't have paid them any mind.

Maybe he wasn't any better than his father. Certainly not as much as he would have liked.

He would never actually deserve her.

"I wish I had a better answer than that," he ground out at last, not entirely able to meet her stare. "Potter probably knew them. He would have more answers for you than I do."

"It's okay, honestly," she breathed, sinking into his side. "I meant it when I said I wanted to let it all go. I suppose there's just a part of me that's always going to be curious―especially knowing you remember me better than I do."

Distracted by the melancholy brewing within him―paired with the lingering strain from facing his father earlier―Draco only offered a stiff nod. He could feel her eyes linger on him, and he slung an arm along the back of the sofa, drawing her close into his chest. He tugged one of her curls between his fingers, letting the hair bounce back into place, and a smirk curled his lips.

"Yeah," Draco said, realising he hadn't responded. "I suppose you've always been curious."

She peered up at him for a long moment, a smile playing about her mouth before she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Draco met her stare for a beat, his throat shifting with a swallow. "More than."

Notes:

Author's Note: Hey everyone, a huge thank you for all the lovely birthday wishes, and thanks for reading the chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. Just a quick mention that this story is meant to be more of an emotional, character-driven fic than excessively plot heavy - though I recognise that isn't to everyone's taste. Adrift will likely wrap up at 45 chapters.

Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Come hang on Twitter! @indreamsink

Chapter 15

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Your friend came by the shop last night." Granger's eyes met his as they paced the grounds of her campus after Saturday afternoon yoga, and Draco's brows jumped up in surprise. "Harry."

A slight swell of nerves darted through him. "I wasn't aware he intended to do that. What did he say?"

She gave a sort of noncommittal shrug. "He just wanted to talk." Snagging her bottom lip between her teeth, she tensed and turned to face him; Draco came to an abrupt halt. "I hope you aren't upset. I thought he might have tried to talk about the past, but..."

"Of course I'm not upset," Draco said, releasing a breath. "I only wonder why he didn't tell me."

"I don't think he was..." she glanced away, spots of pink brightening her cheekbones. "I don't think he was coming on to me or anything like that."

Draco snorted, shaking his head. "I would kill him if he was." When her eyes widened in surprise, he added, "Not because of you. Potter's dating my best mate, Theo."

"Ah," she returned with a giggle. "Noted."

"And besides―as far as I could tell, Potter always viewed you as a sister more than anything else."

"We were that close?" Her eyes remained on him as they began to walk once more.

Slipping his hands into the pockets of his joggers, Draco nodded. "Yeah. You were about as close as friends get, I'd imagine. You know―without crossing any lines. Although I guess I can't say that you didn't―"

"Draco." She thinned her mouth into a grimace. "This isn't helping."

"Right." He squinted up into the sunny sky. "Yeah, you two were close. Went through a lot together. Honestly, I think Potter just wants you in his life again. I told him you weren't interested in digging up the past and that he would just have to respect that."

Her face softened. "Thank you. I appreciate that." A smile pulled at her lips, and she added, "I should like to meet Theo if he's so important to both of you."

Draco barked a laugh and offered her a grin. "Theo's interesting, to say the least. But I'm sure that can be arranged if you want. He'll remember you from school, but you two didn't know one another very well."

"Have you told him about me?"

The question caught him off guard, but her eyes carried a sort of flickering hopefulness that made him force a cumbersome swallow.

"Potter did, initially―about the fact that we found you in London," he said, dragging a hand along the back of his neck. "But yes. We've talked about you. He'll be happy to actually meet you."

"As what?" The words fell from her lips as scarcely more than a breath, and Draco's heart stuttered in his chest.

It felt like a test; he knew it was a test. But there was nothing manipulative or untoward in her stare, simply curiosity. Even so, Draco couldn't quite manage the way his heart leapt into a gallop. He had never been good at relationship things, and for more reasons than he could rationally understand, he didn't want to mess things up with Granger. Not when there were already so many cards in play against them.

"I don't know," he breathed at last. "Whatever you want." With a gulp, he pulled her hand into his but couldn't quite meet her eye. "As my girlfriend?"

A gentle smile lifted to her face. "I think I like the sound of that."

Draco pressed a brief kiss to her temple. "Good."


"Auror Malfoy."

Draco froze, glancing up as he paced across the Auror's Office, trapped in his own thoughts. After his conversation with Granger that weekend, he'd been emotionally wrought over the idea of arranging a meeting with Potter and Theo.

And the thought of calling her his girlfriend. Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd introduced a woman to anyone, let alone Theo. Never mind the additional complications that came with the matter.

He straightened, turning towards his superior as Robards approached. "Yes, sir?"

"I hoped to speak with you," Robards clipped, adjusting the dark frames perched on his nose. "If you have a moment."

"Of course." Even if Draco were caught in the middle of an emergency, he wouldn't have denied Robards. Especially not when he knew his presence in the department had been hanging by a thread. He followed the man towards his office, sinking into the visitor's seat at his desk as Robards sat down with a huff.

"I wanted to debrief following the situation last week." Leaning forward in his seat, Robards peered at Draco over his glasses in a way that left him nervous. "Regarding the visitation with your father."

Draco swallowed but offered a nod―surely, Robards could have received a less biased account from one of the Aurors who had actually been on duty. But before he could respond, Robards pressed on.

"I'm told your conduct was admirable and befitting of your position in the department." Robards adjusted his glasses once more and leaned back. "Even during an altercation where your father approached you."

"Thank you, sir," Draco replied, feeling a tight breath sink from his lungs. "As I'm sure you can imagine, my father isn't exactly keen on my career choice."

Robards cracked a rare grin and chuckled. "I'm certain he isn't." Folding his arms across his chest, he assessed Draco in that same manner that would have made him squirm if he hadn't been so tense in his seat. "You know, Malfoy, when I decided to allow you into the training program, many of the administrators were shocked―and some were downright opposed to the idea."

Draco swallowed, feeling a prickle of nerves seep in. "I'm not surprised, sir." Many of his colleagues still expressed open distrust towards him.

"Do you know why I went ahead with the decision anyway?" The question felt rhetorical, so Draco simply lifted his brows. "Because I believe in second chances. I could see the desire to prove yourself as something more than your decisions as a boy, and I respected that. But still―most didn't understand."

"Thank you," Draco said quietly. "I appreciate that."

Robards' gaze landed on his as the man leaned forward in his seat. "As a result, Malfoy, I've had to hold you to a higher standard than some of the other Aurors in this office. I know I don't need to tell you that your spellcasting still isn't at the level where I need it to be to advance you as a fully certified Auror. The simulation results speak for themselves."

Draco's heart plummeted into his stomach at the words; a sheen of perspiration lifted on his brow. For all of his efforts, it still wasn't enough. Idly, he wondered if he had finally run out of chances, and he was about to be released from training. The idea hurt more than he had expected.

But the man's face softened, and he lowered his voice. "I need you to prove me right in keeping you on, Malfoy. I can't keep vouching for you forever, and if no one trusts you to watch their hide in the field, I can't send you out the door."

"Yes, sir," Draco breathed, the words bitter on his tongue. "I swear I'm working on it, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get to that point."

"I know you are." Robards' lips thinned in an apologetic grimace. "There are things that matter more than getting it right at the very start. Like character. And from what I'm told, you demonstrated your character during the visitation last week. It can be difficult to stand up to the ones who influenced us for so long."

Despite the nerves that chased through him at the acknowledgement that he still wasn't where he needed to be, Draco inclined his chin. "I appreciate that."

"Never mind Potter insists you've got what it takes," he went on, clasping his hands across his front. Surprise darted through Draco at the words. "At any rate―you're close, Malfoy, and I know both of us want you to get there. So get there, yeah?"

A breath of relief fell from his lips. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

Without another word, Robards merely flicked his hands towards the door and drew a sheet of parchment towards him. Scarcely allowing himself another breath, Draco rose from his seat and slipped from the room.

As he walked by Potter's desk, Draco came to an abrupt halt. "Please tell me you'll work with me today. I feel like the vultures are beginning to circle my career as an Auror."

Surprised, Potter glanced up and checked his watch. "I'm on patrol this afternoon, but I have some time this morning."

"Good," Draco huffed, "and Granger wants to meet Theo."

A low snort broke from Potter, and he shook his head. "She's in for a treat." Then he leaned back in his seat. "Don't tell me you want to arrange some sort of double date."

Draco offered him a grimace. "That's exactly what I'm telling you."


As it turned out, Theo was thrilled by the plan for the four of them to go out. However Draco suspected it was less of an interest in actually meeting Granger than simply being included in the situation after so long.

After reminding Theo that Granger still claimed she didn't believe in magic―and that they hadn't yet gone out of their way to prove it to her―the four of them met at a restaurant in Muggle London a few days later.

But upon seeing her, Theo had simply stared, wide-eyed, for longer than was rational or sane.

Draco winced, clapping Theo rather hard on the shoulder. "Theo, this is Hermione."

A wry smile pulled at Granger's lips as she offered a hand; fixing his face into stoicism, Theo shook it a little awkwardly as she said, "Pleasure to meet you. I'm told we already knew one another some years ago―I hope you'll forgive my forgetfulness."

Although Draco knew the situation stung her more than the flippancy she displayed, he appreciated her effort.

Theo clamped his jaw shut with an audible click. "It's nice to meet you."

Rocking on her heels, Granger slid her hands into her pockets and offered Draco a thin smile. "So this is fun," she announced, and Draco placed a steadying hand to the small of her back. He could only imagine how she felt, surrounded by people who had known her―albeit in different capacities―years ago when she didn't remember any of them.

Thankfully, the concierge arrived to lead them towards their table, and Draco dropped into the seat beside her. Minutes later, a server came by to take their order.

"So, Theo," Granger began with another nervous chuckle as she sipped from her glass of water, "why don't you tell me about yourself?"

With a wince, Theo took a deep swig of his own ice water. "Not much to tell, honestly. Mother's dead; father's in prison."

Her eyes shot wide with a muttered, "Oh goodness."

"Our fathers were colleagues," Draco announced into the awkwardness that had become their gathering. "In case you were wondering why they're both imprisoned. And that's how Theo and I came to know each other as boys."

"That must have been nice," Granger offered in a placating tone.

Theo's gaze drifted to Potter, who had observed the entire exchange with an uneasy look on his face. "Yeah, sometimes." He dragged a hand along the back of his neck. "My father was always a bit of an arse, so we usually spent most of our time in Wiltshire."

"A bit," Draco echoed with a snicker.

"I met Theo's father," Potter interjected at last, "on a routine inspection last year. A bit is an understatement."

Idly, Draco wondered whether the group of them together might overwhelm Granger, especially since she didn't understand their world, and her frame of reference for existing didn't include fathers in high-security prison cells.

But she only released a laugh and asked, "Are you in law enforcement as well, Theo?"

"No," he returned, drawing out the word. "Not even close. I am presently unemployed."

"Right," Granger responded, offering a bright smile.

Draco could see the discomfort heavy in Theo's tense form, and he wondered whether it was due to Hermione's presence alone or the fact that she didn't remember any of them. Or due to the fact that she didn't know about magic and he didn't know what would be an appropriate discussion.

"I'm looking into options, though," Theo pressed on, and Draco's brows lifted in surprise. It wasn't something they had discussed yet, though, by the look on Potter's face, he could tell the other man already knew. Draco felt a twinge of irritation that Potter knew more about his best mate than he did, but he supposed he wasn't one to talk when he'd been spending plenty of time with Granger. Squinting in consideration, Theo added, "Trying to get on with a chemist."

Draco stared hard at him for a moment, and Theo's lips thinned with an apologetic grimace.

He had always had a knack for potioneering when he applied himself, but the last time Draco had mentioned pursuing a mastery to work in the subject, Theo hadn't cared for the idea. Maybe his suggestion that Theo finally find a job had sunk in more than he'd realised.

Or maybe the decision was related to Potter's influence.

"Oh, that sounds wonderful," Granger announced before Draco could say anything on the matter.

Before the group could descend into a borderline awkward silence once more, the server returned with their food.

Granger's foot nudged his below the table as she chewed a bite of her chicken, and a hopeful tilt lifted her brows when he caught her eye. Although she had done well in masking her unease with the situation, he knew it couldn't be easy for her to be around several people who had all known her in a previous capacity.

Theo and Potter talked between themselves as they ate, and Draco pulled Granger's hand into his with a brief squeeze.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly so only she could hear him.

Although her eyes were a little overly bright, her nod a little too voracious, the smile that tugged at her lips was genuine. "It's a lot," she breathed, "but yes, I think so."

He caught her stare again as he bit a morsel from the tines of his fork and ducked his chin as he chewed. "I'm proud of you."

Granger's eyes only lingered for a moment longer, and he thought she might wave him off, but she released a heavy exhale. "Thank you. I'm glad you're here with me. To help me through this." Her expression faltered as she drew in a breath, and she added quietly, "It's nice to feel like I'm not so alone."

His heart clenched at the words, and he ducked in, brushing a kiss against her temple. "You're not alone." When he drew back, he found Theo's gaze on him, a sparkle in his eye; but shortly thereafter, he returned to his conversation with Potter.

And Draco felt a little lighter as the rest of the meal went on.


I had fun last night. Thanks for having so much patience with me.

Draco couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips as Granger's message buzzed through his phone. He paced the maze-like network of corridors at St Mungo's that he had memorised well enough only to pay half a mind to his steps. Pulling open the message, he began to type a response―he had grown proficient enough at sending her messages that it wasn't such an arduous task anymore―and breezed along the hall to his mother's room.

"Draco."

His mother's soft voice drew his attention and surprise. Most of the time, when he came by, she was asleep, and it was rare for him to catch her already awake without having to wait.

But before he could do anything, she pressed on, a disdainful edge rising into her words he hadn't heard in a while. "What are you doing? What is that you're holding?"

Exiting out of his half-composed response, Draco slipped the phone into his pocket. "Nothing. Communication device."

With any luck, his mother wouldn't know anything about Muggle gadgets and let the topic go. She only settled back into her pillows with a huff. "Ministry expects you to work all hours, I imagine."

He didn't correct her as he slipped into the seat at her bedside. "I'm going to take it as a good sign that you're awake and talkative." He met her weary blue gaze, taking her hand into his. "How are you feeling?"

"Miserable. These blasted healers have no―"

"Mother." His mother so rarely cursed; he ducked his chin and gave her hand a warning squeeze. "These healers are keeping you as healthy and comfortable as they possibly can."

"I simply don't understand why I must remain here at the hospital."

He blew out a breath; some days, he preferred when his mother was too worn out to argue. "Because when you were at home, you weren't doing well."

"I'm not doing well here."

Draco stared at her for a moment, clenching his jaw. "If you'd like to return to having live-in healers at the manor, I'll speak to Healer Brooks to see if that can be arranged. But need I remind you, you weren't happy there either."

Disdain only drew at her face once more as she folded her hands across her middle, and her eyes slid shut. "While we're on the topic, it's time you return home, Draco. You've made your point by running off, and now it's time to take your responsibilities seriously."

He drew in a long breath, staring at the ceiling for a moment. "Are you really going to do this again now?"

Aggravation prickled along the surface of his skin. He was definitely beginning to wish he hadn't come by or that he hadn't been allowed visitation.

"You act as though you have no regard for your duties."

"Right," Draco drawled, "take up the family seat, marry some woman, produce at least one male heir―"

"Not just some woman," Narcissa pressed with a long sigh. "I don't understand why this is so complicated for you to―"

"There's nothing complicated about it," Draco ground through clenched teeth, "aside from the fact that I've told you I'd select the person I want to marry when I am ready. And still, you refuse to listen."

"It isn't your choice to make, Draco! You do not get to simply pick whichever woman catches your fancy!"

Her bright blue eyes locked on him again, anger flaring in her face, and Draco swept a hand through his hair as he rose from his seat. "Obviously, I chose a bad day to visit. I'm glad to see you're doing better."

One of the healers on duty fluttered in, shooting Draco a look, before rushing forward to perform several magical diagnostics on his mother. "You mustn't aggravate her," the girl said softly. "This is the most lucid she's been in days."

"Alright." Draco lifted his hands in surrender. "I was leaving, anyway. I'll see you again soon, Mother."

Narcissa settled into her cushions once more, her lips pursed. "Goodbye, Draco."

So much for a potentially amenable visit for once. His mother had scarcely been able to open her eyes the last time he had been by to visit, and now when she was awake, they couldn't even carry a proper conversation.

Almost instantly, guilt crept in as he swept from the room, but he didn't understand why she insisted on debating the matter so often.

"Mister Malfoy."

Draco froze at the corner, turning abruptly to find Healer Brooks approaching. Draco nodded in acknowledgement. "I was just in to see my mother. She's surprisingly coherent―and argumentative."

A frown tugged at the man's lips. "Yes. There's been... a development."

At Brooks' tone, Draco's entire body tensed. "What sort of development?"

"Perhaps we should go to my office―"

"Or you could just tell me here." Draco thinned his lips as he lifted a brow. "What's wrong?"

Brooks glanced either way down the otherwise empty corridor. "Very well. Mister Malfoy, the illness that has attacked your mother's magical core has taken an aggressive turn. It has begun depleting the magic within her. We can stay the intensity and the spread of it with potions and treatment, but it appears all we're doing is delaying the inevitable."

The words rattled through Draco's head as though trying to fit in gaps not made for them. "And the inevitable is..."

With another hard look, Brooks said, "That she will lose her magic. Permanently."

Permanently. It felt like he had taken a Bludger to the chest, and for a long moment, he only stared at the man, lips parted as he searched for something to say.

"It's why your mother's energy has been so low. Her system is funnelling all of her strength into fighting off the infection, but it's taken a toll. Over the past few days, her magical core has been significantly affected." The man's face drew into another grimace. "And she, of course, hasn't been pleased about it."

A heavy, rattling breath fell from Draco's lungs. "And long-term? She won't have any magic at all?"

"As far as precedent shows, no. There isn't any known cure, Mister Malfoy. The best we can do is to keep her comfortable."

Draco scarcely dared ask. "And longer term?"

He could see the answer plainly on Brooks' face before the man even opened his mouth, and Draco's heart tightened as his stomach churned with a sudden and intense bout of nausea.

"I'm sorry, Mister Malfoy," Brooks said at last. "It is highly likely this illness will claim your mother's life once it's through with her magic."

It wasn't as though he hadn't suspected. Brooks had been upfront about it before.

But hearing the words so plainly, knowing the infection had begun to take a physical toll on her magic, caused everything within him to roil against them. It explained why his mother had decided to renew her insistence that he select a proper, pureblooded bride and proliferate with due haste.

"Alright," he choked out. "Thank you." Brooks' gaze remained locked on him, though the pity in the man's stare didn't grate as badly as he suspected it might. With another long, steadying breath, Draco nodded. "She doesn't want to stay here. "

"I know." Brooks pursed his lips, measuring the words. "And at this point, I don't know that we can offer her a level of care any more proficient here than she can receive at home."

Draco understood well enough what he meant to infer. That all they could offer her at this point was the comfort of her own home. "Do you have a time frame?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"Months. At best."

"Months," Draco echoed, the word jamming in his dry throat.

Brooks dropped his chin. "I am sorry, Mister Malfoy."

"She's still so young," he croaked, his heart already mourning the long life his mother could have—that they had anticipated her to have, until recently. "I don't understand how there is nothing you can do."

"We have already pursued many avenues, I'm afraid."

Draco dragged a hand through his hair until he realised he was shaking, so he shoved his hand into his pocket. His fingers brushed the mobile phone, and it all felt like a cruel joke now.

"You don't have any other contacts you could reach out to, or―" He fell silent at the look on Brooks' face, and now the man's sympathy felt rotten and only for someone other than him. "Right. You already have."

"Rest assured, Mister Malfoy, that we will not give up on your mother's case. If any new options arise, we will certainly look into them. But for now..."

"Right." He could taste bile on his tongue, his heart racing and mouth dry; his head spun. "Thank you for your time, Healer Brooks."

Before the man could respond, Draco spun on his heel and paced down the corridor, blind through the tears accumulating in his eyes.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and all of your lovely reviews and comments mean so much to me!

Alpha and beta love and hugs to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.

I posted about this on twitter a few weeks ago, but I wanted to test the waters here as well. Once Adrift is completed, I'm debating the idea of writing a small series of drabbles/one-shots from Hermione's POV to highlight some of the key moments in her life while all of this is happening. Is this something people would enjoy? Thanks!

Come holler at me on twitter @indreamsink!

Chapter 16

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Despite the numerous strange and miserable happenings that had occurred in Draco's life over the last few months, he found it mildly interesting that among the strangest was the fact that he had started to enjoy yoga.

While the first lesson had been uncomfortable and awkward at best, each class after that had progressively improved to the point where he almost looked forward to it.

Of course, the opportunity to watch Granger contort herself into different poses in skin-tight activewear wasn't a bad thing.

But invariably, he also knew it was a chance to spend time with her. Between work, classes, and schoolwork, her schedule was busy and arbitrary, and he often went days without seeing her.

So he had resolved himself to the enjoyment of both yoga―wherein he could see her in person―and his Muggle telephone, with which he could at least speak to her.

The fact alone that she had become such a vital part of his life in only a matter of months spoke to some deep part of him that had been alone for so long. And with his father in prison, his mother in the hospital, and his best mate in a new relationship, Draco deeply coveted Granger's presence in his life as they shifted towards something resembling promise.

After her yoga class that afternoon, they walked the grounds of her campus. Spring had begun its gradual shift into the bright warmth of summer, and it was a seasonably hot day. Granger's small hand rested in his, her fingers entwined with his own, the motion of it having grown so natural that a surge of energy darted through him at the feel of it.

He almost didn't want to break the calm, relaxing silence after an otherwise strenuous week.

Draco had been pushing himself harder than ever to improve his spellwork, his mother's healers had been arranging her move back to the manor, and Granger had become the bright spot in his life.

"Do you have to work tonight?" he asked casually, hoping she would say no.

"No." Her eyes flitted up to meet his. "What did you have in mind?"

A shrug lifted his shoulders as he tugged her a little closer by their locked hands. "Nothing specific. I just hoped we might spend some time together."

Granger had a way of staring at him, whether intuitive or instinctive, as though she could see right through him. A soft smile curled her lips. "I'd like that. How are you dealing with everything―with your mother?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose," he drawled, dragging his free hand through his hair. Obviously, Granger didn't know the extent of his mother's condition, but he had spoken to her after his last meeting with Healer Brooks, and she knew the prognosis was bleak. "I don't know. I think I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."

He had also failed to mention that his last visit with his mother had featured yet another argument about Draco fulfilling his duties to his house by marrying a proper pureblooded woman. Wars had been fought and lost over such an ideal, and Draco didn't give a rat's arse over his future intended's blood status.

The smile fell from her lips, and she offered a thin, reassuring press of the lips. "I'm here if you need to talk about it." Pressing up on her toes, she brushed a kiss against his jaw. "Maybe we could just hang out today and relax. Order a takeaway or something."

"That sounds like an excellent plan," he said, sinking a little into her touch.

"I haven't seen your flat yet."

Draco tensed on instinct, his mind suddenly roving the contents of his flat in case there were things she shouldn't see. Anything overtly magical was likely concealed aside from his potions set up in the second bedroom. He would simply have to perform a quick locking charm. Realistically, she would need to find out eventually if he truly wanted things to go anywhere between them.

And after the conversation with his mother forced him yet again to consider such things―while it was still too soon to say anything for certain one way or another―he did want things with Granger to progress.

"Sure," he offered, "we can go there."

Her eyes sparkled with warmth as she beamed at him. "Great."


After a harrowing trip on the underground, wherein Draco fumbled his way through an excuse as to why he didn't know the proper route to his own home, they finally arrived at his flat.

Despite himself, Draco felt a frisson of nerves. Only Theo had ever been to visit his flat―aside from the occasional overnight visitor in the past―and to bring Granger into his space felt oddly intimate and somewhat intrusive, like a glimpse into that which comprised him as a person.

But she meant more to him than to allow such a trivial thing to get the better of him.

She peered at the small sitting room immediately off the entrance, which led into an open kitchen, a smile breaking across her face. Draco took the moment of her preoccupation to cast a silent locking spell at the door of his second bedroom. With another thought, he glamoured some of the spines of the books on his shelf in case she decided to browse.

"It's very clean," she said at last, eyes flicking to his.

"If you mean there isn't anything in it," Draco returned with a chuckle, "you're right. I'm not fond of clutter, I suppose."

Granger's smile widened. "Then you must hate my flat."

"I do not." He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth. "Your flat isn't cluttered; if anything, it's simply lived in."

She deepened the kiss, tongue grazing his for a second, before drawing back. "I like to call it organised chaos."

It was a valid reason why his kitchen was essentially bare of any of the appliances hers had―most of which he still didn't even know what they were―but mostly because he always cooked his food with magic.

"Organised chaos is good," he murmured, pulling her close against him with a sigh. Having Granger in his private space was a reminder that this was real, and he was most likely going to fuck it up. "Thanks for coming over."

"Of course," she said, the words muffled against his chest. Turning her head up towards him, she rested her chin on his chest and added, "I'm always happy to spend time with you―and your friends. I think Harry's growing on me, and I rather liked Theo. He has an interesting sense of humour."

"That he does," Draco snickered, sweeping a loose curl back from her face. "He liked you, too. He's just a little awkward with new people."

Her expression faltered for a moment. "Especially when they aren't actually new."

Draco brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone, offering a thin smile. "You're braver than I would have been―if the tables were turned. I don't know if you'll want to meet any of your other old friends―I know you said you wanted to move on and leave the past behind you."

"It's difficult," she breathed, "because knowing you and Harry makes that so much more... complicated? I feel..." She blew out a breath, shaking her head. Draco released her, and they sank into the sofa before she spoke again. "I feel as though I'm torn between wanting to know more and live in the past for a while and allowing myself simply to move forward. Or whether there's a way to exist with both."

"I can't even imagine how that must feel," Draco said quietly, locked in on her dark eyes, "but I'm here to support whatever you want to do."

Her face softened with a smile. "I know. And I appreciate it very much."

"Okay."

Ducking her chin, she added, "I'm quite hungry. What do you feel like?"

Draco hummed, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "I'm fine with whatever you decide on. Surprise me."


After they had eaten, a variety of takeaway boxes spread on the coffee table in the sitting room, Granger hopped to her feet to collect the rubbish. Draco pulled the empty containers from her hands and deposited them in the bin, and she followed him into the kitchen, looking around.

Idly, he wondered whether she might say something about the utter bareness of his countertops. But she simply trailed her fingertips along the surface, watching as he cleaned up a little clumsily by hand.

"I wish my kitchen were this tidy," she mused, lips twitching with a hint of humour.

Draco snickered, folding his arms as he leaned against the island. "Clean freak, I suppose. That, and I'm not home all that often."

"Right," she replied, "you're always out drinking tea."

A slow grin spread across his face. "Exactly."

Granger drifted a step closer into his space, a teasing warmth in her eyes. "I've had a nice time today."

Inclining his head, he stared at her for a moment. "As have I." He palmed the small of her back, hitching her flush against him, and his heart flared in his chest at the feel of her. Never could he have imagined Hermione Granger making him feel this way.

She reached up, entwining her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, and Draco ducked in, seeking her mouth.

Almost instantly, the contact intensified, her lips parting to the sweep of his tongue. He skimmed a hand along her side, down around the curve of her arse in those tight trousers, and a whimper escaped her lips.

He kissed her still harder, lost to the rampant cadence of his heart, swallowing her breaths as his hand played absent circles against her arse.

"Draco," she whispered against his mouth, fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. She tugged at the garment, and he tore from her lips, staring at her as he pulled the jumper over his head.

Her throat shifted with a swallow as she ran a hand up his chest through his shirt, and the contact sent a shiver through him.

Kissing her again, softer this time, he caught one of her breasts through her shirt with a gentle squeeze. He didn't know how far she wanted to go and didn't want to frighten her off, so he let her dictate the pace between them.

She shuddered and pitched forward into his hold, one of her hands teasing the muscle of his lower abdomen beneath his shirt. Arousal flooded through him at her indolent touches, and he broke from her mouth, trailing a line of kisses along the curve of her jaw, sucking at the sensitive flesh of her neck.

Draco coveted the soft, breathy cries that fell from her mouth, and a smirk pulled at his lips when she ground her hips idly against him.

Her hand drifted along his thigh through his joggers, and she froze.

Instantly, Draco released her and drew back, something unsettled manifesting itself in the pit of his stomach. Her fingers lingered on his leg, curling into the fabric, but her eyes met his with a heavy swallow.

It took a moment for him to realise―and then his heart sank.

The handle of his wand had shifted in his pocket, and her fingers had grazed the smooth wood of it.

As though she didn't dare to ask any louder, she breathed, "What's this?"

His heart, racing from the heat of her touches, dashed in a different direction entirely as he stared at her, wide-eyed. But hadn't he—earlier that same day—thought she ought to know the whole truth?

Releasing a long breath, Draco ducked his chin and dropped a hand to land on hers. He slipped his fingers beneath her loose grip, pulling the wand free. Granger's eyes followed, but her body stood still and tense, and he wasn't certain she was breathing.

He brandished the wand, letting it hang from his fingertips, and for a long moment in which Draco didn't know how to form words, they both stared.

At last, he cleared his throat. "It's a wand."

"A wand," she whispered in echo, the words hovering somewhere between doubt and incredulity. "For mag―" She choked on the word, as though she didn't quite know how to express it.

Draco forced a thick swallow, though his throat had gone dry. She shifted slightly out of his hold, her eyes lingering on his hawthorn wand. He twisted it into a proper grip, her eyes watching the movement, and didn't dare look at her face as he said, "Yes. For magic."

"You weren't―" A heavy breath fell from her lips, and finally her eyes flitted up. "You weren't joking."

In response, Draco took her hand into one of his, opening her palm, and he slipped the wand into her hand. She flinched, eyes dropping again as he curled her fingers around the handle.

Her entire body quaked with a recoil as she stumbled a step back, sucking in a breath. "What is that?" she ground out, her shoulders lifting with shallow breaths, but her fingers remained clenched, tense and white-knuckled, around his wand.

Draco brushed the tips of his fingers against her knuckles, wondering how strongly his wand interacted with her core magic. "It's magic." When she didn't respond, he gathered the shreds of his courage from the corners of his being and pressed on. "The wand is attuned to me, and it won't interact with you in the same way―but it's an instrument of wielding, sort of like a conduit. So you'll still feel your magic awaken through it."

"What does it do?" she asked at last, though her countenance remained stiff and uncertain.

It was a good sign, he thought, that she hadn't fled; that she was curious.

But still, terror coursed through him that all of this at once might overwhelm her and drive any possible progress in her recovery back. The discovery of magic was hardly a subtle nudge―especially thrust upon her without preamble.

It was exactly what the cognitive specialist had cautioned against.

After a moment, he sighed and jammed his hands into his pockets. "It does everything. Magic is… everything."

Granger flexed her fingers on the handle but shifted the wand into her hand, peering at the lines of it. "How does it work?"

"Different woods combine with different magical cores." He dragged a hand through his hair with a grimace when she merely lifted a brow. "It's difficult to explain because, by its very existence, magic isn't particularly explainable. It just is." He tapped a finger to the length of the wand and just barely withheld a wince when her fingers flinched away from his touch. "This one is made of hawthorn, ten inches long, with a unicorn hair core."

She snorted, the sound of it alarming in its flippancy. "This is all some elaborate hoax. Unicorn hair?"

"Unicorns are real," Draco said, a smirk pulling at his lips despite himself. "As are phoenixes, dragons, mermaids―"

"Stop it," she whispered, pressing the wand back into his hand. "I'm not stupid, you know."

Edging back a few steps, she folded her arms and gnawed at her bottom lip as if she couldn't quite decide whether she wanted to stay any longer.

"Merlin," Draco huffed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'm not good at this. I know you aren't stupid, but I'm not making this up. Fine―look."

With a non-verbal flick of his wrist, the kitchen went dark. He could hear her sharp, sudden gasp, and moments later, caught her wide eyes in the dim light from the sitting room. With another twist, the lights returned. Draco eyed her with caution. "I imagine it's a lot to take in."

Granger only clapped a hand over her mouth, her brows high and furrowed on her forehead, and her unblinking eyes locked on him. "I can't possibly―dragons?"

"Dragons. You've seen them, actually."

"I haven't," she whispered into her hand, muffling the words. "I don't know what to say."

Draco pursed his lips, wishing all of this had gone differently. If he had simply worked out a strategy to reveal magic to her, it wouldn't have been such a shock. However, he couldn't imagine such a scenario.

"Do you want me to explain any of it?" he asked quietly. "Or would you rather I not."

She shook her head slowly, and Draco could see the glassy sheen to her eyes. "You told me magic was real."

He hadn't wanted to be the one to say it—or to infer that he had kept anything from her—when she hadn't wanted to discuss it. Not after the way she had reacted the last time when he had hesitated on telling her they'd known one another.

"How do you―but you live―"

"I live as a wizard, Hermione."

Stark silence followed the pronouncement, and Draco released a heavy breath as he sank into a seat at the kitchen table. To his tremendous relief, Granger followed suit, though she eyed him with something akin to mistrust, the spark had gone cold in her eyes.

"I don't actually take the underground," he blurted, though it was the least important element of the situation. "Potter and I work as Aurors―it's the enforcement agency within the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement." When she didn't respond, he pressed on. "We all met at a school in Scotland called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Her jaw tightened, but still, she said nothing. Grimacing, Draco summoned two glasses of water, and she eyed hers as it settled in front of her but didn't take a sip.

He cleared his throat and dragged a hand down his face. His eyes drifted towards the ceiling. "You're the most talented witch I've ever known."

"None of this makes any sense," she said at last. "So you're telling me I can do these―these bits of magic."

"Spells. And yes, you can."

She eyed the table for a long moment before taking a careful sip from her water as though she anticipated it to be something else. Finally, she levied a great sigh. "And Theo isn't a chemist."

"That is your first question?" he asked, fighting a smile. "No, Theo's pursuing a mastery in potioneering."

"Potioneering," she echoed, testing the word. "Brewing things, or―"

"Right."

Her eyes widened and dropped to her own exposed forearm; the scarring from when they'd met was entirely gone. "The paste you gave me for this scarring. Did you make it?"

Draco reached to brush his fingers against her unmarred arm but paused halfway when she stiffened. "Yes. I brewed it."

She opened her mouth to say something more when she scrunched her eyes shut and caught her head between her thumb and fingers. Heart stuttering, he ducked in and asked, "Are you alright?"

The last thing he needed was for all of this to trigger something untoward within her.

After a moment, she released a breath, and her eyes slid open again. "Yes, I think so." She eyed him for another minute, the silence growing tense, and she pursed her lips. "So you do all of this―you do magic―and still live among everyone else?"

"Muggles." He hesitated, uncertain how deeply he wanted to delve into the politics of it. "Non-magical people are called Muggles, in Britain anyway. And yes. Magical beings are governed under a Statute of Secrecy."

"Did you say there is a Ministry of Magic?"

He nodded, fidgeting with his wand out of habit. "We have our own laws and constitutions."

"And we went to a magical academy?" Her eyes remained wide and hesitant, though Draco tried not to take her implicit wariness personally. He couldn't imagine how he might have reacted had he not grown up with magic woven into the fabric of his existence. "What did we study there?"

Shrugging, Draco chanced a look her way. "Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology. If I recall, you were particularly fond of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Potter was an ace at Defense Against the Dark Arts."

At that, her face shifted with a flicker of fear. "Is that an issue?"

"It is," he allowed. "It's why Aurors exist. Consider it… a combination of law enforcement and militia." Lowering his voice, he added, "That's why my father's in prison."

"Is it a magical prison?" she asked, the words tinged with uncertainty, but Draco nodded.

"Magical prison," he confirmed. "My mother's in a magical hospital called St Mungo's."

Granger pulled at her hair, at last looking at him with an exasperated stare. "I don't know what to make of all of this. Any of it, to be honest. I can't… I have no idea what to say."

"It's a lot to take in," Draco said quietly. "Especially all at once."

"And you've been living like me―why? Because I said I didn't believe in any of it?" Despite that, her tone didn't seem particularly accusatory; her eyes shone with suspicion.

"Partly," he agreed, "but because I didn't want to overwhelm you until you were ready to hear about it." Blowing out a breath, he added, "Obviously, this isn't ideal."

"Obviously not," she returned. When he set his wand in the centre of the table, she met his eyes and reached for it when he nodded, fingering the length of it once more. "So you're telling me I knew all of these things. How to cast spells and brew potions and interpret runes and―" Her eyes gleamed once more as her fingers wrapped around the handle. "And now I don't know any of it."

Draco ducked his chin, feeling his chest tighten at the sense of loss on her face. "Yes. Unfortunately, that's what I'm telling you. I suspect it's still in there―if you wanted to dig. But I know you've been trying to leave the past behind you."

A derisive, humourless laugh fell from her lips. "I think this rather changes everything, don't you?"

"Yes," he breathed. "I hope you aren't upset with me."

"Honestly, Draco," she said, quiet, apologetic. "I don't know what to think right now. I wish I had known, but I don't know how I could have expected you to tell me, when every time you hinted at it, I―" She cut herself off, clenching her jaw into a line, and placed his wand carefully back on the table.

For a moment, she only stared hard at the wooden table and then swiped beneath her eyes.

"Hermione," Draco began, feeling sadness pull at his brow.

But she whispered, "Don't." She pressed her eyes shut, massaging again at her temples with a wince. "I don't know what to make of any of this, and I think I should just go―"

"You don't need to go," he intoned quietly. "Please. I don't want to overwhelm you."

"Too late."

The words stabbed at his heart, and he nodded. "Okay."

"I need to think about this." A breath slipped through her gritted teeth as though one of pain. "And get some fresh air."

Disappointment swelled with him, and he wondered whether he had done insurmountable damage this time. Maybe he had been kidding himself to think there was actually a shot for them. The thought hurt so much more than he could have anticipated.

"Can I help you get home?"

"No," she huffed quickly. "I don't think I even want to know how you―no. I'll be fine."

Rising from her seat, she brushed again at the moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes and made towards the door. Draco followed her at a short distance, biting down hard on his bottom lip. "I'd like to be sure you get home safe."

"I get home safe all the time," she huffed, not quite meeting his eye, but then her tone softened. "Thank you, though. I'll send you a message when I'm home."

"Okay."

As she fumbled with her shoes, Draco plucked a title from his bookshelf and offered it to her. "If you want. This might explain things better than I can."

She took the book and stared at it for a moment; Draco realised her hands were trembling as she gazed at the title print: Origins of Modern Magic. "Thanks," she whispered, clutching it to her chest. "I'll call you or… something. I don't know how you communicate."

"Please don't do this," Draco murmured, his chest unbearably tight. "This is your world, too. I want to help you understand."

"I know you do," she said quietly, the words lonely and sad. "I just need to work through what you've shared tonight on my own."

Draco didn't know what else he could say at the moment, so he pressed his lips into a tight line and nodded. "Alright. If there's anything I can do, please reach out."

Her eyes still shone with unshed tears, but she pressed up on her toes and brushed a kiss to his cheek; his eyes fluttered at the contact, and he wondered if she would ever kiss him again, unreserved and unguarded as she had that evening.

"Okay." She gave a stiff nod. "I will. Thank you, Draco."

He hated the formality in her words. "Good night, Hermione."

Without another word, she slipped through the door and pressed it quietly shut behind her.

Notes:

Author's Note: Happy Canada Day! I hope you liked the chapter, and I can't wait to hear what you all thought! Thanks for reading.

Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 17

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco startled awake at a muffled banging, blinking several times in rapid succession before he scrambled for his wand and leapt from bed in only his sleep trousers. The clock on his bedside table read just past seven in the morning.

Carefully, he stumbled his way through the flat, rubbing the sleep from one eye before he reached the door. His mind still felt fuzzy from sleep, but he pulled the door open, wand ready at one side but tucked out of immediate view.

He squinted at the sight of Hermione Granger, fully dressed and prepared for the day, gnawing incessantly on her bottom lip.

"Hi," Draco muttered, squeezing his eyes shut briefly; he swept a hand through his sleep-dishevelled hair as alarm bells rang in the back of his mind. "Is something wrong?"

When he looked closer, her eyes were bloodshot and encircled with dark shadows, and he wondered if she had slept at all.

"No," she said quietly, "I mean yes. I mean, nothing urgent, but―" She shook her head, eyes lingering for a moment on his bare chest before she looked away.

"Come in," Draco slurred, moving out of the entranceway so she could step in.

She followed, wide-eyed and apologetic. "I didn't mean to wake you." There was really no denying that she had, so Draco only shrugged and dragged himself into the kitchen to put the kettle on. It was then that he realised the impropriety of the situation, and he slipped into his room to pull on a t-shirt.

When he returned, Granger still lingered in the kitchen, and he rubbed at his eyes. "Sorry about that. What's the matter?"

The situation in itself was startling when Draco hadn't even had a chance to wonder whether he would ever see or hear from her again or if she would vanish for weeks like she had the time before.

But Hermione simply collapsed into the seat at his kitchen table where she had sat not twelve hours before and placed the book he had loaned her into the middle of the table. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn she had read the entire thing already. "You're magic."

He eyed her for a moment, not entirely able to assess her mood. But his mind was still caught halfway in a fog of sleep; he didn't know whether he had managed to catch four hours. "So are you." His lips curled with a hint of a smirk. "Please don't tell me you crossed London at seven in the morning to tell me that."

When she huffed in exasperation, sounding so like her former self, he couldn't help the snicker that broke free. He rummaged clumsily for a tea service before drawing his wand and simply using magic instead. Then he poured two cups and dropped into the other chair.

Granger only stared at him as she stirred a splash of milk into her cup. At last, she whispered, "I don't even know where to begin."

"I didn't know how to tell you," Draco admitted at last with a heavy exhale. "Not when I've been cautioned against overloading you with too much at once. And the existence of magic; all of its facets―when you claimed you didn't believe in any of it―certainly counts as overloading."

With a steadying breath, she nodded. "I understand." She stared at him for another long moment as though he were something worth examining, and Draco wasn't certain he liked the way it felt. "I suppose my most important question is this: what do you know about my memory loss?"

Her words fell to a whisper as she spoke, and Draco felt his heart clench. He took a sip of tea as he measured his words, then said, "It's magical in nature. That's why your doctors can't figure it out."

Even before she spoke again, Draco could see the next question ready in her eyes, and regret darted through him.

"Can you fix it? With magic?"

Low as a breath, he said, "I would not dare try." Although she did her best to keep her face neutral, Draco could see the flicker of disappointment. "Memory magic―and mind-related magic in general―is incredibly specialised and dangerous. One wrong move, and I could cause permanent damage."

"Right," she whispered, shaking her head a little. "Of course."

Weighing his next response, he sighed. "Look, Hermione. There are healers, alright? The magical equivalent to doctors. I spoke with a cognitive functions specialist months ago―before we even got to know one another. It isn't impossible, but it's very risky without knowing what went wrong or what the spell was in the first place. And no one knows exactly what happened―not even Potter because he wasn't with you."

"So if I see one of these healers," she pressed, "can they help me?"

"I don't know." When she only remained silent, he carded a hand through his hair again. "It's difficult to say."

She deflated slowly, almost without notice, but Draco couldn't tear his gaze from her. She only took another sip of her tea, gazing around the kitchen, and then he caught the glassy sheen to her eyes.

"Please don't cry," he breathed. Drawing his courage, he reached for her hand on the table. "I want to help you if I can―if you'll let me."

"But you don't know if this is fixable," she surmised.

He couldn't lead her on. "Right. I don't know. The healer I spoke with was the one who suggested the safest way to restore your memories would be by triggering wherever they're trapped."

Granger didn't respond and only trailed her fingers idly along the surface of the table, but she hadn't retracted her other hand from below his. "Did I have a wand?"

Draco nodded. "You did, although I don't know where it ended up. There wasn't any information about that―but it doesn't mean you couldn't get another one. It might not work in the same way as your old one did, but you could find another that reacts positively to your core."

"Where?"

Her eyes were wide and curious enough that he allowed a small smile. "Ollivander's is the best option in England, though there are others on the continent." Before she could ask, he gave her hand a squeeze. "Diagon Alley is the wizarding high street in London for all your magical needs."

"In London?"

Draco hummed, taking another idle sip of tea. "There is more magic in London than you could possibly imagine. The Ministry of Magic is just on Whitehall, for instance."

"No, it isn't," she scoffed, though the words didn't carry any certainty. "I would have known if―" But she fell silent.

"I can't say whether you would have seen it, given you're magical," Draco mused, "but if you were truly Muggle, you wouldn't see anything at all. At any rate, there isn't a sign or anything advertising its presence."

She appeared to consider the words, cataloguing them in her clever mind, and still, she stared at him in that odd way that left him both anxious and unsettled.

"I'm not any different, you know," Draco said quietly. "All that's changed is now you know I can do magic. I'm not a different person."

Colour flooded her cheeks, and at last, she glanced away. "I didn't think―I suppose I'm just curious. I have… so many questions."

Draco chuckled, interlacing his fingers with hers. "I would be surprised if you didn't."

Any warmth faded from her face, her hand softening where it rested within his. "And then, still… I don't know how to address any of this. Because I still don't remember anything." Devastation flickered across her face. "There's this entire world that I should know about, and I just don't, and… it hurts, Draco."

His heart sank at the vulnerability in her words, drawing at the lines of her face.

"You can learn it again," he assured her. "And I'm going to tell you everything you want to know."

"Yesterday, when you told me," she said softly, sipping her tea, "I felt some sort of pain… a flicker of discomfort."

The words caused him to tense; he could recall her pressing at her temples as though in pain. "I don't know enough about all of this; I'm sorry. I don't want to overwhelm you and make anything worse."

"Okay," she whispered. "Maybe you could just tell me a little more about it all for now."

For a long moment, Draco only stared at her, and his heart beat a little faster at the trust and honesty in her eyes. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. Promise." He glanced down at the table beside their clasped hands. "We might need another pot of tea."


The last thing Draco wanted to do was to push too hard, and he was careful to answer each of Granger's questions as simply as possible. There would be time to get into the details―the politics, the subtleties and nuance, and the darker side of the wizarding world. Eventually, they would need to discuss the war and everything therein, including their individual roles.

However, as though she sensed as much, she too was cautious with the wording of her questions—easy questions looking for easy answers.

And Draco kept a close eye on her in case anything were to go wrong. He didn't know enough about memory magic to guess at what might trigger an old recollection―or dismantle the entire house of cards from beneath. He felt like the entire situation rested on a precarious beam made of glass, and his role was a balancing act.

Granger, for her part, appeared to be trying to learn as much as possible without pressing him for information he was reticent to give lest it was too much. Draco could only imagine how overwhelming it could be to learn about the entirely of the wizarding world in one morning―which bled well into the afternoon.

At last, exhausted and mentally strained, they looked at each other. Granger seemed to deflate, as if there were no more room in her clever mind for new information, and released a long exhale. "I think I've had enough for one day."

Draco managed an effort at a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," she breathed, eyelids fluttering. "It's a lot to take in, but I haven't overwhelmed myself. At least, I don't think I have, but I don't know how exactly this is all meant to work. As far as pushing my mind too hard."

"Neither do I," Draco admitted. "If you'd like to talk to the healer―"

"Not just yet," she returned quietly. "But at some point, I imagine I would."

Granger had taken notes with an almost voracious intensity all through their discussion, as if afraid she might miss something and never discover it again. Draco had smiled at the old habit, even though he would remind her of anything she forgot or didn't pick up on immediately.

A part of him sobered at the thought; he knew it was her way of gaining some semblance of control in the matter.

"I never wanted to drop this all on you at once," he said, taking her hand between both of his. "I'm sure I could have handled this differently―better. But I don't know."

Assurance filled her stare as she fixated on him. "I don't know, either. I don't blame you, and I appreciate your consideration of my wellbeing."

Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her palm. "Have lunch with me?"

A soft smile lifted her mouth that warmed him from within. A calm sense of relief swept over him that she knew, and she wasn't upset and―

There were so many more doors open between them now. Routes to pursue in her healing and possible recovery, and he couldn't help but acknowledge the fact that he felt so much better now that she knew the truth.

Draco's heart stuttered when she leaned across the table and brushed her lips to his. "I'd like that."


"You did what?"

In hindsight, it probably hadn't been the best idea to bring up to Potter that Hermione knew about magic while already aiming a wand at him. Dodging a nasty hex, Draco lifted placating hands. "I didn't mean for her to just find out in the way she did."

"And how did she, Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes at the melodrama. "She found my wand."

Potter made a face. "Why was your wand somewhere she could find it?"

Clenching his jaw, Draco considered his answer. With Potter's testy mood, Draco wouldn't be surprised to catch a fist to the face if he inferred anything too personal. At last, he settled on, "It shifted out of my pocket."

As though reading between the lines, Potter's eyes tightened. "Do I even want to know―" At Draco's grimace, he shook his head. "Never mind, I don't. Clearly, you forgot that we were supposed to go about telling her delicately so as not to cause any damage. What did you tell her?"

Draco shrugged, holstering his wand as he swept a hand through his sweat-dampened hair; they had been training non-stop all afternoon. He hoped by stowing his wand away, Potter might follow suit, and they might be able to have this conversation like rational adults. But Potter simply folded his arms, wand hanging from his fingertips.

"The basics," Draco clipped, leaning against the wall. "She had questions about the Ministry, and about the wizarding world, and where she could get a wand, and―I didn't think it was a good idea to go too deep into specifics. And it's not like I was going to lie to her."

"Because you haven't been lying to her this whole time?" The words were dismissive and derisive and stung Draco in the chest more than they should have but for the flicker of truth. That even though he had done his best to be honest with Granger, there had naturally been plenty of evasion in their interactions. Potter released a sigh and at last holstered his own wand, though he clicked his tongue in disapproval. "If your slip-up does any damage to her brain, I'm never forgiving you for this."

"You're a fucking prick, you know," Draco drawled in return. It wasn't as if he had simply thrown the matter at Granger and left her to sort through it all on her own. "And besides―how long were you thinking we would just refrain from telling her she's a witch?"

Thinning his lips, Potter gave a shrug. "I don't fucking know, do I? I've never dealt with this before. All I know is the healer said not to overwhelm her."

"There was no way not to overwhelm her." Draco threw up his hands. "It's all bloody overwhelming."

For a long moment, they stared at one another, half-glowering and half-resigned. Potter summoned a tall carafe of water from across the room and poured two glasses. Without a word, Draco swiped one and drank half of it.

"Fine," Potter said, the word delicate. "I suppose we'll simply monitor the situation. Hopefully, we're through the worst of it, now that she knows. Unless you're about to dive in and tell her your father would have gladly seen her dead over circumstances beyond her control."

Although, of course the sentiment wasn't untrue, Potter's attitude was grinding Draco's last nerve. "I'm done keeping things from her―but I'm not going to do anything to harm her. When she's ready to learn the deeper truth below the surface of everything, I'll tell her. And if she decides at that point, she wants nothing to do with me, then so be it."

Potter's brows lifted, scepticism plain on his face, but he only took a long swig of water. "Fine, Malfoy. But please, for fuck's sake, don't let her stumble across details from the war in your fucking trousers, yeah?"

Despite the serious subject matter, a snicker pulled impulsively from his throat. "Never thought you'd be so interested in what's in my trousers, Potter." He ducked the spell that flew from Potter's wand. "I'm unarmed, you prat."

Potter seethed back, eyes narrowed. "First rule of training?"

"Always be prepared for anything," Draco muttered under his breath, finishing his glass of water. Smug conceit drifted across his colleague's face as though he'd been proven right, and Draco scowled. "Still a fucking prat."

"I could offer a lot of choice words for you about what's going on between you and Hermione, Malfoy, but I am choosing to trust you, at great personal cost." He released a long, pretentious sigh. "Now, let's get back to work. I don't want to deal with Robards if you get yourself kicked out of here."


After an exhausting and tedious day, wherein Potter ruthlessly hammered him with duels well into the evening, the pair of them retreated to the Leaky Cauldron with Theo for a pint to blow off some steam and tension. Draco was nursing both the wounds from several spells that he hadn't blocked in time and his ego in knowing Potter had bested him in the majority of their sessions.

They'd discussed Narcissa―back at the Manor once more and still miserable; Theo's attempts to get on with a potions master―mediocre but with one valid possibility; and lastly, the matter of Granger and her discovery of magic for the second time.

By the time Draco returned to his flat, still cognisant but a little unsteady on his feet, she was all he could think of.

Particularly in light of his conversation with Potter that afternoon, Draco worried that their conversation had been too much.

That he was too much.

He eyed his phone for a long moment, considering whether it would be weird to call her after he'd had a few, but the hour was late enough that he couldn't be certain whether she would still be awake. He didn't know if she had class in the morning, as her classes were often sporadic depending on the day, but he didn't want to run the risk of waking her.

Collapsing into the sofa, he stared at the small screen on the Muggle device and blinked bleary eyes. He fumbled with the rubbery buttons as he typed in a message and re-wrote it three times.

Thinking about you tonight. I hope you're feeling alright after our conversation yesterday, and if there's anything else I can do to help, please let me know. See you soon?

He grimaced as he read through the message several times, dissatisfied with the tone of it, but he stifled a wide yawn behind his hand and felt sleep tug at his eyelids. Finally, he drew in a deep breath and jabbed the button to send the message.

Before he could overthink the whole damn situation, he dragged himself to the loo to prepare for sleep. He caught his own glossy stare in the mirror and scowled.

No matter what he did, and even with his best efforts, Draco still felt as though everything continued to crumble around him. And he didn't know what he would do if he dragged Hermione down with him.

With that unsettling thought in the back of his mind, he checked his phone once, and when he didn't see a return message, he put himself to bed. He drifted into an uneasy slumber within minutes.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much as always for reading! I hope you're all still enjoying the story xo

Alpha and beta hugs to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.

Chapter 18

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

As Tuesday wore on, Draco felt an unpleasant worry in the pit of his stomach grow.

He drew out his phone while working on a report towards the end of the day and shifted through his messages. Not counting the message he had sent Hermione late the night before―to which he had not received a response―he also sent three additional messages.

It might have felt severe and excessive if not for the fact that it was unlike her not to respond in a timely manner.

At every small sound, he jumped, wondering if it was the quiet vibration of the device. But still, nothing peered back at him when he drew it from his pack. More than once, he'd questioned whether maybe the Muggle item had simply stopped working, but he felt deep within him that it was more than that.

Either she was ignoring him―or something was wrong.

And after their conversation and lunch on Sunday, they had parted ways on good terms despite Draco's worst fears on Saturday night when she left his flat. So he didn't think she was upset.

Which only deepened the dour instinct swelling within him.

Distractedly, he pushed through the last of his report, submitted it to Robards' office, and gathered his things. He swept from the DMLE without lingering to visit and paced through the Atrium as quickly as he could manage without looking as though he were running. Within minutes of emerging onto Whitehall, Draco had Apparated home and changed out of his robes.

Briefly, he debated calling her. But if she hadn't responded to his messages, he doubted she would answer.

Draco didn't know Granger's work schedule because she worked part-time shifts, and it changed from week to week, but he slipped on his shoes and prepared to Apparate back across London to see if she was at the tea shop. Maybe it had simply been a busy day―but that thought felt too innocuous as well.

He froze as he reached for the door.

In the back of his mind, Draco could hear the thick Northern dialect of Granger's co-worker―Audrey was her name, he had learned―and his heart sank like ice in the pit of his stomach. On the first Tuesday of the month, Granger visited her doctors for a multitude of appointments.

Before. When she hadn't been aware of the fact that her malady was magical in nature. Nausea swirled within him, bile on the back of his tongue, and his head already spun moments before he twisted into Apparition.

He paced rapidly from the Apparition point and slipped into Granger's building when one of her neighbours entered the main door, as he wasn't keen to break in using magic. But when he reached her unit, he rapped sharply on the door, a sharp breath held in his chest.

Glancing down the otherwise empty corridor, he knocked again, with a gruff, "Hermione." He was about to draw his wand—consequences be damned—by the way every instinct within him flared, when the door swung open.

Granger blinked up at him through bloodshot eyes; her hair was tied into a messy knot atop her head, and she wore a faded Queen Mary jumper and joggers. She scrubbed at one eye.

"Hi. What are you doing here?"

Draco's brows knit with concern. "I've been trying to reach you. Is everything alright?"

At the words, her entire countenance faltered. "You came all this way to see if I was alright?" Belatedly, she edged back from the doorway to allow him entrance, and Draco pressed the door shut behind him.

"To be fair, it only took me a few minutes," he said, eyes fixed on her. "Are you okay?"

She wrapped her arms across her front, gnawing at her lower lip as she eyed him. "Yes? I don't know." Wrenching at a curl that had fallen loose from her messy bun, she levied a deep sigh. "If I'd known you were coming by, I'd have cleaned myself up a little."

"You look beautiful." The words dropped from his lips before he could even think twice, and despite the fact that she scoffed and rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile drew at her mouth. "I was concerned. First Tuesday of the month and all."

Granger leaned against the wall, though the movement was more as if she sagged entirely into it like she didn't have the strength to keep herself fully upright. "I didn't go to class today," she breathed, deep consternation pulling at her brow; Draco wondered whether it was the first time she had ever skived. "And I called the specialists to cancel all my appointments. I just... it doesn't feel like there's any point, now."

While Draco could sense a deeper cause behind her melancholy, he didn't want to pry, but he could see the sadness etched in every line of her face. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I think so," she breathed, but she shook her head slowly. "I've had a headache, and every time I feel the slightest bit off, I wonder if this is it and I'm just going to lose the rest of my memories and―" She sucked in a sharp breath, biting down hard on her lower lip. "And even though now I know the problem, I'm still no closer to figuring a way out―or if there even is one."

Before she could say anything else, or before he could make sense of anything, he drew her into him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She caved in to his chest as though she'd been using the last of her energy to stay standing, and her arms coiled around his back.

Breathing deeply of her messy curls, Draco dragged a hand along her upper spine.

He could hear her sniffle, and she said, muffled against his shirt, "I'm so tired, Draco."

"I know," he murmured, brushing a kiss against her crown. "I'm going to help you figure this out if that's what you want. If you want me to help."

For a long, extended moment, he stood there with her in his arms and didn't even know how long because all he could think about was her silent tears dampening his shirt and her hands clinging to him as though he meant something to her. He didn't know how he might have dealt with everything if he were her―if he'd been fighting an endless battle for as long as he could remember.

"Merlin, I wish I'd come over earlier," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"You were at work." She still didn't extract herself from his chest, though her sniffles abated. "I didn't want to bother you."

"Bother me," he whispered, pressing another kiss into her hair. "You aren't alone, and you don't have to deal with this on your own anymore. I want you to bother me. I want to help you."

At last, she drew back, her eyes red-rimmed and watery, infinite sadness in the furrow of her brow. "I can't just pretend that I'm fine with never knowing," she said softly. "Not anymore after everything you've told me."

Holding her gaze, Draco nodded. "Then I'm here to help you. And Potter and Theo want to help you."

"Right now..." Granger trailed off, a dull flush of pink lifting into her cheeks. "I only want you here with me." Draco's heart clenched almost painfully at the words, and she released a deep sigh, sinking in on herself again as she peered up at him. "Have you eaten?"

"I have not." Draco eyed her for a moment before brushing a kiss to her temple.

"Do you want something, or some tea or―"

"All I want is for you to relax," he said quietly, running a hand down her arm, "and let me take care of you tonight. Is that alright with you?"

The first hint of life returned to her eyes, her lips quirking with a small smile. "Yes, I suppose that would be alright."


After tucking Granger in beneath a knitted afghan on her sofa, Draco first brewed a pot of tea and delivered a steaming cuppa to her specifications, and then he cobbled together a meal from the ingredients he found in her kitchen. Draco had never been a particularly proficient cook, and his standards for himself were much lower than they had been when he'd had a host of house-elves feeding him. But she didn't say anything; in fact, she cleaned her plate.

Idly, Draco wondered if it was the first thing she'd eaten all day.

Some of the colour returned to her cheeks as she sipped her tea, charmed to remain hot, and cuddled into his side after they'd eaten and he'd set the dishes to clean themselves.

While he had suspected Granger would refuse his efforts to look after her, he found he rather enjoyed taking care of the witch. She had obviously had an arduous day, and he couldn't blame her after the way every part of her life had upended so thoroughly, even in the last few days. Never mind the strain that she had been under through the years as she'd struggled with some semblance of understanding her circumstances.

Resting her face on his chest, she drew idle patterns across his shirt. "Thank you for tonight," she said quietly. "I imagine my parents must have done when I was younger, but I can't remember anyone caring enough to look after me."

Draco only swallowed heavily, tightening his hold on her smaller form.

"Will you tell me about Hogwarts?"

"Yeah," he breathed, turning to meet her stare. He considered the ask for a moment, absent memories fluttering through his mind. "Hogwarts was... honestly, it's rather bizarre. It was built over a thousand years ago by four founders, each brilliant in their own right, and each had their own house. You were sorted into Gryffindor―the house of courage and determination, though I always wondered why you hadn't been a Ravenclaw." When her brows lifted in question, he added, "Wisdom and creativity."

"And which house were you?"

He allowed a smile to play across his lips as he reminisced. "Slytherin. My entire family has been in Slytherin for centuries." His smile faltered as he absently grazed a hand along her spine. "Resourcefulness, cunning, ambition. Salazar Slytherin was... very particular about the students he allowed into his house, and the trend carried on."

While Draco didn't want to dig too deep into the inherent prejudices involved, especially when she'd had such a trying day, he didn't want to evade the subject entirely.

Her eyes sparkled as she gazed at him, waiting.

"You loved Hogwarts." The words fell soft and indulgent from his lips. "More than anyone else I knew. I think you lived at the library half the time, to be honest." He hummed, thinking back to the girl she had been. "You didn't like Quidditch, though both of your best friends played for Gryffindor."

She cuddled into his chest, her breathing even and gentle. "What's Quidditch?"

"It's the most popular sport in our world. It's played on broomsticks―seven players, three hoops per side, four balls serving different purposes." When she only snickered, he brushed a kiss to her crown. "In my knowledge, you never cared for flying."

"It sounds terrifying."

"There are ghosts," Draco went on, the memories drifting free of the tight box in which he'd stored them. "Each house has a ghost, and then there are others that roam. Our History of Magic professor was a ghost."

"No. Why would a ghost have any interest in teaching?"

Draco found it amusing that she didn't question the existence of them, as though she'd already opened her mind to the things she couldn't explain. "He died one day and simply kept teaching. His lessons were incredibly dry, though. I don't think even you liked them."

Shifting her head to peer up at him, a soft smile curled her lips. "You could be making all of this up, and I'd have to trust you, you know."

"I'm not making it up. You can ask Potter; he won't lie to you either."

Her eyes shimmered with warmth and anticipation, and it was a welcome juxtaposition from the way she had been when he had arrived.

His chest tightened at the thought.

Digging deep into the banks of his memory, Draco thought for the things she might have enjoyed the most.

"The ceiling of the Great Hall is enchanted to look like the sky outside," he murmured. "And deep on the grounds, near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a giant squid lives in the Black Lake. It's the best place on the whole castle grounds to watch the sunset." A chuckle fell from his lips. "The Slytherin common room is in the castle dungeons, and one entire wall faces the lake, kept separate by a pane of glass and magic―and sometimes you can see the squid and the colony of merpeople that live in the depths. If you ever want to bother Theo, ask him about the squid. It kept him awake for months when we were young, thinking the glass was going to give way."

She tittered a little, a smile hanging on her face before dropping off. "It sounds wonderful."

Only then did Draco notice the glossy sheen to her eyes through the warmth on her face. Frowning, he pulled a loose curl back from her face. "I don't mean to upset you."

"You haven't," she breathed, a furrow pulling at her brow. "It just sounds lovely. I wish I could remember any of this."

For a long moment, he only stared at her. Empty platitudes hung on the tip of his tongue, but finally, he sighed. "I wish you could, too. Maybe one day. I can stop talking about it if you prefer."

"Please don't."

He could see the hope in her eyes, even through the vague sheen of tears, and Draco nodded. "You and Potter were ridiculous―and your other friend Weasley. Always breaking the rules because you could get away with it and nearly getting yourselves killed in the process." He snickered, shaking his head. "While the rest of us had house points taken for the slightest indiscretion."

"That doesn't sound very fair," she huffed. "Why was that?"

Draco shrugged with a smirk. "The professors all loved you. Except for Snape―he was the head of Slytherin. Right hated you, as far as I could tell."

Although she lifted her brow, she laughed. "Well, he doesn't sound like a very good teacher."

"He was brilliant, but he wasn't a very fair teacher, no." Thinking of Snape buried a sharp spike of pain and guilt in his gut, and he grimaced, pressing on into a different topic. "You finished your testing, you know. Top marks of our year in every class."

Granger's eyes widened a little, but it was the only concession to his words; for a long moment, she remained silent, trailing lines across his chest as he rubbed a hand along her spine. At last, she released a quiet sigh. "I suppose I don't know what to make of that. With my work and my studies. Even if I wanted to pursue something else in your world―our world―I don't remember anything of what I learned."

"I understand," Draco murmured. "And just because I'm telling you about these things, it doesn't mean you have to do anything." The air felt a little tense between them, and Draco sank deeper into the sofa. "If you're happy with what you're doing now."

"Right."

He felt as though she meant to say something else but didn't want to pry. "Maybe someday, when you're ready, I'll show you some of it."

"Show me?" Sucking in a breath, she peered up at him. "What do you mean?"

The idea had lingered in the back of his mind for a while, but he hadn't known whether it was a good idea or not. Every facet of the situation required him not to overwhelm her or push too hard all at once. But if she greatly desired to know more about their world, who was he to keep it from her?

"I might be able to show you memories," he said quietly. "It's something we should probably discuss with a healer first―although most of the memories I have between us aren't exactly pleasant." He snickered, thinking back. "Like the time you hit me."

"I what?"

"It's fine. I deserved it."

Hermione tsked all the same, shaking her head. "It sounds like we were all quite ridiculous and violent at this school. When I met Harry, you said something about him trying to kill you. What was that about? And was there no authority in place monitoring all of this?"

"The headmaster was..." Draco's throat constricted, the words snagging and swelling on his tongue and refusing to come out. He released a breath, staring hard at the ceiling. "He was something else." He couldn't get into it all. Not when she had only just started to smile again; the last thing she needed at the moment was to learn about the bloody war. Finally, he settled on, "He was away a lot. From what I've learned, Potter didn't realise what sort of spell he used against me until it was too late. And it's never a good idea to mess with magic you don't understand."

"Is that what you meant about dark magic?" Uncertainty hung on her face as if she didn't know whether it was safe subject matter.

Carding a hand through his hair, Draco nodded. "So much of spellcasting is about intent. But some magic is, inherently, dangerous and harmful."

Granger gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment, her large eyes blinking at him. "And that's what you do as an Auror? You fight dark magic?"

His brows furrowed; never had he felt like such an imposter as under her intense gaze. The words fell hoarse from his lips. "I try to, anyway." He wondered how much she remembered of their early conversations before she knew anything real about him. But he could see it in her eyes, and he soldiered on. "When I was younger, I dabbled. I wanted to impress my father, and I just didn't... I have a lot of regrets, Hermione."

She only leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a firm, decisive kiss. After a moment, she drew back, fingertips ghosting along his cheekbones. "All that matters to me is where you're at now. Who you are now. And I don't care about the rest of it; how could I care more about the things I don't remember than the man I see in front of me?"

As her words wrenched through him, Draco felt gutted by shame. Moisture stung at his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, forcing the emotion back. He only kissed her again, seeking the warm assurance and the absolution in her touch.

With a sharp breath, he drew away, meeting her eyes, and breathed, "You're incredible."

Sadness pulled at her brow, but a smile crossed her face all the same. "I think I'm starting to see that things go deeper than I first realised. The history between us―and surrounding magic." She worried her bottom lip again, shaking her head slowly. "But I don't think I'm ready to dig into all of that yet."

"That's okay," Draco murmured. "A lot of it isn't pleasant."

He didn't know how to sugar coat it, and she didn't deserve that when she had been so understanding and so patient.

As she settled her face into his chest again, she stifled a yawn, and her eyelids fluttered. "I'm a little sleepy. Thank you for coming by tonight."

Brushing a kiss to her temple, Draco glanced at his watch. He wasn't in a rush to untangle himself from her steady presence, but it was getting late. "Please know you can always reach out to me if you need to."

A pause, and then, "Okay."

"And I hope tonight wasn't too much."

"I don't think so," she mused, "but I'll let you know if anything feels off." Despite her words, she made no effort to move, and Draco merely pulled her a little tighter until her muffled words came against his chest once more. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

He wondered whether she could hear the way his heart stuttered a beat. "Alright."

With another yawn, she turned sleepy eyes on him and at last unravelled herself from him, rising from the sofa; Draco felt the loss of her warmth intrinsically within him. "Only if you want to. I know you have to work in the morning."

Following her up, Draco smiled. "I'd love to."

Although he recognised the offer for what it was―comfort rather than intimacy―he couldn't help the flicker of hope that darted through him at the thought that she wanted him around.

"Okay," she whispered, entwining her fingers with his. She led him down the corridor, collected some sleep clothes, and hovered on the threshold of the loo. "I don't know if you need anything―"

"I'm fine," Draco assured her.

Biting down on her bottom lip around a smile, she said, "Alright," and closed the door behind her.

His heart raced at the thought of sleeping over as though he were a teenager, and briefly, Draco scowled at himself. But there was just something about her that he couldn't quite get enough of. Waiting in her room, he transfigured his outfit into something to sleep in, and when Granger returned moments later in a thin top and shorts, her lips curled with a smile before she turned off the lights and approached. Draco swallowed, forcing his gaze away from her bare legs.

The pale light from the moon beyond her window cast her in a dull silvery glow, but Draco sought the lingering warmth in her stare.

"Thank you, again, for tonight," she breathed.

He offered her a smirk, wrapping one hand around the small of her back. "It was my pleasure. Thank you for allowing me to take care of you."

Something shifted, tensing, in the space between them, and she drew herself flush against him. Pressing up on her toes, she brushed a kiss against his lips. "Thank you for staying," she murmured.

Kissing her again, he couldn't resist snagging her lower lip with his teeth. "Also, my pleasure."

A teasing smile lit her face as she gave his hand a bit of a squeeze then slipped into bed. Draco followed suit, rolling to face her. To his surprise, she kissed him again, more assertive, and Draco's heart leapt at the feel of her against him as her legs tangled with his own. He grazed a hand along her hip, down towards the curve of her arse, and a soft groan fell from her lips against his.

She drew back, even as she whispered, "You're so tempting."

Draco snickered, toying with one of her loose curls. "You have no idea how tempting you are." He ducked his chin and added, "But not tonight."

She deflated a little, as though with relief, and agreed, "Not tonight. I don't know that I'm quite―"

"It's fine," Draco breathed, planting another quick kiss on her lips. "Promise. No pressure now or ever."

A flicker of emotion danced through her eyes as she stared at him, long enough that he began to feel uncertain of the scrutiny. But at last, she sighed and tucked into him. "You're too good to me."

"I am not nearly good enough to you," he huffed under his breath, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Get some rest."

She drifted off, heart beating in tandem with his, and in the quiet moments, before Draco allowed himself to succumb to sleep, he knew he was in trouble.

Notes:

Author's Note: Hi everyone, thanks for reading the chapter, and as always I hope you enjoyed it! I have exciting news to share: you might have noticed the chapter count now says 18/45 because I finished drafting Adrift this past weekend! Lots more to come :D

Alpha and beta creds to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 19

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"I have to talk to you."

Potter's sharp, insistent voice broke through the haze of Draco's mind. He'd scarcely been able to stop thinking about Hermione since he woke up in her bed that morning, and he scowled at Potter.

"What is it?" he drawled. He hadn't even made it to his workspace yet, and he adjusted the strap of his satchel on his shoulder impatiently.

"It's about Hermione." At that, Draco's full focus swivelled to the dark-haired man before him, brows high. Potter only rolled his eyes. "Of course, that would get your attention. Obviously, you and I know she isn't missing anymore, and I want to update her case files in the archive, but you know what will happen when I do."

Draco grimaced. He did; it was a large part of the reason why he hadn't been in a rush to do anything with her case. She would likely be ambushed and paraded around the media, heralded for her sudden return and tragic story.

"I don't want to put that on her," Draco ground out. "Not now, while her mental state is so precarious."

Because they still didn't know what might cause her situation to come crumbling down around her. Whether anything might unlock her missing memories―or dismantle what she had spent years attempting to rebuild.

"Neither do I," Potter said quickly, falling into step as Draco paced the rest of the way to his desk. "But I know you've been talking to her―consider bringing it up?"

Releasing a long breath, Draco stared at the other man for a moment. He lifted a brow. "I don't think it's a good idea. Imagine how overwhelming it would be for her to be surrounded by people―reporters―asking her questions about things she doesn't even remember."

Potter wrenched a hand through his hair. "Yeah. But we can't just ignore her file forever."

Draco's shoulders sank. "I know."

"Give it some thought," Potter said, "and we'll figure out the best way to proceed. Maybe I'll bring it up with Robards to see what he thinks."

Although Draco winced, he didn't want to challenge the thought. Surely discussing the matter with the head of the department didn't constitute appropriate for such a delicate matter.

But as though they had summoned him, Robards snapped from a short distance away, "Malfoy. My office."

Draco blew out a breath and refrained from rolling his eyes as Potter offered a grimace; he ought to have just stayed in the warmth and comfort of Hermione's bed. The day was already shaping up to be a mess.

"Good luck," Potter quipped before darting away.

Grinding his teeth, Draco crossed the floor and slipped into Robards' office, pressing the door shut behind himself.

The man fixed him with a hard stare. "Take a seat, Malfoy."

Draco didn't know what to make of the situation, and Robards' expression gave no hints. If anything, the matter was dire, and Draco's stomach clenched with unease. He set his bag on the floor and dropped rigidly into a chair, fixing his superior with his full attention. Robards only jotted several things down on a memo and sent it through the chute while Draco waited; the man's usually tidy hair was a mess, and he had deep circles beneath his eyes.

As the prolonged silence began to prickle along the surface of Draco's skin, he asked, "Is everything alright, sir?"

Robards squared his jaw and regarded Draco over his frames. "You tell me, Mister Malfoy. What do you know about what went down in Azkaban last night?"

Draco felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. "Excuse me, sir? I haven't heard anything."

Huffing a breath, Robards dragged a hand along his stubbled jaw. "I don't want to be the one to tell you this. Your father, along with three other inmates, orchestrated an escape attempt from the secure ward last night." The words rattled around Draco's brain as he sucked in a sudden, sharp breath. Robards looked grim. "They made it pretty far, too. Three guards and one Auror lost their lives."

"No," Draco whispered, the word falling like an exhale. His heart sank to his sternum.

"Yes." The man's piercing eyes still lingered on Draco. "The guards think it might have been spurred by your father's visitation with your ailing mother. Apparently, he claimed his―quote―incompetent traitor of a son has been doing nothing to help the situation."

Draco ground his teeth, his heart throbbing painfully in his chest; a sudden and intense headache flared below his temples. "I don't even know what to say, sir―what's happening with the situation now?"

"Your father will go to trial again," Robards said, his words carefully clinical, "as will the other inmates. Mister Malfoy, each of them were former Death Eaters." He hesitated, releasing a long breath. "No one's taking this lightly; certainly not the Minister nor the Wizengamot. News of Death Eaters coordinating from within―killing guards―this could set a devastating precedent if not dealt with properly."

Squeezing his temples between his thumb and forefinger, Draco ground out, "And how do they think it will play out?"

Robards fixed him with another hard stare, but the words were soft. "There's been talk of the kiss."

Draco's eyes fell shut.

Although most of the Dementors had fled Azkaban after the war, leaving a squadron of cruel guards in charge of the prison, some had remained. Those particularly thirsty. Somehow, the idea felt so abstract, and after everything his father had done―including this, now―Draco couldn't stomach the thought.

He was glad he hadn't had time to eat breakfast after a slight lie-in with Hermione.

"I don't want to ask this," Robards went on quietly, "but I need to know. When was the last time you spoke to your father?"

"What?" Draco's head snapped up, eyes wide. "You can't possibly think―" He cut himself off at the look on his superior's face, devastation slicing through him like a hot blade. "At the visitation at St Mungo's."

"And did he mention anything―"

"No."

The possibility of tossing his guts felt real as Robards visibly weighed his words once more. "You must know I don't think you had anything to do with this." The way the words hung suspended, as though there was more, played against every insecurity that existed within Draco's spirit. "But I don't run the department alone, and the others―"

"You can't be serious," Draco ground out, panic getting the better of him. He wrenched a hand through his hair. "You can't fucking―"

"Mister Malfoy."

Draco fell silent, shame spiking thick and heavy within him. He wanted to cry and scream and run away and―

"I'm sorry to say, but this is too important. Too much relies on the outcome of this case, and I can't have you anywhere near it."

A breath caught in his lungs, and for an instant, Draco couldn't breathe. "What are you saying? You're kicking me out―"

"I am not kicking you out." The man fell silent. Draco's heart thudded aggressively in his chest, and his mouth went dry. Every part of him was stiff with tension. "I am putting you on suspension from active duty for the duration of the investigation and trial. I'm sorry, Mister Malfoy, but this is too high profile. I cannot allow for even a flicker of doubt in the department."

"That's bullshit," Draco croaked. Robards shot him a look but didn't admonish him. "I didn't have anything to do with this."

Robards' chest sank heavily with an exhale. "Your father and his cohorts had makeshift weapons. The components of which they would not have been able to gather from inside Azkaban. Some of my colleagues in the Ministry suggest the timing of your father's visitation―"

"What?" Draco was on his feet before he could stop himself. "I didn't―" At the very thought that he might have been involved, the words fell away, stifled in his throat. He wrenched a hand through his hair, propping the other on the back of his seat to stabilise himself. His skin grew hot.

"Let me make something abundantly clear, Auror Malfoy," Robards said quietly, "I don't think you had anything to do with this. In fact, I know you didn't."

Chancing a look towards his superior, Draco could read the contrition in his face. "I didn't do this. If I had known he was planning anything like this, I would have told you―"

"I know."

Nausea churned, insistent, in his stomach, and Draco collapsed back into his seat. Drawing in a long, rattling breath, he dropped his face into a palm. "What do you want from me?"

"I have to ask," Robards said, his voice quiet and apologetic, "where were you last night?"

A humourless chuckle, bitter and terse, fell from Draco's lips. Not a fucking chance he would involve Hermione in this. "I was at my girlfriend's place. And she had nothing to do with it, either. If I'm a fucking suspect or something―"

"Mister Malfoy." Robards folded his hands on his desk as he leaned forward. "Kindly watch your tone. I know this isn't easy, and I don't want any accusations thrown around the department any more than you want them thrown at you. But I need proof for the others that you weren't involved."

"Your proof," Draco said, his words hoarse and weak, "is the fact that I've been fighting twelve hours a bloody day to prove myself as an Auror. Why would I want to break Death Eaters out of fucking Azkaban?" When Robards only released a sigh and stared at him, Draco pressed on. "If I were anyone else, I would be in the field already."

"You're right," Robards said, at last, leaning back in his seat. "You would be."

Bitterness coiled in his stomach like smoke at the admission, and Draco ground his jaw to keep from saying anything more. He knew he wasn't useless, and even Potter himself had noted how much he'd improved over the past months.

"Please don't suspend me," he choked out. "I'll stay away from the trial case."

He could hear the desperation leaking through his tone, but at the moment, Draco didn't care. All he had was his efforts to prove himself as more than his father's shadow. And for the man's actions to follow him still, now―Draco felt as though his heart might simply shatter, depleted and bone-dry.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy." Draco could see in Robards' face that he meant it. "My hands are tied. It's only until we sort this mess out. Until the trials are completed, and this whole potential Death Eater resurgence is put to bed." He hesitated for a moment while Draco's heart thudded heavily and his eyes blurred. "Prejudice has always been a prevalent thing in the wizarding world."

The unspoken close of the statement haunted the back of Draco's mind.

As you well know.

Draco knew about prejudice better than anyone.

The cruel, bitter irony of it curled around every part of his being, leaving him empty and miserable. He felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him entirely; his shoulders sank, brow furrowed with defeat.

"I need to ask for your badge."

Staring hard at the desk in an effort to force back the angry sting of tears, Draco felt the fight seep away through his skin. For all his training and drive to become an Auror, still his colleagues doubted him. Years of effort crumbled down around him faster than he could take stock of the wreck.

He fumbled for the badge at his belt, fingers grazing the smooth metal of it as he slid it across the desk.

Panic swelled within his chest as Robards retrieved it, tucking it into his desk, and Draco thought he might simply dissolve into the wisp of a man that remained.

"I'm sorry," Robards said again.

But Draco couldn't find any more words. He clenched the arms of his seat with white knuckles and forced himself to ask, "Was that all?"

"That was all. I will keep you posted as the situation proceeds."

Draco pushed into the arms of the seat, his hands shaking as he stood. He shrugged the strap of his bag over one shoulder, feeling as though his strength had been utterly depleted. With a sharp, stiff nod, he turned for the door.

"Please ask Auror Potter to come to my office," Robards spoke quietly.

Releasing a tight breath, Draco nodded again.

The bright lights of the department stung the backs of Draco's eyes as he left the office, and he could feel stares tracking him. Whether they already knew or not, he didn't care.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so much of a failure.

Catching Potter's concerned gaze, Draco strode forward and muttered, "Robards needs to see you."

"What happened?" By Potter's searching eyes, Draco knew he wasn't stringing him along. That Potter, at least, wasn't against him. If nothing else, he was one of the only ones Draco knew he could rely on. Still, he could only shake his head. "Malfoy."

"I've got to go," Draco choked out, blood spiking hot in his veins at the stares.

He brushed by him, their shoulders jostling, in an attempt to escape.

And he had no idea where he was going to go.


Hours later, Draco sat slumped on a bench along the Thames, a bright and mocking sun blazing down on him as he stewed in his own melancholy.

For as hard as he'd tried, and for the years of effort, he ought to have known he'd never be able to shake the shadows of his youth that sought to follow him wherever he went. And now his father's actions had put his career on the line―and moreover—exposed so many things Draco had tried to ignore.

He might never be granted status as a full Auror, not if his own department didn't trust him.

Between his ailing mother, his imprisoned father, and his floundering profession, Draco hadn't known how to make sense of anything or where to turn. And now, all three had collided into a storm from which he couldn't escape.

He didn't dare talk to Hermione.

He couldn't comprehend the deep, all-encompassing shame when he so much as thought of her.

Several times, his phone had gone off in his satchel, but he didn't even have the nerve to look at it. The sun was high in the sky, already well past its midday peak, but Draco didn't know what time it was. It didn't matter, as he had nowhere to be.

Suspended.

Suspect.

Carding an aggravated hand through his hair, he grit his teeth on a scream that threatened to break free.

At last, he pulled the phone from his bag, skimming the notices. Three missed calls from Hermione. Several messages. His face grew grim, heart tossing in his chest as he scanned them one at a time.

Hey! I had a nice time last night. Thanks for coming by.

Draco, is everything alright? Harry just asked me to corroborate where you were last night. Something about your father?

Draco? What's going on?

Please call me back. I just want to know if you're alright?

Releasing a sigh, Draco dragged a hand down his face. As he clutched the phone in his palm, it buzzed again, and he opened the message.

Malfoy, answer your fucking Floo calls.

After blinking several times at the message, Draco surmised Potter must have been with Hermione. He blew out a long breath, then dialled the number.

"What the fuck?" Potter's voice came over the line. "The department's in bloody chaos over this Azkaban shit, mate. Robards actually fucking suspended you?"

Draco worked his jaw. "Where are you?"

"I'm at Hermione's cafe. She's worried sick over you."

"Put her on."

A moment of silence hummed on the line while Draco's stomach tossed steadily. Then her quiet voice came on the line, and it felt like a knife through his heart. "Draco, are you alright?"

"Fine," he drawled.

"You aren't fine," she breathed, the words a soft admonition. "Harry told me some of what's happened. Can you come here?"

Trepidation stung at his nerves, and he glanced at his watch. "I'm tied up with something at the moment." He didn't want to lie to her, but he couldn't see her—couldn't handle the warmth in her stare as if he were worth her notice.

Because he wasn't.

"Oh. Of course."

The subtle hint of sadness in her tone suggested she didn't believe him, and Draco wanted to curse himself for it.

"Look, do me a favour," he muttered, "I don't want you to have to get involved in this, alright? You don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to. Not even Potter." He released a long breath when she didn't respond and dragged a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean for you to get tangled up in anything, yeah? All they want to know is what I was doing last night."

"You were with me," she ground out quietly. "And if I need to tell anyone that, I will. Draco, it isn't fair for them to accuse you of anything."

"If you talk to them, Hermione, you'll be throwing yourself into a spotlight brighter than you realise right now."

She didn't answer for another long moment, and Draco's skin itched in the silence that ensued. At last, she sighed. "I don't know what's going on, Draco, but Harry's told me they suspended your badge over something that wasn't your fault. I'm sorry. I know how much your work means to you."

He might have been annoyed with Potter if not for the fact that he and Hermione had been on friendly terms for a number of weeks already; it wasn't Draco's place to say anything about that. If nothing else, he was glad that she had someone else to talk to―and he knew he could trust Potter to look out for her wellbeing.

"Just a mix-up," Draco muttered. "It'll be fine once this mess dies down."

He wished he could believe his own words. Despite what Robards had said, Draco would be genuinely surprised if he was ever fully reinstated.

"You aren't tied up with anything, are you?" Her voice was soft and apologetic, but he heard the hint of something else. Something like pain. "I'm on your side, you know."

"I know." He blew out a long breath, squinting into the sun above. "I just don't know how to deal with this right now."

Honesty was good. Draco wasn't used to having anyone care enough about how he felt. Not even his mother―and at the thought, he bit back a groan. He would have to rehash this mess with her.

"Okay," she said, meek and quiet. "If you want some company later, I only work until eight."

Draco ground his jaw, indecision raw and searing as it raced through him. "Okay. I'll let you know."

Hermione didn't instantly respond, and he heard a muffled male voice on the other end. She said with a sigh, "I'm supposed to tell you to get your arse home and answer your Floo―whatever that means."

Scrubbing at one eye, Draco drawled, "Tell Potter to piss right off." But he released a long exhale and rose to his feet, stretching out his stiffened muscles after sitting on a bench for hours. "Fine. Tell him to give me ten minutes. And to use a secure grate."

He could hear her speaking off the line for a moment before she returned. "Alright."

"Thanks," Draco said softly.

"Draco, are you sure you're okay?"

He almost couldn't handle the tenderness in her voice. "It'll be fine," he said. "I'll talk to you later, alright?"

"Yeah, alright." She hesitated for a moment and, lowering her voice, said, "You know I'm here if you need. Whatever it is, you can talk to me."

"Yeah," Draco bit out, "I know. I appreciate it."

He bit down hard on his tongue to stop himself from suggesting that maybe she shouldn't be. That he didn't deserve someone willing to stand by his side―not least of all someone so genuinely good. Because even if he didn't deserve her, he didn't want to lose her. He could barely fathom the thought, and his stomach churned at the idea of her walking away.

"Okay. Bye."

When the line went dead, Draco stared at the phone for a long moment before stowing it into his pocket. Then he slipped from the river bank down the road to an innocuous point where he could duck between two buildings to Apparate home.

Not five minutes later, the fire flared neon green in his grate, and Draco rolled his eyes as he answered the call. Potter's face appeared in the flames, his expression irritable, and he announced, "I'm coming through." His face vanished before Draco could even say anything.

He scowled and folded his arms when Potter appeared on the hearth, already speaking. "I don't know what sort of bullshit the department is playing at, but this is ridiculous."

"I don't really want to talk about this, Potter," Draco grumbled, collapsing into the sofa. "So if this is all you wanted to discuss, please kindly fuck off."

"It isn't, so don't be a prick." Potter sank into the armchair beside the fireplace, looking around the flat, and it occurred to Draco that Potter had never been to his flat. But he'd had no cause ever to invite him over before, even now that he and Theo were an item. "Hermione wanted to see you, by the way."

Draco clenched his jaw, thinning his lips. "I can't see her right now."

"Right," Potter clipped, "because it'll interfere with your pity party."

"You can leave."

"Buck up, Malfoy," Potter pressed on with a grimace. "I'm on your side. And Robards is too, but he can't go against the Wizengamot on an issue like this. We all know your father's a royal tosser, and you had nothing to do with it, but an Auror's dead, and so are three guards, so they can't just dismiss the concerns. With any luck, Hermione won't have to vouch for your whereabouts last night because they'll find the scum who smuggled contraband into the prison. You aren't a suspect―not really, because Robards knows how you despise your father."

Draco scowled at him even though he knew he shouldn't dismiss the few allies he might have in the department. "He didn't need to take my badge."

"Bloody political, isn't it?" Potter waved a dismissive hand. "I agree; it's bullshit. But he doesn't want the gossip that would come from a Malfoy in the Auror's office when a Malfoy is on trial for the kiss."

At the reminder of his father's potential fate, Draco felt the blood drain from his face. He sucked in a breath through his nose and glanced away.

Potter froze, his face falling. "Er, right. Sorry about that." Fixing him with a hard look, Potter barrelled on. "The issue coming from the other side is that you just had that visitation, and three Aurors saw you speak with your father, and now this. I know you better, and honestly, anyone who thinks you could have slipped them weapons hasn't been paying attention, but you know how it is."

"I do," Draco said delicately, hating the fact. He released an anguished sigh and dragged a hand through his messy hair. "It fucking sucks to know that half the department is willing to turn on me that fast, mate."

Rarely did he and Potter discuss anything on a deeper level, and he felt a little weird about the look Potter gave him.

"I know it does," Potter said softly at last. "I can't even remember how many times the Ministry spoke out against me during the war." He scoffed, shaking his head. "Closed-minded, the lot of them, and not everything's changed since the war."

"Yeah," Draco muttered. "Anyway, thanks. Keep me posted."

"I will." Potter rose, pacing towards the grate. "And I'm going to offer you some unsolicited advice. Coming from someone who knows Hermione better than anyone―or used to, anyway―don't block out her efforts to help. For whatever reason, she's decided she wants you in her life―even though she knows the past between you two is shady at best―and if you shut her out, you're going to wreck it."

Draco blew out a breath, feeling simultaneously better and worse from Potter's visit. "Thanks."

With a nod, Potter cast a handful of powder into the grate and vanished.

Notes:

Author's Note: Hiii hello thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts about the chapter xo

Alpha and beta love, as always, to the wonderful Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel respectively.

Chapter 20

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

For a long time, Draco had been used to having his work as a focus and purpose, even when everything else felt bleak. He almost couldn't remember the years after the war when he had drifted along without something meaningful with which to occupy his time.

The rest of the week following his suspension was the worst. Draco had awoken early as usual, and on the first day he was halfway through a scalding shower before he remembered he had nowhere to be.

Something like shame had held him back from reaching out to Hermione, although he longed to see her. He had sent her a few messages, but he didn't know how to face what had become his temporary reality.

He spent his days in his flat, unable to focus on anything―reading, brewing, spellcasting―until the white walls threatened his existence and he sought the outdoors.

Saturday in the late morning found him perched on his bench along the Thames near the Tower of London, drumming the tips of his fingers along his thigh as he scowled at the flow of the river, his mind drifting more erratically than the current.

It was his twenty-fourth birthday, and the anxious energy building within him all week had spurred him to leave the flat for the first time in days. Even so, he felt far from the celebratory spirit. He'd already ignored numerous owls from Theo on the matter.

Startling to the present at a movement in his periphery, Draco forced a thick swallow. Hermione slipped onto the bench beside him, her shoulders low and face meek. "Hi," she breathed, the word a little apologetic.

Draco stared at her for a long moment in an effort to rationalise why his heart thudded so fast at her sudden presence. At last he cleared his throat and drawled, "If I didn't know any better, I might think you were following me."

Some of the tension dissolved from her countenance, her lips twitching at the reference to one of their earliest meetings―the first time she had come across him on this very spot. "We're on neutral territory," she murmured.

He reached for her hand, tugging it between both of his. "It's nice to see you."

"I hope you don't mind the company," she said softly. "I considered checking your flat but didn't want to intrude. A lucky guess that you might be here, I suppose. It was a nice morning for a walk."

As she carried on, Draco eyed her sidelong, and realised she was nervous. A twinge of guilt darted through his gut and he brought the back of her hand to his lips. "I'm happy you joined me." Releasing a breath, he allowed himself to relax in her presence. "I've been rather out of sorts this week, I suppose."

Although he hadn't planned on drawing attention to his birthday―he didn't want her to feel obligated to do anything―it was a nice surprise to see her regardless.

"I know," she whispered, tucking a little closer into his side, and Draco wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He took a deep breath of her curls, eyes fluttering shut. She had a way of calming him like he could never have imagined. "I haven't wanted to push, but I hope you know that I'm here. And that I'm not going anywhere."

Draco didn't care to reveal that he had questioned that very thing for days, especially not when she had gone out of her way to seek him out, but the reassurance meant more than he knew how to put into words.

"Okay," he murmured.

A late spring sun warmed the banks of the river, beaming down, and for several peaceful minutes, Draco simply tried to make sense of the fact that she was there, with him, despite all logic or reason.

That horrible voice that had been extra loud for days suggested it was only because she didn't really know.

"I was thinking," Hermione said at last, shifting from his hold to face him, propping one foot beneath herself on the bench. "I have the last of my exams this coming week."

Draco blinked in surprise; she hadn't been as manic about exams as he might have expected or as he could remember from their NEWT preparations. "That will be nice. Do you have some time off, then?"

"Yes. I'll have the summer off from school; I'll pick up some extra shifts at the cafe, though." She hesitated for a moment, her eyes tightening in consideration. "I suppose. Unless something changes."

He didn't have to ask what she meant; if she were, by some circumstance, able to pursue something else.

Swallowing, Draco managed a nod. "Of course."

"And I thought," she pressed on, averting her gaze, "maybe you would be able to teach me some more about your world. And if you have any interest, perhaps we might be able to spend some more time together?"

It wasn't where he had anticipated the conversation leading, but her words embedded something like hope inside of him. "Do you mean going somewhere?"

A dull hint of colour flooded her cheeks. "Maybe. Only if you wanted to, of course. I don't have a lot of extra money, but I've saved up a little, and―"

"I have money." He winced as the words left his lips. "I only meant that we could go somewhere, and money wouldn't be a concern."

Almost instantly, the idea latched on to some part of himself that still clung to the idea of her and him, of them together. "Besides, it isn't very expensive to travel by magical means. We could hire a Portkey."

A genuine smile curled her lips as she beamed at him. "I don't know what that is, but okay." The smile faltered, and she chewed her lower lip before adding, "I thought maybe you could help me get a wand?"

"I could do that." Draco eyed her for a moment, sifting through the idea. "Although if we do that in London, you'll attract a lot of attention you might not care for at the moment." A slow grin crawled across his face as the thought rooted itself firmly within him. "You might like to go a little further out."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "How far?"

His tongue darted out. "It depends. There are magical districts in many major European cities. Madrid. Berlin. Paris."

Although her eyes sparkled as they held his, she quickly shook her head. "Oh, I couldn't ask that of you. That's too much."

"It would be no different than travelling within England, honestly," he drawled. "We'd need a Portkey regardless." Then Draco remembered he wasn't particularly welcome at the Ministry at the moment and grimaced. "I could have Theo register it if you wanted to go."

Blowing out a breath, she shook her head a little as though the idea overwhelmed her. "It sounds expensive, and I certainly don't want to impose―"

"I am not saying this to be ostentatious," he said quietly, tilting his head back to observe the sky, "but we could tour the continent for three months, and the difference to my family's vaults would be negligible." When he cast her a glance, her expression was one of stifled shock. "Let me take you somewhere?"

She wrung her hands, pursing her lips. "Perhaps for a few days, then. I can have one of the other girls take over the yoga class next week."

A real smile―the first he'd felt in days―spread across his face. "Deal."

"And speaking of yoga..." Trailing off, she bit down on her lower lip. "Do you care to join the class today? I'll have to study for my exams tonight and tomorrow."

It was as good a way to spend his birthday as any.

His heart sank a little at the thought that he wouldn't see her for the rest of the weekend, and she'd likely be tied up with her exams all week. Even so, he was glad he hadn't told her, having learned how busy her upcoming week would be.

But the thought of going somewhere, just the two of them, was the best gift he could think of.

Once more, Draco pulled her hand into his, watching as their fingers entwined with one another's as though made to fit. "I'll come to yoga. And if you like, I can help you study after. It's not like I have anything else important to do."

"Okay," she said quietly, "that sounds nice."


As he suspected, most of Hermione's course material was both inane and irrelevant to him, who would never need a working knowledge of Muggle learning. Idly, he wondered if she intended to carry on with her university program now that she knew she was a witch, but he didn't want to bother her over the idea while she tried to prepare for her exams.

If nothing else, she had inferred something along those lines. It felt as though there was still so much to tell her about the wizarding world, and that didn't even include the seven years of magical education and training she had forgotten.

Draco could teach her the basics―magical history, brewing, rudimentary spellcasting―but there was no way he would be able to summarise their entire Hogwarts experience. Surely, she realised as much as well.

Maybe it was why she still intended to complete her year of Muggle schooling.

Without a working knowledge of magic, there would be few magical paths open to her. But he had underestimated Hermione Granger before, and he never intended to do so again.

Thankfully, she didn't need him to understand her course material in order to help her study. And after spending the rest of the weekend in her flat assisting her with preparations―in between mild, brief distractions wherein he could scarcely keep his hands off of her―Draco determined he had little interest in things like Muggle economics.

He awoke Monday morning in his own bed, within the quiet white walls of his flat, however, and reality crashed down upon him once more.

It had been easy enough to forget, while in Hermione's presence and with her laughter in his ear, that he was now bereft of the sense of purpose that had driven him for the last few years.

The first days after Draco's suspension began had been spent in a haze of self-loathing and brooding contemplation. But if he was going to spend a period of time away from work, he could at least attempt to make the most of it.

In that vein of thought, Draco spent several hours brewing in the second bedroom to replenish his stock of household potions.

He rearranged his bookshelf―and halfway through, he decided to revise the sorting method and started again.

The flat was nearly spotless, but he cast a series of cleaning charms anyway.

Pursing his lips, he sank into the sofa with a pot of tea and a book.

Draco attempted to Floo call Theo, but his friend―who was always at home―wasn't home. For some reason, the thought that Theo was doing something Draco didn't know about made him irritable. It seemed as though Potter knew more about Theo than he did these days―not that he could blame either of them for that, especially given the amount of time he had spent with Hermione.

He typed out a text.

I hope your exams today went well. Let me know when you're through? Frowning, he deleted the second half lest he looked desperate for something to do. Never mind that he was.

She had to work and study that evening―every evening that week, really―and he tried to content himself with the fact that she had agreed to go away with him for the weekend. He would need to arrange for an International Portkey, either through Theo or Potter.

Idly, he wondered how long the investigation and trial could actually take. Weeks, at best. The list of trials had taken months to get through after the war, but there had been dozens of Death Eaters and other dark supporters.

Surely, he wouldn't be away from the Ministry for months.

It would make sense for him to keep up his duelling training. The last thing he wanted was for the chance to return to the Auror's office to arise, and have his skills gone to rust. But something told him Theo wouldn't care for Draco to throw hexes at him for any length of time, and he didn't want to ask Potter to spend extra time training with him when he knew the man had been working on the investigation at Azkaban.

The thought of asking Hermione to practice with him was comical when he had been very cautious not to overload her with too much information at any given point in time.

He still worried about her reaction to going out in wizarding London for the first time. If anything was likely to be too much, that was it.

His phone vibrated on the table.

Exam went well I think. (I hope.) Working for a few hours then back home to study.

Draco thinned his lips into a grimace as he read the message. The timing was so far from ideal that she was busy when he had so much time. But still, he was more than capable of existing without thinking of her every waking moment.

At some point, he would need to visit his mother, but his stomach still churned at the thought.

His efforts to pass the time had been carefully designed around the fact that he couldn't bear to think of his mother, her magical core slowly dwindling to nothing―or his father, on trial to lose his very soul.

It was easier to fixate on the dissolution of his career.

Or the girl.

If nothing else, the girl made him smile.


Wednesday evening found Draco sipping a pot of Darjeeling in his favourite corner booth at Hermione's cafe. She had another exam that afternoon, but he hadn't wanted to be alone, and his flat was beginning to close in. Again.

At Theo's insistence, Draco had agreed to drinks later that evening. But he hadn't seen Hermione in days.

When Hermione eyed her other patrons and slipped into the other side of the booth, a gentle smile on her lips, his heart fluttered a little.

"Hi," she offered, a coy smile on her lips. "You haven't been to visit me here in a while."

Draco smirked, enjoying the easy comfort she provided. "I know. It felt overdue."

The bell over the front door tinkled, and she hopped up from her seat only to freeze short. Draco followed her gaze, lifting his brows when Theo and Potter slipped into the booth across from him. Theo glanced around a little before offering Draco an insincere smile; Muggle establishments made him nervous.

"Harry thought you might be here since you weren't home," he said. "Happy belated birthday. Are we still having drinks tonight?"

Potter looked around at the quiet shop and snickered. "Good party."

Draco scowled at him. "It isn't a party. I only wanted a cuppa." He turned back to Hermione's curious expression and offered, somewhat sheepishly, "It was my birthday Saturday." He watched the way her eyes widened in surprise.

"Draco!" she exclaimed, swatting him in the arm. "You didn't tell me that! I would have taken the night off. I can't believe I made you study with me on your birthday."

"It was fine," Draco assured her with a shrug, sipping from his teacup. "It isn't important. I never do anything to celebrate, anyway―I just thought you should know we're the same age now."

A teasing smile drew across her face. "For a few months, anyway. I think." Her face faltered with uncertainty. "Melody's identification said 19 September."

Thinking hard, Draco tried to recall whether he had ever known her birthday. All he could remember was a mention that it was early in the school year. "That might be right."

"It's right," Potter quipped. Rolling his eyes, he turned towards Hermione, who eyed the three of them with amusement. "Don't tell me he's been here moping all night."

"No, he's only just begun," she said with a snicker.

"Traitor," Draco muttered.

Her lips twitched, but before Draco could say anything more, she slipped back to the counter. As Potter and Theo made themselves comfortable in his booth, she returned with another pot of tea and two fresh cups before joining them once more at the table.

"I hear the two of you are going away," Potter announced, giving Draco a hard look. "That should be fun."

However, a genuine smile lingered on Hermione's face, and she pulled Draco's hand into hers. "Draco hasn't told me where we're going―something called a Portkey?"

At that, Theo reached into his pocket and slid a long, narrow box halfway across the table. Nodding, Draco dragged it the rest of the way and tucked it out of the way beside the window with a brief, "Thanks."

"Look," Potter said, while Draco caught the flicker of curiosity on Hermione's face, "if you're this hard up, mate, I can try talking to Kingsley. We could use you."

"Who's Kingsley?" Hermione asked, her gaze sliding between them.

Draco gave her hand a squeeze, grateful for her efforts. "He's the Minister for Magic."

Whatever she anticipated, that clearly wasn't it, as confusion darted across her face. "Why would Harry know him?"

Dull colour flooded Potter's cheeks, and he glanced away, sipping his tea. Theo elbowed him in the ribs, and Draco snickered at Potter's obvious discomfort.

"He's the fucking chosen one," Theo quipped, at last, mussing Potter's hair.

"Don't," Potter hissed.

"Everyone loves Potter," Draco drawled. "Famous, you could say." He nudged Hermione in the side. "So are you."

"None of you are making any sense," she breathed, dropping her face into a palm. "Is anyone going to elaborate on this?"

The three of them exchanged a glance, embarrassment still ripe on Potter's face. Theo broke the tension first with a flippant, "Probably not here. It isn't polite talk for Muggles."

With an apologetic grimace, Draco nodded. "He's right. I'll tell you, though, just not here." Turning towards Potter, he rolled his eyes. "Shacklebolt's the one pushing my suspension. And if it isn't directly from him, it's some old sods on the Wizengamot. He might not have a say in the matter any more than Robards does. Just do me a fucking favour and get this all wrapped up as soon as possible. I'm going to lose my mind if I don't get back to work soon."

Although Potter snickered, Draco could see something more genuine in his face. He wasn't ready to delve into the fact that the sooner the Auror's department moved on the matter, the faster Draco's father would see a courtroom.

And he might not walk away this time.

The sentiment obviously didn't miss Theo either, who kicked Draco's shin beneath the table.

"If it means that much to you," Hermione began quietly, "why don't you do an investigation of your own? It couldn't hurt the matter if you ended up helping the case."

Although Draco weighed her suggestion for a moment, he shook his head. The fact that she cared enough to suggest something, however, burrowed itself into his chest. "Robards would have my neck if I got in the way. Apparently, half the department thinks it's a conflict of interest if I'm involved in my father's trial. Not like I'll be able to influence the Wizengamot's decision either way."

Potter sipped his tea and stared hard at Draco. "I know your father was a right bastard and probably deserves what he's got coming," he said softly, "but could you live with yourself if you were the one to put him in the shackles?"

"Condemn family for the chance to bolster my career?" Draco asked wryly. The very thought burned and prickled along the surface of his skin. "I don't know, mate."

"Sounds like my father," Theo offered.

"I don't really know enough about the situation or the subtleties of any of this," Hermione said, leaning a little closer into his side. "So my opinion is obviously affected likewise. My only thought was... if you want your colleagues to believe you're one of them, yeah? Silence the ones who don't trust you by taking away their reasons to doubt you."

"You know," Potter said, eyeing her with a curious look on his face, "you've always had a bit of a vindictive streak. One day I'll tell you about the time you trapped a woman in a jar as a beetle."

Mortification and horror mingled on Hermione's face. "I didn't."

A grin spread across Draco's face.

"Or the time you allowed Umbridge to get carted off into the Forbidden Forest by centaurs," Potter went on mildly.

Theo threw his head back with a cackle. "Fucking hag had it coming, anyway. Don't worry about that, Granger. Although, colour me impressed."

"Same," Draco snickered.

"I didn't," she whispered again, colour flooding her cheeks.

"Don't even ask about the time you permanently hexed Marietta Edgecombe." Potter snorted, finishing his cup of tea as though he anticipated he would no longer be welcome in the cafe.

"I just liked the time she nearly broke Draco's nose." Theo's wistful smile swivelled in Hermione's direction.

Her brows knit with such a startled furrow that Draco took pity on her, ducking in to plant a kiss to her temple. "Ignore them," he muttered against her skin, "you're perfect." She gave his hand a squeeze, and some of the tension lessened from her face.

Draco could feel Theo's gaze lingering on him, a bit of a smirk playing on his friend's face when he glanced across the table. An uneasy sort of vulnerability crept through him.

"This is a shite start to a birthday party," Potter announced to the table at large. "We need some firewhisky. Hermione, when are you off your shift? You've got to come with us―he's a pain in the arse when you're not around."

Draco scowled at him.

She released a huff, as though with surprise at the rapid change in subject, but glanced at her watch all the same. "Half an hour." She gnawed her lower lip for a moment and added, "But you don't need to wait on me. I can come to Draco's after I'm through."

Theo's gaze landed on Audrey behind the counter, observing her fingernails. "Oy!" he shouted; she lifted a pair of slender, disdainful brows. "Hermione's leaving early, yeah?"

"Fine," the girl clipped. "Don't care. Have fun."

"There," Theo drawled. "You're off now."

Draco sipped his tea and eyed her as she sank back in her seat, eyelids falling shut as she released a long breath. "Fine. That's just... fine, then."

"Perfect," Potter quipped. "We'll continue this party at Malfoy's flat."

"We don't have to―" Draco began.

"You've got the best whisky," Theo said, "and don't even try to deny it."


A few hours later, the edges of Draco's vision felt a little blurred from a moderate consumption of whisky after Theo and Potter made their best efforts to obliterate Draco's fine liquor stash. Hermione tittered a little at his side, tipsy but not quite drunk from her first remembered experience with firewhisky, as Theo stumbled on the rug in Draco's sitting room.

He and Potter had decided to leave at a decent hour as Potter had to work the next morning. Lips twitching with a smirk, Draco pulled Hermione into his chest and kept his focus halfway on her face as Theo grabbed a fistful of Floo powder and threw it into the grate. With mounting horror, Hermione watched as the flames lit neon green, and a quiet scream fell from her lips when the other two stepped into the flames and vanished.

Her eyes, comically large, slid to Draco, tinged with panic.

"That," he muttered, "is the Floo."

Chest heaving a little with rapid breaths, she stared once more at the grate as the green flames fell away once more. "What?" she whispered, shaking her head. "Does it hurt?"

"No. It can be a little nausea-inducing if you aren't used to it," he drawled, "but so can Apparition. The fireplace is connected to the Floo Network, which means it can provide access to any likewise unlocked grates on the network."

"Seems a bizarre way to travel," she breathed. But then she turned back to peer up at him. "Happy sort of birthday, Draco. Did you have a nice night?"

A smile pulled at his lips as he stared at her. "I did, though I didn't need or want a party. That's why I didn't mention it." A frisson of guilt darted through him as he recalled she had another exam the following day. "Do you want me to take you home, or are you going to stay over?

"I thought I might stay if that's alright with you," she said, stifling a yawn behind her hand. "I'll have to get up early to go home before my exam, of course, but I don't think I want to take the underground this late."

Draco scoffed. "I don't want you taking the underground this late. I'd Apparate you home if you wanted." He eyed her for a moment, pondering his thoughts. "I'm surprised you wanted to come over at all. I recall you being more fanatically studious than this."

Avoiding his gaze, she gave a noncommittal shrug. "I am, really. But I just suppose that ever since I found out there's another world that I could be a part of... well, my classes have felt a little less important." She gnawed on her lip as she hesitated. "I recognise that I'll likely never be able to get a job if I don't remember anything, but I thought maybe I could borrow some of your books on magic to study?"

"I understand," he mused, "and of course you can. Whatever you want." Darting his tongue out, he eyed the sparkle in her gaze, dragging the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone. "I'll take you to see the manor library some time."

A breath hitched in her throat, her face falling serious. "Your manor has a library?"

"It does." He ducked in, capturing her lips with a kiss. "It has three levels. You can see it if you like."

Sinking a little into the kiss, she slid a hand around to the nape of his neck. "And why didn't you tell me about this before?"

Draco grinned, nipping at her lower lip. "It felt like an unfair advantage." Although he felt himself responding to her touches, the way her chocolate eyes seared through him, he drew back. "You'd better get some sleep."

Still, she kissed him again when he tugged her to her feet, and Draco melted into her as his blood flared below the surface of his skin. He backed her into the wall, flush against him as he skimmed her sides with his hands. Her soft, indolent kisses spurred a tight coil of arousal in his stomach as her tongue teased his, hands coursing along the panes of his back and tugging at his hair.

He knew it wasn't the right time, but he'd had just enough whisky to indulge a little longer. Dragging his teeth along the delicate line of her jaw, Draco sucked at the sensitive skin of her throat, basking in the way she arched into him, squirming at his heated touches.

"Draco," she breathed; his name from her lips was temptation and music as one. "I want you."

He froze with another kiss to her throat. Palmed her breast, grazing her peaked nipple with his thumb. "We've been drinking."

"Not that much," she whispered, toying with the buttons of his shirt.

"You have an exam in the morning." She didn't respond, a teasing smile pulling at her lips. Biting his lip on a groan, Draco muttered, "You're going to be the death of me."

As she idly began to release the buttons of his shirt, blatant heat in her stare, Draco gazed at her.

"So here's the thing," he drawled, propping a hand to the wall beside her head. He ducked in closer, snagging her earlobe between his teeth, and breathed, "I really want to take my time with you." She paused, her body tensing. "And I can't do that tonight."

A heavy exhale fell from her lips. "Okay."

Draco shifted back enough to meet her stare, to rove the flush in her cheeks. "If you're amenable, that is."

"I am," she obliged, her breathing a little shallow. "So... not tonight."

"Not tonight."

Her fingers grazed a silvery line of scar tissue along the exposed skin of his chest, and Draco swallowed at the feel of it. He didn't think he needed to remind her that they would be going away together that weekend; he could read the implicit acknowledgement in her eyes.

But every part of her tempted his fleeting will.

"Come on," he muttered, "I'll find you something to wear." On the way to his bedroom, he snagged a vial from his freshly brewed potion stock and planted it into her palm. "Hangover draught. Take this when you wake up, and you'll feel fine in the morning."

She gaped at him for a moment before a smile lifted her lips. "Magic is quite something, isn't it?"

He cracked a grin. "You do catch on fast."

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much, as always, for reading! Your comments always make me so happy. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Alpha and beta credit, as always, to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.

Chapter 21

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

A couple of things occurred to Draco over the first full week after his suspension―a natural extension of too much time to himself and too much time to think.

The most unsettling and intimidating was that he had never been half as serious about someone as he was about Hermione Granger. He had never taken the time to introduce someone to his friends, especially Theo, outside of someone they both already knew.

Most insidiously, the thought had crept into his mind and lodged itself there, helped along by a teasing letter Theo had sent following Draco's impromptu birthday celebration. Not that the man had any room to talk, as he and Potter fawned over each other every time Draco saw them together.

But the idea left Draco stewing in his ruminations on the matter. He had never willingly gone on a trip with someone―and he was looking forward to the weekend away with Hermione altogether more than he had anticipated. Not least of all because he would have a chance to reintroduce her truly to magic, and he looked forward to that as much as he valued that she trusted him enough to be the one to do it.

Their late-night conversation the night of his birthday hadn't gone far from the top of his mind, either.

After speaking with his mother's healers to ensure they didn't anticipate any issues over the weekend, he had arranged the final details of their trip with the promise that he would arrange a visit upon returning home. He'd been putting off the dreaded conversation with his mother regarding his father's attempted escape and the fallout that had impacted Draco's life after the fact because it was an ugly topic, and he knew the discussion wouldn't go well.

Hermione had arranged to come by his flat after her last exam, and he felt a strange tumult of nervous anticipation racing through him all day. It had been an effort to find things to keep himself occupied all day, and when she knocked on the door to his flat, he nearly jumped.

"It's open," he called, shifting through several books on the tall shelf in his sitting room. When she slipped into the flat, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes, Draco's stomach twisted up at the sight of her. "Hi. Are you glad to be through with your exams?"

"I am," she exclaimed, grinning. "It's a nice feeling." Setting a travel bag on the floor beside the door, she stepped closer into his arms. "And I have to say I am looking forward to our weekend away."

"As am I," Draco murmured, brushing a kiss to her lips before he drew her tight into his chest. "Very much so." Her arms banded around his midsection, chin propped on his chest as she smiled up at him, and Draco's heart clenched tight.

He forced a swallow and dragged his gaze away. "Actually, I was just going through some of my books that you might find useful. Not necessarily for this weekend, but since you'll have a bit more time now that your courses are through for the year."

Untangling herself from his hold with a quick intake of breath, she flipped through some of the books he had already selected, eyes darting rapidly across the titles. "Is this all information I would have known at one point in time?"

"Most of it," Draco muttered, folding his arms across his chest as he watched. Her enthusiasm was infectious. "Some are from my own studies."

A glossy sheen misted her eyes when she glanced his way once more. "Thank you, Draco. This means a lot." She gave a startled gasp when he waved a hand, and the assortment of books shrunk down to miniatures, and he packed them into a small bag. "Easier to carry this way."

"I don't know how to enlarge them again," she reminded him.

His lips curled into a smirk. "You're getting a new wand this weekend. Maybe you ought to learn, hmm?"

A brilliant smile spread across her face. "Okay. I like that plan."

"And," Draco pressed, falling serious, "I don't want any part of what we do this weekend to push you too hard, alright? We're going to explore magic a bit more than you've done to this point and if anything makes you uncomfortable, please let me know."

She gave a sharp, affirmative nod. "You still haven't told me where we're going."

Taking a step closer, Draco brandished the Portkey Theo had procured for him and caught her eye. "Tu parles Français?" When her lips twitched, he said, in crisp French, "Nous allons à Paris."

Biting down on her bottom lip around a grin, she responded with a soft, "Oui."


As a boy, Draco had been to visit the French magical district, La Rue Mystique, more times than he could count.

He had family in Bordeaux and Lyons, and his father had frequently visited Paris for business dealings. More than once, Draco had been left to explore the district on his own.

Bringing someone that he cared about had an entirely different feel.

Despite warning Hermione of what would happen and his best efforts to keep her steady, she looked a little green when their Portkey landed in the designated receiving zone of the Parisian hotel where he had reserved a room.

"Are you alright?" he asked, flashing her a grin as she stumbled a little. "It gets easier, I promise."

Blinking several times, she nodded at last. "Yes, I'm alright." Her eyes widened as she took in the grandeur of the hotel, and as a stern expression overtook her face, Draco shot her a look.

"You said you would let me treat you this weekend," he said softly, "and I am happy to do so."

Whether from the exhilaration of arriving in Paris or something she found in his stare, she ducked her chin and allowed a smile. "Fine. But please don't go overboard because I won't be able to pay you back."

"I don't want you to pay me back. I only want you to enjoy yourself."

"Fine," she whispered, locking her hand into his. "And for the record, I already know I will enjoy myself because I'm with you."

Draco's heart felt as though it slammed to an abrupt halt in his chest before skittering into a gallop. Brows knitting, he stared at her for a long moment before drawing her into a kiss.

The Parisian air felt fresh and alive with promise, and so much of the tension he had been carrying in England for months sloughed away as he drew back and caught her eye. "Merlin knows I do not deserve you." A grin pulled at his lips. "Come on."


He ought to have warned her that he'd booked the finest suite in the entire hotel, but she had already agreed, and he'd paid the deposit, so it was too late. But the look on her face―the wide-eyed, breathless elation―made it all worth it.

Draco drew their bags, shrunken for travel, from his pocket and enlarged them as he eyed her absent exploration of the space. Their return Portkey wouldn't take them back to London until Monday afternoon, and Draco didn't want to overwhelm her too much at once, so they had decided on a quiet Friday evening.

Hermione turned to face him, a shimmer to her eyes and a genuine smile on her face. "I can't believe we're in Paris."

Eyeing her for a moment, he dropped his head into a tilt. "Thank you for coming with me."

"Thank you," she breathed, looping her arms around his neck. "This means more than I can express. That you're taking the time to help me through all of this when you don't have to."

"I don't have to. But I want to." Pursing his lips, Draco shook his head slowly as he held her stare. "I know all of this hasn't been easy on you. And to be honest, I don't think I've navigated the situation very well. But if I have a chance to make things simpler for you, I'd like to do so."

She leaned in, capturing his mouth, and Draco melted into her touch, the way she always seemed to reach him on a different level and kissed her in return.

"I appreciate that," she breathed, lips grazing his again as she spoke. "And I'm so happy that I've met you this time around."

Draco swallowed thickly, unable to look away from the warmth in her stare. He wondered whether she would feel the same way when she knew everything.

And he knew it was time.


The district of La Rue Mystique spread out across several blocks of Paris, kept under a careful string of concealment charms, but the main street itself offered the best shopping in all of France, in Draco's opinion. Their hotel sat on the outskirts, and they selected a casual restaurant for an evening meal, taking the scenic route to explore some of the district.

Hermione's eyes widened with surprise when he paid in galleons and sickles, something knowing in her stare as though she had pieced together at last why he hated Muggle coins.

Back at the hotel later, they lounged atop the covers of a king-size bed in sleep clothes with a bottle of room service champagne.

"I can't wrap my head around the fact that magic just exists alongside everything else," she said, a hint of wonder in her tone.

"Just wait until you see La Rue tomorrow. It's something else entirely; it even puts Diagon Alley to shame." He took a sip of champagne, rolling his head to face her along the headboard. "The Statute of Secrecy is both incredibly complex and all-encompassing; the only exception for Muggles knowing about magic are people like your parents, who don't have magic themselves."

She worried her bottom lip a little, shifting closer into his side. "How does that happen? And is it common?"

"It isn't uncommon." His heart beat a little faster as he weighed the words with which to approach the conversation. "There are theories as to how Muggle-born heritage happens. Some believe that the Muggle line is distantly descended from a squib―someone born to magical parents but not in possession of magic themselves." Sobering, Draco swept a curl back from her face and lowered his voice. "And there are some old magical lines that think themselves superior because of their blood."

Hermione sank, deflating a little, and he knew he didn't need to elaborate. "And is that what you believe?"

"I used to," he breathed. Averting his gaze to stare at the covers, Draco took another sip of champagne. He didn't know how to address the matter any better than he'd dealt with the rest of it.

Silence hung between them for a moment, taunting him, before she leaned back against the headboard and sighed. "So, what changed?"

"Everything."

"It would be hard to miss the fact that I don't know all there is to know about magic yet," she said quietly, "and I realise there are things about magical society that I don't know. I've read some of your books, but I'm still missing a lot. I would like to understand―even if it isn't all pretty."

"It isn't," he choked. "None of it is."

Hermione set her empty glass on the nightstand and turned to face him; a downwards tilt to her lips and a furrow in her brow. She simply ghosted her fingertips along one of the silvery lines of scar tissue bisecting his bare chest; the feel of it sent a shudder down his spine.

"What happened to you?" she asked.

Before Draco could respond, she leaned in and brushed a kiss against the line, just above his sternum, and her eyes flitted back to his.

"A dark curse," he said, at last, eyeing her warily. "I told you about the time Potter attacked me."

"Harry did this?"

Draco gave a slow nod, keeping his chin tucked. "I cannot overstate how much he and I used to hate one another."

"And me," she breathed.

A thick blockage lodged in his throat as he echoed, "And you."

"Is any of this related to why Harry personally knows the Minister of Magic?"

"It's all related," Draco said, the words hoarse from his lips. "All of it. Including why it'll be such a big deal when London society realises you're still alive. You're famous. Potter's famous."

"But why?"

Draco scrunched his eyes shut, dragging a hand down his face, and muttered, "I'm not the person to tell you all of this, but I'll do my best." When she only waited, he blew out a breath. "When Potter was a baby, he survived a deadly curse." Although she sucked in a sharp breath, she remained silent, as though recognising how hard he was trying to get through the words. "Both his parents were killed that night by the Dark Lord Voldemort."

"I read about him, but..." she breathed. "Are you serious?"

"I wish I wasn't." He chanced a glance sidelong to meet her eyes, but there was no judgement in her face, only horrified wonder. "He thought... witches and wizards were meant to rule, that Muggles were inferior, and that everyone who stood against him was disposable. He had built up a following before we were born, but Potter's resistance to his death curse weakened him to the point where he spent many years in a state of partial existence."

Draco swallowed a mouthful of champagne. "You don't need that whole story from me because you can find that in a book if you want the details. But at the end of our fourth year, he rose again. The war began anew."

"There was a war?"

He didn't know how much she had read in his books, but very few of them contained anything about modern wizarding history. He wasn't surprised her priorities had been elsewhere.

"There was." He scrubbed at his eyes. "The Dark Lord marked Potter as his nemesis because he had defied him before. Apparently, there was a prophecy that declared only one of them could survive."

He could see the moment the pieces began to click into place behind her eyes, swirling about her clever mind, and Draco's heart sank.

"I can guess how that played out," she said quietly, a wry twist to her lips. "But how was I involved?"

"You were Potter's best friend. The brains behind all of it." He glanced away, feeling an almost unbearable tightness in his chest. "You're a hero, Hermione."

To his surprise, she pulled his hand between hers and planted a kiss to his palm. "Is this why your father is in prison? He fought for the other side?"

"Yeah," Draco muttered, "he did." His heart clamoured, fracturing in his chest as he placed her hand onto the faded scar tissue along his forearm. Her fingers were gentle, eyes still locked on him, but he couldn't force himself to meet her stare. "The Dark Lord branded his followers―Death Eaters―with something called the Dark Mark. To control, manipulate, summon. Ensure he wouldn't be betrayed."

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. "You were marked?"

He felt a nervous tremble in one hand and clenched it into a fist. "I was sixteen; my father had disappointed him by failing to retrieve the Prophecy and landed in Azkaban―for the first time." He blew out a long breath, forcing himself to push through. "I had followed along, blindly, for too long, and... he had a task for me."

"Draco," she whispered.

"I'm not good at this, Hermione," he said. "I wish I had done so many things differently. That I had stood up for myself or done anything else. But I didn't. He was going to kill my mother, and―" Breaking off with a grimace, he dragged a hand through his hair. Swiped angrily at the moisture that threatened at the corners of his eyes.

Draco hated the devastation in her face, almost as much as the pity in her stare.

"I made my bed," he muttered, shaking his head slowly. "I was a prick growing up, but I never wanted to see people die."

"And did you?" she asked on a breath.

Casting her a weary glance, he thinned his lips. "So many." Recounting the experience was more visceral than he had even expected, so he tried to block out the onslaught of memories to no avail. "He moved into the manor during the war as his base of operations, and―"

"Your manor?" Hermione gaped at him. "The dark lord lived in your house?"

"He did," Draco muttered with a grimace. "With his great fucking snake." His chest heaved a little, mouth going dry, and he looked away. Downed a mouthful of champagne, wishing it was something infinitely stronger. "I can still hear the snake."

Despair etched itself in the lines of her face as she stared, clutching his hand, and Draco tried to imagine what it must have been like to hear all at once.

"Look..." Trailing off, he stared hard at the covers again. "I'm sure this is a lot to take in, and I have no excuses for the way I acted or the decisions I made. If I could do it over again, I would change all of it. And if you can't accept this, honestly, I don't blame you―"

"Draco."

He fell silent, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth ground together.

"Tell me something," Hermione whispered, eyes wide. Draco's heart thudded so hard he could scarcely think. "This dark lord―your master―he would have seen me dead. People like me."

He breathed, "Yes."

"And you believed in all of this," she pressed, eyes glassy with tears. "About certain bloodlines being better than others."

Unable to deny it, and knowing he was digging his own grave, he ground out, "I did. Yes."

"But you don't anymore." A tear broke from her eye, trailing down her cheek, and before Draco could think to stop its path, she swiped it away. "You said you don't anymore."

"Of course I don't," he clipped. "Hardest lesson I've ever had to learn in my life."

"Shit, Draco," she breathed, shaking her head. "This is... I don't even―please tell me you're being truthful."

He drew in a deep, measured breath and spoke carefully. "More so than I have ever been with anyone."

Silent tears spilt down her cheeks as she stared at him, her eyes wide and unblinking. Draco couldn't stand the despair, raw and haunting in her stare―and especially knowing he'd caused it.

"Like I said," he said at last, "I'll understand if you don't want this anymore."

For a long moment―so long that Draco's heart began to seize and stutter in his chest―she didn't say anything. Still, she held tight to his hand in hers, trailing her fingertips along the bones of his knuckles.

"I told you once," she breathed, "that I wasn't going to put more stock in the things you've done in the past that I don't even remember than in the man I've come to know. I don't know who you were then, and it sounds like I probably wouldn't have liked you, but I know who you are now, Draco." She brought the back of his hand to her lips. "And I see you."

His heart felt as if it might simply vaporise to dust, a breath catching in his throat as he blinked at her.

Then her words sank in, seeping through his skin into his very soul, and his lips parted without words.

Never before had Draco been so flayed open, so raw and vulnerable, so willing to be hurt if only for the slightest chance that it might go somewhere he couldn't even imagine.

"Why?" he managed at last.

"Because." She brushed a kiss to his chest, just above the voracious rhythm of his heart. "I believe in second chances." Shifting up, she brought her face towards his, and Draco brushed a rogue tear from her cheekbone; her lips curved with a soft smile. "Or should I not?"

A disbelieving huff of laughter fell from his mouth. "You should. Fuck, you should," he choked out, dragging her mouth to his.

Emotion pulsed a dull roar through his veins at the feel of her lips, at knowing that she accepted him and his many flaws, and the feeling was unlike anything he had experienced before. Her fingers slid into the hair at his temples, her kisses gentle against his mouth, and Draco drew her as close as he could manage.

His heart chased a cadence with which he was unfamiliar, but warmth swelled within him at the feel of her flush against him.

At last, she broke away, her breath mingling with his own and her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"There's still more I'd like to know," she whispered, "but I think that's enough for one night."

With another lingering kiss, Draco nodded. "Alright." Sudden fatigue swelled heavily within him, along with an unsuspecting lightness in his chest. Pulling her into him, he drew the covers over them both as she stifled a yawn.

As he waved a hand to kill the lights, Hermione's dark eyes blinked slowly at his own, her face beside him on the pillow as her legs tangled with his. Unable to make sense of anything, he only pulled her tight into his arms and planted another kiss to her crown.

"Good night, Draco," she breathed, the words muffled by his chest.

Moisture stung unbidden at his eyes. "Sweet dreams, Hermione."

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this one xo

Alpha and beta credit, as always, to the wonderful Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 22

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco stirred awake to find sleepy chocolate eyes on him. A smile tugged at his lips as he tightened his grip on her, burying his face back into the pillow.

"Good morning." Hermione cuddled a little closer into his chest, her eyes sliding shut once more.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," he breathed, seeking her lips with a kiss. He could feel the upwards curve to her mouth as she sank into the contact, her tongue darting out to tease his own. "How are you feeling?"

She withdrew, eyelids fluttering open slowly once more. "Alright, I think." Grazing a hand along his side, she sobered. "You shared a lot with me last night. Are you okay?"

Draco felt a sudden bout of shame spike through him, dispelling the warmth and comfort he had felt upon waking with her in his arms. Brushing a kiss to her jaw, he glanced away. "I suppose so. Those things I shared last night... I want you to know that I don't... that isn't―"

"I know," she whispered.

He rolled onto his back, tugging her with him as he stared at the ceiling. "I have a difficult time opening up to people."

She laid her face on his chest, idly tracing the trail of subdued scar tissue leading down his abdomen; Draco forced a thick swallow as his body flared awake at the soft touch. "I've noticed that as well. But I hope you know you can talk to me."

Absently, Draco toyed with her loose curls splayed across his chest, snickering when his fingers snagged in her hair. She fired him a look.

"I know," he sighed at last. "At least, I hope I can. There are so many things in my past that, looking back, I can't reconcile with the person I've tried to become. Things I believed, implicitly, without question."

For a moment, Hermione remained silent, her fingers still drifting along his scars, gentle and distracting. His attention to the matter at hand faltered at her touch, and his mind raced back to the conversation they'd shared several nights prior. He hadn't wanted to press, or to push things too soon when the whole situation between them had felt so uncertain and tumultuous.

But ever since they'd broached the subject, Draco hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. Her soft skin, bared to his gaze and hands. The feel of her when he―

"I don't know that I ever want to meet your father," she admitted, the words acting like a bucket of cold water as heat began to race in his veins at the thought.

"I don't want you to meet my father," Draco scoffed, feeling a flush of colour in his cheeks. "But with the investigation ongoing, you'll likely never have to."

"What will happen to him?"

He released a long sigh. "He's on trial for the Dementor's Kiss. It's... not pleasant. Dementors are wraiths that feed on positive emotion, and they feast on human souls."

"Souls?"

Draco grimaced, realising how barbaric it must have sounded without any context. Hell, even with context it was barbaric. "Right. So if he's found guilty―and the evidence is likely to lead in that direction―he'll lose his soul. Essentially, he would just be a shell of who he once was." Explaining the process left it clinical enough that he could do his best to ignore the sudden lump in his throat.

"That sounds dreadful," she breathed. "I'm sorry, Draco."

He nodded slowly, releasing a breath. "Yeah." She peered up at him, eyes wide and devastated for him, and Draco offered a grimace. "He's terrible, but he's still my father. I don't really know what to make of it―and maybe that's why my supervisor didn't want me anywhere near the case."

"I'm sorry you've had to deal with so many things at once," she said quietly.

She had a way about making his heart race, and Draco didn't know what to make of that either. He couldn't rationalise it to himself, and maybe it wasn't rational, but he didn't know how to face whatever it was. His suspicions pointed in one direction with which he was wholly unfamiliar.

Pushing back the thoughts, he pulled her tight into himself and, in a quick motion, rolled the pair of them so he was hovering over her, her back flat on the bed.

"We aren't here in Paris to be sad all weekend," he muttered, ducking in to plant a string of kisses along her throat and down towards the curve of her chest. A bright, mirthful laugh fell from her lips as she tracked her hands up his back. "I don't know about you, but I want to enjoy our time together."

Hermione hummed softly in his ear, the sound of it prickling along his spine, and she sighed under his ministrations. "So do I." She lowered her voice and added, "Though I'm certain I would still enjoy myself if we spent all weekend in bed."

Pressing a kiss to the swell of her breast, Draco glanced up, allowing a wicked smirk to tug at his lips. "I would definitely enjoy that." He tweaked her nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt and a breath fell from her lips. She watched him through heavy lids, her gaze filled with delicious heat that he longed to indulge, and a soft groan fell from his lips. "We have a lot to do today."

"Yes," she whispered, slipping one hand into his hair even as she arched from the bed, bringing her chest closer to his face. "I suppose we should get up."

"Your words and actions are misaligned," Draco snickered, tugging the low collar of her shirt aside. Her stare lingered on him when he flicked the tip of his tongue out, teasing the peak of her nipple, then sucked it between his lips. Her grip tightened in his hair as she groaned, and taking it as encouragement, he ducked in, tasting and licking her breast as he gently palmed the other. "You're going to need to tell me if you want to get up or stay in bed," he drawled, switching his attention to the other side.

"You're making this decision very difficult," she said, the words breathy but with an undertone of humour. "I thought you wanted to go to the magical district."

"I've been there plenty," he said, even as he pulled back from her nipple with a quiet pop and flashed her a smile. "Maybe we'd best finish this later."

"Okay," she said, propping up on her elbows. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as he fixed her shirt, eyeing him with no small measure of desire that made him want to strip her fully bare beneath him.

Draco shifted back to catch her lips with his own, and muttered, "It isn't my fault you're so bloody gorgeous."

"Flattery will get you somewhere, Draco Malfoy," she breathed, "but later."

He flashed her a grin and swooped in for another kiss. "Deal."


Even though they were in Paris and not London, the thought registered in the back of his mind that it was their first proper outing together in wizarding society. Despite himself, Draco felt a swell of pride in his chest when Hermione laced her fingers through his, as though she didn't mind being seen with him.

The look on her face as she took in La Rue Mystique was more than he could have imagined. She had scarcely blinked since they arrived on the high street, her eyes filled with a glossy sheen of wonder.

In an odd way, it made Draco wish he hadn't grown up with the banalities of magic. If for no reason other than for the chance to experience it all for the first time.

"This is incredible," she said at his side, gaping at a group of wizards in vibrant robes who rushed past, a loud chattering in French following in their wake. The shop fronts on La Rue were alive with magic, dancing and swirling and drawing patrons through the doors.

"There's the wandmaker," Draco said, pointing out one shop, "but we'll have to visit the bank first."

Hermione had been insistent upon purchasing her own wand and other magical supplies, especially since Draco had paid for the hotel, but she had only Muggle currency.

"I keep wondering what happened to my old wand," she mused out loud, casting him a glance. "I must have had something with me in Australia, surely. But without knowing anything about where I went or what I did, there would be no way to figure any of that out."

"You didn't have anything with you when you woke up?" he asked, the idea catching in the back of his mind. "Your reports didn't include anything like that."

She hummed for a moment, gaze roving the shops as they made towards the bank. "I had a hotel key on me, and luggage in the room, but nothing remotely magical."

"Some sort of decoy maybe," he said quietly. "Your identification was false―maybe you were acting as a Muggle for some reason. I can't say where your magical supplies could have ended up. Potter might have a better idea about that."

"I'll ask him." Worrying her bottom lip, she added, "He intimidates me a little. He's supposed to be my best friend and I feel like he knows me better than I know him. Which, of course, isn't his fault."

"Potter's naturally intimidating," Draco acquiesced. "He means well, though. But if you need him to back off, just tell him."

She gave his hand a squeeze, beaming up at him. "I'll ask him about my things. He might know something. Although it's been years at this point, so it likely won't matter."

"Speaking of," Draco said, catching her eye, "I asked Potter about the composition of your old wand, in case it's useful to know. He didn't know the exact length, only that it was vine wood with a dragon heartstring core."

"Oh!" Her mouth fell open in surprise. "That's wonderful."

Draco came to a halt in front of the white marble facade of the Parisian branch of Gringotts. "This isn't our home branch, of course, so whatever you have by way of a vault won't be accessible here, but we can check when we get back to England if you like. You'll be able to exchange currency though."

"And if we go in England..." she trailed off, hesitancy crossing her brow. "People will recognise me?"

"Yes. It's up to you how you want to go about all of that. Neither Potter nor I have updated your case files yet." He hesitated, and added, "Although we should. But it isn't technically a criminal investigation anymore."

"I appreciate that," she said quietly, "but I think if I'm going to do this and attempt to reintegrate back into a magical life, memory or not, I'd like to clear the air. Even if it'll be a lot to take in for a while."

Nodding slowly, he gave her hand another squeeze before swinging the door open. "That's your decision to make. I just don't want you to overwhelm yourself."

In the back of his mind, always, the thought lurked that at any point all of this could be too much. That her memory damage could be irreversible―or worse, that her mind could overload and she could suffer some sort of adverse reaction.

"Neither do I," she whispered.

Gesturing into the bank, he drawled, "After you."


"You know," Hermione said, her brow tight with concentration, "I can't help but wonder if I knew French. Not necessarily well, and not fluent like you, but enough to understand some of what people are saying around us."

His lips twitched at the thought. More than once, he'd caught her staring at him as he spoke French, heat in her eyes. With the attendants at the hotel, the shopkeepers, the banker.

"It's possible," he said, quelling the thought. "I wondered whether you might―in the same way you still knew how to read and write in English despite forgetting the content of what you must have read before. That difference between learned knowledge and inherent understanding."

She nodded, looping her hand through his elbow and tucking into his side. "It's fascinating." Her eyes flitted to his, as though measuring his reaction. "Something I might want to dig into a bit more if I speak with that healer."

Draco froze, nearly stumbling a step as his momentum dropped off. "You've decided to meet with the healer?"

"Yes." Her brows knitted as she turned to face him. "I've been thinking about it, and while the idea frightens me in case something goes wrong to make everything worse, I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering… wishing I could remember."

His heart surged and he pulled her into a kiss on the pavement. Tucking a curl behind her ear, he breathed, "Okay."

Draco had known for a while now that he was in trouble when it came to her―further exacerbated by their conversation the night before and the way he had felt that morning, her body pliant beneath his hands.

But the cautious wonder that crossed her face when they entered the wandmaker's shop left a strange tightness in his chest.

He stayed out of the way, watching as she conversed with the proprietor and tested wand after wand, her eyes alight when they snagged on his. And he could still remember it, too―picking out his wand at only eleven years old. The sudden surge of warmth and natural, inherent energy that came from recognising the wand that was meant to be.

Draco saw the sparkle in her eyes before he felt the swell of her magic. The raw power that filled the small shop and left his mouth dry.

And he bit down on his bottom lip, the essence of her magic teasing against his own core and setting every part of him ablaze.

"I think that might be the one," she whispered.

"That's the one," Draco echoed softly.

The wandmaker simply clapped his hands together, a self-satisfied smile crossing his face. "Magnifique!"

As the man proceeded to pack it up and ring it through the register, Hermione drifted to Draco's side, some of the tension gone from her shoulders. A smile played about her lips as her eyes drifted sidelong to his, and she said, "It's dragon heartstring."

Draco felt a jolt race through him and drawled, "Of course it is."

"Where to next?"

He proffered his hands in supplication. "Wherever you want to go. We have a dinner reservation at eight―and beyond that, the day is yours."

He almost couldn't bear the unreserved joy shining through her countenance, and he didn't think he could ever get used to the way she smiled at him. "That sounds perfect," she whispered, "because I'd like to see it all."

Draco pulled her close, planting a kiss into her hair. "That doesn't surprise me in the slightest."


Draco fiddled with his cufflinks, glancing up when Hermione emerged from the loo. He sucked in a sharp inhale; forced an audible gulp.

By the time they had returned to the hotel, Draco was exhausted from exploring from one end of La Rue Mystique to the other. But it had been worth it to see the brightness in her face as she took it all in, an insatiable curiosity in her eyes leaving him with a thrill chasing down his spine.

As soon as he began planning their trip, he had made dinner reservations at one of the trendiest and most highly coveted spots in all of wizarding Paris. His eyes swept the length of her, however, and Draco instantly decided he would have happily forgone the rest of their plans.

Hermione wore a small black dress, the cut of the collar classy but sumptuous, revealing enough cleavage for his imagination to run away with him, and the hemline stopping at her mid-thigh. Her curls were artfully tousled in a way that shot straight to his groin, her eyes were lined with smoky makeup that spoke to the darkest parts of him.

She snagged her bottom lip, painted in a deep red, between her teeth as she approached, a smile curling her mouth, and Draco realised he hadn't moved since she stepped out. Her tall black heels brought her nearly to eye level, and he clamped his jaw shut as he observed her.

"You look beautiful." The words fell, softer and less certain than he'd intended them, and he cleared his throat, securing the cufflink at last. A hint of colour brightened her cheekbones as she ran her hands down the fabric of his shirt.

"You're looking quite sharp yourself," she said softly, and it took Draco several moments to drag his stare up from her lips.

Blood thrummed, coursing through his veins just below the surface of his skin, and his tongue darted out. "I don't suppose you want to just skip dinner altogether and say we did," he said, only half teasing.

A burst of mirth fell from her lips as her fingers curled around the silk of his tie. "I'm tempted."

Draco blinked at her, an irrational fear darting through him that she might simply vanish. He wanted to reach for her, to indulge himself in the enticing call of her creamy skin, but he didn't know if they would make their reservation.

He simply tugged one of her curls between his fingers, toying with the spiral before letting it spring back. "You are the most exquisite woman I've ever met."

"Draco," she breathed, a knit lifting into her brow. Her face faltered for just a moment though a soft smile returned. Her fingers drifted to the freshly shaven line of his jaw, and she sucked in a quick breath. "You're far too good to me."

Thinning his lips, he managed a snicker. "If only that were true. Maybe I have too many years to make up for."

Her other hand nudged his, fingers entwining with his own. "I admit I'm looking forward to a nice evening out with you," she said, her eyes darkening. "But the sooner we go, the sooner we can return."

Momentarily speechless, Draco forced a breath from his lungs and the tension from his stance as he collected his jacket from the back of the chair and slipped it on. "Noted."

And he tugged her from the room.


The restaurant was everything Draco had heard and more. The food: expensive but impeccable. The ambiance: thrilling, romantic, sensuous. The wine: a much better pairing than he could have picked himself.

But he scarcely noticed any of it, so enraptured in the company.

The teasing sparkle in her eye, the subtle way her magic flared and played about the air between them since she had selected a wand. The way her darkened lips curved with a wicked smile in his direction.

Draco felt hot around the collar all through the meal, and he didn't think he was the only one. When the toe of her shoe nudged against his knee below the table after they were through, he thought he might have simply dragged her off to the loo. But instead he folded his handkerchief into a tidy square atop the table, left an exorbitant stack of galleons for the meal and gratuity, and led her from the restaurant.

Although they had walked the short distance from the hotel, Draco barely managed to pull her into the alley beside the building before her lips were on his, her hands sliding back to the nape of his neck as he dragged a hand down her back and pulled her flush into him.

His lips parted to the sweep of her tongue, insistent and voracious, and his stomach twisted into a flurry of knots.

"Hold on," he muttered against her mouth, clutching her tight to him as he turned on the spot and pulled them both into Apparition. Hermione tensed with surprise, her eyes wide when they landed within the wards of their hotel room, but Draco only flashed her a smirk and pulled her in again.

The kiss softened, deepening into something indolent and teasing as he backed her into the wall, trailing kisses along the curve of her jaw. Slipping a hand beneath the thin strap of her dress, Draco pulled it down around her shoulder, following the feather light touch with kisses.

Chest heaving, she pushed his jacket from his shoulders and pulled at the silk of his tie, her fingers shaking a little as she fumbled with the knot.

Draco paused, waiting for her as he caught her eye, her pupils so large they nearly eclipsed her irises, and desire shot straight through him. Capturing one of her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress, he brushed her peaked nipple and a slow grin dragged across his face as he teased it gently with his fingers, inciting a soft cry from her lips.

She threw his tie to the floor, drawing in a shaky breath, and began on the buttons of his shirt. Holding her stare, Draco slipped loose his cufflinks, setting them on the sideboard before she tugged his shirttails from his trousers and pushed the fabric from his shoulders.

He stared at her for a long moment, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. Her hair was wild and disheveled, her eyes sparkling with lust, the straps of her dress around her arms.

At last, her lips tweaked upward. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, catching her lips in another searing kiss. "I just want to enjoy this for a moment."

She sank back against the wall with a smile, tugging him closer by his belt buckle, and Draco propped a hand to the wall beside her face.

"I intend to enjoy all of it," she breathed, slipping the buckle loose. A soft groan fell from his mouth when her fingers grazed his erection.

Draco snickered, reaching up the small of her back towards the zip of her dress, and slowly dragged it down before freeing the fabric. She hadn't worn a bra, and he raked his gaze over her bare chest as the dress pooled at her feet and she toed it carefully aside. She stood in only her black lace knickers and her heels, and Draco's arousal throbbed as he took her in.

"Fucking gorgeous," he whispered, ducking in to capture her breast with his lips.

He sucked and teased at her flesh, swirling his tongue around the nipple as he palmed the other, luxuriating in the soft sounds the actions drew from her throat as her nails raked his back.

She groaned his name, dragging a hand through his hair, and he hitched her closer with one hand to her back.

Hermione ground against him, creating a glorious friction; Draco drew in a long, deep breath. If he wasn't careful he would barely last with the way she made him feel encompassed by heat. But he had promised her he was going to take his time―and he intended to do so.

She reached for the closure of his trousers with one hand, tugging at the zipper and pushing his trousers free. She palmed his cock through his pants, and Draco buried his face in her throat with a groan.

Dragging a hand along the smooth curve of her hip and down her thigh, he found her knickers soaked. He released a shuddering breath, nudging the lace aside, and slipped a finger between her folds. She was already so wet for him his heart raced in anticipation, and as he drove his finger up inside of her, he caught her lips with a kiss.

Although she hadn't been shy about her intentions, and she wasn't as she pushed his shorts down his hips and took him fully in her hand, he murmured, "Are you sure you want to do this?" He pulled his pants the rest of the way down distractedly, kicking them to the floor.

"Absolutely," Hermione whispered, dragging her hand along his length. Chasing his lips in another kiss, she pumped him as he inserted another finger into her, and one of her legs wound up around his hip. "If you're sure?"

"Fuck yes I'm sure," he ground out, arousal growing and flaring within him at her languorous strokes.

Without warning, he withdrew his fingers from her cunt, grabbed her arse with his other hand and hitched her up into him. A bright laugh fell from her lips as he carried her across the suite and into the bedroom, and she kicked her shoes off as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Draco laid her upon the bedding with care, gazing down at her splayed out before him for a long moment. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes darkened with desire, and she bit down on her bottom lip as her eyes roved his form.

Climbing atop her, Draco pressed a kiss to her sternum, trailing a line down her abdomen and grazing his teeth along her hipbone as he toyed with the waist of her knickers.

He tugged the fabric free, planting kisses to her thigh, her knee, her calf as he went, before tossing them to the floor behind him. He sucked in a careful breath, adrenaline roaring through him and pulsing as a dull roar. Sliding his palms down her thighs, he spread her legs as he held her gaze for another prolonged moment.

Anticipation and desire danced in her eyes as she watched, her chest rising rapidly with each intake of breath. Draco leaned down again, tasting the skin of her inner thigh, raking his teeth along her flesh and making her squirm. With a smirk, he eyed her exposed pussy, drinking in the sight of her bare before him, and ducked in.

He flicked the tip of his tongue out, tasting her clit, and a cry fell from her lips. Laving his tongue along the moisture in her slit, he allowed his eyes to fall shut when her hand swept through his hair, her nails grazing his scalp. Teasing the bundle of nerves again, he sucked it between his lips, indulging in her soft cries of his name.

As Draco set a rhythm with his lips and tongue, he carefully shifted her leg further and slipped two fingers into her tight warmth, plunging into her as he lost himself in her decadence.

"Draco," she breathed, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just hard enough to bite. Her thighs began to tremble as he doubled his efforts, swirling his tongue around her clit as he thrust his fingers inside of her.

Hermione came with a cry, her walls tightening and legs shaking as her chest heaved with the draw of breath. As she came down, he grazed his thumb gently against her clit and pressed a kiss to the interior of her thigh. Licking her juices from his lips, he pushed up, finding her searing gaze on him. His already throbbing heart leapt into a race.

She pulled him in for a kiss, her breath heated and enticing as she drew his cock into her hand again and dragged her thumb through the bead of moisture at the head.

Without preamble, she positioned him at her entrance and, releasing a breath, offered a bit of a nod.

In one smooth movement, Draco sheathed himself to the hilt inside of her. A heavy breath fell from his lips as he blinked at her, the feel of her so divine wrapped around his cock he could hardly bear it.

Wrapping a hand around the back of his head, she drew him in for another kiss, and his eyelids fluttered shut as he began to move. Careful at first, testing the feel of it as he rolled his hips against hers, sliding into her tight walls.

She arched from the bed with a breath, a quiet exultation of his name, and the movement drove him deeper still. Measuring her reaction, Draco withdrew to just the tip, then slammed back into her, drawing a cry from her lips. He smiled into her jaw, planting a string of kisses to her neck and collarbone as he set a teasing, punishing pace.

"That feels so good," she groaned, her quiet words spurring him on as he drove into her, already feeling his impending orgasm threaten.

Her nails dragged along the flesh of his shoulders; a thin sheen of perspiration broke along his temples as he pushed into her, faster, her quiet cries playing about his nerves as he kissed her again, less careful and with a lingering edge of desperation. The intensity of the moment swept through him, her leg winding up his hip and urging him deeper, harder.

"Fuck, Hermione," he breathed, biting into the line of her collarbone as her breaths fell faster, her bare skin slick against his own.

And still he drove into her, lost to the feel of her wrapped around him, as she clung to him and erased the space between them. Draco felt every part of himself tighten, release a blur at the edges of his vision, and he sought her clit with the pad of his thumb.

She broke with an incoherent cry, his name falling from her lips as her walls clenched around him, and thrusting into her again, climax crested and peaked within him like the crash of a wave.

His vision went dark with the sweep of pleasure racing with his pulse, and he spilled into her with a groan. Draco stilled above her, the tension breaking from his muscles, and he sank, sated, alongside her, his heart racing uncontrollably.

Easing himself out from within her, he sucked in a deep lungful of air and stared at her sleepy chocolate eyes.

A lazy smile curled her lips as she gazed back, something shining within her eyes that reached every part of him. Draco brushed his thumb along the line of her cheekbone and ducked in to plant a lingering kiss against her mouth.

Palming her lower abdomen, he released a soft swell of magic; a breath hitched in her throat as she drew back, and he drawled, "Contraceptive charm."

"I'm on the pill," she whispered, and Draco snickered.

"I don't know what that means."

Another soft, indolent smile curved her lips. "I suppose it doesn't matter."

Draco only hitched her close against him, her skin still warm, and breathed deeply of her hair. Exhaustion pulled at his eyes in the darkness of the room, and her eyelids slid shut as she clung to him. He pulled the sheets over them both, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Good night, Hermione," he murmured, his lips lingering against her skin as he felt a strange fluttering of thoughts playing about the back of his mind. But he didn't know what to make of the rest of it, and he bit back the urge to say anything more.

She only released a quiet, contented sigh, and tucked into his chest. "Good night, Draco."

Before he could make any sense of the strange intensity thrumming in his heart, he drifted to sleep in her embrace.

Notes:

Author's Note: Hi everyone, thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this one! I so love reading your lovely comments.

Much love to my alpha and beta on this story, Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 23

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco stirred awake with Hermione in his arms and a pervasive sense of peace in his soul. As far as he could tell, she was still asleep; her lithe form pressed up against his chest. He shifted several rogue curls out of his face, tucking the hair beneath her head.

He relaxed back into the bedding, playing the tips of his fingers along her stomach and, unbidden, an absent smile pulled across his face. The day before in Paris was everything he could have hoped for, and he was glad to learn she wanted to integrate herself back into the wizarding world again.

When they returned home, he would need to speak to Potter, as Draco didn't currently have access to the Auror's department―and he wasn't exactly in anyone's good graces at the moment, whether of his own volition or not. He only hoped Hermione knew what she was getting herself into, but there was no quiet way to go about the matter. Draco would simply have to do his best to make the transition easy on her.

Hermione stirred in his hold, shifting against him with a quiet sigh; she rolled her head up to the ceiling, and a smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "Good morning," she said, stifling a yawn with her palm.

"Morning," Draco said, his voice a bit dry with sleep. He planted a kiss on her jaw. "How did you sleep?"

Her hand landed on his, where it wrapped around her middle. "Very well, thank you."

"Good." Eyes fluttering shut, Draco sank back into his pillow and allowed himself a few moments to relax. "I had a nice time last night."

"So did I." Her arse shifted against him, grazing his cock, already half-hard with awareness of her, and he cracked an eye open. Draco smirked, smoothing his palm down her abdomen, uncertain whether the movement was intentional. But then her arse ground against him again, and he snickered.

He caught one of her breasts with his other hand, rolling her nipple between his fingers, and a soft, indolent moan fell from her lips, the sound of it shooting straight to his groin. Slipping his other hand between her legs, he bit down hard on his bottom lip at the moisture already accumulated there.

"What are we doing today?" she asked, the words a little breathy when he brushed her clit.

Draco lifted his head, pressing a kiss to her neck. "Whatever you want to do." Slipping his fingers between her folds, he added, "I thought you might like to see more of Paris. History major and all that."

"That would be nice," she whispered, reaching back to take his length fully in her palm, and Draco's eyelids fluttered. "We aren't in a rush, are we?"

He turned her in his hold, meeting her lips with a kiss, and she shifted atop him with a wicked glint in her eyes, aligning him at her entrance.

"Not even a little," Draco drawled, and his head dropped back into the pillow as she sheathed him within her in one quick motion.


Although Draco had seen Paris many times and explored most of its wonders, he had never been overly keen on the popular tourist traps on the Muggle side of the city. But the brightness in Hermione's face was infectious.

They detoured back onto La Rue Mystique to exchange galleons for Euros and left the magical district where the rest of their trip had thus far remained. Hermione wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Palace of Versailles. They could have likely spent all day waiting in the queue just to see one of them, but it was a wonder what a few extra paper notes could do to expedite matters.

The look on her face was worth it.

The entire trip had been more worthwhile than Draco had even anticipated.

They spent the day observing priceless artwork and elaborate architecture, exploring Muggle Paris, and Draco saw the city through a lens that he never had before. They stopped for espresso and pastries in the ubiquitous cafés and boulangeries within the city centre and lingered below the Arc de Triomphe while a Muggle insisted on taking their photo. He was surprised at the extent to which the stress he had been carrying for months drifted away in her presence as they laughed and shared stories and simply existed.

It had been so long since Draco had existed without the crushing weight of too many cares.

And while he knew those cares and stressors would return with a vengeance when they returned home the following day, he found it all too easy to lose himself in the sparkle in her eyes.

Hermione, who didn't remember whether she had ever been to Paris or not, vibrated with excitement the whole day.

By the time they returned to the hotel in the evening, Draco was physically spent but with an incredible lightness within himself. They ordered food from the hotel's room service, changed into sleep clothes, and relaxed in the suite's sitting room.

Fidgeting with her new wand, Hermione fixated on the device as she absently gnawed on a raw carrot. She gave it a flick, watching a shower of gold sparks burst free.

"Do you suppose I still know how to do magic?" she asked softly, as though afraid to voice the sentiment.

"Anyone in possession of magic can do magic at its essence," Draco returned, glancing up from the book he'd been skimming. "It's simply a matter of knowing the movement and the incantation. At more advanced levels, you can do magic non-verbally or channelled directly from the magical core without requiring a wand. Some of which I can only imagine you were capable of before."

Marking his page, he rose to sort through the collection of books he'd given her before they left his flat and plucked one on basic spell casting. "Here. Take a look through some of these and see what you can do."

He perched on the edge of the sofa, uncertain how much instruction she cared for, and observed as she scanned the spells they had learned in their first year at Hogwarts.

As she practised the motions in silence, Draco took up his book once more, enjoying the companionable quiet.

Until she pronounced, "Nox," and the lights fell away. A soft squeal of delight fell from her lips, and Draco chuckled.

"Great," he said, "now turn them back on."

She elbowed him in the side. But several moments later, the lights flickered back on, and she beamed at him. "I know I knew how to do this as a child," she clarified, "but that doesn't mean I'm not happy about it now."

Draco smiled at her. "I'm proud of you."

For a few minutes, they lapsed into silence once more, and Draco drifted closer, slinging an arm around her shoulders. When she spoke next, it was to attempt another spell, and Draco observed, curiosity drawing his gaze. But she was as studious as he could recall from school, and only twice did she ask his assistance as she studied and explored the magic within her.

Until she closed the book, set her wand on the table, and sank back into his hold.

Draco jolted when he realised her eyes were coated with a glassy sheen. "Is everything alright?"

"I think so," she breathed with a stiff nod. "This is just a little overwhelming." Her eyes slid to his as she folded her hands in her lap; a sad furrow pulled at her brow. "You've been incredibly patient with me, and I don't know how to thank you adequately for everything."

"You don't have to thank me for anything," Draco muttered, brushing a kiss to her curls. "I'm happy to see you're discovering magic again because I know how capable you are, but I don't want it to overload you."

"It's just..." She trailed off, sucking in a sharp breath as she shook her head. When she spoke again, her voice was scarcely above a whisper. "I suppose there was a part of me that hoped some of this―practising magic, listening to your stories from school―might trigger something."

"You hoped you might remember," Draco mused.

She gave another little nod, glancing away. "Everything you've told me has no context, and I'm having a difficult time figuring out how this all fits into my life."

Draco sighed, sweeping a hand through his hair. "I can't presume to know how you feel. We'll go see the healer this week if you like. And as far as your life... nothing has to change if you don't want it to. If you want to carry on with your university courses, work at the cafe, and teach yoga on Saturdays... I'm going to support you."

Blowing out a steadying breath, Hermione swiped a drop of moisture from below one eye. She sank as though caving in on herself, and Draco pulled her into his chest.

"And if I don't?" she whispered. "How do I manage any of this if I don't understand any of it? How am I going to react when someone stares at me because they know of something I did once, years ago, and I don't even know anything about it myself."

Draco's heart clenched uncomfortably in his chest to see her so uncertain. In all his years of knowing Hermione Granger, she had always been so self-assured. Having come to know her on a different level, he had learned that, of course, wasn't the case because everyone had doubts.

He didn't know how to be that person for her. Or if he even could. But Merlin help him if he wasn't willing to try.

"I don't know," he said softly, stroking her hair back from her face. "I don't know how to direct you with all of this. All I know is that I'm here. And you have Potter, other friends you haven't met, and people who want to support you and help you through this. You are a fucking force, Hermione, and I've never seen you fail to accomplish anything you set your mind to." He brushed the moisture from her cheeks. "And I know whatever you decide to do next, you're going to blow everyone away."

For a long moment, she stared at him with silent tears rolling down her cheeks, her lips parted.

Draco forced a thick swallow, his heart racing in his chest, but he couldn't have looked away if he tried.

"You have so much faith in me," Hermione breathed at last, soft and mournful. "Why?"

"Because," he said, moistening his lips, "I've learned not to underestimate you."

"Why?" she pressed again, pawing angrily at the tears on her face with a gasp. "Even you know me better than I know myself, and―" She cut herself off with a sob, clapping a hand over her mouth as she drew deep lungfuls of air.

He only shook his head, adrenaline racing through him. "I don't think that's true," he said quietly. He pulled her hand away from her face, entwining their fingers, and met her red, glassy stare. "I never knew you until I met you again, Hermione. I didn't know how incredible you were until you gave me a shot. And..." He gulped, viscerally aware of the way nerves prickled through every part of him. She clung to his hand, her fingers like a vise. "And all I know now is that I am wildly in love with you."

Draco lost count of the seconds between when the words fell from his lips, almost of their own accord, and the desperate pulse of his heart in his chest.

Until finally, she sucked in a breath. "You are?"

There was no way to deny it when he felt it in every fibre of his being. Hoarsely, he said, "Yes."

The tears stopped falling, dried in tracks along her cheeks, as though her shock had overridden her grief, and then a sad sort of smile curled up the corners of her mouth.

And she breathed, "I love you, Draco."

His ears rang, the words floating somewhere beyond his comprehension, discordant and vague. As surprise swelled within his chest, building until it encompassed every flickering thought, her lips sought his, her hands sweeping through his hair as she kissed him.

In that moment, everything narrowed down to her—to the two of them—and all the rest of it drifted away into the back of his mind.

Draco caught her face in his hands, gazing upon her as each tight breath fell from his lips. "I'm going to do everything I can to help you through this."

Hermione nodded, biting down on her lip, and whispered, "Okay."

Disbelief flitted through the back of his mind, suspended and vague, a bitter nudge. This can't possibly last.

Suppressing the thought, Draco scooped her from the sofa and took her to bed.


Anxiety swirled within him the next morning, heating his flesh and causing his stomach to churn. Raw vulnerability always left him out of sorts, and he had opened himself up to Hermione the night before in a way he never had before with anyone.

Draco knew the words weren't untrue―and he didn't regret telling her he had fallen in love with her, but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that he didn't deserve her love in return.

For so many years, Draco had deliberately done his best to lock everyone out. He had never even entertained the idea of love.

So these waters with Hermione―these stormy, tumultuous waters―were wholly uncharted.

He feared he didn't have it in him to make her happy. That once she knew him―truly knew him―she would find him wanting.

"Good morning," she said quietly, jolting him from his thoughts. However, if she noticed his reaction, she didn't say anything and simply stretched her arms out over her head.

A part of Draco wished they could stay in Paris forever, ignoring the great trifecta of problems that had taken over his life. His mother's health, his father's trial, and his failing career.

The only aspect of his life that made him smile was Hermione. Almost enough to outweigh everything else.

"Good morning," Draco returned, belatedly, as he tightened his hold and pulled her close. His heart throbbed at the sight of her warm, sleepy smile. "I half expected you to have run out on me in the night."

Wry humour twinkled in her eye. "I didn't have a way home." Then her expression sobered as she turned to face him. "I'm not going anywhere, Draco. You said you were here for me―and the inverse is true, too. I know you haven't had an easy time of things, but you've still made time to help me out. I'm here for you as well."

Her words were humbling, and he felt a dull flush of colour warm his cheeks. "Okay."

"What time do we return home?" she asked, trailing her fingers along his bare chest.

"The Portkey departs at noon." Stifling a yawn, he smoothed his hand along her spine. "Anything in mind?"

With a sigh, she sank a little deeper into his embrace. "As fun as it's been to run away and play in Paris, real life awaits. I thought I might talk to Harry―about what we discussed."

"About returning to wizarding society," he hedged.

"Yes."

Draco nodded. "I'll send him an owl before we depart to meet us this afternoon."

She snickered a little. Hermione had marvelled to learn that they communicated via owl post, and her eyes had gone wide when he pointed out the post desk in the foyer of the hotel. But she released a long, nervous breath and nodded. "Okay. Thank you. We've had a bit of a lie-in anyway and won't have much time before we need to leave."

Draco glanced at the clock on the wall; it was already almost ten. "Alright," he drawled, "but we need to stop at the boulangerie down the road and get some of those apple tarts to take with us."

Hermione planted a kiss on his lips. "Deal." She hesitated, her face brightening. "You didn't actually like the blackberry pie, did you?"

He cocked a brow. "It was good."

"But―"

"It wasn't apple."

She tittered, mussing up his hair. "I knew it." He swatted her hand away, but she crawled out of bed, and Draco stared for a moment at the way her shorts barely covered her arse. "I need to have a shower."

"Fine. I'll go send Potter that owl and meet you back here."

She turned back towards him, catching him staring, and her lips twitched. "Perfect."


Shortly after the Portkey delivered them back to Draco's flat, the Floo flared green, and Potter walked through. Although Draco had meant it when he said he was willing to help in whatever capacity necessary, the decision was her own. While Draco was suspended from the DMLE, he would have no part in updating her case files or speaking with Robards on the matter.

A part of him was relieved he wouldn't have to face the scrutiny that might come from the situation when his performance in the department had already been shaky. But Robards loved Potter―and Potter had just enough of a way about him that he was the better candidate to deal with it anyway, especially as they had famously been best friends.

So Draco brewed a pot of tea and sat at the table while Hermione and Potter talked over the matter, Potter taking rapid notes in his messy scrawl. After, she showed him her new wand and demonstrated a few of the spells she had learned, and he and Potter reacted appropriately impressed, while she rolled her eyes at them.

Her foot nudged his below the table.

"You realise," Potter said at last as he stood, "once you make your presence known again, there's no going back."

Hermione released a tight breath and nodded, folding her hands in her lap. "I realise."

Potter rolled his scroll of parchment and stowed it in his pocket. "Then I'll submit the report this afternoon. I hope you're ready."

"We're going to talk to the healer this week," she said quietly, and Potter's brows lifted in surprise. "The memory specialist Draco spoke to when he and I first came across one another. To see if he can do anything to help."

"Oh," Potter said quietly, emotion clear on his face. He curled his hand around Hermione's shoulder with a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad to hear that. Please let us know how it goes."

Idly, Draco wondered whether he had intended to include Theo in the pluralisation or if they were simply at that point. "Thanks for coming by, Potter."

The man turned back on the hearth. "No updates yet... with your father and the others."

"Of course not," Draco huffed, drumming his fingers on the surface of the table. "Can you tell me―who else was involved?"

Potter shifted, dragging a hand through his hair. "Dolohov was one. Travers, and Rabastan Lestrange."

Draco felt the blood drain from his face, his stomach churning with a reaction more visceral than he had expected. He could feel Hermione's gaze burning on the side of his face, but he couldn't bear to look at her. He cleared his throat. "And do they think it was some sort of... resurgence?"

"We haven't ruled it out yet."

"Right," Draco bit out, clenching his jaw in a stern line. "Of course. Thanks, Potter."

A moment of silence hung, awkward and tense, and Draco might have thought Potter had left if not for the fact that the grate hadn't flared. "Malfoy," he said at last.

"Yeah?" Draco stared hard at the table.

"I'll let you know as soon as I know more. If we can figure out how it happened, there might be a chance at leniency."

Although Draco knew better than to think his father might get off with a prolonged sentence―and he wasn't even certain whether his father deserved a lenient sentence―he didn't believe it anyway. "Maybe."

"I'll talk to you both soon," Potter said, at last vanishing through the Floo.

Hermione poured herself a fresh cup of tea from the pot he'd brewed as though ignoring his melancholy. "Did you know those men?" she asked as she stirred in a splash of milk.

"Yes." Draco could still remember the maniacal look in Rabastan Lestrange's eye as if it were yesterday. He fidgeted with a teaspoon on the table. "I knew them. Lestrange was my mad aunt's brother-in-law."

"The mad aunt," she echoed. "I remember her."

Despite himself, Draco breathed, "It's not a bad thing that you truly don't."

Hermione froze, setting her cup down. "Why?"

"You were tortured," he said, keeping his tone as level as he could manage, "at her hand." When she sucked in a breath, he managed a glance in her direction. "If you're going to see about getting your memories back, I don't want you believing they're all going to be good ones."

"Torture." She only gaped at him, her hand trembling a little, and Draco softened.

"Bella loved her torture curse," he said, the words apologetic. "It was the only thing she loved―at least while I knew her."

"But why?"

Draco didn't know how to get into it all and shook his head. "War."

"Because of my parentage?" she asked softly.

"Because of your friends." He nodded towards the grate, where Potter had just vanished. She deflated a little as though defeat had seized her shoulders. Draco fixed her with a stare. "I just want you to know, no matter what happens with the healer, that it's all in the past. Whatever you might remember―no matter how terrifying some of it might be―it isn't real anymore. You're safe."

Her hand landed on his. "Thank you."

He wondered whether the sentiment would stand if she remembered what actually happened at the Manor that day.

"I have to go see my mother tomorrow," he said conversationally, as though it were any better of a topic. "I've been putting it off since everything happened with my father because I don't know how she'll take the news."

Hermione didn't instantly respond, gnawing her lower lip as she toyed with her teacup. "I don't have to work until Wednesday. I'd offer to accompany you if you think it would be a good idea, but I don't suppose―"

"Probably not," he huffed. But his gaze flickered to land on hers. "Unless you want me to drop you off at the library and be my moral support from across the building."

Eyes jolting wide and face otherwise stoic, she stared at him in such a way that Draco laughed, the warmth of it unfamiliar. Almost instantly upon returning to England, the panic and stress he had grown to feel on a daily basis had returned. "Maybe that isn't a bad idea."

He flashed her a grin. "Alright, then."

Notes:

Author's Note: Hey everyone! We've officially passed the halfway mark on this story. Which means there's still lots to come! I hope you're enjoying it - and it means a lot to me that you're on this journey with me xo

Alpha and beta hugs to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.

Chapter 24

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Although Draco felt a bone-deep reticence about visiting his mother, Hermione's enthusiasm about seeing the Malfoy Manor library almost made up for it. But he had put it off for long enough―too long if he was honest―and he couldn't keep avoiding the inevitable.

Especially since his mother likely would have heard some details of the matter from her healers by now.

He suppressed the jitters that tightened his chest as he Apparated Hermione onto the Manor grounds. Caught up in his thoughts, he scarcely noticed the way she stopped, frozen, her jaw falling open, until she was no longer at his side.

"When you said you lived in a manor," she breathed, "I did not imagine all of this."

With an uneasy chuckle, Draco slowed his stride to keep pace with her. "It's easy to get lost, anyway." As the wrought-iron gates eased open, he led her past a group of white peacocks towards the east entrance―the closest to the library without passing by his mother's room.

Eventually, he knew, the tough conversation would be the matter of Hermione and Narcissa's disapproval of his taste in women―and if Hermione was obliging, he would introduce them properly.

But Draco could only handle one controversial topic at a time.

"I don't suppose I need to ask," he said conversationally as they entered the manor; Hermione's eyes widened as she stared in each direction, but she remained silent. "But―better safe than sorry and all that. I'll need you to remain in the library while I speak with my mother."

"What a terrible thing to ask," she teased. "I'll happily lock myself in."

Draco sobered. "I mean it. There are plenty of areas and objects in the manor that are cursed, and I don't want anything happening to you. Until you know your way around―and I don't really intend for that ever to be the case―you'll have to stick with me. Even if some of the portraits try to persuade you otherwise."

"The portraits."

"Yes."

Particularly because of her blood. But it didn't feel like the time to bring that up, either.

After Potter had owled him the night before to confirm that he had updated and closed Hermione's case files at last, with a wry, penned, Congratulations, Malfoy. You closed your first case, Draco had owled Healer Huxley, the cognitive specialist with whom he had spoken months ago when he first ran into her at the tea shop.

To his relief, the man had been able to arrange an appointment for the following afternoon―and with any luck, Hermione would be able to begin treatment for the restoration of her memory. After which point Draco wouldn't need to remind her of anything so difficult as blood status.

He could only hope she had come to know him well enough that she wouldn't want to walk away.

"I'll be sure not to follow the portraits' advice," she said quietly, nudging him in the side. Draco glanced at her. "Relax. It'll be alright."

At the tentative admonition, Draco realised his shoulders were tense; his jaw clenched into a tight line, and he forced a breath out. "I know," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair, "I would just sooner not be here at all."

"We'll go as soon as you like," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "I promise. I won't even fight you on leaving the library."

A smirk pulled at his lips. "You might."

For all its flaws and the bad memories that still overwhelmed him when he stepped foot in the manor, the library had always been his safe haven. His parents rarely went inside, and the only other occupants he ever saw were the house-elves keeping everything organised and spotless.

Remembering how she had fawned over the Hogwarts library―half the size of the manor's―he was interested in seeing her reaction.

"It's a maze in here," she commented as they walked the corridors, peering down a narrow passageway that intersected the hall.

Draco grimaced and drawled, "With reason. The original bones of the manor were established in the eleventh century. Over the years, more land was annexed, and the grounds expanded to the point where they are now, and the manor grew in turn."

"Can we see the grounds?" she asked softly. "Before we go?"

"Sure." Draco guided her down the next corridor. "The grounds are safe, all things considered." He stopped outside a large set of oak doors, the Malfoy signet embossed on the wood, and Draco cast her a sidelong glance. "I don't know if you're ready for this."

Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You underestimate me."

He flashed her a grin. "Never."

While a part of him wanted to tease her about her immense love for books—and to trail after her like a puppy while she explored—a fresh bout of nerves swelled through him, and he simply wanted to get the conversation with his mother over with.

Pulling the heavy wooden doors open, Draco eyed Hermione for her reaction as she took in the vast sanctuary of the written word.

A harsh breath fell from her lips. "Draco," she hissed, turning to gape at him. "You're fucking kidding me."

Before he could respond, she drifted forward without him, taking in the towering stacks of meticulously organised and protected books, then up towards the higher levels.

Draco slid his hands into his pockets. "Over there―" he gestured to a series of stacks along the far wall―" is the content you'll probably want to avoid. Dark curses and the like. Not very pleasant, and not very legal."

"Noted," she breathed without looking his way. "I'm sure there's plenty else to keep me busy."

"Remember," he quipped, "you said you wouldn't fight me when it's time to go." He ducked in, planting a kiss to her temple with a quiet, "Have fun."

Then he jammed his hands into his pockets, a nervous muscle working along the curve of his jaw, and left her to the books.

Draco tapped lightly on the open door frame of his mother's makeshift hospital room. Lucy, one of the middle-aged healers who tended to his mother's care, glanced up.

"Draco," she said with a demure smile, "it's good to see you."

"And you," he returned with a polite nod, sidling into the room. His mother was asleep, but with the way her energy had steadily declined since her affliction first hit, it wasn't surprising. "How is she doing?"

Lucy's expression faltered, her shoulders sinking. "She's alright. I'll assume you're here about the matter with Lucius."

"Right," Draco drawled. He wondered how much they had heard―and how much of it they had shared with his mother. "Unpleasant business, unfortunately."

The woman's countenance remained fixed although her eyes tightened. "Indeed. Your mother will need to wake for her potions in fifteen minutes if you're alright with waiting."

"Thanks," he muttered with a nod and retreated towards the parlour for a glass of whisky to steel his nerves.

When he returned, Narcissa's eyes followed him into the room, her face more alert than he had seen in weeks. Deciding to take it as a good sign despite the fact that Healer Brooks' prognosis had been bleak, Draco settled at her bedside. Lucy ducked out of the room to allow them privacy.

"I would have expected you days ago," his mother sniffed as she shifted further upright.

Draco blew out a breath and thinned his lips. "I was away from the city." He didn't care to get into the details surrounding Hermione just yet when they had to broach the matter of his father. "Am I to assume you know that Father and several other former Death Eaters attempted to break out of Azkaban?"

"Of course I know," Narcissa huffed, though the words were feeble and didn't carry the brusqueness he had come to know from her.

Something in the words gave him pause. "Did you know before?" When his mother didn't instantly respond, his heart constricted, vision blurring a little at the edges. "Please tell me he didn't mention this at the visitation."

The last thing he needed was to be forced to report his mother as complicit.

"He didn't tell me any such thing," she said after a tense pause.

Draco ground his jaw. "Then what did you know?"

"Nothing of any consequence," she said, lifting her chin. "At any rate, they were caught."

His eyes drifted to the ceiling as he drew in a breath, calling upon some strength within him he couldn't find. Draco didn't know if he even had any strength left. "Right. And they're going back to trial. This is a serious matter, Mother."

The first chink in her armour revealed itself when her expression faltered, her mouth twitching downward. "Of course they are."

"It doesn't sound good," he said, lowering his voice as he reached for Narcissa's hand. She had lost so much weight since falling ill, and her hand felt small and fragile in his own. But she clasped his fingers with a stronger grip than he had anticipated. "The Auror's Office is performing an investigation into the attempted breakout, and father and the others will likely go up for the Kiss."

He could see the glassy sheen in her eyes, belying her otherwise stoic form. "And are you involved in this investigation?"

"I am not," he clipped, leaning back in his seat. "I've been suspended from duty because some of my colleagues suspect my involvement."

At that, his mother scoffed. While she had always been reticent about anything to do with his position at the Ministry, she clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Bastards."

"Yeah," he huffed, and the pair of them fell into a tense silence, still clasping hands. When Draco spoke again, the words sounded apologetic to his ears. "How are you feeling? I haven't seen you this coherent in a while."

Narcissa's shoulders sank. "Some days are better than others." Her gaze slid towards him. "I am sorry that you've been forced to deal with all of this, Draco. Between myself and your father―"

"It's okay," he breathed, shaking his head. "All you need to focus on right now is feeling better. Lucy's taking good care of you, I hope?"

"I like Lucy," Narcissa said, the words prim, as she pursed her lips. "Lucy has taken me on walks of the grounds to see the roses. I am not as fond of Elise."

Draco nodded, though he fought the twitch to his lips. Most likely, Elise had simply done something small and inconsequential his mother hadn't cared for. He had always found the woman's mannerisms warm and professional. "I'll have her replaced if you like."

"Fine," she said quietly, sinking back a little into her pillows. "I know this isn't going to improve, Draco. Healer Brooks has told me this would ultimately claim my magic, if not my life."

"They haven't given up on a cure," Draco said, though the thought had sat heavily within him for weeks as well. "Brooks' team is still working on it."

"If they haven't discovered something by now..." Narcissa trailed off at the thought, and Draco grimaced.

He gave his mother's hand a brief squeeze once more. "I need you to keep faith."

She didn't react other than to glance away. "Lucius always was painfully headstrong." There was a note of fondness in her voice with which Draco didn't relate, but the meeting had gone better than he'd expected, and he didn't care to stir the waters between them.

"I know he wanted to get out for you," Draco said quietly, "but it doesn't change what happened. Several guards and an Auror were killed in the attempt, and the Wizengamot doesn't want to let this go easily. They fear this is a Death Eater resurgence and feel as though they need to make an example. The others involved were Dolohov, Travers, and Lestrange."

At the last name, his mother visibly flinched. Her eyes shimmered again, but she only blew out a tight breath. "Where were you?" When his brows knit in confusion, she added, "You said you were away from the city."

He hadn't expected her to care enough to ask. But she had been oddly sentimental.

Bringing Hermione into the equation would mean revealing the truth about her memory, and he didn't know he wanted to dig into all of that now, especially when they hadn't yet met with the healer. Never mind that his mother would quite obviously disapprove about her blood status―although Draco didn't care about any of that. He did care about dragging Hermione into too much right now.

"I was in Paris," he said quietly, at last, dragging his thumb along the back of her hand. "On La Rue Mystique."

His mother's lips lifted with a soft tilt as though reminiscing on the thought. "Draco, I am offended you did not invite me."

A quiet huff of unexpected laughter fell from his lips. "My mistake. I should have taken you along. I know you love the Paris fashions this time of year."

Narcissa clicked her tongue, but her eyes fluttered briefly shut. "I must assume you took another woman with you instead." Draco tensed, awaiting the incoming admonition; his mother had always been nothing if not astute. But she only clapped a hand over her mouth to conceal a yawn. "I should think we will discuss that another time."

Draco leaned back in his seat and released her hand. "You ought to get some rest."

"All I do is rest," Narcissa said softly, though she settled into the bedding a little more all the same. "Please let me know when the trial is scheduled."

"I will," Draco clipped. He ducked in to plant a kiss on her cheek then rose from his seat. "Take care, Mother. I'll see you soon."

"Goodbye, Draco."

When he stepped from the room, his mother was gazing out the window near her bed. His heart clenched in his chest to see the forlorn look on her face, but he knew better than to think she would share with him any deeper than she had.

He stopped at the study and slammed another two fingers of whisky.

By the time he returned to the library, halfway cautious as to what he would find, the peaceful quiet of the cavernous space washed over him as it always did. He found Hermione curled up on one of the plush sofas near the hearth, a stack of books on the cushion beside her and a full tea service on the table with an assortment of sweet and savoury morsels.

When he settled at her side, he was alarmed to see two house-elves beaming at Hermione.

"Hi," she said softly, her eyes lingering on her page for a moment longer before she looked up and cast him a smile. "How is your mother?"

"She's alright," he replied, brows low. "Making new friends?"

Podski, one of the elves that had raised him, flashed a wide, toothy grin. "Miss Hermione is telling us stories about the Muggles."

"Have tea, Master Draco!" Patroclus said with a wild gesture, and he hastily set about preparing a cup the way Draco preferred it. "Master Draco has never brought any misses for us to meet!"

Hermione's lips curled with wry humour, a twinkle in her eye. "After I got over the shock of discovering house-elves, these two insisted on bringing tea and snacks."

Vaguely, he could remember her campaign to free house-elves before, and he wondered what she would now make of her second experience meeting them.

"Sometimes I forget that you don't remember all of these things," he said quietly by way of apology as he selected a square from the tray. He scanned a few of the books she had stacked. "Some interesting material."

"The elves said we could return the books to their homes with magic," she said, gnawing on her lower lip. "I hope you don't mind."

Draco waved a hand. "If you want to read them, you're more than welcome to borrow them. Every book in here is imbued with protection and tracking spells, and as long as you have my permission, you can take them through the wards. Aside from the hermetic archives, of course. But you're welcome to access those here."

"Of course," she echoed, as though scandalised at the thought that she might remove such sensitive material.

Shrinking the stack of books, he conjured a satchel and slipped them inside.

Patroclus pressed a cup of tea into his hands. "Stay and drink tea, Master Draco!"

It occurred to Draco at that moment with a bit of a jolt that the elves were most assuredly lonely with the manor in such a poor state. Narcissa was the only Malfoy who spent any measure of time around the manor anymore, and she didn't do most of the things she had once enjoyed.

He took a sip of tea with a nod. "Thank you, Patroclus."

Hermione beamed at him.

Still, both elves lingered, impossibly wide grins on their faces as they stared between him and Hermione.

"That will be all, thank you," Draco said, attempting to conceal the smirk from his face.

Waving at Hermione, they each vanished with a loud crack. Left alone, Draco slipped an arm around her shoulders, sipping his tea in pensive silence.

"Is everything alright?" she asked at last. "With your mother."

He blew out a breath. After preparing himself for the worst, the conversation that had actually ensued was unsettling, and Draco didn't know what to make of the situation. "She's okay," he said at last. "It went better than I expected."

"And is she feeling alright?" she hedged, as though interpreting his silence.

Thinning his lips, Draco shook his head. "I don't think she's getting any better. Even if she has good days..."

Hermione curled into his chest. "I'm sorry, Draco."

"It's okay." He blew out a breath. "I suppose sometimes everything between us is so tense and stifled, and I don't know what to say to her, and then..." He gazed into the crackling fire for a moment. "Then sometimes she's just my mother again, and I feel guilty, and―" Glancing away, Draco felt the hot sting of moisture pressing at the corners of his eyes, and a dart of shame chased through him. "And I don't want to lose her."

"I know you don't." She burrowed a little deeper into him, and Draco drew comfort from her soft, steady presence. "And it's okay to worry about her. It's okay to feel sad that she isn't well―and it's also okay if your relationship with her is uncomfortable sometimes."

"Thank you," he murmured, leaning in to capture her lips in a kiss, and he smiled. "You're very wise." He relaxed back with another sip of tea. "My mother's observant; she guessed I was in Paris with a woman."

"I can't imagine she would be happy to learn it's me," Hermione said, though a teasing hint shone through the words.

He huffed a laugh. "I already told you, remember? It doesn't matter if you can't pay the dowry." She snickered; their first date already felt like it had been so long ago. "At any rate... she might not be so upset; it's hard to say. She won't admit to it, but she's fond of Potter, even though she's still so fixated on the old marriage traditions."

"Interesting," she mused, trailing her fingertips across the fabric of his shirt. "I'm trying not to get my hopes up, of course, but I can't help but wonder―when we see the healer tomorrow. What might come of that? Maybe I'll finally understand the full picture, and not just the bits and pieces."

While Draco wanted her to get her memories back, he also feared the same.

Just in case.

Still, he dragged her closer. "I hope for that for you. I can only imagine how difficult this all has been."

Hermione peered up at him for a moment before shifting in his hold. "I'm glad your conversation with your mother went well enough. It can't be easy for her to learn about your father's trial."

"No," he mused, lingering on the thought. "Despite everything, my parents care for one another in their own way. I can't presume to understand what goes on in either of their minds―especially my father―but this is all just... a lot." Physically shaking the melancholy free, he smiled. "I'm glad you've enjoyed the library. You're welcome to borrow more books any time you'd like."

A teasing smile played about her lips as she slung one leg over his lap to face him. "I couldn't ask you to come here any more often than you already do."

Draco cracked a grin, skating his hands along her sides. "I visit my mother regularly. If it makes you happy, I don't mind."

The skin around her eyes crinkled with humour. "You have a hidden romantic side." Threading her fingers into his hair, she ducked in for a kiss. Slipping a hand to her back, he drew her closer against him as he kissed her back, a groan falling from his lips when she ground against him.

"I'm not surprised," Draco murmured against her jaw, "that you've got a library kink."

Hermione tittered but didn't deny it, and her eyes darkened when she drew back. "Maybe a little."

"I would be happy to oblige," he drawled, stealing another kiss, "but I have a bad feeling the elves might try to track you down again, and they aren't known for their propriety. That's what you get for indulging them―now they'll want you around all the time."

"I liked them," she scolded. "They seem lovely."

"Lovely. At any rate," Draco pressed on with a snicker, "I recall you wanting to see the grounds. Golden hour is the best time."

Planting another lingering kiss to his lips, Hermione extracted herself from his lap and tugged on his hand to pull him upright. Draco caught her in his arms, unable to resist another kiss, and said, "Thank you for coming with me today."

"Of course. I'm here for you." She collected the small bag of books and tucked it into her purse with a smile. "I'll have these back to you as soon as I'm through with them."

"No rush." He ignored her giggle as he adjusted his trousers, shooting her a wry look. He nudged her in the side with a lifted brow. "Another time―I'll ward the library against unwanted visitors."

Hermione smiled, pulling his hand into hers. "I'm going to hold you to that."

"Minx," he huffed.

Her presence in his life would certainly keep him on his toes if nothing else.

As they ventured from the library into the main corridor, Draco felt the shiver of unease trawl along his skin as it always did. The manor was so infested with dark artefacts that the essence of dark magic often pervaded the very air within, and it always reminded him of the war.

He picked up the pace a little, walking towards the north exit so they could view the solarium and the gardens before the sun dropped too low.

Hermione had fallen silent, scanning the hallway, and her brows lifted in surprise when some of the portraits shifted in their frames and harrumphed at her.

"Ignore them," Draco muttered under his breath. "Most of them are crusty and judgemental ancestors who weren't happy while they were alive, either."

Her returning smile looked forced, and moments later, her face tightened with a grimace.

"Draco," she breathed, a deep furrow lifting into her brow as she came to an abrupt stop. "I don't―something's wrong―"

A dart of fear chased through him. "Hermione?"

Releasing a harsh exhale, she scrunched up her face, grasping her temple with her palm.

"Hermione," he said again, more forceful as he took hold of her arms. "What is it?"

"I don't know," she whispered, breaths falling rapidly from her lips. She sagged a little with a whimper. "It hurts."

Draco gaped at her for a moment, heart racing and adrenaline charging through him as he glanced around. There was no one and nothing nearby, and his head spun as most of her weight fell into his arms.

A cry of anguish broke free, and from behind her palm, he could see a stream of tears trailing down her cheeks. She wrenched at her hair with a sob, the rapid devolution spiking absolute panic within him.

"Shite," he breathed when another choked scream of agony fell from her lips, and her legs gave way; he barely caught her weight as she collapsed. His heart raced a desperate rhythm. "Fuck, okay."

Pulling her tight into his chest—and praying to whatever deity might have been listening that she could safely Apparate—he turned on his heel and left the wards of the manor.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying the story xo

Alpha and beta love, as always, to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.

Chapter 25

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco pushed forward from the emergency Apparition of St Mungo's. Hermione was barely functional in his arms, her face deathly pale, tears streaming down her cheeks from her closed eyes. The occasional whimper fell from her lips, but he couldn't tell if she was entirely conscious.

He shoved past the queue of people at the intake desk towards the nearest healer he could see. "I need Healer Huxley," he huffed, his heart racing so fast he could scarcely hear himself speak. "Now, please."

"Sir, you'll have to wait―"

"I can't," he ground through his teeth.

The woman's gaze scanned Hermione's condition in his arms, her stoic expression faltering, and she quickly conferred with another healer, the two of them glancing at a clipboard. "Healer Huxley is with another patient at the moment, sir―"

"I don't care," Draco rushed, pulling Hermione still closer as though he could steal her pain. "She needs to see him right now."

Both healers stared at him for a moment, and then the second looked closer at Hermione's face, her signature wild curls. "Sweet Merlin," he breathed, "is that―"

"Yes," Draco ground, a tight swell of emotion racing through his veins at the thought of anything happening to her. He had spent enough time at the hospital in recent months to last a lifetime, and the idea of losing Hermione left his chest impossibly tight. "Please―"

He didn't have it within him at the moment to wonder how anyone would react to her sudden reappearance in the wizarding world, and at St Mungo's nonetheless. Draco didn't care about anything other than making sure she was alright.

At last, the male healer nodded. "Very well. Come with me."

With a wave of his wand, he conjured a magical gurney, and though Draco didn't want to let her go, he laid Hermione upon its surface as carefully as he could manage. The healer performed a rapid-fire series of spells to ensure her safety during the transport and handed her purse to Draco.

He stared at the bag for a moment, blinking in surprise, then shrunk and pocketed it.

"You'll have to stay in the waiting room, sir," the healer said. "I'll transport her to Healer Huxley and―"

"Not a chance," Draco breathed. "I've already spoken to him about the patient in question." Without waiting for the man to refuse him again, Draco fell into step as they made a brisk pace through the corridors.

As they wound into the next hallway, Draco's heart racing ever faster the longer it took, the man spoke again. "Is this actually Hermione Granger?"

Draco fixed the healer with a stare. The man couldn't have been more than a few years older than him; he might have even been at Hogwarts at the same time. Everyone in their generation―and the generation above―knew her well enough to recognise her on sight. "Yes," Draco said with a sigh. "Though her presence in England isn't widely known, and she wouldn't care for this situation." He added, rather unnecessarily, "Obviously."

"Right," the healer muttered, looking perturbed. "I heard she died."

"She didn't," Draco clipped.

As the healer manoeuvred her stretcher into a lift at the end of the corridor, Draco released a huff of impatience. He could have done all of this faster on his own. But he bit his tongue to keep from responding inappropriately when he knew the man had likely just skived several hospital rules to oblige him.

"Didn't catch your name," the man said conversationally when they emerged once more on the next floor as if Hermione's life wasn't in his hands.

Draco lifted an unimpressed brow. Whether the man truly didn't recognise his signature blond hair or if he was simply trying to be polite, Draco had little patience for it. "My name is Draco Malfoy." Then, because the man wouldn't know that he'd been suspended, he added, "Auror."

"Oh," the healer said, surprise colouring the words, and Draco couldn't be certain as to which part. Anyone who recognised Hermione Granger on sight would surely understand the affiliations behind the name Malfoy.

But he was spared any further ruminations or incessant chatter when they turned into a room; Healer Huxley was already waiting for them, and Draco felt a breath of relief chase from his lungs.

"Healer Huxley," he said, grasping the man's hand as the first healer transferred Hermione from the gurney into a narrow bed with starched white linens. "Thank you for making the time today."

"This is your friend you spoke to me about," Huxley said, a deep knit of concentration between his brows as he ducked in closer to observe Hermione's form. "With the memory condition."

"Right." Draco jammed his hands in his pockets in an effort to control the tremble threatening. He couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to her. He could feel the stare of the other healer who had questioned him about her, and a prickle of irritation flared within him.

Pursing his lips, Healer Huxley drew his wand and began casting with a series of flourishes; Hermione stilled, falling asleep. He didn't look away from Hermione when he asked, "What happened?"

"I don't know," Draco muttered, pacing forward to look at her. "She was fine one minute, and then the next, she was grabbing her head in pain; she was barely mobile by the time I got her here."

The other healer jotted some details on a clipboard and handed it to Huxley, whose face remained impassive as he murmured, "Thank you." Then he ducked his head and left the room.

"As I told you during our first meeting, Auror Malfoy," Huxley said as he carried on casting spells, the magic flowing seamlessly from one into the next, "memory magic is both fickle and volatile. Without knowing the circumstances around what happened to your friend here―" The man cocked a brow.

"Her name is Hermione," Draco said. "Granger."

Huxley's eyes narrowed briefly. "Indeed. It will be a tedious and complex process to determine how I might be able to reverse the damage to her memory. Furthermore, I can only surmise something happened today to trigger some sort of break."

Draco froze, his chest tightening as his heart dropped into his stomach.

For months, he had been wondering what it would take to trigger some sort of recollection. He would never forgive himself if being in Malfoy Manor had somehow stirred something negative within her. Warmth crept into his cheeks as he watched the man's meticulous work.

"We were at my family's ancestral manor," Draco ground out at last. He grimaced. "She… had a bad experience there during the war."

Although Huxley had hardly responded to learning her name, and he had never shown any signs of judgement when he first met Draco, the man cast him a heavy stare. When he spoke, the words were apologetic. "You'll need to be a bit more specific as to the nature of the experience. And what might have occurred today to bring it up in her subconscious."

Draco swallowed. "Are you suggesting she might have remembered something?"

"Maybe not in such a visceral, conscious way," Huxley mused, "but she might have recognised something else―the feel in her magical core or some deep part of her psyche."

Draco blew out a breath, emotion forming a hard lump in his throat. "She was tortured there. A month or so before the final battle. Magically―and physically."

Huxley only nodded, his face blank, and Draco felt a deep swelling of gratitude to the man. "Very well," Huxley said, marking several notes on his clipboard. "I've rendered her unconscious for the time being, but her mind is chaos."

"What does that mean?" Draco asked, his fear an uneasy companion to every breath.

"It means," Huxley said carefully, "it's a very good thing you brought her to see me today." Before Draco could dwell too long on the ramifications of the matter, the man spoke again. "I am going to delve beneath many layers of her mind to see what I can find―and to see what can possibly be done for her―not just today, but in the long term. Memory restoration is neither quick nor easy, and it's often a lengthy process."

"Right," Draco muttered. "Thanks for letting me know all of this."

For the first time, a hint of humour showed on Huxley's face. "Well, Auror Malfoy, it's quite evident the situation with your friend is less clinical than you initially inferred."

Draco felt heat creep up his neck and into his face, and he glanced away. "It's important to me that she recovers."

"I need you to write down any information you can think of that might be useful in this case," Huxley said, "as you didn't fill out any of the intake forms upon arrival. And please, include your Floo contact in case I need to reach you." The healer fixed him with a hard stare. "And then I need to ask you to leave me to it."

The last thing Draco wanted to do was to leave her there alone, to wake by herself in a place wholly unfamiliar. "Can I wait?"

But Huxley shook his head slowly. "She likely won't wake tonight. The procedure is slow and complicated, and if I'm not careful―both on the way into her mind and back out of it―this could cause irreversible damage."

Draco swallowed, reaching for Hermione's limp hand. Her breathing was gentle and even, but her eyelids fluttered rapidly in a way he hadn't noticed before; her fingers curled slightly against his. "Do you think you can manage it?"

"I won't have an answer for you, Auror Malfoy, until I try."

"Right," Draco muttered, blowing out a deep breath. "I appreciate this more than I can say."

There was something reassuring about Huxley's calm demeanour even as Draco's nerves roiled within him, churning a pit in his stomach. When the healer returned to his spellwork, Draco jotted everything he could think of on the clipboard the other healer had left behind. Then he nodded and slipped from the room.

It took all of his remaining strength to steer his feet away from Hermione's room and to the Apparition point home.


Alone in his sitting room, Draco couldn't control the shaking in his hands. The fear that had chased through him when Hermione collapsed in pain into his arms had been both daunting and overwhelming, and he didn't know how to wrap his head around the fact that something he had done had caused her such pain.

He should have known taking her to the manor would be a bad idea.

But she had taken so much of the information he'd shared over the past weeks in stride. She had discovered magic, learned about their shared history, and even experienced the magical world in Paris.

And only ten minutes earlier, they had been laughing and teasing one another. Draco didn't think he would ever forgive himself if he somehow made matters worse. His hands shook, heart racing with aggressive persistence as he poured himself a generous measure of whisky.

He jumped, startled, when the Floo awoke, but sank back into the sofa when Theo walked through.

Theo only conjured himself another glass and dropped into the sofa. "What happened?"

"How did you hear?" Draco asked, tossing back half the glass.

Theo shrugged. "Harry heard about it. He's still at work, though; I checked the hospital, and you weren't there." Releasing a long breath, Theo leaned back, his shoulder nudging Draco's. "You've got the worst luck, mate."

For a long moment, Draco didn't know how to respond. Some part of him wanted to scream that maybe all of this―the perfect storm swirling around him and encompassing all the people he knew best―was karma. This was some sort of divine retribution for the things he'd done as a youth, blindly following the ideals that had been instilled within him since birth―and that had ultimately steered him so, so wrong.

But all he could think of was Hermione, pale and crying in his arms.

The whisky seared through him, warming his veins and blurring his thoughts as he finished the first glass and poured another.

"She was fine―absolutely fine," he said, at last, his voice hoarse. As he mentally worked through everything that had happened, staring hard at the floor, he gestured with one hand. "And then... she just wasn't, Theo."

Cradling his drink in both hands, he propped his elbows on his knees and felt himself deflate.

Theo blew out a breath.

They had never been much for expressing feelings, and their most common coping mechanism was to get one another sloshed, but Theo's quiet presence was reassuring all the same.

"I dunno, mate," Theo said after another prolonged pause. "What did the healer say?"

"That she might have, I don't know," Draco wrenched a hand through his hair, "triggered some negative recollection. Not a memory, just something implicit. We were at the manor, and―"

"You took her to the manor?"

Draco scrunched his eyes shut. "She wanted to see the library."

He might have expected some form of Theo's signature derisive humour, but it was a testament to their friendship, Draco thought, that Theo only clapped a hand to his back. "You didn't do this, Draco."

"I did," he hissed, unable to bear the thought.

"Whatever stirred in her brain―whether it was some bad experience or something―was not your fault." Theo's palm remained flat on his back, firm and assertive, but Draco couldn't look up from the floor as he took another swig of alcohol. "Realistically," Theo went on quietly, "maybe it's a good sign that something is still in her head from before."

"Not like this," Draco whispered. "This isn't good."

It took several moments for Draco to realise he was crying, droplets clinging to his lashes as he blinked. The wooden floor was blurry, and moisture edged down his cheeks.

"She's in good hands, for now, mate. There isn't anything you can do tonight."

"She was doing so well," Draco only breathed. "We went to Paris, and she was practising magic again and―"

"Yeah. Harry told me."

"I can't―" He cut himself off, swiping at his eyes and sitting upright. His soul was depleted. "Whatever happened to her was absolutely my fault. I took for granted the way she was improving and―"

"Draco."

Grinding his jaw, Draco swigged the last of his glass; grateful Theo didn't mention the redness to his eyes.

"You can't carry this on top of everything else."

Theo's words were soft and apologetic, but Draco couldn't take it. Self-loathing roiled within him, escalating with the miserable pulse of his heart. "How can I bloody not, Theo? Everything else that's happened hasn't been in my control, but this... I'll never forgive myself if she doesn't recover."

"I know you won't." Theo's shoulder pressed against his, warm and sturdy, and Draco dragged a hand down his face as he blew out a heavy breath.

"I don't know how to―" He gasped, swiping at his eyes as more tears threatened to break free. "I love her, Theo."

With a thin press of his lips, Theo nodded. "I know you do." He poured them each another measure and took a deep swig. "I don't know her that well yet, but here's what I know about Hermione Granger. She's strong, Draco, probably stronger than you're giving her credit for right now, and she's going to get through this―all of this. And then one day she's going to remember everything and realise she's fucking Draco Malfoy and―let's face it, it'll probably be hilarious―"

Despite himself, a hoarse bark of laughter broke free, and Draco's heart clenched at the thought.

"And the last thing she is going to do right now is let you cause her any real harm." Theo clasped his shoulder with one hand and a tight squeeze. "If she can survive Bella's Crucio, she can survive the memory of it, Draco."

Draco lifted his gaze to the ceiling as he forced some of the tension from his shoulders. The emotional upheaval from the day hung heavily within every fibre of him and he felt as though he might simply collapse at any further provocation.

"I don't know how to help her," he bit out.

"Sometimes," Theo breathed, "we can't. Just like the way she can't deal with everything you're carrying right now for you. With your mother's illness, your job, your father's trial. She can only support you in her way, the same as you can do for her now."

Draco wanted to fight the matter. And the dark, cold part of him wanted to pull himself through the wringer. He didn't deserve Theo's reassurance or Hermione's forgiveness. He didn't know how to let go of this. When this was a direct reminder of the darkest parts of himself, and his worst mistakes, come back to haunt him, despite all his best efforts to put the war behind him.

But he slammed his drink in one, hardening the line of his jaw as he dropped his head against the back of the sofa.

With everything that happened earlier, he hadn't eaten, and he could feel the heat from the whisky buzz through his mind, warming his veins.

"I hate feeling so helpless," he said at last.

The words didn't speak only to the situation with Hermione but encompassed every aspect of Draco's life. For years, he had attempted to take control of his life and make decisions for himself for the first time. And now, he found himself surrounded by the crumbling remains of his decisions.

Theo sagged beside him. "It's the fucking worst."

Merlin knew Theo had dealt with enough of his own trials. In losing his mother as a boy―and in dealing with his own father, who made Lucius look kind and benevolent in comparison.

"Tell me something," Draco muttered, rubbing at his eyes. "I don't care what."

Snickering, Theo poured himself another drink. At this rate, they would both end up sloshed, but Draco didn't care. "Okay, here's one. I saw your Aunt Andromeda last weekend. Her grandson, Teddy, is Harry's godson―your cousin. She had us over for dinner."

Draco's brows lifted with surprise. Although he had seen Andromeda in passing once or twice, they had never formed a relationship given she and his mother had been long estranged, and he'd never met Teddy. He had also never met his cousin Nymphadora, and something had always stayed his hand in reaching out to Andromeda after the war.

He tried to recall anything he had heard about the boy. "Metamorphmagus, right?"

"Right," Theo said with a nod. "Funny little bloke; changes the colour of his hair at the drop of a hat."

Draco swallowed. While the conversation was a welcome diversion, it carried its own weight. "How is Andromeda doing?"

"Well, as far as I could tell, having just met her―Harry says she's doing well." Theo cast him a sidelong glance. "She not-so-subtly suggested she would be interested in connecting with you. Especially with... everything."

The idea stirred nerves in the pit of Draco's stomach, and he grimaced. "I hardly know her. It's awkward."

Theo's voice dropped. "She's family, Draco."

A hard lump accumulated in his throat when he tried to swallow next. Most every facet of his family had collapsed around him in recent months, and he couldn't help the niggling of curiosity in the back of his mind. "Yeah, I suppose so." He pursed his lips, taking a pensive sip of whisky. "How often does Potter see them?"

With a noncommittal wave, Theo finished his own glass. "Fairly often, I'd say. Most weekends, I think."

"Right," Draco breathed, his voice sounding oddly disconnected from himself.

"We're going back there for dinner on Sunday," Theo added. "If you want to come along. I'm sure Granger would be welcome too."

The thought of Hermione stirred the agony within him once more, but he suppressed the thought for the moment. He couldn't let himself sink back into his fears, or he didn't know if he would pull himself back out, as far into the whisky as he was.

"Maybe," he bit out at last. "I can't imagine she has any interest in―"

"Draco," Theo said softly, "she lost her family, too. Her daughter and husband. I don't see why she wouldn't want the chance to get to know you."

"Fuck," Draco huffed. "I guess so."

Theo's hazel eyes lingered on him for a moment as his shoulder pressed against Draco's again, the pair of them slumping into the sofa, more than a little intoxicated. "I know she doesn't talk to your mother any, but maybe that should change, too."

Draco appreciated that he didn't dig any deeper into the sentiment, but he could hear the unspoken words beneath the surface. If for no reason other than closure, when his mother's condition wasn't getting any better.

He pressed his eyes shut, feeling weariness and fatigue mingle within him. "Theo," he said, the word a little thick on his tongue. "Thanks for coming over."

Theo released an ostentatious yawn and slid his empty glass onto the coffee table. "Yeah. Not good for much else anyway."

"Liar," Draco muttered. "You're good at everything."

Silence followed for a moment before Theo's gaze slid sidelong to land on him. "I thought of something else. Another thing to tell you." When Theo didn't instantly continue, Draco snickered and waved a hand for him to proceed. "I got on for a mastery."

Draco's jaw fell open. "Theo, you prat. You don't tell me anything anymore. I bet you told Potter right away."

It wasn't a fair mention when Draco probably would have told Hermione something like that right away, too. He supposed it was just a strange new way of things.

To his credit, Theo looked sheepish. "I only heard back a few days ago, and you were in Paris and―"

Draco elbowed him in the side. "Good for you. I'm proud of you. Where?"

"Here in England. Near Dover."

"Good," Draco huffed, letting his eyes slide shut. "You aren't allowed to run off anywhere too far. Let fucking Potter know."

Theo barked a laugh. "You're a prick."

"I know." Draco cracked a smirk.

"Speaking of fucking Potter," Theo said, stumbling a little as he rose from his seat. Draco wrinkled the bridge of his nose in feigned distaste. "I'm going to leave. Get some sleep."

Draco blinked his eyes fully open with some effort. "Yeah. Thanks, Theo."

He watched as Theo fumbled with a handful of Floo powder before finally making his way through the grate, and a grin fell belatedly from his face. Left alone, his thoughts instantly drifted back to Hermione. A thought hung half-formed through the back of his mind that he ought to check on her, but Huxley had said they wouldn't know anything until at least the next day.

Wrapping a blanket around himself on the sofa, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Notes:

Thanks so much for reading. I hope you liked the chapter - we'll check in more on Hermione next time.

Love and hugs as always to my alpha, Kyonomiko, and beta, FaeOrabel.

Chapter 26

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

If Draco never saw the inside of a waiting room at St Mungo's again, it would be too soon. As it was, he had spent altogether too much time ensconced within the tight white walls, seated in the same uncomfortable seafoam green chairs. The same bustle of lime-clad healers with the stinging scent of antiseptic potions in the air.

It was a different waiting room on a different floor of the hospital, but the stone in Draco's chest felt the same.

The coffee from the hospital's cafeteria was still burnt and bitter, and the pre-made sandwich he'd purchased to put something in his stomach sat half-eaten on the seat next to him.

As penance for his role in the situation, Draco hadn't allowed himself a hangover draught that morning after drinking an excess of Firewhisky the night before. A self-righteous action he had come to regret almost instantly under the obnoxiously bright hospital lighting.

After speaking to Healer Huxley briefly that morning―and determining that Hermione hadn't yet come out of whatever state in which he had placed her the evening before―Draco had taken up his position of vigil. He didn't want her to be alone when she woke up. Because she was going to wake up, and he refused to indulge any thoughts otherwise.

Draco slouched in his seat, hair mussed and unwashed, his eyes bloodshot, and absently thumbed through the list of messages from Hermione on his mobile. He had saved each one, even the inconsequential ones, and his heart clenched with each anew.

She somehow managed to infuse her personality into every message.

The thought made every part of him hurt.

Ignoring his surroundings and the others seated in the small room, he tried to focus his thoughts on positivity. But such a thing had never come naturally, and he was far more of a pessimist than anything else.

His eyes lingered on the message she had sent him the weekend after he first attended her yoga class―the one he routinely went back to. In which she had said he made her feel less alone.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," a mild voice said from above, startling Draco from his fixation with a jolt.

Blinking several times, he dragged his stare up from the text on the small screen and gulped. Robards towered above him where he stood, his face austere.

"Auror Robards," Draco muttered, straightening in his seat and wishing he had bothered with a shower. He knew he looked a wreck, but he hadn't wanted to linger in his flat in case Hermione woke up. "How are you, sir?"

Robards sank into the seat beside him―on the opposite side of his sandwich―and released a sigh. "Well enough. Potter told me where I might find you." Draco bit his tongue on a retort. "Is that a Muggle telephone?"

The inquiry was polite, but Draco felt a stinging of colour in his cheeks all the same. "It is." He closed out of the message and jammed the mobile into his satchel. "What can I do for you, sir?"

When the man didn't respond for a long moment, Draco fought the urge to shift in his seat. "As I'm sure you can imagine, this is a bit of a delicate situation," Robards said at last, staring at the opposite wall. "The fact that both Auror Potter and you refrained from alerting anyone to Miss Granger's continued existence for as long as you did is, quite frankly, alarming. And I would be amiss if I didn't give you shite like I did him."

The admonition felt half-hearted, and despite himself, Draco felt a smirk pull at his lips. "You gave Potter shite?"

"I did," Robards said with a nod. "The blatant disregard for protocol, among other things." His chest heaved with another long exhale. "But I can understand the delicacy of the situation, and that neither of you wanted to overwhelm her with what would surely come of it."

Draco ground his jaw in a hard line as he nodded; idly, he wondered what the man had inferred from his presence in the hospital.

"How is she?" Robards asked after another tense pause.

Drumming his fingertips on the arm of his seat, Draco considered his words. "The situation is tense. She's with a cognitive functions specialist who's attempting to sort through her brain and determine what happened. To this point, she simply hasn't remembered anything beyond a few years ago. But now she's had some sort of episode."

He wondered how much of his personal feelings on the matter bled through, but he was so tired he couldn't be arsed to care.

Judging by the way Robards' expression shifted, his bias was evident. "I'm sorry, Mister Malfoy. Your personal life isn't any of my business. But I met Miss Granger myself after the war, and obviously she's widely regarded for her efforts in ending it. I hope that the situation will resolve for the best."

"Thank you, sir," Draco said quietly. He sipped his cold coffee with a grimace.

He wanted to ask about the status of the investigation, and whether or not he would ever get his badge back. But he didn't know how to do so without being petulant, when the man had made his reasons perfectly clear. And Draco suspected that until everything was through, he wouldn't be reinstated.

No matter how unfair the entire situation might feel.

As if reading his thoughts, Robards straightened in his seat and adjusted his glasses. "I imagine you're wondering if I've simply come to berate you and commiserate over Miss Granger."

Draco simply took another dreadful sip of coffee.

Robards narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked around the sparsely populated room, and cast a Muffliato over them both. Even so, he lowered his voice. "Between you and me, we've discovered who delivered the contraband weapons into the prison―a connection of Lestrange's."

Brows lifting in surprise, Draco glanced sidelong at the man. "So it wasn't me, then," he drawled, unable to keep some of the sarcastic bite from the words.

Robards scowled and pursed his lips. "I never suggested it was you, Malfoy."

Draco fell silent once more, sobering.

"Of course, the matter remains that I can't have you anywhere near the case while your father's on trial. The Wizengamot are up in arms over the whole situation, especially the fact that we haven't gone to trial on such a high profile case yet." Robards rolled his eyes, as if the trivialities of dealing with such things gave him a migraine. "But I wanted you to know I haven't forgotten about this matter, and I hope you don't think I've left you out to dry."

Although he didn't know how to respond without appearing ungrateful for the man's efforts―and for the fact that he still had a job―the fact remained that Draco longed desperately to return to work. Without his position in the Auror's office, he had felt lost at sea without any sense of direction. And now more than ever, he needed a diversion from everything else.

"Thank you, sir," he said at last, offering a stiff nod. "I appreciate you saying so."

"I know it isn't what you hoped for."

"Honestly, sir," he said, releasing a breath. "No, it isn't. I would be happy to carry on with my training, and I wouldn't go near the investigation. I'm not even qualified enough to work on it yet anyway. But I'm aware of the fact that..." He swallowed, a tight lump of emotion in his chest that he attempted to drive back. "I dug a lot of holes for myself when I was younger. And I know it's going to take a while before I can count myself on level ground."

Robards' gaze lingered on him for a moment―long enough that Draco began to grow uncomfortable under his penetrating stare―and he glanced away.

Finally, after the silence carried on far too long, the man nodded. "I know, Malfoy. It's why you're going to make one hell of an Auror one day."

Draco's eyes stung.

"Keep up with your duelling practice. I'd hate for you to be rusty when you return," Robards said quietly.

Draco drew in a long breath. "Thank you, sir." Shame and horror swelled within himself as he felt the warmth of moisture at the corners of his eyes, and counted it as an extension of the emotional onslaught under which he'd been caught.

Rarely did Draco see Robards express any sort of vulnerability; as the Head Auror it was his job to remain cool in any situation. But his expression faltered for a moment―just long enough for Draco to see a fraction of distress―before he nodded. They both glanced away, as if equally uncomfortable with the moment.

Just then, Draco noticed Healer Huxley conferring with another healer at the desk, and his gaze swivelled to land on Draco. He tilted his head as if to indicate the corridor from which he'd come, and Draco tensed in his seat.

Auror Robards followed his distraction, staring for a moment at Healer Huxley. "That was all I had to say for now," he said, folding his hands in his lap. "Go."

Trepidation mingled with the fear, implicit and deep within every nerve, as Draco's eyes widened. "Thank you, sir." Clearing his throat, he rose from his seat and raked a hand through his hair as he strode towards Healer Huxley.

Huxley's face was grim, and without a word, he turned back down the corridor. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Draco paced at his side. "Any news?"

"She's awake," Huxley said, his voice impassive. The words jolted through Draco like a sting of adrenaline. "But we haven't resolved the deeper matter yet. From what I can tell, the spell did a number on her mind, and after so many years of her new reality, the neural pathways in her brain have established themselves too firmly. It's going to take time to determine if we can restore her old memories, and to what extent."

As the man spoke, most of the words didn't make sense, but Draco eyed him all the same. Huxley looked exhausted, deep circles under his eyes, and he wondered whether the man had even slept.

"Thank you," Draco said, blowing out a breath. "For all your help."

Huxley remained stoic. "Thank me if we succeed." He carried on at such a rapid clip that Draco had to rush to keep up with his steps. "I've already spoken with Miss Granger about this, but I'll tell you as well. I'm going to discharge her for now while we study the results of our testing, but she'll need to come by for treatment sessions twice weekly. This is a very tentative and volatile time in her potential recovery, Mister Malfoy, and I need you to be very cautious with what she sees and hears lest she overloads again."

Draco nodded, cataloguing everything the man said. Only one thought continued to resonate through his mind: she was awake. "No magic?"

"Magic is fine," Huxley murmured, "especially since she knows so much already. I'd simply advise you to avoid any topics that might be considered controversial. In fact, simple bits of magic may help. Basic first and second year spells―maybe some rudimentary brewing―enough to keep her mind engaged but not overwhelmed."

At last, they arrived outside of her room, Draco's mind whirring and heart pounding.

"She's had a rough night," was the last thing the healer said before he gestured forward with one hand; without waiting for any further direction, Draco walked into the room, his chest painfully tight in his urgency to see her awake again.

Several healers mingled around the room, preparing potions and conferring with one another, but Draco sank into the seat at her bedside, eyes locked on Hermione. Her face was pale, dark circles bruised the skin below her eyes, and she blinked at him several times before offering a thin smile. Sadness furrowed her brow.

"Hermione," he breathed, reaching for her hand on instinct. Her fingers felt small and weak within his. "How are you feeling?"

Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, but she whispered, "Fantastic." Her voice was hoarse as though she'd been screaming, and nausea swelled within him. Her eyes opened again, her smile inching a little wider. "It's nice to see you."

The relief that came from so much tension releasing all at once nearly depleted him in his chair. "Hermione, I am so sorry―"

"You didn't do anything wrong," she said quietly, bringing the back of his hand to her mouth. "If anything, Healer Huxley says you saved me."

"I shouldn't have taken you to the manor," he huffed, dragging a hand through his hair. In his periphery, he saw the healers file from the room, leaving them a measure of privacy. "I should have realised―"

Hermione shushed him, that same soft smile lingering on her lips. "According to Healer Huxley, there was so much going on in my brain it was only a matter of time. Being at the manor may have triggered something within me, but he thinks it was bound to happen. And if you hadn't been with me, the end results may not have been so positive."

The words froze Draco's heart in his chest, and he shook his head slowly. He leaned forward, memorising the curve of her cheekbone with his fingertips; her skin was cool to the touch. "I'm still sorry," he said, "that you have to deal with any of this at all."

Her eyes grew watery as she stared at him. "Healer Huxley's going to help me, Draco," she whispered, the words choking off towards the end. "He's going to try to restore my memories."

Even if he didn't know well enough how much it meant to her, he could hear the blatant emotion in her voice, and he squeezed her hand a little tighter. "He told me; therapy twice a week." He pressed a kiss to her temple, another bright surge of relief swelling within his chest. "I'm just so grateful you're alright."

Hermione yawned widely, rubbing at her eyes. "I feel like I've been hit by a truck."

"Get some rest," he urged. "Huxley said he was going to discharge you?"

"I think so," she said through the tail end of another yawn. "I don't know when. The healers keep giving me potions for various things and half of them knock me out. I should like to learn how to brew potions myself."

Draco snickered even as he shook his head. "Of course you do. Conveniently, I don't have anywhere to be these days, so I can teach you the basics." He ducked his chin, reticence stealing through him. "And I'm afraid to say so, but you caused a bit of a stir yesterday when we arrived. I suspect you might be receiving more than a few owls in the coming days."

"I can imagine," she hummed, her eyes drifting to the ceiling. "I don't suppose I could stay with you tonight? I'm not crazy about the idea of being alone just now."

He smiled, just as the door opened again and the healers returned, organising several vials once more. "Of course. You can stay over as long as you like." Giving her hand another squeeze, he rose from his seat. "I'll wait for you."

"Okay," she breathed, that same weak smile overtaking her face. "I'll see you soon."

A long exhalation fell from his lips as he slipped from the room.


Draco had scarcely fallen asleep for more than twenty minutes all night. Each time he began to drift off, the continuous fear would dart through him that Hermione might not wake, but every time, she was in bed beside him, her breathing deep and even.

She had been given a potent cocktail of potions to ensure she slept well that night, and Draco might have taken a sleeping draught of his own if he hadn't been so paranoid.

He rose early, put the kettle on, donned a pair of designer frames, and settled in with two issues of the Prophet; he had left the flat in such a rush the morning before that he hadn't even allowed himself a glance at the cover. But he wasn't surprised to see a feature on her in the paper: Lauded War Hero Returns to London.

As expected, the article included mentions of him―along with a healthy dose of speculation―but it focused on her and her deeds during the war, as well as her subsequent vanishing from the wizarding world. Thankfully, the reporter hadn't known the full story about her memory loss, or why she had been at St Mungo's in the first place. He was glad to learn the healers had been discreet.

It would be one more thing for her to worry about, but Draco would do his best to help her navigate the swarm of attention that would surely come as a result.

Sipping his tea, he glanced up at the scratching of talons on the window, and he rose to let in yet another owl. He untied the scroll and added it to the pile that had already arrived since he woke up.

For the best, then, that she had decided to stay at his flat for a couple of days.

As the morning shifted on towards midday, Hermione finally rose from bed, her face a little sheepish when she emerged into the kitchen in her sleep clothes.

Draco glanced up from a briefing Potter had sent him to keep him updated on the goings on in the department. Warmth spread through him to see she looked infinitely better than she had in the hospital room. Most of the colour had returned to her face, and she looked well rested; some of the sparkle had even returned to her eyes as she slipped into the seat next to him at the table.

"Good morning," he teased, nudging her side. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well," she said with emphasis. "I don't remember waking up once."

"That's unsurprising, given all the potions you were on." He snickered, glancing up to find her staring at him with an odd look on her face, and he cocked a brow. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she rushed, her cheeks growing pink. "It's just―I like your glasses."

Draco hesitated, blinking at her, and smirked. "Thank you," he drawled, making a careful note of the fact. She glanced away with a bit of a titter, thinning her lips, and his grin widened. Taking pity on her, however, he gestured towards the stack of letters she'd received. "You've been discovered, and have received mail."

Hermione gaped at the pile, her mouth falling open in surprise, and she reached for one that was tied in an orange ribbon. "These are all letters for me?"

"Like I told you," Draco said, setting his report aside, "famous. Tea?" She looked a little overwhelmed, and he took the scroll from her hands. "You don't need to read them all right now―or ever, if you don't care to."

"Yes please, tea," she said quietly, reaching once more for the same scroll. "I want to read them; I just fear I won't know who any of them are from."

As Draco put the kettle on to brew a fresh pot of tea, he leaned against the counter and folded his arms. "Some of them you might have never known. The wizarding world is small, and people like to involve themselves in others' business. But I can help you out with all of that."

She slipped the ribbon from the first scroll, almost idly, as she watched him prepare the tea with several waves of his wand. Then she glanced down. "Who's Ron Weasley?"

Draco couldn't help the snort that broke free. "Yours and Potter's friend. As far as I know, you and him had a thing once that ended before our eighth year began."

"Oh." She fell silent, consternation knitting her brow as she read the letter. "It seems Harry's already informed him about my memory. So there's that, I suppose." Although she eyed the pile with uncertainty evident on her face, she reached for the next. "Neville Longbottom?"

"Another friend of yours." Draco fixed her a cup of tea and retook his seat. "A Gryffindor classmate from Hogwarts."

"Goodness," she breathed. "Do you suppose I should reply to all of these?"

Draco clicked his tongue and stared at her over his glasses before slipping them off. He carefully folded in the arms and set them aside as he measured his words. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. You don't even have to read them―or you could ask Potter to reach out and explain the situation to a few close friends. But the rest of them? You don't owe them anything. The most important part of this scenario is for you to recover in peace."

She released a rattling breath and took a sip of her tea. "You've been so supportive."

His face softened as he held her gaze a moment longer. "I just can't be arsed over what everyone else thinks anymore. I can help you sort your friends from everyone else―because I can assure you there are some reporters looking to make a name for themselves off your story in that pile. Maybe even some with darker motives. Then you can decide whether you want to respond or not."

Although she had only just risen from sleep, her face already displayed the strain he had been hoping to negate; maybe he ought to have set the letters aside until she were better equipped to deal with them.

Hermione reached for his hand, threading their fingers, and he visibly watched as her face relaxed. "I don't want to worry about any of it just yet." She leaned in, her lips brushing his own, and breathed, "Thank you for looking out for me. I love you."

Draco swallowed. He would never grow used to those words from her lips, and Merlin willing, he would never stop hearing them. "I love you," he returned, his voice thick with emotion, "and you scared the shit out of me two days ago."

She kissed him again, deeper, and every part of him flared with awareness of her as his heart began to race.

"Fuck the letters," he breathed, meeting her eyes. "We're just spending the day together. Forget about all the rest of it."

Her eyes shone. "That sounds perfect."

Notes:

Thanks as always for reading! Your kind comments always make my day, and I love to hear what you all think of the updates. I hope you're all doing well and keeping safe xo

Credit goes to my lovely team on this fic, Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

PS - can you believe this story is 100k already?

Chapter 27

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

In the days that followed, Hermione buried herself in her studies in Draco's flat. After her trip to St Mungo's, she called herself in sick for the rest of her shifts for the week at the tea shop in order to recover. She kept her books from the manor in one careful stack and a pile of selections from his own shelves in another. And as though attempting to minimise the way she hadn't sought to return home in days―other than a side-along Apparition trip to retrieve some of her clothes―she largely kept to herself.

After Draco explained some basics of brewing potions, she had spent much of her time in the extra bedroom with his brewing kit. Every so often she emerged to ask him a question, but otherwise he left her to her solitary learning.

It almost felt a little like being back at Hogwarts.

Except for the way she cuddled into his side at night, her heart pulsing in rhythm with his own.

In many ways, it was serendipitous that he still wasn't working, because while she hadn't expressed it out loud, Draco suspected she was glad not to spend the days alone.

More than once, Hermione had insisted on cooking, but after several attempts wherein his kitchen was lacking in all the amenities she was accustomed to, she had settled on preparing a pot of tea numerous times each day―although Draco soon realised it was an effort to show off the warming charm she had just learned.

Draco had never had a flatmate share his space beyond his time at Hogwarts, and truthfully he had never wanted one because he valued his time and space alone. But Hermione's presence was soothing and unobtrusive enough that he started to consider that he might not mind having her around all the time.

For his part, Draco used the time to practice his spell casting as Robards had suggested. While it wasn't the same without a responsive partner, he certainly wasn't about to ask Hermione to duel with him. One evening, Theo and Potter arrived, and Draco and Potter nearly destroyed half the kitchen in a duel while Hermione and Theo gossiped on the sofa.

On Friday morning, Hermione had her first treatment session with Healer Huxley, and he could feel the nervous energy emanating from her. As Apparition was too advanced for her to learn now and Draco feared she might splinch herself―and he didn't want her to take the underground―he Apparated her to the hospital for her appointment.

When he picked her up two hours later, she had been fatigued but happy, clutching a booklet of mental exercises to help clear her mind before and after her treatment sessions. But Draco could see the spark of something brighter and deeper in her eye, and she drew close into his hold when they returned to his flat.

And at least for now, he could allow himself to believe that some things were okay.


Draco had anticipated the letters. He'd received plenty of their ilk after the war, and even more still after his own trial. Self-righteous and indignant members of the community, outraged that his acquittal had cited duress in response to many of the charges against him―and that the others provided leniency.

He had grown used to the attacks against his character, his family, his house.

But it was a different matter altogether when he wasn't the only one involved.

When the letters arrived for him, Draco carefully kept them apart from the owls that still arrived with steady consistency for Hermione, even days after her overnight stay at St Mungo's. He couldn't blame them for wanting to know the truth; wanting to know she was safe.

The letters that came for him, however, carried a far different tone.

Death Eater scum.

Rot in Azkaban.

You should have died in the war.

It hadn't taken the public long―spurred on by journalists―to look deeper into the scenario in which he had arrived at the hospital, Hermione halfway passed out in his arms and raw desperation in his voice. Most of it was speculation, of course, but some of it contained grains of truth.

Draco certainly hadn't kidnapped her, nor was she being kept under the Imperius curse. He hadn't spent the last five years dosing her with Amortentia and keeping her locked in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor.

Until Hermione was ready, however, he wasn't willing to speak on her behalf. So as each angry letter arrived for him, Draco carefully read them, ignoring the bitter churning of bile in the back of his throat, and burned them.

As he read one, however, filled with particularly profane and repulsive language, he hadn't noticed Hermione looking until it was too late. She sucked in a sharp breath, fixing him with wide eyes, and asked, "Who sent you that?"

"It doesn't matter," Draco muttered, folding the letter in half twice, and tossed it into the grate. With a quick spell, flames engulfed the parchment and it crumbled to ash. "No one I know."

"Why have you received such horrendous mail?" she gasped, her voice oddly high pitched.

In his best effort to brush off the subject, he snickered. "Apparently, I've been keeping you locked away in the dungeons."

"Draco, that's atrocious," she whispered, her brows knitting.

"That," he drawled, "is what our world thinks of me. I did warn you."

Hermione frowned at him, as though she couldn't make sense of the situation, and he wondered whether she perhaps hadn't registered the truth of it all. It would have been difficult, he thought, when she didn't have any measure of context on the matter. It was one thing for him to tell her about the war and the fact that he had once been a Death Eater, but another entirely for her to see the hatred firsthand.

"It's dreadful," she whispered. "You're an Auror."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Not everyone cares about that sort of thing. The wizarding world as a whole is rather close-minded; I know that better than anyone. Most people don't believe that a person can change and grow into someone other than who they were as a child."

"You went through a war." Her eyes were glassy. "How could you not?"

His mind screamed the same sentiment―had been doing so for years―but he only pulled her hand into his and planted a kiss on her palm. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

"They just don't see the man I see." Her stare drifted to land on his, soft yet intense, and his heart stuttered a beat. "Or they would never say those sorts of things to you."

Sliding a hand into her curls, Draco pressed a kiss to her lips. "I don't deserve you," he murmured against her mouth. "But I'm selfish and I don't want to give you up."

As she deepened the kiss, her tongue grazing his lips and stoking heat within him, another owl clawed at the window and Draco groaned as he drew back. He met her eye for a moment with a brusque, "Hold that thought," before rising. But he recognised the bird as Potter's, and the tension fell from his countenance as he retrieved its letter.

Malfoy

Theo and I are going to Andromeda's for dinner tonight. You and Hermione should join us―I know it would mean a lot to Andromeda. Five o'clock.

HP

Draco's brow wrinkled as he reread the letter, feeling the curiosity of Hermione's gaze on him, before he handed it to her. "Who's Andromeda? Five o'clock is only an hour from now."

He huffed a sigh, feeling a flicker of irritation. "Because Potter knew I wouldn't have time to reject the invitation." Then he settled beside her once more and pursed his lips. "Andromeda's my aunt―my mother's sister. But they've been estranged since before I was born. She sees Potter because he's her grandson's godfather―my cousin―and Teddy lives with her. His parents didn't survive the war."

"Oh," Hermione breathed, clapping a hand to her mouth. "How terrible." She hesitated for a moment and added, "I have to assume this isn't the mad aunt?"

"No!" The word fell from his lips instantly and he grimaced. "No, she's dead."

"Okay."

Nervous tension settled within his entire body as he considered the idea. "I scarcely know the woman, and I've never met Teddy."

Hermione pulled his hand into hers. "Maybe today's the day for it?" The words were gentle and he could feel the reassurance; she would go with him if he wanted to―but she was leaving the decision to him.

After his conversation about it with Theo the night Hermione was in the hospital, he had given the idea some thought.

The thought of having Theo there―and to a certain extent, he had come to trust Potter as well even if they weren't entirely friends―helped to tame some of his reticence on the matter.

"We should go," he said at last. "If you want to."

The soft curve to her lips suggested it was the decision she would have made, too. "Okay," she said, capturing his lips in another kiss. "I'll get ready."

Draco swallowed, a frisson of anxiety swelling with him, but he did his best to suppress it. If he was honest, it might be nice to get to know the woman. And like Theo said―she was family, and the rest of his family hadn't been particularly well-adjusted for a long time. He nodded as Hermione left the room, sinking a little deeper into the sofa.


Although he didn't know the appropriate sort of attire to wear for Sunday dinner with long-estranged family, Draco had always been taught to dress a step above for any occasion. In that vein of thought, he donned a crisp shirt and tie, and eyed a pair of crystal cufflinks before deciding better of it.

He also didn't know what the occasion called for as his mother had never spoken of Andromeda and he couldn't imagine what sort of dinner they'd be attending.

"You look sharp," Hermione said, coming up behind him in the room. She laced her arms around his middle from behind, resting her face against his back. "I didn't know it was a formal dinner."

"Too much?" Draco asked, wincing.

"Draco." He could hear the reprobation in her voice but she sighed. "I don't remember if I ever met your aunt, but I can only imagine she doesn't expect you to wear a tie to dinner with a young child."

He wrinkled the bridge of his nose. "Good point." He dropped his hand onto hers and turned to face her. "I imagine you would have met her. She was with the Order of the Phoenix during the war." He snickered, glancing away. "She might be more excited to see you than me, to be honest."

"I'm not her nephew," she reminded him. Reaching up, she loosened his tie and pulled the silk free from his throat, her expression softening. She plucked open the top two buttons of his shirt. "She wouldn't have invited you if she didn't want to see you."

Draco took the tie from her, pulling her flush against him. She had still been taking certain potions prescribed by Healer Huxley after the strain of her episode earlier in the week, and he had been cautious in their physical interactions until her health was fully restored. But the feel of her pressed against him awoke the same heat he always felt around her, rising and coursing in his veins.

He only pressed a brief kiss to her lips. "Thank you."

Hermione snaked a hand up into his hair and drew his mouth firmer against hers, delving between his lips with her tongue. After she pulled back, she breathed, "I'm not going to break if you touch me, you know."

Draco swallowed. "Noted."

"As much as I appreciate that you're trying to be respectful," she teased, smoothing one hand down the fabric of his shirt, "it's unnecessary."

Against his will, he felt his body responding to her words and glanced at the clock even as he toyed with the waistband of her skirt. "We have to leave in fifteen minutes."

She nipped his bottom lip. Releasing the clasp of his belt, she tugged his shirt tail free. "Then I might suggest we stop talking about this."

A heavy breath fell from his lips, and when her fingers grazed his hardening member, he groaned. Bunching the fabric of her skirt around her arse, he backed her into the wall as he ducked in to capture her mouth in a searing kiss. He fumbled with the closure of his trousers, pushing them from his hips while he tugged at her knickers with his other hand.

Hermione made quick work of the row of buttons on his shirt then toed her knickers the rest of the way free.

"You're going to be the death of me," Draco muttered when he slipped two fingers between her folds to discover her already wet and ready for him.

She flashed him a grin as she palmed his cock, and the feel of it chased through a jolt of arousal through him. "Not a bad way to go at least."

He released a laugh and removed his pants. Meeting her stare for a moment, he smirked and hoisted her up by her arse; she wound her legs around his hips as he wrapped an arm around her back and pressed her against the wall.

Her wetness grazed the tip of his cock when she shifted, and he groaned when he slid into her tight heat. Dragging her mouth to his, her tongue tangled with his as he set a quick pace, swallowing her cries.

Sliding her hands into his hair and mussing his careful styling, she breathed his name, her pupils blown wide with desire.

Draco felt warmth flush his skin, adrenaline rushing through him at the feel of her as she eased onto him with each thrust. And he drove into her harder, faster, chasing his own release, lost in her.

She clung to his shoulders, burying her face in his throat, and her moans tickled his ears as her breathing quickened.

He reached down between them, seeking her clitoris with the pad of his thumb, and she came with a scream of his name, her walls tightening with a flutter around his cock. Climax swelled and broke within him, waves of pleasure washing over him as a groan fell from his lips.

His eyes slid open to find hers, her face flushed and shoulders falling with rapid breaths. Hermione smiled, carefully separating herself, and dropped to the floor.

As he came down from his orgasm, he cracked a lazy grin.

"Not nervous anymore?" she asked, eyes crinkling.

Draco nipped the tip of her nose with his teeth. "Witch." But he pulled her against him, released a breath, and added, "My witch."

Her arms wound around his back for a moment; she felt small and comforting in his arms. Collecting her knickers from the floor, she made for the loo, but stopped in the doorway and shot him her swottiest look. "You really ought to get ready, Draco. We're going to be late."

He bit down hard on his knuckle as he watched her go.


They were ten minutes late.

He hadn't had time to properly fix his hair, and Hermione eyed him with a sparkle in her eye on the front step after he rapped sharply on the door. She held a bottle of wine Draco had found for the occasion.

To his surprise, a small boy of around four or five opened the door, and Draco's heart jolted in his chest to see the boy had bright turquoise hair with matching eyebrows. His grey eyes―a match to Draco's own―widened in delight upon seeing them.

"Are you Draco?" the boy asked, gaping his mouth open.

"I am," Draco returned, clearing his throat. "You must be Teddy?"

"My name is Edward Lupin," he said, lifting his chin, "but you can call me Teddy."

"Teddy! Sorry about that. He knows better than to answer the door―he's just excited." Andromeda bustled into the entrance, looking harried, but a genuine smile spread across her face as she turned to Draco, and a sort of peace spread about her countenance. The woman wore a thin summer dress, and he was glad he had forgone the tie. "Draco, Hermione. Thank you for coming. Come in, of course."

Draco's chest tightened at the reception as they entered the home, emotion he hadn't anticipated creeping in, and he proffered a hand. "Andromeda. Thank you for having us."

His aunt stared at the hand for a moment, flitted her gaze to Hermione, then snorted. Before Draco could make sense of the interaction, Andromeda stepped forward and pulled him into an embrace.

His throat tightened, warmth clawing up his neck, and after a stilted moment, he wrapped his arms around the woman's smaller form. She was so alike his mother but the opposite in so many ways, from her dark hair to her easy smile. At last she pulled back, wiping at her eyes, and shared a brief hug with Hermione as well.

"I apologise," Andromeda said, her eyes a little glossy. "It's just―welcome."

Draco pursed his lips, furrowing his brow at the unexpected ambush welling within him. "Thank you."

"It's our pleasure," Hermione said but gnawed on her lip for a moment, brandishing the bottle of wine. "I'm not sure whether Harry's informed you―"

"Thank you. He has," Andromeda returned as she accepted the gift, an apologetic tilt to her mouth. "And you are, of course, welcome as ever. You're both family, and that will never change."

Shamed throbbed within him as he thought of his reticence to accept a simple dinner invitation, and Draco vowed silently to make an effort at further reconciliation with Andromeda and Teddy. As it was, the small boy trailed along after him, his hair shifting into a pale blond to match Draco's, and an unexpected bark of laughter fell from his lips.

"About time," Theo drawled when they entered the sitting room, and Draco felt a smile form unbidden. He caught Hermione's eye in his periphery and felt content in a way he hadn't expected.


Dinner was altogether nothing like Draco had suspected. He knew Andromeda had been singed from the Black family tapestry when she married a Muggle-born, Ted Tonks―and the situation carried heavy irony―but he hadn't anticipated her joy. Especially considering all she had lost only a handful of years ago in the war; her husband and her only daughter within months of one another.

In the depth of her eyes, Draco could see the sadness that he knew well enough.

But the woman appeared genuinely happy to have company, and Draco found himself surprised with the way he released so much of his guard in the small group.

Teddy had insisted upon sitting to one side of him with Hermione on the other, and the boy's hair remained a platinum match to his own. At one point, Draco glanced over to see the boy had grown a beak, and a startled laugh slipped from his lips.

The casual freedom of the family meal was foreign, when Draco had grown up in the quiet and formal setting of Malfoy Manor.

A steady string of conversation flowed between the group, from Theo's early days in his Potions apprenticeship, to Hermione's first mind therapy session, to Teddy's fall from his broom the week before.

Draco felt a stinging undercurrent through it all. Shame, regret, and a niggling sort of hopefulness.

He had been so caught up in his own concerns―his mother's illness, his father's trial, and his issues at work―that he had blinded himself to the fact that he had other people who still cared enough to humble him.

It was the gathering he hadn't realised until that moment that he needed.

After dinner, the group gathered in the sitting room with dishes of ice cream―at Teddy's insistence―and the boy wedged himself onto the end of the sofa at Draco's side.

"Harry says you played Quidditch at Hogwarts," he said, turning bright grey eyes on Draco. He bounced in his seat, kicking his heels into the front of the sofa. "What did you play?"

Draco snickered, shifting closer towards Hermione to make room for his small cousin. "We both played Seeker against one another."

"Wow!" Teddy exclaimed, his mouth falling open. "Did you catch the Golden Snitch?"

Draco could feel Potter's amusement on him from across the room where he sat with Theo. "Sometimes," Draco said with a nod. "Though I must admit, Potter usually bested me. Whether the plays were always legal is a different matter."

"Hey," Potter retorted, "there's nothing in the rules to say you can't catch the Snitch with your mouth."

At that, Teddy dissolved into peals of laughter, clutching his stomach.

Hermione nudged Draco in the side, a soft smile on her face.

Teddy grabbed hold of Draco's forearm with his small hand. "Look at this!" And his hair shifted from blond to turquoise and back again, colours streaking through it for a moment before it settled on turquoise. "Can you do that, Draco?"

"I cannot, I'm afraid," he replied in a somber tone. "Only really special people can change their hair like that on command. It's a great colour, though."

Giggling, Teddy began to bounce in his seat again. "It's my favourite!"

"I can, however," Draco went on, drawing his wand, "do this." He cast a spell at Potter, turning the man's scruffy hair into a shade of fluorescent pink. At the irritation that flickered through Potter's brow, Teddy was lost again to an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

In retaliation, Potter cast a spell to turn Draco's own hair lime green.

Snickering, Draco shook his head and asked Teddy, "Is this a good colour for me?"

"Yes," Teddy choked between laughs as he slapped his own thigh. "It's very green!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco found Andromeda watching him quietly as she sipped a cup of tea. He offered a thin smile, some of the playfulness fading at the significance in her stare.

"It's nearly your bedtime, Teddy," she said quietly, eliciting a groan from the boy. "But perhaps, Draco, you'll indulge me for a few minutes."

Hermione's hand landed on his for a brief moment as Draco nodded. "Of course."

He walked with the woman from the house into the welcoming gardens, and while he stood several inches taller, he could feel the same presence to her that his mother often carried. Or had, prior to falling ill.

"It means a lot that you accepted my invitation tonight," Andromeda said softly, breaking the slight tension between them. "Both you and Hermione. I confess, I frequently ask Harry about your wellbeing as I know the pair of you work together." She turned doleful grey eyes on him. "It may not be my place to say, but I'm proud of you, Draco."

The words both surprised and disarmed him, and Draco stared at her for a long moment before he nodded. "I appreciate that. It hasn't been easy, but it was my desire to make something of myself after the war. Something more than the role I fell into during school."

"I can see that," she said quietly. "You're very good with Teddy. I know he'll be raving about you all week."

Draco, who hadn't had much experience around children, cracked a grin. "He's great fun. I can tell you've done well in raising him." Sobering, he glanced away. "I know it's long belated, but I am sorry. For your losses―I can't imagine what you must have gone through in losing both Ted and Nymphadora."

He didn't know whether it was his place to say that either, but he couldn't withhold the sentiment.

Andromeda simply nodded, clasping her hands at her front. "It was tremendously difficult, and oftentimes it still is. But Teddy keeps me present, and I see so much of Dora in him. I often have to remind myself that she and Remus died so that little Teddy could grow up in happiness and freedom."

Draco felt a fluttering of shame in the pit of his stomach. But before he could come up with anything remotely proper to say, she pressed on.

"I know how hard you're trying, Draco," she murmured. "Just as I know it isn't easy to turn on your upbringing. As much as I knew I loved Ted, it wasn't easy to walk away and allow myself to be removed from the family. I respect you for your decisions."

"Thank you." He slipped his hands into his pockets as they walked on. "Fortunately, I'm no longer bothered over such things, but there are so few Blacks remaining, and my mother has neither the authority nor the wherewithal to remove me. Of course, she doesn't know of Hermione yet." He cast Andromeda a brief glance. "I imagine you've heard of her condition."

"I have," she acquiesced with a nod. "I was sorry to hear―and of your father's impending trial. You're certainly getting it from all sides."

Draco released a sigh. "Yes."

"I considered reaching out to your mother," Andromeda went on after silence hung for a moment. "Though I have no idea how I would be received. It might be too late for any chance at reconciliation between us."

"Honestly?" Draco lifted a brow. "She's very proud, but I think she would be happier for it. She's been so alone since my father went to Azkaban, and especially now." He forced a thick swallow. "Her healers don't suppose she'll recover."

Andromeda grimaced, shaking her head slowly. "I'm sorry, Draco."

"Reach out to her," Draco pressed softly. "If it's your desire. Or better yet, I'll alter the wards so you can visit and she can't refuse." They shared a grin before he sighed. "I don't think my father's trial will be an easy time for her."

Eyeing him for a moment, she nodded at last. "I think I will. Thank you, Draco―and thank you for coming tonight. It'll mean a lot to Teddy to know you, and it means a lot to me as well. Harry visits frequently, and now with Theo as well. You and Hermione are always welcome."

"I appreciate that." They walked in silence for another moment, Draco falling into introspection. "I'll be happy to come by more often. I'd love to get to know you both better."

"Teddy will be thrilled," Andromeda said. "As much as I do my best, he needs male figures in his life too. And I don't have the energy to keep up with him like I used to."

When they returned to the house, Draco could feel Hermione's gaze lingering on him, and he offered a smile. Teddy sat half-collapsed against her, his eyes glassy as he stifled a yawn, and Andromeda scooped him up.

Potter chuckled as he rose. "Thanks for dinner, Andie. We'll see ourselves out." He pressed a kiss to her cheek before making towards the entrance and the rest of them followed.

Teddy flopped against Andromeda's shoulder, spent, as she flashed the group a smile. "Thank you all for coming. See you soon," she said, already retreating towards the upper level.

Making to leave, Draco caught Hermione's eye, inordinate warmth swelling within him. But Potter wrapped a hand around his shoulder and dragged him into the kitchen, his face stern. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news," he said gruffly by way of explanation, "but Robards asked me to let you know. The trial's been scheduled. Two weeks from tomorrow."

Draco felt his heart drop into his stomach like a stone.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! Your comments always make me smile, and I hope you liked the chapter!

Generic non-spoiler/reminder to refamiliarise yourselves with the tags for this fic moving forward.

Thanks to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel for all their help with this story xo

Chapter 28

Notes:

HBD to the lovely and wonderful rosenymph3 <3 I hope it was a beautiful day!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco slammed a shot of whisky with a grimace, dropping his tumbler to the table. "So, what do you think is going to happen?"

Waving his hands in a noncommittal gesture, Potter frowned. "Fuck if I know." He leaned back in his seat, staring around Draco's kitchen; when Theo attempted to kick the legs out from beneath him, Potter scowled. "It doesn't sound good. But you already know that."

Pursing his lips, Draco topped up his glass with a generous measure. He heaved a long sigh. "They've got lawyers, of course."

"Course they do," Potter went on, "but that doesn't mean they'll get off easy. The Wizengamot hasn't got any tolerance for this shite."

Theo clicked his tongue. "You forget how bloody corrupt the lawyers are, especially funnelling the Malfoy and Lestrange coffers. And half the Wizengamot used to be in Yaxley's pocket."

"Bollocks," Potter clipped. "They aren't anymore."

"Doesn't change the fact that even now, the Ministry's full of crooks," Draco mused.

They'd been debating the outcome of the trial for the better part of an hour, growing increasingly sloppy as they consumed more Firewhisky.

Hermione had gone home the day before following her second treatment session, citing she didn't feel well afterwards. She had also returned to shift work at the cafe; for Draco, it felt strange that she wasn't around his flat anymore, even though she had only stayed over for less than a week. He couldn't help but miss her easy presence.

Potter sighed and shook his head. "I don't know, mate. It's going to get vicious on both sides, I think."

"I don't suppose it will go well," Draco said delicately. "Robards didn't say I couldn't attend, though―and even if he had tried, there's no way I'm missing it."

Neither of them responded for a moment, though Theo looked as though he might say something when Draco heard the distant ping of his mobile phone in his bag across the room. He jumped up to retrieve it, skimming the message with consternation as he sat back down.

Hi. What are you doing?

Draco ignored his companions as he tapped out a response.

Theo and Potter are here. Do you want to come over?

Several minutes passed as he sipped his whisky, pretending as if he wasn't waiting for her return message. Only half focused on the conversation; he listened idly as Theo and Potter veered the conversation in a different direction. He didn't care to dwell on the outcome of the trial all that much anyway, and he flinched when the phone went off again.

That's alright. Tell them I said hi.

Draco ground his jaw and muttered, "Hermione says hi."

"Hi," the other two said in unison.

"Excuse me," he said, rising to his feet and pacing towards the bedroom. He didn't bother looking at Theo to read the amusement in his countenance, but something had niggled at him in the wrong way ever since she had gone back home. Sinking into the edge of the bed, he dialled her number and waited while it rang.

"Hi," her voice said, soft and tinny over the line.

"Hi." Draco shifted to lean against the headboard. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes." The word hung as if she meant to carry on, and Draco pursed his lips at the silence that followed. He opened his mouth when she spoke again. "I've felt a little fatigued, but Healer Huxley said that's to be expected."

Still, he could sense something deeper that she wasn't keen to voice, and while he didn't want to push, it left a prickle of unease within him. "Fatigued in what way?"

"Mentally. I've had a bit of a headache most of the day. Struggling to focus on anything," she said quietly.

"Hermione..." Draco released a long breath, his heart sinking at the uncertainty in her voice. Huxley had expressed as much to him as well, but he couldn't help but wonder how it would affect her as things grew more intense. "Are you certain you don't want me to come get you?"

Another tense silence lingered before she sighed. "You have company. And I don't want you to feel obligated to Apparate me everywhere."

"I certainly don't feel obligated," Draco clipped. "I offered. And these two won't be here late." He felt as though there was more she didn't care to express out loud, and the thought burrowed deep in the back of his mind with a nudge of trepidation. "Hermione, are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm okay," she whispered. "I suppose I'm just scared this isn't going to work. It's mostly experimental, really, without knowing what the spell was that went wrong in the first place―and obviously, if I could remember, we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. As much as Healer Huxley knows what he's doing, he isn't even completely certain."

Draco raked a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. "I know. But he's the best in the country." Sensing the desolation in her voice, Draco was of half a mind to simply Apparate to her flat, but he couldn't get a read on whether she truly wanted to be alone. "Do you have to work tomorrow?"

"No."

"Do you want to do something?"

For a split second, he thought she might simply say no, as the conversation had left him out of sorts in a way he didn't care for. "Sure," she said. "I thought it might be nice to visit Diagon Alley. I'd like to get some of my own potions equipment."

Draco sank with relief. "That sounds great. Just let me know when you'd like to go."

"Okay." He could hear a bit of a smile come into her voice at last. "Thanks for calling. It was nice to hear your voice."

He managed a thick swallow. "Of course. I'm always here."

"Good night, Draco," she said through a yawn, hesitated, then added, "I love you."

The words still made his heart race. "Love you," he returned softly. "I hope you get some good rest."

"Same to you. Don't let those two drink all your whisky." She tittered a little, and the line clicked off.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he ended the call, then he leaned forward and scrubbed at his eyes. When he returned to the kitchen, he found his guests making their way to the Floo. "Leaving?"

"Right, well," Theo drawled, "we weren't sure whether your call was going to turn inappropriate."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Potter, you don't know anything about Hermione's trip to Brisbane, do you?" Something had been bothering him for a while, and the conversation had stirred it to the forefront.

But the man shook his head. "Not really. Just that she went there to find her parents again―obviously under the Muggle pseudonym that she used when you met her, but she didn't even tell me that in advance. She was very secretive about it all, and I wondered if it was just because she feared it wouldn't turn out."

Folding his arms, Draco considered the thought. "And you don't know where she stayed?"

"That was in her report." Potter leaned against the wall beside the grate. "She didn't have any of her magical belongings in the hotel, so either she had them with her when she lost her memory, or she had kept them somewhere else. Never recovered at any rate. You know all this already, don't you?"

"Yeah." Draco could remember the vague details, but when he had first looked into the report, he hadn't possessed the same level of investment. "Just needed a reminder. This would all be easier if we knew what, exactly, happened there."

Potter sighed. "I know. But I've looked into all this numerous times, too. And we just don't know."

It wasn't anything other than what he expected, but Draco still felt a hint of disappointment. "Right. Of course."

"Believe me," Potter muttered, "I want her to get through all of this, too. It kills me to see her so uncertain." He clapped Draco on the shoulder. "We have to believe she'll be alright."

"Yeah," he said again. "Anyway―thanks for coming by."

Draco watched as the pair of them went through the Floo―and then put himself to bed, trying to ignore the cold pillow beside him.


Hermione's enthusiasm for Diagon Alley was only surpassed by the wonder he had seen in her face exploring La Rue Mystique. While both are magical high streets of their respective metropolises, the two couldn't be any more different. The rustic and good-natured feel of Diagon Alley was a sharp contrast to the crisp and chic storefronts on La Rue.

And Draco suspected she might have enjoyed Diagon more if not for the way eyes followed them everywhere they went.

Even if the magical citizens of Paris had recognised her, their attention wouldn't have been drawn in the same way. But the community of wizarding London was small―too small for its own good some days.

Draco felt wary at her side, feeling the stares draw instinctively from her to land on him, and he did his best to ignore the warmth that clawed up into his face at the feel of it.

Hermione was keen to see her Gringotts vault, though he wasn't certain how much was based on her interest to take the mine carts deep below the earth that she had seen in Paris. He didn't care to overstep any financial boundaries between them, but she wasn't bothered. After conferring with a pair of suspicious goblins who questioned the validity of her new wand, they successfully declared her to be who she claimed and revised her vault access to the new one.

She beamed at Draco as they boarded a cart, her hand trembling a little as it sought his, but she remained silent on the trip down. Their goblin was a surly elderly male who wore a look of deep disdain, and Draco scarcely managed to withhold a smirk when he caught her eye as the cart rumbled down the track.

"This is phenomenal," she breathed as she gazed out among the cavernous space when they arrived at her vault. As a younger vault, hers was much higher up than his, but it contained a considerable amount of money. More than enough to cover her existence for a while, and Draco made his best effort at a rough conversion based on what he could tell.

He certainly wasn't the best judge of Muggle currency.

But she was surprised to realise her previous self had been in possession of as much money as she was, and Draco could see the cogs whirring in her head as she collected some of it into a bag.

"I can just come down here any time I need money?" she asked, fixing him with a stare.

"You can," Draco said, sliding his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the wall. "Provided Gringotts is open, of course. But it's a bit of a pain if you only need a bit, so most people keep extra at home. I can teach you some protective spells if you like."

"That would be brilliant," she exclaimed, turning to face him when her expression shifted. She paced away from the entrance, seeking a small collection of cardboard boxes in one corner, half-hidden in shadow.

Draco watched with interest as she shifted the lid free of the first, and at her quiet gasp of surprise, he crouched down at her side. Disregarding the dusty stone floor, she folded her legs beneath herself and began to sift through its contents.

Drawing a book from inside, she cast him a glance. "Are these school books?"

Humming, Draco shifted through as he joined her on the floor. "Looks like. Some of them, anyway."

She clutched the book in tight fingers for a moment before delicately replacing it between two others, skimming the titles before she set the box aside. The next box contained a cauldron, stirring rod, and other assorted potion-making equipment. A tightly packed array of parchment scrolls sat on one side, and when she unrolled one, Draco opened his mouth to make a quip that only Hermione Granger would save all of her old school assignments.

When he noticed her eyes were glassy.

She scanned several of the scrolls while he waited, sorting through her potions equipment to see what she would still need.

"I can't believe this," she breathed at last. "It's unnecessary that I saved this, of course, but... I wrote this."

Something in her voice struck him square in the chest.

Draco peered closer in the dim lighting, spotting her tight, tidy scroll discussing the uses of dragon scales, and he shifted a little closer into her side. "These boxes are a snapshot of your life." She offered him a sad smile, hanging onto the scroll for a moment longer before she stowed it with the rest. "Do you want to bring this all with you?"

"Yes, please," she breathed, swiping a finger below one eye while Draco shrunk the two boxes she'd already processed.

"Most of what you'll need for your brewing is already here," he mused, "so you won't need to buy as much."

Nodding, Hermione reached for the third box. Draco wondered what it said about how she appeared to have stowed most of her possessions in her Gringotts vault rather than any home, but then he remembered she hadn't even settled herself after Hogwarts before leaving for Brisbane. Still, not for the first time, the thought niggled at the back of his mind as to how thoroughly she'd wrapped everything up. As though she had anticipated being gone for a long while.

With a quiet, "Oh," she clapped a hand over her mouth.

While the first two boxes had contained books and school materials, the third contained personal effects. Hermione ran the gold and scarlet wool of her Gryffindor scarf between her fingers as she carefully pulled it from the box. Draco held onto it for her as she sifted through a number of items that must have at one point held personal significance to her. By the time she reached the bottom, her eyes were shiny with tears as she flipped through a stack of worn-looking photographs.

She stared at a photo of herself, Potter, and Weasley, the three of them looking scruffy and worse for the wear, but with grins on their faces.

"That's Ron Weasley," Draco offered, uncertain whether she wanted him to interrupt her quiet perusal. But she only offered another photograph, this one of a larger group smiling and waving. He tapped the face of each person in turn. "Potter, obviously―you and Weasley. This is Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Weasley's sister, Ginevra"―he wracked his brain for a moment and frowned―"Thomas and Finnigan, anyway. I can't recall their given names." A few other faces lingered in the background, none of them clear enough to identify.

"We were all friends?" she asked, her voice reverent but with an undertone of despair.

Draco nodded, rubbing a hand gently along her spine. "You were."

The next photo was one of their eighth year class clad in their dress robes―Draco had the same one stowed away somewhere―and a bright titter fell from her lips as she spent several moments attempting to pick out the faces she now knew.

"You!" she exclaimed, turning to him with a grin. "And there's Harry and Theo―you look miserable, Draco. Would it have killed you to smile?"

Snickering, he scrunched up the bridge of his nose. "I suppose not." But looking at the small version of his eighteen-year-old self, Draco propped his chin on her shoulder. "I guess I didn't feel like I had much to smile over back then." To emphasise the point, he dropped a kiss to her cheek.

Her smile softened into a mixture of nostalgia and sadness, and she blew out a long breath as she carefully tucked the photographs away again. "I'm glad we came down here. Even if I can't remember everything, it's nice to have some physical evidence that I actually existed."

Draco sobered and met her stare. "Of course you did. You were bright and brilliant and amazing, and I regret that I didn't see it in the same way everyone else did."

Hermione ducked in, capturing his lips in a kiss. "You're here with me now, and that means the world."

After they shrunk the rest of the boxes and she tucked them in her bag, they emerged from the vault to find the goblin looking as deeply irritated as he had the rest of the trip down.

"Do you need to visit your vault?" Hermione asked, turning to him with wide eyes.

Draco grimaced, considering the thought. "I suppose I could." In comparison to her modest vault, his would look utterly scandalous. "Hopefully, the dark artefacts are tucked away."

When he offered his wand to the goblin, the small creature's countenance shifted instantly; his shoulders straightened, his face falling stoic as he croaked out, "Yes, Master Malfoy. This way."

Hermione giggled as they settled back into the cart and said under her breath, "I guess I'm not old money enough."

Fighting back a laugh, he shook his head. "Please don't judge me on the contents of my family's vault." As the cart began the long descent into the earth below, Draco watched her wonder increase. "So I've heard," he said quietly, so as to avoid the attention of the goblin, "you, Potter, and Weasley flew out of here with a blind dragon. The only Gringotts breakout in history as far as I'm aware."

"You made that up just now," she hissed, gaping as the cart flew over a magical hole in the track. As if on cue, a dragon roared in the distance, and Draco lifted his brows when she paled.

When they finally arrived, the goblin leapt from the cart and ducked into a deep bow as they disembarked.

The look on Hermione's face when they ventured into the Malfoy vault might have been comical if he hadn't felt a stir of embarrassment. He hadn't made any secret of the fact that his family was filthy rich, but he didn't care to flaunt his wealth in the way he might have done as a child. Towers of galleons sat in every corner, shelves of priceless heirlooms stood tall along the walls, and Draco felt warmth colour his cheeks as he spelled some of his galleons into a bag.

"For the record," he drawled, gesturing towards the far more modest section from which he withdrew, "this is my earnings from the Ministry. I avoid withdrawing from the ancestral stores unless I truly need to. For my mother's care, for instance."

"No judgement," she whispered. "And I find that to be admirable." Almost as an afterthought, she added, "Treatment at St Mungo's is not cheap."

Draco eyed her for a moment, ducking his chin. She hadn't brought up the matter of her sessions with Healer Huxley, but he wasn't surprised. Entwining their fingers, he tugged her closer, meeting her stare. "I already know what you're going to say, but I would like you to consider allowing me to help out with your treatments."

"I couldn't," she muttered, glancing away. "It's manageable. I'll just have to work some more shifts at the café. And I've actually been thinking of picking up another job for the summer―"

"Please consider it?" he asked again.

Hermione gnawed on her lower lip as she stared at him; he knew she was proud enough that she would never ask, but he couldn't imagine she had a surplus of money saved up from working part-time as a student. And although she had money in her vault, he would have preferred for her to use that to get herself better settled. He knew from dealing with his mother's condition how costly specialised care could be.

"I know it's probably not proper to discuss so early on," Draco added when she didn't respond. "But we don't know how long your sessions are going to last, so I wanted to offer at least. You don't need to decide right away."

"Thank you." She pressed up on her toes to capture his lips in a kiss. "I appreciate the offer, and I will give it some thought."

Draco imagined her hesitance spoke her answer well enough, but he didn't want to push. "Good. Now, shall we go?"

She dropped her head into a tilt. "We shall."


Back on the high street, Hermione wanted to explore each shop they passed, if only briefly. To his surprise, she lingered in Quality Quidditch Supplies, asking him to explain the positions, the balls, and the gameplay. She was overjoyed by a glass case of fluttering Golden Snitches, and Draco purchased one for her as a gift; she selected one that flitted about in a listless pattern, her face vibrant as the shopkeeper packed it carefully into a small box.

He thought he would have to drag her from Flourish and Blotts, but her interest there was reasonable enough―perhaps because she had already borrowed most of his own personal collection.

All the while, Draco could feel the stares.

Roving the pair of them, lingering on the way she kept his hand clasped in hers as they walked, and for Draco, it was an effort to keep from sneering at the judgemental faces. But either Hermione didn't notice, or she didn't care, and it was enough for the irritation bubbling within him to subside into something mild and harmless.

More than once, strangers came up to speak with her, and in one instance, she fumbled her way through a conversation with the Patil twins while Draco watched on, feeling their furtive gazes.

It was a warm summer day, and the street was busy. Hermione's gaze landed on the long line outside of Fortescue's, and she nudged him in the side. "Should we get an ice cream?"

"If you like. This is your day to do as you please."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, her attention veering to the ostentatious storefront of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "What's that?"

Draco managed a thick swallow. "That's the joke shop. You'll love it―but you know the proprietors." He led her towards the crowded store, hoping inwardly that Ron Weasley wouldn't be there. "Fred and George Weasley were a couple of years ahead of us and notorious pranksters. Unfortunately, only George made it through the war. Your friend Ron took over Fred's place some years ago now."

It felt odd to refer to each of the redheads by their given names rather than by a blanket assessment of Weasley.

Hermione's mouth fell open, her brow furrowing with sadness as he spoke. "And is Ron the one I dated once?"

"Yes," Draco muttered with a snicker. "And despite that Potter and I are on friendly terms, he does not care for my presence."

Tutting, she only dragged him towards the entrance. "I don't care if he doesn't like you because I do, and if he and I were friends, he'd simply have to accept it. Let's say hello?"

"That's fine." Draco steeled himself for an adventure onto her side of the yard, so to speak, even as warmth fluttered through him at her private assertion. He had spoken to George Weasley a handful of times in the years following the war, and even as a student, he had found the twins to be among the most congenial and open-minded of the whole clan.

Almost instantly, he spotted the man and nudged Hermione towards George, where he stood in conversation with one of the shop associates in her bright magenta robes. But George's jaw dropped open comically as he scanned the two of them, and before Draco could warn her, the man stepped forward and scooped her up from the ground into a massive embrace.

"Hermione Granger!" George exclaimed, setting her back down and folding his arms across his chest as he assessed her. "Aren't you a bloody sight." His gaze slid towards Draco, and he added, "Hullo, Malfoy. Good to see you as well."

"Weasley." Draco ducked his chin in a nod.

"Hello," Hermione said, a little flustered and uneasy, but a grin spread across her face all the same. "I'm afraid to say you've got me at a disadvantage, but Draco's informed me that we know one another."

"Do we," George responded with a chuckle. "Course we do. Mum's been having kittens you haven't been by the Burrow yet, and I don't know how many times I've told her to let you breathe. Harry'll bring you by when you're ready."

Draco could see her instantly relax in the man's presence; George Weasley had a way of doing that for even the most hardened individuals. "Right," she said with a smile. "It's been an adjustment attempting to integrate back into wizarding society, I suppose."

"I'd say it would be." George offered another warm grin. "And of all people, you've got this ponce showing you around. I have to say I didn't believe it at first, but Harry swears you're in good hands."

Cocking a brow, Draco couldn't help the smirk that curled his lips. "Can't imagine Potter saying such a thing, but I'll take it."

George socked him one on the arm. "Ron's around here somewhere―watch yourself."

"Fantastic," Draco drawled, fighting the urge to roll his eyes when he felt Hermione's gaze land on him. "Figured we ought to come in―no visit to Diagon is complete without stepping foot in this orange monstrosity."

"Right you are," George said with a solemn nod. "And on special for today―anything the lady likes is on me."

Colour infused Hermione's cheeks. "Oh, you certainly don't need to―" When George only raised his brows, she fell silent and dropped her chin. "Thank you, George."

"You might not remember me," George said quietly, "but there was a time I considered you family. We're all thrilled to have you back."

Draco gave her hand a squeeze as her expression softened. "Thank you," she said again and added, "I'll speak with Harry about coming by for a visit at some point."

"Great." George flashed the pair of them another wide grin. "Enjoy yourselves, then, and if you need anything, you'll know where to find me." He clapped Draco on the shoulder and walked off.

Hermione ducked in and whispered, "If I'm going over, you have to come with me," but Draco was spared from dredging up a response when his eyes landed on the youngest of the male Weasleys.

"Hermione?"

Freezing at his side, her brows lifted, and she offered a thin smile. "Hello."

Weasley's gaze slid between them, a mixture of astonishment and disdain―and Draco was certain the disdain was reserved for him. The man stood at a safe distance as though he didn't know whether he ought to approach any closer. He cleared his throat with an awkward nod. "Harry said you were back."

"Right," she breathed, eyes darting towards Draco for a brief instant. "I've been trying to readjust after everything."

Draco straightened when Weasley's unfriendly stare landed on him once more, and he bit out, "Looks like you're managing."

Hermione shifted, her countenance wilting, and Draco dropped his palm to the small of her back in an effort at reassurance. "As I'm sure you can imagine, Weasley, Hermione's been dealing with a lot in trying to restore her memories. Surely Potter's informed you."

As Weasley's eyes narrowed in his direction, Draco wondered whether he was torn between his dislike for Draco and his interest in befriending Hermione for a second time. An even smaller part of him wondered whether the man still carried a torch for his former flame and hated seeing her with him.

But Hermione offered a smile all the same, and if Draco didn't know her better, he might have believed it to be genuine but for the warmth lacking in her eyes. "Harry's suggested it might be nice for a group of us to get together at some point."

"Right. Yeah." Weasley dragged a hand along the back of his neck. "That's a good idea."

Hermione shifted, her eyes brightening even as she moved back a little into Draco's palm. "I've been seeing a healer at St Mungo's, so hopefully, everything will get easier once I can remember more. It's all a little overwhelming."

"I imagine it is." Weasley's returning smile looked forced too, and Draco felt ready to crawl out of his skin at the awkwardness of the whole exchange.

"It was wonderful to see you again, Ron," Hermione said, a bit of warmth returning to her voice. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your day."

"Yeah, same to you."

When they carried on into the rest of the shop, Draco cast her a glance, fighting an effort to keep from laughing.

"That was a little uncomfortable, yeah?" Hermione asked, fixing him with a look. "Is he always like that?"

Draco snickered, dragging a hand through his hair. "That was probably due to my presence. But yes, it was fucking uncomfortable."

Hermione sagged a little as they picked through the store, and though several items caught her interest, he could see the last of her energy depleted by the time they left the store.

"You're ready to go home," he observed, pulling her hand into his.

Relief overtook her face. "Let's go home."

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I've poured a lot of my heart into this story, and all of your kind words mean more than I can say.

Alpha and beta creds, as usual, to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.

Chapter 29

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Most days after Hermione had a memory restoration session with Healer Huxley, she was left physically and mentally drained. Draco had come to expect as much, and as she was meeting with the healer twice a week, he didn't always know whether he should anticipate seeing her or not.

Some days after her sessions she went home alone, and others she wanted company. Either way, Draco wasn't keen to push when he could only imagine the amount of strain she was under.

After the last session before his father's trial, she invited him to her flat, but neither of them had the energy for much.

He brewed her a pot of tea, situated her in bed with a book, and lounged at her side in silence.

With a yawn, she marked her page and set the book aside not long after, turning to face him. "I spoke to Healer Huxley today," she began, and something in her tone made him tense. "About how much magic I should be doing."

"And?" Draco ducked his chin, meeting her apprehensive stare.

"He thinks I should continue restricting myself," she said with a sigh, scrubbing at one eye. "I told him I want to learn to Apparate so you don't have to keep transporting me everywhere."

"I don't mind," Draco said. "And in fact, I like it because I get to see you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Surely you don't care to cart me around everywhere like a chauffeur. And I'm perfectly capable of taking the underground."

"I would prefer you not take the underground after your appointments," he drawled, "and you know that."

Just in case something happened, he didn't want her to be anywhere he couldn't easily reach her.

"Right," she pressed, "but you'll be back working soon."

Draco swept a hand through his hair; he didn't want to rehash any old debates, and it was a matter they had already discussed at length. "What did Huxley say?"

"That Apparition is too intensive," she muttered, looking put out. "And he wants me to work towards advanced magic with more caution." She sighed, offering an apologetic smile. "I know you don't mind Apparating me to my appointments, and I love you for your concern―I just don't want you to feel obligated."

"I don't," he said, "but I understand. I know how self-reliant you are and I don't want to minimise that." He tugged one of her curls between his fingers with a sigh. "Huxley's right; Apparition is difficult even with full knowledge of the mechanics of it, and after your sessions you're so drained as it is. When I'm back at work we'll simply have to figure something else out."

She remained silent for a moment; long enough that Draco could sense the cogs whirring. "Hopefully the sessions won't go on all that much longer. Healer Huxley thinks we're making progress―whatever that means, when this is all so experimental in the first place." Eyeing him for a moment, her brows high, she bit down on her lower lip. "I've also been thinking about something else."

"Of course you have," Draco said with a snicker. "And what's that?"

Her lips twitched. "That I don't know how much longer I want to work at the café. I suppose it was one thing when I was studying at Queen Mary, but now... I don't know that I'll want to keep studying in the Muggle world with everything I've learned recently. I thought I might try to find a job somewhere in the magical world."

Draco wondered whether she might bring up the topic at some point, but he hadn't wanted to seem as though he were pressing the matter. "I think you could work anywhere you like."

"Even without my memories?" she asked, shifting closer into his side. "And without a fully functional knowledge of magic?"

He fixed her with a stare. "You're relearning your magic and improving every day. I'm sure there are plenty of things you could do in the wizarding world that wouldn't require advanced magic. Although I couldn't say for certain; you might be better off asking Healer Huxley what he thinks."

"I already have," she breathed, eyes alight with warmth as she captured his lips in a brief kiss. "He thinks I could manage something simple―that it might even help to be in a magical atmosphere―but advised against anything too intensive while we're meeting twice a week."

"That's fair." Draco pulled her in for another kiss.

Deepening the kiss, her tongue grazed his as she shifted on the bed and dragged him down to lay next to her. She met his eyes for a moment, fidgeting with his collar. "I thought you might help me pick something."

He slid a hand along her spine, hitching her against him, and her legs tangled with his atop the blankets. "I can do that."

Hermione kissed him again, her fingertips drifting along the curve of his jaw, and he melted into her touches, soft and indolent. His eyelids fluttered, heart pulsing a rapid cadence in his chest, but he only drew her closer and basked in the feel of her as they snogged for what could have been minutes or hours.

So many elements of his life left him mentally exhausted, and Hermione was the one to rejuvenate him every time.

He could only hope it would last.


"I saw your mother yesterday at Malfoy Manor," Andromeda said, her tone almost too casual to broach such a topic. Draco's brows lifted in surprise but she went on. "I can't say she was altogether thrilled to see me, but I think the shock was enough that she didn't immediately ask me to leave."

Draco folded his hands in his lap. For a moment, he didn't respond, his gaze landing on Potter and Theo showing Teddy some tricks on his child's broom. Hermione observed the three of them from the ground.

"Every time I've been to see her this week, she's outright refused to discuss the trial," he mused.

Andromeda sighed, catching his eye. "I suspect she simply doesn't want to acknowledge the truth of the matter. The Auror's office has surely dredged forth enough evidence to convict, and the Wizengamot doesn't want leniency." Her tone shifted towards apologetic as she added, "It doesn't look good for Lucius and his cohorts."

"I know." Draco's eyes landed again on Potter, who had kept him as up to date on the situation as he could manage. "It's a precarious situation because if former Death Eaters were to get away with something that might resemble an uprising... well, it wouldn't be good."

The pair of them fell silent, sipping glasses of lemonade.

"How are you holding up?" Andromeda asked, as though uncertain whether it was her place. Draco still didn't feel entirely comfortable with the woman, but he couldn't deny the familiarity that came from being not only related but living a similar reality.

"Honestly?" Draco offered a shrug. "It's been a lot to take in, but I lost my father years ago." He'd had time to get used to the idea that his father's soul may soon be no longer, and while the idea of it stung, he didn't know exactly how he felt. "I'd like to get back to work to have something to do―although it's been convenient to be off work right now with Hermione, I miss having that sense of purpose." He turned back to Andromeda, pensive. "At the same time, it's a strange dynamic now. Despite the years of effort I've put in at the Auror's office, still so few of them trust me. It doesn't bode well for the future, and I can't help but wonder some days whether it was all a mistake."

Eyeing him for a moment, Andromeda nodded and offered a thin smile. "I can only imagine how torn you must feel. But your efforts haven't been for naught; those who doubt you will see otherwise in time."

"I hope so," he returned quietly. He caught Hermione's eye across the yard and felt his lips pull into a smile. "Will you be coming to the trial?"

"Yes. Teddy will be staying with the elf for the day."

Draco hummed as Hermione walked over to join them. "I spoke with Healer Brooks, and he doesn't think my mother will be well enough to attend. Although of course, I don't know that she actually wants to―or that it'll be in anyone's best interest. Her health has been fragile at best lately, and I can't imagine watching the trial will do her any good."

"I suspect you're right," Andromeda said with a sigh. "But regardless..."

He blew out a breath. "Yeah."

Hermione settled into the seat beside him, dropping a hand to his knee. "Are you feeling alright?"

Looping an arm around her back, Draco assessed her for a moment. "Yeah, of course." She had been nothing but supportive as the date of his father's trial drew near, despite the immense mental strain she had been under from her treatment sessions.

And although she hadn't expressed such, he knew she was disappointed that nothing had yet come of it, even though Healer Huxley continued to offer assurances that she was on track as far as he could tell.

The idea had implanted itself in the back of Draco's mind, that if only they knew what happened when she went to Australia, it might make the entire process easier. But of course, the only person who knew the details of her trip had been Hermione herself―and according to every record he and Potter had scoured, she had been deliberate in her preparations to keep it that way.

He couldn't help but wonder what else there was to the matter.

The bulk of his mental energy had been spent in preparing himself for his father's trial the next day. Draco could feel a grey cloud of uncertainty encroach and he turned to face Hermione. "Did you try flying?"

"No," she said, drawing the syllable out as she ducked her chin. "Harry tried to explain the basics to me, but it doesn't sound very enjoyable."

Draco snickered. "It's a blast. Come on; I'll show you." When she held her ground, trepidation seizing her countenance, he added, "I could use the distraction?"

"Fine." Relenting, she stood from her seat, shooting Andromeda a glance. The older woman simply grinned in return.

"It'll be fine," Andromeda said. "Draco won't let you fall or I'll give him shit."

Rolling his eyes, Draco summoned a broom from the shed. "Draco won't let you fall because Draco isn't an arse." He allowed the broom to hover for a moment, gesturing with a hand. "Climb on."

With a bit of a wince, Hermione swung one leg over the handle, sitting carefully as though she anticipated it to collapse beneath her weight. "Not so fast, please. Harry and Theo were flying quite fast."

Draco had been watching them keep pace with Teddy's careful speed, but he offered a solemn nod all the same. "Not too fast until you get used to it. Promise." Her entire body seized with tension when he climbed on behind her, slipping one arm firmly around her waist and taking hold of the handle ahead of her with the other. She melded herself back against him, and Draco snickered as her fingers clung to his hand on her middle.

Leaning in close to her ear, he asked, "Do you trust me?"

"Of course." At her easy and instant affirmation, Draco froze; she turned her head halfway towards him and offered a smile. Her tone softened. "Of course I trust you."

Draco released a breath, planted a kiss to her jaw, and said, "Then you can relax. You've nothing to worry about."

He hadn't anticipated the ease with which she followed the directive; he also hadn't imagined the way he struggled for words to convey his thoughts. Before the swelling of emotion in his chest could get the better of him, he planted his feet and kicked off from the ground.

Hermione tensed a little, as though caught off guard, but within a few seconds she settled back into his chest. He could feel her steady breathing as his hand inched up her sternum, holding her tightly against him.

Draco had never been much of a teacher, and flying wasn't any different, when the act was so instinctive at the best of times. But after he flew them around the expansive garden a few times, easing the broom into gentle lifts and turns, he planted one of her hands onto the handle ahead of her.

"No," she breathed, tightening her grip on his hand. "I don't want to fly."

"Trust me?" he repeated. Without a word, she released his hand and allowed him to curl her fingers around the handle. "Steering is intuitive," he said quietly beside her ear, resting his hand atop hers to ease the broom left. Next he shifted her hand to lift up on the handle, then back down to steady off again. "As is altitude. Velocity is a matter of leaning forward or back―and you'll grow accustomed to how the broom reacts to movement with a little practice."

"Okay," she murmured, releasing a long breath. "Okay, I can do that."

As he released her fingers, tightening his hold on her middle, Draco observed while she tested her control of the broom. After edging the broom too far in one direction, she over-corrected, jerking the handle too far the other way.

Draco snickered at the strangled noise that left her mouth, and simply adjusted the trajectory. "Every broom is a little different, and this is a racing broom so it's particularly responsive. If you want to practice flying, you might prefer a more well-rounded model for greater stability. I wouldn't recommend learning on a racing broom."

"Is yours for racing?" she asked, the words falling a little breathy as she fixed her concentration into navigating them.

Humming, he rested his chin on her shoulder. "It is. Most Quidditch players use racing models."

Hermione remained silent for several minutes as she angled the broom back across the yard, her gaze tight and focused, and when she leaned forward a little, Draco kept one hand near the handle in case she took off too fast. He had enough faith in his abilities to recover the broom if she were to jolt forward, but he didn't want her to have a bad experience in her first new memory of flying.

"I suppose I can see why this is enjoyable," she said at last, a burst of exhilaration in her voice that made him smile. "Although I can't imagine wanting to fly whilst simultaneously throwing balls around."

"Quidditch is one way to enjoy flying," Draco mused, "but not the only way. Flying in itself can be incredibly relaxing." She eased off the speed a little, the movement smooth and easy, and he added, "You're a natural, by the way."

"Not a natural if I've already learned it before," she teased.

Draco snorted. "In my memory, you weren't particularly proficient."

When she shifted a little against him, he felt his body flare with attention; he wasn't certain whether she hadn't done it on purpose. "Perhaps I didn't have a good teacher before."

Sliding his hand a little higher on her front, he grazed the underside of her breast with his knuckles. "Perhaps," he echoed on a breath, brushing a kiss to her jaw. She squirmed a little at the sensuous contact, but Draco released her; they were high enough that no one would be able to pay them any mind, but he would sooner wait until they were home.

As though following the same train of thought, she rolled her head to face him but a bright glimmer danced in her eyes that he recognised. "It's probably time for dinner."

Draco ducked his chin, took control of the broom once again, and eased them back towards the ground.

He landed them beside Theo and Potter, who stood and observed as they dismounted.

"Hermione flying on a broom with Draco Malfoy," Potter muttered, folding his arms. "Now that is something I never thought I'd see."

Hermione simply flashed a grin, swatted him in the arm, and scooped Teddy up into her arms to haul the boy into the house. Releasing a breath, Draco stood alongside the others in silence for a moment as he watched her meet up with Andromeda.

"You've got it bad, mate," Theo said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Lifting his brows, Draco gave him a look; there was no way to deny it. "Weird fucking world, eh."

"That's for sure," Potter returned, slinging an arm around Theo's shoulders. His face sobered. "At any rate, we'll be seeing you at the trial tomorrow."

"Yeah." Draco jammed his hands in his pockets.

"You realise," Potter went on, carefully, "if they render the verdict guilty―"

"They'll do the Kiss," Draco drawled, grinding his jaw. "Yeah."

Theo grimaced, his hazel eyes darting to Draco's. "Are you sure you want to be there for that?"

Draco brandished his hands. "I'm not going to miss the bloody trial. It is what it is. It's not like it'll be a surprise if that's how it plays out, and I know how these things go by now. You lot have got the evidence for the Wizengamot to convict, yeah?"

Casting Theo a furtive glance, Potter shrugged. "Not meant to talk about it in front of the civilian."

Theo jabbed an elbow into his ribs, but the words gave Draco enough of an answer, and he released a long breath through his nose. "Technically," he muttered, "I'm a civilian right now too."

"And thank fucking Merlin that won't be the case much longer," Potter said with an uncharacteristic burst of emphasis. "I can only imagine Robards means to bring you back on once all this mess is sorted, yeah?"

Draco shrugged, glancing back towards the house. "I think so. We haven't spoken since Hermione went to St Mungo's. He inferred as much anyway, but I haven't wanted to get my hopes up."

Potter scoffed. "You didn't deserve being treated like a criminal just because it's your bloody father on the stand."

"Thanks, Potter," Draco returned, taken aback at the vehemence; he caught Theo's gaze lingering on him another moment. "I appreciate that."

"And besides," Potter added with a grin as the three of them began towards the house, "I've missed throwing curses at you all day."

"There it is."


Draco sat at his mother's bedside, watching as she stared through the window.

"You look nice," she offered without looking his way.

He released a sigh. He had donned a crisp white shirt with grey trousers and tie, and dressed in his best robes. His father's trial was at noon, and it wouldn't do to look disrespectful. "Thanks."

Narcissa's gaze lingered on the window, but he wasn't entirely certain whether she was seeing the gardens beyond. "Andromeda came to visit me on Saturday." She fell silent for a moment. "But you already knew that."

"I thought it might be nice for the two of you to connect."

Pursing her lips, she rolled her head to stare at the ceiling. "It was, yes. She's going to join me for tea tomorrow."

Draco reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "That's good. I'm glad to hear that."

"Strange to think we haven't spoken so for many years," Narcissa went on, the words carrying the weight of idle conversation.

She was significantly paler than she had been the last time he had been to visit, and according to Lucy, her energy had taken another decline for the worse over the last week. He forced a swallow as despair threatened to creep in. "Are we going to talk about father's trial at all?"

"No," Narcissa whispered, turning towards the window once more. Her hand weakened in his, and her eyelashes grew wet. "No, I don't think we are."

Sinking a little deeper into his seat, Draco felt the strength ooze from him like honey. He clasped her hand a little tighter until she began to drift off, and he felt the cold dread settle within him that he had done his best to fend off for weeks.

But he could no longer put off the inevitable any longer. He ducked in, brushing a kiss to her temple, and rose from his seat. After a quiet farewell to Lucy, Draco Apparated through the wards to the Ministry.

Notes:

Author's Note: Hey everyone, thanks for reading! A bit of a transitional chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Thirty will be the trial xo

Much love and many hugs to my wonderful pre-readers on this story, Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 30

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It had been years since Draco had stepped foot in one of the cold, austere courtrooms on the tenth floor. Despite his Auror training, he hadn't advanced to the point of submitting or presenting cases, and in most instances, the Aurors weren't the ones to speak at the trials anyway unless asked directly to testify. In this situation, however, some would be present.

Chilly trepidation raced through him to realise his own trial had been the last he'd attended, back when he was scarcely eighteen.

Hermione had arranged to reschedule her session with Healer Huxley that day to provide her support, and apparently, Huxley meant to attend as well.

It was the part Draco hated the most about such high profile cases. Most of the wizarding world sought to attend―and he knew this one would be no different. Especially when four former Death Eaters were involved, and their attempted jailbreak had been largely considered an act of treason―a thwarted Death Eater resurgence.

Unsurprisingly, the trial was to be held in the largest courtroom.

Draco stopped to retrieve Hermione before the trial, unwilling and unable to dredge forth the fortitude it would have taken him to step through the doors alone. Feeling the stares and the judgement. They would be meeting Theo―as one of the investigating Aurors, Potter wouldn't be sitting with them―and Andromeda in advance of noon.

Hermione clung to his hand, clad in a pretty slate grey dress as he led her through the Ministry, wishing he had it in him to show her around more as they walked. As it was, he simply hoped his breakfast wouldn't threaten to make a second appearance. He ought to have decided on just a cup of tea to settle his stomach.

She scanned their surroundings with wide eyes as Draco led her from the Atrium towards the lifts, and she jolted slightly as several paper memos fluttered in after them.

To the rest of the Ministry, it was a Monday as usual.

Draco felt sick.

"You don't look so good," she said gently. "Are you certain you want to do this?"

He blinked several times, suppressing the moisture that threatened at the corners of his eyes. "Yes, of course." He only tightened his grip, but to her credit, she didn't wince when he realised how tightly he held her hand. He loosened his fingers with a grimace. "I can't very well not be here."

They only had two floors to descend from the Atrium to level ten, but a pair of Unspeakables boarded the lift on level nine. Draco cast Hermione a glance as her eyes widened at their dark robes and ominous countenances, and he made a mental note to share more information about the Ministry with her when he was in a better frame of mind. Maybe he would even take her for a tour; it seemed like the sort of thing she might like. Neither Unspeakable acknowledged the presence of anyone else aside from the way they broke off their conversation abruptly as they boarded.

When the lift pinged to a stop on level ten all too soon, Draco found his feet unable to move forward.

It was preposterous when he understood the law better than most. He knew the stakes and the circumstances; his father had already spent years in Azkaban for his many crimes.

This should be no different. In fact, it should be easier.

With a sigh, Hermione looped an arm around his back and laid her face briefly against his chest when the lift door began to slide shut once more. Draco jammed the button to hold it in place.

"We can go if you want," she whispered. "Nothing that happens today depends on your presence."

His breaths came a little faster, heart galloping into a sprint. His mouth felt too dry to swallow.

"I have to," he choked at last. "If I don't show up―"

"You don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable." When his eyes shifted to land on her once more, his entire being wound like a spring, he could see her eyes were glassy. "I won't think any less of you if you don't want to watch this."

For a brief, fleeting instant, he wanted to run. To smash the buttons of the lift as fast as possible, to get away from the Ministry and the Auror's office and hide like the coward he had been—still wanted to be most of the time.

"I can't," he ground out, slipping his fingers to the button to open the door instead. "I have to face this." He pressed a kiss into her curls, tidy and meticulously styled for the occasion. "But thank you. I can't say how much your support means."

Hermione stepped back, taking his hand into hers once more, and she brushed a kiss to his palm. "Of course, Draco. I'm right here."

So many things swirled through the back of his mind, and he didn't even know how to confront most of them. He thought he had come to terms with the matter of his father; as they emerged into the corridor outside of the courtroom, however, so many of his old doubts and insecurities came crashing back in.

Eyes followed him as they walked towards the courtroom, and Draco lifted his chin, forcing some shred of pride into his stance that he didn't feel. Not even close.

But surely he could pretend.

He wasn't that scared boy anymore. The shadow of his father no longer haunted his steps, and Draco had spent years in the Auror's office attempting to prove himself. Today was simply another test.

Whispers lifted―and outright insults, muttered loud enough for him to hear―and Draco fixed his expression with as much disdain as he could manage as he navigated the crowd. He found Theo and Andromeda outside of the courtroom, hating the sympathy in their stares.

"Hello," he managed with a terse nod.

Draco wished his mother were there―while in equal measure, he was glad she wasn't. He didn't know that her heart would have been able to withstand the strain. Andromeda released a breath, reaching for him, while Theo simply slung an arm around his shoulders. Surrounded by the people who cared about him most, Draco felt much younger than his age.

Across the hall, his gaze landed on Auror Robards, briefing with several senior Aurors; the man gave him a single sharp nod which Draco returned, grateful he hadn't run off after all.

Robards walked over, clapping a hand to Draco's shoulders as his gaze drifted to Hermione. "Miss Granger," Robards said. "It's an honour to have you back with us. My name is Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror's Office."

"Oh," she breathed, offering a smile. "Of course. I've heard all about you."

"Not all bad, I hope," Robards muttered with a polite smile. "Auror Malfoy―a moment, please?"

Untangling his hand from Hermione's, Draco jammed his hands into his pockets and squared his shoulders as his supervisor led him to an empty space at the opposite end of the corridor.

"I'm glad you came," Robards said without preamble. "Although I can only imagine none of this has been easy. How are you holding up?"

"Well, sir," Draco bit out.

Amusement played about Robards' lips. "Liar. But I appreciate the effort. You don't need to be okay with this; I sure as hell wouldn't be."

Draco ducked his chin. "In all honesty, sir," he said quietly, "I thought I would handle it better. I suppose, although he's been in Azkaban, it never felt as final as this."

There was little point in pretence when they both knew well enough how the trial would play out. The chance at an acquittal, or even a lenient sentence, was slim.

"I understand." Robards drew in a long breath, his hard eyes landing on Draco once more. "Regardless, once this is all wrapped up, I'll be happy to have you return to the office―if everything still stands as it was the last time we spoke."

"Of course."

"Good." With another sharp nod, Robards adjusted his glasses and glanced at his watch. "We're about to begin."

With that, he strode back towards the courtroom, Draco pacing at his side. But the man carried on, leaving Draco to reconvene with Hermione, Theo, and Andromeda.

The last minutes ticked down, leaving Draco scarcely able to make sense of anything until the crowd began to funnel into the courtroom. Pressing his eyes shut for a moment as he drew in a deep breath, Draco walked into the unfriendly courtroom. The air felt several degrees colder inside, and he selected a spot on one of the benches towards the back of the room, Hermione and Theo on either side of him.

As the room filled to capacity, Draco noticed Healer Huxley. He nodded and slipped into the open seat beside Andromeda.

The charges on his father were the same as those laid upon Lestrange, Dolohov, and Yaxley, but the trials were to be held individually, as they all had different prison sentences. In Draco's estimation, it wouldn't matter if they were all up for the Kiss.

But the Ministry liked to play with its food―they always had.

And for as much as he attempted to prepare himself for the trial, he wasn't ready for the moment when two guards led his father into the room, hands and feet bound by invisible shackles. Draco's eyes widened as he leaned forward ever so slightly in his seat.

Hermione's hand grazed his, and he clung hard to her fingers.

The last time he had seen his father, Lucius Malfoy had been almost unrecognisable. Today, beyond the silvery-blond of his hair and the deep sneer on his face, Draco might not have even known the man to be his father.

Theo blew out a long breath at his other side. "Looks strange without all the hair, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," Draco breathed, grateful for the diversion. "Never knew him without it."

And for a moment, he was a young boy again, desperate for his father's approval. Lucius' gaze roved the crowd just briefly before he was shackled into his seat, his cold grey eyes narrowing when they landed on Draco.

But Draco merely inclined his chin, clenching Hermione's hand tightly in his own, and Lucius' upper lip curled as he turned back to the front. The guards forced him into the seat at the centre of the room, and Draco felt a swoosh of breath deflate his lungs.

Just like that, the spell broke. And Draco squared his jaw, settled in, and listened as the trial commenced.

Hours later, he didn't remember a word that was spoken.


Draco's head spun, his stomach churned with an onslaught of nausea, and bile lingered at the back of his throat as he stood in a small antechamber off the courtroom with a small group.

Through a pane of glass, the officials had lined up the condemned prisoners―exactly as Draco knew they would be.

No one had been surprised upon the declaration of each verdict. Guilty, guilty, guilty, guilty.

Andromeda had gone home, but Hermione and Theo stayed, the former pale and the latter grinding his jaw. Robards walked up alongside Draco as though in solidarity, but he didn't speak. There was nothing more to be said. In his periphery, he caught sight of Potter joining Theo.

A soft gasp of shock escaped Hermione's lips when a Dementor drifted into the room on the other side of the glass. Draco swallowed, forcing back the sickness that threatened within him. Whether from some sort of spell imbued in the glass, or by one of the corporeal Patronuses that prowled the room, he couldn't feel the cold or the despair.

"Look away," he breathed, planting a kiss against Hermione's temple. "You don't need to watch this."

Draco had never seen the Dementor's Kiss performed in person before, and a sick, morbid curiosity crept through him as the Dementor approached Lestrange. Despite himself, his lip curled with a deep-seated, cruel sort of satisfaction. Both Rodolphus and Rabastan had haunted Draco's dreams for months after the war.

He hadn't anticipated the relief he would feel as the man slumped to the floor, a smoky black wisp drifting free. It was anticlimactic, really, and he wasn't certain what he had been expecting.

Maybe that was why Robards had been so careful to seek him out not once but twice now. He curled his fingers around Draco's shoulder as the Dementor slithered towards Dolohov, then Yaxley.

"Alright, Malfoy?" Robards asked, his gaze locked on the pane of glass.

Draco nodded. "Yeah."

Hermione grimaced at his side, recoiling a little, and although she and Theo both looked nauseous, neither had turned away.

Time felt as though it stalled out once more, and Draco wasn't sure whether the glass was transparent from the other side, but he could have sworn Lucius' cold stare landed on him for a long, extended moment as the Dementor approached him.

When he drew in a deep, shuddering breath, Hermione's arm pressed against his. But Draco remained frozen, his eyes unblinking as he watched the soul drawn from his father in another wisp of smoke, as simple yet life-altering as the other three.

A quiet huff of breath fell from his lips.

A shiver darted, unbidden, along the length of his spine, and he scrubbed at his eyes.

Someone cast a spell, and with a brief flash of magic, the transparency of the glass went opaque, obscuring what remained on the other side. Draco knew the four prisoners were technically still alive, though there was little point to it anymore. They would return to Azkaban, kept alive in body only, when all they had once been was now lost.

But it meant he didn't need to coordinate a burial―yet.

He dreaded telling his mother of the outcome, though he suspected she knew as well as he did how it was all going to play out. She hadn't decided to remain silent that morning for nothing. In the core of his being, Draco feared Narcissa wouldn't hold up from the news.

The last of his strength had drained from him through the trial and sentencing; all Draco wanted to do at that moment was return home and sleep.

As the antechamber cleared out, Draco felt oddly numb, as though it might take several hours or days to process the truth of it all. Or maybe he was just at the point where nothing shocked him anymore.

Draco wondered what that said about the way his life had played out recently.

"Are you ready to go?" Hermione asked quietly, remaining at his side as he stared at the darkened pane.

Jolting to the present, he nodded. "Yeah."

Theo and Potter each muttered something he scarcely caught before making their way back into the corridor beyond. Robards walked away to confer with the officials, leaving only Draco and Hermione in the room.

"Do you want to be alone?" she said again, her tone even and gentle. He could tell she would have been fine with whatever he said, and, not for the first time, he wondered what he had done to deserve her.

"No," he muttered, wrenching a hand through his hair. "Merlin, no."

"Okay." She tugged him from the room, her fingers curling tight around his own, and she breathed, "Let's go home."

Each of his steps felt heavy, his soul weary and gaze unfocused as Draco allowed Hermione to guide him back to the lift. They were among the last to ascend from the tenth floor, and they were the only two in the lift.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said, expressing the condolences that had bounced off of him from everyone else.

From her, they crashed upon him like a wave breaking on the coast, and he turned to face her at last. "It's alright." He made his best effort at a smile. "Thank you for being here with me today; you certainly didn't need to. I feel bad that you've come into my life when so many things have gone wrong, and I can't introduce you to my parents."

A smile curled her lips―a mixture between teasing and devastation. "I can't very well introduce you to mine, either, as I've no clue where they are―and from what you've said, they don't remember me anyway. So... aren't we the pair."

To his surprise, he barked a laugh. "Indeed we are." He pulled her a little closer as they emerged into the Atrium, ignoring the stares. "Though I suppose there's a chance you might still find your parents yet. Once you've got your memory back and know better what happened. There was no record of them in Australia during the investigation into your case. Maybe Huxley can help them, too."

"The mystery continues," she murmured.

Draco pulled her into one of the Floo portals, transporting them both back to his flat, and he dragged her in for a kiss, desperate to feel some of the warmth that had been dredged from within him over the course of the day.

But a deep bone-weariness settled over him, and he stifled a wide yawn as he drew back.

Hermione removed his robes with gentle hands, undressing him to his shorts, and fixed him with a soft stare. "Get some rest," she urged, helping him to bed and tucking him beneath the covers. Then she removed her dress, slipped in beside him, and wrapped him tight in her arms.

Within minutes, Draco drifted into sleep, lulled by the gentle pulse of her heart.


Draco floated in and out of a fitful sleep for hours, terrors haunting his rest. Death Eaters, and giant snakes, and the Azkaban-deadened look in his father's eyes.

He awoke at last with a start, drawing in a sharp breath, a cold sweat prickling his temples. Scrubbing at his eyes, he felt Hermione's stare already on him where she sat against the headboard with a hefty book in her lap and her legs folded beneath her.

Draco grimaced. "Was I asleep long?"

"A few hours," she murmured, sadness pulling at her brow. "It's nearly seven. How are you feeling?"

With a deep, steadying breath to banish the images that lingered behind his eyelids, he sat up alongside her, still entirely spent of energy. As a result, he sagged against her shoulder and sank into the urge to rest his face beside hers. "Not great, but I'll survive. Thank you for staying―you didn't have to."

Hermione clicked her tongue as though the statement were ridiculous. "I wasn't going anywhere. Would you like something to eat? Or a cuppa, perhaps?"

At the thought of food, his stomach twisted in on itself, reminding him he'd scarcely managed any breakfast that morning and hadn't eaten since. Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, he nuzzled a little further into her. "I should eat."

She eyed him a moment longer, the usual sparkle in her chocolate eyes dulled. "You really don't look well." Placing the back of one hand to his brow, she added, "You're clammy. I think you might be breaking a fever."

"I'll be fine," Draco slurred, breathing in the fruity scent of her curls. "Just had a bad dream."

Sinking a little, she carded a hand through his damp hair without regard. "I'm sorry, Draco," she whispered. "That, today... it was barbaric."

He didn't care to talk about the trial, his father, or anything to do with either. But he allowed his eyelids to flutter shut, to draw from the comfort she offered. "It's the way it is." His voice lowered to a breath. "None of them deserved another chance. And you'd probably agree with me if you could remember everything."

"Still," she whispered. "It doesn't mean you need to be okay with it. If you want to talk about it... I'm here."

"The part that worries me the most," he mused, "is that my mother isn't going to deal with any of this very well at all. My father might have been a right arse and made some monstrous decisions, but they loved each other."

Hermione carried on stroking a hand through his hair, her touch warming the ice that had settled within him at the sight of the Dementors, even if he hadn't been able to feel the actual cold. In a way, her presence banished the terrors more than he ever could have done on his own.

"I'm sorry," she only said again. "I wish there was something I could do to help."

"You," Draco said, withdrawing from her shoulder and meeting her stare, "have already done more than you realise. Thank you for being with me today." He planted a lingering kiss to her lips, conflicted emotions swirling through him. "I love you."

As always, the words felt and sounded foreign on his lips. The gentle warmth that flooded her face had to be reserved for someone else. "I love you too, Draco."

He grimaced, averting his gaze. "I'm not very good at this, and I don't usually know the right things to say, but you've made all of this so much easier to deal with." Twisting his mouth to the side, he hesitated. "And I'm not entirely sure where all this would have left me if it weren't for you."

Something unreadable flickered across her face, followed by a despairing smile. "Of course, Draco."

Draco clung to her hand for a moment, not quite able to make sense of the thoughts spinning through his head. But he couldn't manage to force the last one into words. Please don't leave when you remember me.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks for reading xo

Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel

Chapter 31

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

He found Narcissa on a bench in the gardens, deep within the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Draco settled beside her, observing from a short distance her live-in healer, Lucy. Briefly, they shared a grim look as Draco glanced at the faraway stare on his mother's face.

"Hello," he said gingerly, folding his hands in his lap.

Narcissa's voice was gentle, her gaze locked on the rose bushes. "Hello, Draco."

Draco hadn't managed to source the nerve or the bandwidth to visit after the trial, and by the time he and Hermione had eaten, it was late anyway. Absently, he reached for his mother's hand, grazing his thumb against her knuckles.

Seated beside him, she seemed so frail.

"It's over," she said, and Draco couldn't tell whether the words comprised a statement or a question, but he nodded. She pursed her lips, her face unreadable. "I thought so."

Although she hadn't been keen on talking about the trial the morning before when he had been on his way to the Ministry, he could see the glossy sheen to her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mother. Do you want to talk about it?"

"There isn't anything to say."

There hadn't been any love lost between Draco and his father for years, and while the Dementor's Kiss had impacted him, Draco suspected it was largely shock. It had been a long while since he had possessed any true respect or feeling for the man. Still, he frowned. "I know how important he was to you."

Narcissa remained silent for a long moment, fixating on the prize-winning nasturtiums. "What have they done with him?"

"He's returned to a ward in Azkaban," Draco murmured. "Unless you care to submit a petition for his release."

He didn't want to voice such a thing, but his mother couldn't even look after herself right now; surely she wouldn't be able to assist his father in a vegetative state. Narcissa simply released a long sigh, some of the strength deflating in her fingers, trapped in his hand.

Despite her failings, Narcissa had always been pragmatic enough to recognise such a thing. Lucius Malfoy, for all intents and purposes, was no more.

"I persuaded Lucy to bring me to the gardens this morning," Narcissa said quietly. "It's a lovely day."

Idly, Draco wondered if this was her way of coping with the situation; as though she could pretend nothing was wrong and that would make it so. But he didn't have the heart to push otherwise, when her own state had been so precarious. He didn't always get along with his mother, but he would be devastated to lose her too.

"It is," he allowed. The sun shone in a clear blue sky, deeply at odds with the melancholy that lingered within his soul. What little sleep he had managed through the night had been once more plagued with nightmares. But still, Hermione hadn't left his side.

Narcissa withdrew her hand, reaching for a cup of tea resting on the end table beside her.

"Tell me about her," she said after a moment's pause, replacing her cup with shaky hands.

"About who?" Draco's eyes shot wide as though caught in something illicit.

The faintest hint of humour curled his mother's lips, though sadness still haunted her eyes. "The woman you took to Paris."

The last thing Draco wanted to do that morning, when he felt emotionally raw himself, and couldn't imagine what his mother had been going through, was to spark an argument. He hadn't known whether he ought to tell her about Hermione or not when he already knew well enough how she would disapprove.

Reading his silence, Narcissa clicked her tongue, and the act was so reminiscent of how she had been before falling ill that Draco couldn't help his smirk.

"It worries me that you don't care to talk about her," his mother announced. "And I must come to my own conclusions regarding her heritage."

"Conclude however you like," Draco said, a bit of haughtiness slipping into the words. "For as much as you like to cling to tradition, I've been the patriarch of this house for years." He didn't care to add the obvious out loud: that what happened the day before in the bowels of the Ministry hadn't changed anything.

A sour little twist pulled at Narcissa's lips. "Humour me, Draco."

Nausea and uncertainty swelled within him. It wasn't that he was ashamed of Hermione―not in the slightest. If anything, she ought to be the one ashamed of him. But there was something about the relationship they'd developed that he didn't want to subject to the judgement of his mother when she would surely minimise everything between them.

And Draco had never cared about anyone half as much as he did Hermione.

At last, he sighed, recognising that she didn't care to let the topic go. A sting of humility grabbed him to realise his mother was probably seeking a distraction.

"She's lovely," he breathed, letting the words fall free. "She's beautiful and brilliant, and she's got the most amazing heart. It's a wonder she wants anything to do with me at all."

Narcissa took another sip of tea. "And? The part you aren't telling me?"

Draco released a breath. "She's Muggle-born."

For a long moment―so long it stretched on, leaving Draco terse and fighting an urge to fidget―she didn't say anything at all. She sipped her tea and observed the flowers as the sun beat down on them; irritation gnawed at his entire being, flaring within him like heat.

"I'm quite tired," Narcissa announced at last.

Draco's stomach churned with disappointment. Surely he didn't know what he had expected her to say. "Fine. Lucy will help you back to the house."

Setting her cup on its saucer on the table, Narcissa folded her hands in her lap. Another surge of annoyance darted through him, and Draco ground his jaw. "She's no less than any pureblood woman, for the record," he bit out. "None whatsoever. And in fact, she's better than any of them."

"I see."

"And you haven't got the right to tell me who I can and cannot consider for the future," he said delicately, attempting to force some of the bitterness from his tone.

Narcissa sighed, waving a hand towards Lucy. "I suppose you think you're going to eschew centuries of tradition and marry this woman. Produce a swath of half-blood children and end two of the longest-running magical lines in England."

Draco kept his expression carefully stoic; it had only been a few months, and they weren't anywhere near any discussion along those lines, but he lifted his chin all the same. "If I did, it would be my decision to make."

As Lucy walked over and assisted Narcissa to her feet, Draco drew in a deep, careful breath; blew it out, long and slow; shook the heavy tension from his shoulders.

Before Narcissa walked away, however, she turned back towards him. "Thank you for coming by, Draco." Something drifted into her eyes he hadn't seen in a while. "And I should certainly hope you mean to introduce to me this woman who has so evidently captured your heart. She must be quite something."

Startled, Draco only blinked. Then he clamped his jaw shut with a click. "I―I can do that, yes."

Something he couldn't name crept through him like warmth as he was left alone in the gardens.


My mother wants to meet you.

Draco stared at his phone for a long while before setting it down on the table. Moments later, it vibrated with a response.

Should I be concerned?

Probably, yes. But it could be worse. She could have decided she wanted nothing to do with us. He felt antsy, unable to sit still, and before she could respond, he sent another message. What are you doing?

A few minutes passed before Hermione responded again. Practising.

He shouldn't have been surprised when she had spent most of her spare time since beginning her memory therapy with Healer Huxley working on her magic. At this rate, she had relearned every spell from their first through third years, and he wouldn't be surprised if she were already further on than that.

Another message came through. Are you feeling alright? Want to come over?

Without a shred of consideration, Draco rose to his feet, jammed the phone into his pocket, and Apparated into Hermione's flat with a crack. She flinched at his sudden appearance, clapping a hand to her chest, and ground her jaw as she set her phone down on the coffee table.

"A little warning," she croaked meekly, "would have been nice."

He snickered, offered a dull, "My apologies," and took up the seat beside her on the sofa. "What are you working on?"

"Shielding charms," she mused, skimming a page in the book before her before turning to face him fully. "You seem in a good mood today. Did you have a nice visit with your mother?"

Draco shrugged, idly toying with one of her loose curls. "I wouldn't say nice, but it wasn't terrible. She continues to insist she doesn't want to talk about Father, and I don't want to push because she's so unwell as it is. But she was outside and more coherent than I've seen her in a while."

Hermione fixed him with a stare, sinking against his shoulder. "That's good news. Do you suppose she's improving a little?"

"It's hard to say." He grimaced, allowing his gaze to drift towards the book she'd been reading. It was their fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts text. "According to her chief healer, she'll simply have days that are better than others. But the magical illness hasn't lessened any, and he still suspects it to be incurable."

"I'm sorry, Draco."

Grinding his jaw, he remained silent for a moment. "At any rate, the fact that she actually cares enough to meet you is a good sign. If you're interested, I'll see if we can transport her from the Manor for a visit―"

"I wouldn't want to inconvenience her recovery in that way," Hermione interrupted, her voice soft and apologetic. "I imagine I can handle the manor now that I know a little better―"

"No," Draco cut in. "I'm not putting you at risk again. We'll figure something else out." She looked as though she might argue the point, so Draco reached into his pocket and proffered a small, shrunken bag. "I collected you some more books while I was there."

In her startling vortex of consuming everything she could find about the wizarding world, Hermione had already finished all of the books she had borrowed from the manor library, so he had selected her more along the same lines.

She gaped at him as she accepted the bag, then a smile tugged at her lips. "You are after my heart."

Draco leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. "I'm glad you noticed."

Winding her arms around his neck, she drew him closer, and he shifted her back into the sofa cushions as they fell into a lazy kiss. Palming her arse, he ground against her a little, eliciting a quiet groan from her lips. He half expected her to draw away from his blatant distraction from her studies, trailing his lips along her jaw, when her eyes caught his with a flash and a sparkle, and she fumbled for his belt buckle.

As he tugged her jumper over her head, Draco made a mental note to bring books more often.


"I've been going through some job options," Hermione said, after, half-clothed as they lounged on the sofa. "Trying to see what's available in Diagon Alley."

Draco's brows lifted in surprise as he reached for the open copy of the Daily Prophet she had taken from his flat; she had noted several options on the page. "I'm sure you could do any of these, but you might also like to look into positions elsewhere―maybe at the Ministry."

She gnawed her lower lip for a moment as she peered closer. "I wasn't certain whether my magic was strong enough for anything like that. And those ominous fellows in the lift yesterday intimidated me a little."

He thought back for a moment and snickered. "Those were Unspeakables. They intimidate everyone."

"Unspeakables?" She tittered at the title. "What do they do?"

"No one knows. Hence, Unspeakable." He cast her a look. "They work in the Department of Mysteries studying the most obscure and complex forms of magic. Time, space, love―life and death."

Hermione remained silent for a long moment, her eyes lingering halfway on him. "That sounds fascinating."

A slow grin pulled at his lips. "It is absolutely like you to go from intimidated to interested in a split moment. And for the record, I think you would love it down there. I might have wanted to go into the Department of Mysteries if I hadn't been so set on the DMLE."

Colour warmed her cheeks. "I can't imagine I know enough to get on with something like that.'

"Give it time." Draco pulled her close. "It's astounding how much you've already learned in a matter of weeks; I hold firm that you could do anything you wanted to do. And if you want, I can get you some information on the DoM."

"Maybe," she said quietly. "I still think I ought to find something for the time being. Somehow knowing about magic makes everything I've been studying seem... lacklustre in comparison."

Draco frowned as she traced the scar tissue on his bare chest. "I don't want you to give up on what you've been studying. But I know the appeal of magic all the same."

"Yeah." She released a sigh. "The good news is I don't need to make any big decisions just yet. But I don't think I want to stay on at the shop much longer if there are other, more relevant options."

With a faint smile, he unfolded the newspaper once more. "Then let's take a look."


Draco paced the corridor on level two of the Ministry, trepidation curling within him and mingling with an implicit sense that he didn't belong here anymore. He clenched a folded letter in his pocket, ready to withdraw in the event that anyone questioned his presence there.

It took everything within him to keep his shoulder square and his head high as he slipped into the Auror's Department and made his way to Robards' office.

On top of his nerves surrounding the summons he'd received, Hermione also had a treatment session at St Mungo's that afternoon, and he had dropped her off just previous. Every time he left her at the hospital, he couldn't help the anxiety that swelled within him: that one day she would either regain her memory―or Merlin forbid, everything might go all wrong.

He resolutely ignored the stares as he tapped on Robards' door, waiting only a moment before he slipped in at the man's invitation. Draco tried to remember the last time he had been there―when his superior had requested he hand over his badge. Colour crept into his cheeks at the memory.

"Hello, sir," he murmured, slipping into a seat.

Robards looked up, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Malfoy. Thank you for coming." The pregnant pause that followed stayed Draco's tongue. "How are you holding up?"

Draco couldn't tell whether the question referred to the fact that he'd seen his father's soul drawn from his body only days prior or if it was meant to encompass the wider sphere of Draco being punted from the department on his arse because of his surname.

"Pretty well, sir. Thank you."

Levying a great sigh, Robards leaned back in his seat and locked his hands across his front. "As you're aware, this entire situation has been tedious. Between the DMLE and the Wizengamot and the Minister himself"―He waved a hand as though the subject matter were intensely dry―"it's been difficult to work out the best way to proceed with these matters."

Draco ground his jaw and offered a nod; it wasn't Robards' fault he had been removed from his position due to the controversy of it. "Indeed," he allowed.

"It might feel insincere to simply offer your position back now that this matter is behind us," Robards went on, dragging his stare away, "and though I was simply pandering to the powers higher up in the MInistry." He fixed Draco with an apologetic look.

"But you were," Draco offered.

Robards waved an ambiguous hand as though he couldn't be bothered with the bureaucracy of it all. "If it were up to me, Malfoy, I'd have kept you on all along. Some days I regret taking up command of this office. I always favoured hitting the streets and hunting down the baddies."

Draco's lips twitched. "Honestly, sir, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to do my best to put all of this behind me."

The matter was, of course, harder than it sounded when Draco knew that at least some of his colleagues in the Auror's department had been against him all along and had suspected his involvement in the attempted breakout. Some cold, bitter part deep within him hoped they felt like shite for throwing him to the wolves when evidence had proven otherwise―but he knew better.

"You would be content to return to your training," Robards mused, leaning forward again. His brows furrowed low above the rim of his glasses. "And to proceed as if none of this happened."

Sensing something else behind the words, Draco swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "That is if the position is still available. And if it isn't..." He trailed off, unable to stomach the thought that there might not be a spot for him anymore after all. He offered his best effort at a flippant shrug.

Robards stared at him for another long, tense moment before withdrawing something from his desk drawer; Draco's badge.

"I have a counter-offer for you," Robards said softly, sliding the badge across the desk.

Draco picked it up, the cool metal soothing against his palm, but curiosity swelled within him. "What is that?"

"As far as I'm concerned, Malfoy, you've more than proven your loyalty to the department; furthermore, I know how committed you are to your training and to improving as a valued member of this force." He ducked his chin, hazel eyes shimmering. "I'm advancing your training―and sending you out."

"Out, sir." Draco didn't dare allow himself to ruminate.

"Onto the streets."

His heart froze, stuttered, and jumped into a gallop. "Sir, I―" His eyes stung.

"I've already spoken with Auror Potter," Robards pressed on softly. "I know how well both of you have worked together, almost unbelievably. I'm making the two of you partners. You'll start back next week."

Draco could scarcely hear the words over the rush of blood behind his ears, pulsing a dull roar. Emotion thudded inside his chest, leaving him overwhelmed. He opened his mouth to speak, then slammed it shut again.

"This isn't a formal offer just yet," Robards went on, as though picking up that Draco didn't know how to respond, "but it's a step below. If I like how this goes, I'll induct you into the office as a full Auror." He lowered his voice, casting a furtive glance around as if he thought someone else might have been listening in. "And fuck what anyone else thinks, yeah?"

He couldn't quite scrounge up the courage to reciprocate the sentiment and offered a slight nod instead. "Thank you, sir. I really appreciate your confidence; I'll do my best not to let you down."

When the conversation ended, and Draco rose from his seat, he felt the world come together around him like a blur. For all he had feared he might not truly receive his job back, he hadn't anticipated this.

His chest tightened, energy building beneath his skin he couldn't identify, and he slipped through the door. The rest of the department carried on as they always had, and idly, Draco wondered how many of them would have preferred to see him out of the department. Against his better judgement, his lips twitched with a smirk.

Then a hand clapped him on the shoulder, startling him from his introspection, and Draco wheeled to find Potter's bright eyes on him. A slow grin crawled across the man's face. "Welcome back, mate."

"Thanks." The word fell from his lips as an exhale, and he dug again for the enthusiasm such an occasion should surely merit. "A little surprised, but―this is good, yeah?"

Potter scrunched up his face. "Good in the way that you've got your badge back. Not so good in the way that I'm going to have to deal with your snarky mug every day―"

"Shut it, Potter," Draco said, unable to withhold a chuckle. He adjusted his tie, feeling some of the tension sink from him as he rolled out his neck and shoulders. He'd been dreading the meeting since receiving Robards' owl, and it had ultimately gone far better than he'd expected. "I would like to make it clear upfront that if I'm to be putting my life in your hands, I do expect you not to let me down."

"Bloody mutual, isn't it?" Potter cocked a brow. "If either of us gets to demand such a thing, it ought to be me. I'm going to have to teach you in the field."

He blew out a breath, nerves threatening to creep in once more. "Right." He scoured the room and felt a bit of a grimace pull at his lips. "I suppose there was a part of me that thought I'd never make it this far."

With a snort, Potter's gaze slid sidelong to meet his. "Mate, I didn't think you'd make it through the door when you first applied to enrol."

Draco nudged him in the side, rolling his eyes. But the words rang truer than he would have liked when even Draco had been surprised to learn he'd been accepted to enter training in the first place. At first, he'd thought it must have been an administrative error.

"Anyway," he said quietly, "I suppose this is it now. Partners."

They both sobered, and Draco could feel the significance of it drilling through the back of his mind. Not only did he have another shot, but he would also be leaving the office on call at last. Potter released a long breath and extended a hand; although Draco snickered, he accepted the offering with a brisk shake.

"Partners," Potter repeated. "And it's almost unbelievable to say I wouldn't have chosen anyone else."

Draco swallowed, blinking rapidly. "Thanks, Potter. For everything."

When he really, truly thought about it, Potter had been at his side through more than he ever would have expected. Even though they'd started off on terrible footing―and still hadn't managed to get along when they first began working together―the man's support had helped Draco through so much of his training. Never mind the camaraderie that had developed between them since Hermione had come back into their lives.

At the thought, he remembered her appointment with Healer Huxley. She had insisted upon taking the underground home after her appointment as Draco didn't know how long his meeting would go, but she ought to have made it home by now.

Potter only clapped a hand to his shoulder again.

Distracted, Draco rummaged in his pocket for his mobile phone, and as though he'd willed it, the phone buzzed with a message.

I just wanted to let you know I made it home. I hope your meeting went well.

Potter peered over his shoulder, reading the message with a grin. "Let her know the news. We'll have to go for a drink—the four of us—to celebrate."

Despite himself, Draco felt a hint of a smile curl his lips. This was something he had achieved; for a brief moment, he allowed it to feel good. He dialled Hermione's number, lifting the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" Her voice was soft, distracted, when she answered after three rings.

"Hi," Draco breathed in return, warmth swelling within him. "Thanks for your message."

He hesitated, waiting, until she offered a quiet, "Of course."

At his side, Potter flashed another grin.

"I have some news," he said into the phone. "Robards offered me my job back―and not only that, but I'm going to be advancing in my training and going on patrol."

"Oh Draco, that's incredible news. I'm so happy to hear that!"

Despite the words, her tone of voice still sounded a little uncertain, and Draco faltered. "Is everything alright? Did your session with Healer Huxley go okay?"

"Of course," she repeated; he could practically imagine the thin smile she plastered forth. "Tell me about your training? What will you be doing now?"

Alarm bells rang, faint and disarming in the back of his mind, and a furrow pulled at his brows while he hesitated. Potter made a face, cocking a questioning brow.

"We'll be out on the streets for practical training," Draco said, at last, the words cautious. "Potter and I are going to be partners."

"Oh."

The word was so soft he could scarcely hear her over the distant buzz in the Auror's office, and after several tense beats of his heart, Draco knew instantly, deep within him, that something was wrong.

"I'm so sorry, Draco," she breathed at last into the silence. "I feel like I must know this. Who is Potter?"

His entire body froze with a jarring stutter, and for a long moment, he could only stare at the phone. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach like a stone.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks for reading, everyone. Your kind words always make my day. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter! xo

Alpha and beta credits, as usual, to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.

Chapter 32

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Every part of him froze to ice as Hermione's words swirled around his head; for a moment, Draco thought he might succumb to the bile rising in the back of his throat.

"You... what?" he breathed. He could feel Potter's stare lingering hard on the side of his face but refused to look up; he paced several steps away and lowered his voice. "Harry Potter."

A bit of a sniffle came across the line. "I... it's familiar, but I can't quite―I'm sorry, Draco."

His heart clamoured in his chest, racing as though intent on a destination he couldn't see, and his thoughts became a blur. "I'm coming over. I'll be right there."

"Draco, wait―"

Head ringing, Draco ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket. His chest heaved a little when he turned back towards Potter, a dull throb beginning behind his temple. "I've got to go―something's up with Hermione."

"Malfoy, what the hell?" Potter hissed. "What's happened? I'm coming with you."

"You're working," he bit out. "I'll send you an owl as soon as I know."

Before Potter could stop him, Draco paced for the department's emergency Apparition point; fear lanced through him as he Apparated into her flat without giving it a second thought. Although he wasn't certain she wanted him letting himself into her flat, he had at least warned her this time, and if something happened he didn't want to be stuck in the corridor waiting for entrance.

Her sitting room was empty, the whole flat eerily quiet, and Draco could hear his own pulse hammering through his skull as he kicked off his boots.

"Hermione?"

He peered into the kitchen, panic rising within him. But she had told him she was home; he wrenched a hand through his hair when he found her in her bedroom, curled up beneath the covers. She didn't look up at his entrance, nor when he pulled back the blankets and tucked himself in beside her. Her eyes were red-rimmed when they blinked open to find his, despair heavy in the lines of her face.

"What happened?" he asked, stroking a tear from her cheekbone, then brushed a kiss against her skin. "Are you alright?"

She stared at him for a long moment in silence, and when she finally opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out. More tears seeped out, sliding down her face and into the pillow; Draco's heart stung.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her into his chest. Hermione quaked with a gentle tremble, her body wracked with silent sobs as she buried her face into his chest. After a minute, he could feel her tears dampen his shirt.

"I'm here," he murmured, releasing a breath into her messy curls. "I've got you."

She only cried harder, a choked sob falling from her lips. Her hands wrapped around him, half-heartedly clutching at his ribs as though she hadn't the strength for anything more. "Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"

Never mind that she had just come from there; he felt completely helpless and at a loss.

She shook her head no―or at least he thought she did based on the movement of her face. But still, she didn't speak, as if she either couldn't or simply didn't have the heart. Draco tried to quash the anxiety brimming to the edges of himself, but he couldn't imagine pushing her to explain what had happened.

All he could do in the moment was hold her close, stroking her hair idly with his fingertips until her tears subsided into sniffles, her shorter legs entwining with his own.

"Sorry," she said, at last, the word muffled against his shirt. She sounded impossibly small.

"Don't apologise," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Will you tell me what happened?"

Her silence stoked the terror that had only grown within himself as the minutes passed; Draco's heart raced on, urging him to do something. He was so tired of watching everyone around him struggle and being unable to do anything to help.

But she only tucked herself deeper into his arms, and Draco tightened his hold, offering comfort however he could. He was phrasing a strongly-worded letter to Healer Huxley in his head when she finally spoke.

"We've always known that some aspects of the treatment won't necessarily work," she said with a sniffle. "And some things might get worse before they get better."

At her carefully placating tone, Draco felt despair wrench through him. "It shouldn't be getting worse. Do you want me to talk to him?"

"No." She nuzzled her face into his front again.

"Hermione." The word fell from his lips like an exhale. "I'd like to help you."

"There isn't anything you can do." She was silent for a long time while Draco trailed his fingers along her spine, desperate for something to say. "Healer Huxley already knows. He said we'll see how it progresses by our next session. He says everything we try is one step closer to the answer."

Draco tried to see the logic in that, when obviously, whatever they had done that day didn't work, but his feelings for her shrouded his efforts. He wasn't the cognitive healer, at any rate.

His heart plummetted at her next words.

"I'm scared, Draco."

Never mind that he had been worried about her old memories never returning; he hadn't anticipated the possibility of her new memories retreating. He didn't know how to tell her that he was scared, too. After everything she had already been through, she didn't need to go through this again.

"I can't imagine how you feel," he murmured, "but I've got you. And I'm not letting anything happen to you again."

It wasn't in his control by any means, and they both knew it, but he was relieved she didn't state the thought out loud. "Can you tell me something? About Potter? I don't―I feel like I'm losing my mind. Again."

"Okay," he mused, letting his mouth linger against her forehead. "You met Harry Potter when you were eleven at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You were best friends for eight years before you went to Australia. Potter is dating my best friend, Theo Nott. He and I work together in the Auror's Office at the Ministry of Magic."

Her breathing remained even against his chest, but her fingers tapped a distracted rhythm against his back as he spoke.

"How does he look?" she asked. "Glasses?"

"Yes. He has glasses. Black hair, bright green eyes."

Hermione released a sigh. "Okay. I think... I think I can picture him. And Theo has hazel eyes and brown hair? I like his smile. His father is in prison."

Draco shifted his hold on her. "He is. Theo's father is a piece of shit. Theo's a bit of an arse, but he's the good sort, and he and Potter really care about each other." After a moment, wherein she offered a stuttered nod against his pectorals, Draco spoke again. "Potter is Teddy's godfather, my cousin; he's five and lives with my aunt―"

"Andromeda."

"Yes," Draco breathed. "Andromeda."

"Okay." At last, Hermione extracted her face from his chest but didn't shift out of his hold. Her chocolate eyes were dull and glassy, their usual warmth replaced with a vacancy he had never seen. "I think I still remember most of it; it's just... everything's a little blurry. And I can't quite tell what's true and what isn't." Her face tightened, brow furrowing as she processed the thoughts. "Like I don't know if I can trust what my mind is telling me. It's a very strange feeling."

Draco nodded, doing his best to support her when he didn't know the first thing to say. "Has Healer Huxley told you what to do if this happens?"

She shook her head. "No. Just that certain side effects will be worse than others. I don't think it's helpful to panic, but I just can't... I can't go through this all again. Especially not now that I've met you."

His chest tightened at her words. Draco didn't know what he would do if she suddenly forgot who he was or about their time together. If she forgot how much she meant to him.

"I'm here," he said, planting a kiss to her hair. "Whatever I can do, just let me know."

"Thank you for coming over," she said, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I think it helps to know that I'm not alone. Last time I was just... alone."

Draco released a heavy sigh, forcing some of his fear to melt away. There was nothing he could do for her right now other than to provide support. "You are so far from alone, Hermione."

She gnawed on her lower lip, staring at him. "And you had exciting news. About your training."

"Yeah." In light of what happened with Hermione, his conversation with Robards felt far away and oddly disconnected. "I'll be back in the Auror's Office next week. It isn't a full position yet, but it's the practical conclusion to my training. If I pass this phase, I'll be granted a full Aurorship."

Her eyes shimmered once more, but this time with happiness. "Draco, that's wonderful. I'm so proud of you."

The fear that had swelled within him when he realised something was wrong had solidified one thought in the back of his mind―that everything in his life felt more important when she was involved. He idly brushed her fringe from her eyes, tugging her closer with his other arm. "Thanks," he said, at last, letting out a long breath. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I think so. As well as can be expected, anyway." Her cheeks flushed with colour. "Sorry, I cried all over your shirt."

Draco snorted; he rolled onto his back, tugging her with him, and she peered up at him from his chest. "The shirt," he drawled, "is not my concern. You are."

Her expression softened, and she carded her fingers through his hair. "What would I do without you?"

For as much as he wracked his brain, he couldn't come up with a response that didn't either sound sarcastic or make his eyes sting. He only clutched her a little tighter, kissed her soundly on the mouth, and held her as her eyelids fluttered shut, emotionally wrought.

"Love you," he breathed into her hair as she drifted to sleep.


Potter had been noticeably subdued upon hearing about Hermione's memory lapse of him, and the reaction was more jarring than if he had simply been angry. Draco didn't know how to deal with it when Hermione was still rattled over the matter―but he could see the strain on Potter's face as well.

It was Theo who suggested they do something fun for a change.

And while Draco would have been perfectly content not going out when he thought about it, life had been heavy enough lately, and they could all use a step back from the chaos. So with a little cajoling from the others―Hermione included―Draco caved to their ideas.

On Saturday night, after her yoga class, the four of them dressed up. Hermione donned a green dress that was equal parts classy and sultry, and, combined with her tall heels, the ensemble did strange things to Draco's entire body. In an effort to avoid running into anyone they knew, Theo and Hermione conferred to select a club where the Muggle celebrities liked to frequent.

Draco and Potter both turned a blind eye to a tricky Confundus Theo cast on the doorman, and shortly thereafter, they found themselves in a private booth in one of the most posh and upscale nightclubs Draco had ever seen.

A waitress delivered a bottle of champagne and a round of drinks Draco didn't recognise, and he allowed himself to relax into the plush booth to the pulsing rhythm coming through the speakers. Groups of Muggles walked past, peering closer in case they were persons of interest, but it was preferable to the way everyone in the wizarding world stared at him as though he had somehow corrupted Potter's golden girl when they were out together.

After a long, stressful week, the drinks tasted better and flowed quicker than he could have imagined, and with Hermione at his side, he allowed some of the strain to slough from his shoulders.

A wry smile curled Draco's lips at Hermione's bright laughter while Theo shared a story from his potions apprenticeship that week, and despite his reservations, he was glad they had gone out after all. On Monday, he would return to the Auror's Office, and in a sense, it did feel like a celebration despite everything else.

"What Theo isn't telling either of you," he drawled, sipping his cocktail, "is that he managed to explode not just his own cauldron but three others in seventh year potions." He snickered, catching Theo's eye. "How he's actually got on for a mastery is beyond me."

Theo rolled his eyes and jabbed a finger into the air. "And you have failed to mention it was intentional―so technically, I'm a genius."

"Wait"―Potter interrupted―"why would you do that on purpose?"

Huffing a laugh, Theo leaned back in his seat. "It was a chain reaction targetting Smith's cauldron. Prick had it coming the way he'd been going on about Daph's arse all class." He and Draco shared a grin. "At any rate, ol' Sluggy believed it wasn't my fault, and Smith got detention for the next month."

Potter nearly choked on his champagne. "I wish I'd seen that. Smith was a right arse at our Defense club in fifth year when Umbridge fucked up the curriculum." He glanced at Hermione, opening his mouth to say something more, then offered a smile instead. "You didn't like him, either."

Draco wasn't sure if the comment would nudge against the sadness she had carried since the incident a couple of days prior, but she simply raised her glass with a grin. "Then cheers to you, Theo."

"Thank you." Theo offered a mocking bow to the table, and Potter slung an arm around his shoulders, ducking in to say something beside his ear.

Hermione's foot nudged Draco's beneath the table, but her eyes were large and innocent when he glanced sidelong at her. "Do you want to dance?" Biting her lip around a smile, she added, "Or are you one of those old money types who only knows how to dance the waltz and the foxtrot―"

"I know how to dance," he clipped, snickering as he rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows. "Never mind that I could also school your tight little arse in the foxtrot."

Her eyes shimmered in the dark lights of the club, a little glassy from the alcohol, but she wound her fingers into the silk of his tie and tugged him to his feet. Draco wrapped his arms around her in an effort to stabilise her in her heels―she was nearly as tall as he was―and planted a kiss to her jaw.

Theo and Potter spoke quietly, and Draco wasn't certain they weren't about to jump one another, so when Hermione laced their fingers together, he allowed himself to be tugged towards the dance floor.

The music grew louder, the lights darker and flashier, casting a blue sheen across Hermione's face as she pulled him flush against her and began to move to the rhythm.

It was easy to forget everything that had stacked up in his life to work against him with her in his arms, her curves soft against him. Draco had drunk enough that he didn't care about anything else, and for just a while, he indulged in the feel of her under the Muggle cover of anonymity.

He slid his hands down her spine, palming the swell of her arse, and kissed her throat as her fingers drifted along the back of his neck. "You look beautiful tonight," he murmured, grazing the line of her jaw with his teeth. "You always do, but"―he drew back to stare at her for a moment―"I like to see you smiling."

Hermione caught her painted bottom lip between her teeth, and her eyes brightened. "You make me smile."

The words embedded a tightness in his chest as he swallowed, a furrow lifting his brow. "It's mutual."

She swayed in his hold a little too loosely to pass as any variation of sober, wrapping her arms around his neck as she tucked into his chest. Draco clung to her and splayed his palm along the bare skin of her back, wondering whether she could feel the way his heart raced.

Her smoky eyes caught his with a flash of wickedness as she drew him in for a kiss, slipping her tongue into his mouth without regard for anything else. His heart throbbed, and a groan fell from his lips when she drew back.

"Do you want to get another drink?" he asked, voice coming out huskier than he intended.

Hermione considered the question for a moment, curling her fingers around his hips when she shook her head. "Let's go for a walk."

Draco snickered. "In those shoes?"

She offered a flippant, indecisive sort of shrug. "I need to use the loo." Lacing their fingers again, she led him from the dance floor and towards the bathrooms. Draco slipped into the men's, and when he emerged, he found Theo and Potter snogging in the corner and cleared his throat.

"We're going to leave," Draco offered, cocking a brow.

Theo tugged on Potter's collar. "Us, too."

Draco snickered when Hermione returned, stumbling a little in her shoes, and looped her elbow into his. He couldn't tell whether it wasn't to keep herself standing. "Enjoy the rest of your night," he said, pulling Hermione towards the exit.

The night air was cool when they stepped outside to a crowd of people still waiting to enter the club; he shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around her bare shoulders as flashbulbs went off. When they were away from everyone else, Draco cast an inconspicuous cushioning charm on her shoes, and she turned to gape at him.

"Magic is the best," she announced, folding herself into his side.

"It's alright," he said, gazing upon the night sky. "I have to admit, I never realised how much Muggles could do without it, though. Until I met you again." He hesitated and released a breath. "I've learned a lot since then."

The fresh air had cleared some of the fog from her eyes, and she smiled. "I can't imagine it's easy dating someone who's lost their memory," she said quietly, "and it means a lot to me that you're here."

His own tongue felt a little looser than usual after a few too many Muggle cocktails as they made an idle, twisting path down the road. "I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be." When she only rolled her eyes, humour dancing across her face, he pulled her into his chest. "I mean it. You're easily my favourite person."

"Goodness," she tittered, her eyes landing on his mouth, "I'm sorry to hear that."

Draco jabbed her ribs with his fingertips, and she nearly lost her balance as she swatted his hands away with a bright laugh.

The streets of Muggle London were alive with energy and sound, even well into the night, and despite the chill, Draco wasn't in any rush to go elsewhere. A distant beat pulsed from another club down the road.

"I think," she said, slipping her arm through his again, "maybe you're mine, too." With another giggle, she swept a hand through his hair and mussed the careful style. "But don't let that go to your head―I don't remember most of the people I know."

Draco snickered, warmth dancing within him at the easy banter between them. "Oh, I am absolutely taking the ego boost. Hermione Granger's favourite person." He raised his hands in the air like a marquee. "That sounds fucking good."

She dissolved into a fit of laughter, burying her face into his shoulder. "You're an arse."

"I never," Draco said, pointing a finger, "claimed not to be so. It isn't my fault if you've only just discovered the depth of my arseholery."

"Arseholery." Giggling again, she swiped at her eyes.

So rarely did he allow himself more than a drink or two in public that Draco found it both disarming and freeing to simply enjoy a night out without worrying about the stares or the consequences that might follow. He trusted Theo and Potter well enough to drink with them, and he trusted Hermione with his heart. He didn't think he had ever felt that way about anyone.

"At any rate," she went on once she'd caught her breath, "I suppose you aren't that bad."

He barked a laugh. "A ringing endorsement."

Almost without realising where they were going, they'd drifted away from the bustle and towards a quieter area of town, and Draco squinted around him as he attempted to discern anything he recognised. Even with his jacket, Hermione shook with a slight shiver and leaned a little closer into him.

But before he could suggest they go home, she pulled him into a searing kiss on the pavement, her lips warm against his. Her tongue tangled with his own almost instantly, hands wrapping around his back.

Draco snickered, tugging a little at her curls as he drifted his lips along her jaw. "You're drunk."

"I'm not that drunk." A whimper fell from her lips and shot straight to his groin when he caught her earlobe between his teeth. "You should magic us to your flat, so we can have sex."

Despite himself, he released another laugh. "You're amusing like this."

She pouted a little, her chocolate eyes heated when they landed on his. "I am not," she insisted, though the effort fell a little flat when she dropped into another round of giggles. "And for the record, I would want to even if we were sober in case you're concerned about that―"

"I wasn't," he offered and pressed another kiss to her lips. Merlin, he would never get enough of her. Catching his wrist within her fingers, she dragged his hand up the flat of her stomach towards her chest, and he groaned when he palmed one breast. Smirking, he deepened the kiss. "I can't say no to you, and I don't want to."

Then he pulled her behind the nearest building and Apparated them both to his flat.

They landed directly in his bedroom, stumbling a little, and Draco stared at her for a moment. Her curls were a chaotic riot, her dark eye makeup a little smudged, and her lips were pink from his kisses.

"You're fucking gorgeous," he muttered, backing her into the wall as he caught her lips with another slow, sensuous kiss that teased the arousal building within him. Hermione fumbled with his tie, then made quick work of the row of buttons on his shirt and tugged the tails free of his trousers. His lips curled with a smirk at her urgency.

Draco stared at her for a moment, her eyes still a little glassy, but some of the clarity had returned with the night air. He removed his jacket from her shoulders, drawing himself flush against her, and palmed her arse with both hands, bringing her closer still.

She ground against him, idly toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, and he released the zip closure of her dress. When she shifted free of the fabric, letting the dress fall to the floor, Draco bit down hard on his bottom lip at the sight of her in her bra, knickers, and heels.

"Perfect," he breathed, grazing the peak of her nipple through her bra with his thumb.

Colour dusted her cheekbones as she smiled, smoothing her hands up his bare chest, and she ducked her chin as she met his eyes. Draco almost couldn't handle the depth of everything he found there, the wave of emotion in her eyes both startling and humbling.

He kissed her again in an effort to convey through actions the thoughts he couldn't express.

She grazed him through his trousers, removing his belt with surprising dexterity, and Draco released the clasp of her bra as he stripped free of his trousers and shorts. He was almost painfully aroused when she took hold of him in her palm with languorous strokes.

Draco manoeuvred her onto the foot of the bed, drinking in the sight of her as he teased the elastic waist of her knickers. He managed a thick swallow, his heart thudding somewhere in his throat, as he dragged the lace down her legs and smoothed his palms against her skin. "Leave the heels on, please," he said, the words a little strained as he caught her wrists and moved her further onto the bed.

Her eyes sparkled, heavily lidded, when she wrapped her legs around his back, drawing him close against her, and Draco slid himself into her as though he were made to fit. They shared a groan, breaths mingling.

Hermione kissed him once, arching up from the bed into him, and a sighed, "I love you," fell from her lips.

Draco froze, suspending himself above her and sinking into the feel of her tight heat around him. "You," he said, "are everything."

Then he began to move.

Her skin was enticing and soft, her curves calling to him as they shared breath. Nails grazing his shoulders, she moved with him, and with each thrust inside of her, Draco felt every part of him come alight. His head spun, hazy with the alcohol and something else entirely, heat racing through him and pounding with the pulse behind his ears.

The realisation wasn't new that he cared about her more than he did himself, but he felt it truer than he ever had before.

As he pushed into her, release hovering just out of reach and edging him towards his peak, he met her lips with a deep, searing kiss. He could have stayed in the moment forever.

Never before had anyone caught his mind, body, and heart in one, and he suspected no one else ever would. His chest throbbed.

Her breath tasted like champagne, and her skin felt like pure, undiluted magic sweeping through him; with a cry, she came undone around him, her walls clenching and hands trembling. Draco's own orgasm crashed down upon him with a groan, wave after wave of pleasure, and he stilled as his pulse continued in a dull road behind his ears.

Withdrawing, Draco collapsed, sated, at her side. Hermione rolled to face him, her eyes glistening as she pressed another long, lingering kiss to his mouth, her fingers gentle on his face.

He cast a contraceptive spell, drawing her closer, and pulled the covers over them both.

And before he could dwell any longer on all the ways in which he loved her, he succumbed to the heavy and insistent tug of sleep.

Notes:

Me apologising for that cliffhanger >.> I hope you liked it! Thanks as always for reading; your lovely comments keep me going.

Alpha love to kyonomiko, and beta hugs to my comma llama FaeOrabel.

PS come hang on dhrtwt! @indreamsink

Chapter 33

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco awoke to find Hermione's stare already fixed on him, and his eyes shot wide in surprise. "Good morning?" he asked, lips twitching.

"Is it?" she teased, situating herself on his bare chest, tracing patterns on his skin with her fingertips. His body stirred, awakening readily at the feel of her pressed against him.

Recollecting on the night before, Draco stifled a yawn and flashed her a grin. "It feels like it so far."

A secretive smile played about her lips. "I had a nice time last night."

"So did I." He eyed her with a cautious sort of amusement—uncertain as to her strange behaviour—-when she shifted further beneath the covers. Draco froze, lifting a brow as she vanished entirely. Moments later, a harsh breath fell from his lips when she laved the underside of his hardening cock with her tongue. "What the fuck―"

He wrenched the covers up to catch the mischief in her stare, and his head dropped back into his pillow with a low groan when she swirled her tongue around the head of him, then took him between her lips.

"Okay," he choked, "it's a good morning."

Hermione tittered beneath the covers then sucked the length of his cock into her mouth, smoothing her hand along the shaft. Draco's head spun as she set a teasing, sensuous rhythm, and he slid a hand into her messy curls. His eyes fell shut, highly aware of his own ragged breathing.

"You're amazing at everything," he muttered, the words falling amidst a quiet string of expletives, and he clenched his jaw as he felt release begin to swell within him. "I'm going to come if you don't stop."

Her eyes only darted up to meet his with a sparkle in them, and she sucked harder, gripping him a little tighter.

Despite the urge to sink further into her glorious mouth, he tugged a little on her curls; her mouth came off with a pop, a smile curling her lips, and he tugged her back up along his body. Without any preamble, she leaned in to press a kiss against his lips and sheathed him to the hilt inside her.


Draco drifted his fingertips along the curve of Hermione's spine, not in any rush to get up after the awakening she had given him, and he glanced up with a sigh at the tapping of talons on the window. He grappled for his wand to open the window, and an owl he recognised flew into the room, dropping a letter on his chest. His heart sank when he watched it flap several times before landing on the sill, waiting for a response.

"Who's it from?" Hermione asked, propping her chin on her hands as she looked up at him.

He hardened his jaw and unrolled the letter. "It's my mother's owl." She watched him scan the missive, and Draco felt irritation and nerves mingle within him as he sank back into the bed. "She wants to have tea this afternoon. With both of us."

Her eyes shot wide when he handed her the letter. "Is this a good sign or not so much?"

"I have no idea." Draco didn't bother to suppress a grimace. "If it were up to me, we'd spend the whole day in bed. I didn't think she would push the issue so soon, but I probably should've expected it, knowing her."

"Then we should go." She released a long, careful breath, then offered a stern nod. "Yes. I'd like to meet your mother."

"Recall," Draco drawled, sweeping a hand through his hair, "she's already met you. And she knows Potter―so there's a good chance she will be surprised to learn it's you as I haven't told her your name yet."

Although there had been plenty of speculation as to the relationship between the two of them—buried under plenty of lies and embellished half-truths in Witch Weekly and even the occasional write-up in the Daily Prophet's society pages—Draco knew his mother scarcely cared to dig for that sort of thing anymore. And besides, if she had seen something about the two of them, he would have already been informed.

He hesitated, clenching his jaw. "My mother still carries most of the old wizarding prejudices around blood status."

Hermione didn't respond for a moment, concentration pulling at the skin between her brows. "Do you genuinely believe she won't like me because my parents are Muggles?"

Despite her matter-of-fact tone, Draco could hear the reservation in the words―and beneath it, a sting of hurt.

He sighed, dragging her close into his chest, and planted a kiss to her hair. "It isn't that she won't like you. She simply doesn't favour the idea of anyone less than a pureblood for my partner. But you already know I don't care about all of that."

She blew out a breath, her fringe ruffling with the puff of air. "I feel like I'm inadequately prepared now. Suppose I should know more about courting customs or something like that."

"You don't have to meet her if you don't want to." He kissed her on the mouth in a lingering, searing press of lips. "Not now, not ever."

"But is it important to you?"

Draco pondered the thought for a moment, staring down at her; he skimmed a hand up along the curve of her hip. At last, he sighed. "I suppose it is. But not as important as your comfort."

"Okay," she breathed, biting her lip to hold back a smile. "Although I feel I ought to remind you on our first date you told me it didn't matter that I can't afford your dowry. I shall be very stern with you if that turns out to be false, and I need to sell a vital organ in order to keep you."

He threw his head back with a laugh, the tension breaking in an instant. "You're adorable, and I love you to pieces. Not organ-harvesting-style pieces."

Her face softened and brightened at once. "Okay. Let's do it. But you have to help me select something appropriate to wear."


In Draco's return owl, he'd specified a location as far from the Manor proper as he could think of. It had to be both close enough so that Narcissa wouldn't be forced to travel from the grounds, and far enough so that Hermione wouldn't be at risk of experiencing another episode like she had the last time they had been to the manor.

Within the grounds sat a small carriage house that had been converted to a cottage at some point after the stables had been removed. Draco had frequently absconded there as a boy when he sought to escape the manor, and sometimes during the war when Voldemort's presence became too overbearing, the air in the manor too stifling.

It had a small porch with a wrought iron furniture set, and Draco Apparated himself and Hermione directly there upon the arranged time. He spotted Lucy first, sitting on a wooden bench around the back of the cottage and knitting something that looked like a jumper, and she beamed at the two of them, her bright eyes lingering on Hermione.

Hermione had been a little too silent in advance, her countenance too stiff, and Draco pulled her hand into his with a reassuring squeeze. Under his breath, he said, "I'm not going to let her say anything about you."

She offered a stilted nod, rolled out her shoulders, and offered a false smile as they rounded the carriage house.

His mother was already seated, a tea service on the table before her from which Podski prepared a cup. The way the elf's face lit up with a wide smile upon seeing Hermione might have been comical if not for the way Narcissa's eyes slid to land on the pair of them.

"Mother," Draco said, ducking in to press a kiss to her cheek. He stepped back, resting a hand on the small of Hermione's back. "I'd like you to meet Hermione Granger; Hermione, my mother, Narcissa Malfoy."

Hermione briefly looked as though she wasn't certain how she ought to react, and she offered a strange little nod. "Missus Malfoy; it's wonderful to meet you."

For her part, Narcissa paled, her expression carefully blank, but her eyes startled wide. "Miss... Granger." Her stare slid briefly to Draco and back. "The same, I'm sure. In fact, I do believe we have met."

His mother was surprisingly lucid, though Draco wasn't certain whether it would bode well for the course of tea. He withdrew Hermione's seat for her before settling into his own, and Podski bustled about pouring two more cups. Draco was amused to note he had already memorised Hermione's preferences after serving her once; she had clearly made an impression the last time she had visited the manor.

"Thank you, Podski," Hermione said with a warm smile, and the elf blushed before she turned back towards Narcissa. "Draco's told me as much; that we've met before. I'm not certain whether you would know, but I lost my memories at nineteen. I've only recently reintegrated into the wizarding world."

"Indeed." Narcissa sipped her tea as though the conversation were infinitely banal. "I believe I'd seen something about that in the Prophet. I can't imagine how the two of you have come to know one another."

Draco felt the subtle jab―that they were worlds apart, even now. "We came across one another some months ago," he offered, unwilling to delve too deeply into the situation lest his mother's judgement come to the forefront so soon.

But Hermione cast him a hesitant glance. "Draco's been instrumental in helping me. I've been seeing a specialist in an effort to regain my memories."

He could have sworn amusement flickered through his mother's face, and he ground his jaw. "Has he, now."

Whether Hermione felt or understood the tension, he wasn't certain, but she shifted a little in her seat; Draco nudged her fingers with his own beneath the table. "Obviously, you know I've been working with Harry Potter," Draco said brusquely, "and he's been helping Hermione as well."

Any hint of amusement dropped off. "Of course. They were always friends." Narcissa took another careful sip of tea, the cup rattling a bit against the saucer when she set it down. "So you cannot remember anything that occurred prior to the last five years?"

"No." Hermione lifted her chin though a dull flush of colour crept into her cheeks. "Although Draco's informed me of the details, I understand our younger selves didn't exactly get along."

Narcissa looked as though she might simply laugh and be done with it, though her expression remained derisive and unfriendly.

"And despite all that," Draco broke in, the words a little louder than he intended, "she's still interested in spending time with me." He offered a thin, sardonic smile. "I'm a lucky bloke."

His mother's lips pulled into an approximation of something that might have been a smile if he didn't know her any better. If he had to guess, Narcissa was torn between a desire to disparage the relationship between them and a deep-seated sense of loyalty to Potter for what had transpired between the two of them during the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Indeed," his mother murmured. "I must admit, I am surprised by this development. I hope you'll forgive my bluntness, Miss Granger, but the matter isn't whether you and Draco didn't get along at Hogwarts; the matter is that of a war."

Hermione lifted her chin and sipped her own tea. "I am well aware of the role Draco played in the war―and I am also aware of the strides he has taken since, particularly in his position with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I've gained a lot of respect for him in the months since we've met, and upon learning the depths of the wizarding world, even more so. I believe that everyone deserves a second chance―as Draco has most certainly offered me."

Draco felt a stirring of emotion within him at her conviction, and her fingers grazed his this time.

Narcissa's brows lifted, and Draco could tell she hadn't expected Hermione to bring such a vehement defence to the matter. "Well," she said quietly, folding her hands atop the table. "Based on discussions with Draco, I'm certain the sentiment is mutual."

"It is," Draco allowed.

Pursing her lips, Narcissa surveyed each of them for a moment. "Interesting." She waved between them, her fingers thin and frail; she looked pale, and Draco suspected she would need to retreat to the manor soon. "And what are your intentions?"

Hermione's fingers trembled a little in his, but Draco squared his shoulders. "Courtship. For now."

"I see."

They hadn't discussed anything further, particularly while the matter of Hermione's memory was so up in the air, and Draco didn't think it was a good time to bring up any mention of marriage or heirs. Though, of course, he didn't expect his mother to behave with the same decorum.

"With the consideration for more," Draco added before his mother could begin down that road, "should the circumstance arise, and should we both remain amenable to the idea at that time."

Narcissa pursed her lips, that same battle warring with a flicker through her expression. "Very well," she said softly. "You'll have to forgive me, Miss Granger, that I am rather unwell. I'm afraid this meeting has expended most of my energy."

"Of course," Hermione returned, sympathy flitting across her face. "Draco's kept me informed of your condition. I would hate to keep you from your rest."

"Perhaps, Podski," Narcissa said, finishing her cup of tea, "some sandwiches."

The elf gave the small group a large, toothy grin before vanishing. Moments later, he returned with a tray of finger sandwiches and small plates.

Narcissa selected one for herself, dabbed at her mouth with a handkerchief, then folded her hands once more. "I should think I'll retreat now. Miss Granger, thank you for coming. It was nice to meet you again."

Draco rose to his feet to assist his mother with her chair, and Hermione followed suit; as though summoned, Lucy bustled around the cottage and took Narcissa's arm. Together they began to walk towards the manor.

Casting Hermione a look, Draco retook his seat and selected an assortment of morsels. She looked a little shell shocked but joined him, placing a few cucumber sandwiches on her plate.

"Not everyone gets food," Draco said, finishing a bite of his own. "So I'd say―it could have gone worse."

She looked a little pale but offered a weak smile all the same. "Your mother is terrifying."

"She is that," Draco said, gesturing with a scone. "And that wasn't even her at full power."

Hermione released a heavy breath, her shoulders sinking. "Okay." As though speaking to herself, she nodded once, then scanned the carriage house. "This is quite nice, by the way."

"It is. It's probably my favourite of the outbuildings on the grounds." He cast her a sidelong glance. "You did well―thank you for speaking up for me."

Her expression softened, and she shifted a little closer. "I wanted her to know that we aren't only together because I don't know about our past. As is the case with anyone I might meet."

Draco finished off his plate, leaned back in his seat, and squinted up at the sun. "You're a little terrifying yourself, you know. I think you might have impressed her."

A wry smile curled her lips, reaching as far as her eyes, caught with a gleam of sunshine. "One can only hope."


After what Draco could only deem a positive first meeting between Hermione and his mother―based solely on the fact that his mother hadn't refused to speak with her or kicked them both off the grounds―he felt a surge of positivity race through him when he awoke the next morning.

It was Monday, his first day back at the DMLE―and his first in a new position. Although he knew Aurors training on patrol wouldn't get any interesting assignments―and in fact, Potter had probably given up a more interesting role in order to train him in this capacity―Draco couldn't help the frisson of excitement that darted through him, wave after wave.

The only hint of grey that threatened was the way Hermione's last treatment session had gone, and she would have another that morning.

After spending the bulk of the weekend at his flat, she had gone home Sunday night. In between showering and dressing for the day, he sent her a quick message.

I hope your session goes well today. Let me know.

Minutes later, his phone buzzed, and his mouth curled of its own accord as he opened the response.

I will. Have a good day on patrol. Proud of you!

He smiled at his phone for a moment before slipping it into his trouser pocket. Then he donned his Auror robes, pinned his newly returned badge in its place, and drew in a deep breath. He hadn't worked as hard as he had to let a few naysayers in the department get him down.

He shoved the tension from his jaw, released his shoulders, and Apparated to the Ministry.


"You can't keep checking your phone all day, you know," Potter said, tutting his tongue as Draco checked once more for a message. "I'm worried about her, too, but you aren't making a good impression."

Briefly, he scanned the messages he'd already sent.

How did your session go?

Did Huxley say anything about what happened last week?

Hermione? Is everything alright?

Forcing down a fluttering of nerves, Draco snickered and stowed his phone. "I'm not trying to impress you, Potter."

"You should." The man's tone was indignant, even if his eyes danced with humour. "I'm the one reporting to Robards about your progress."

"Fine." He straightened his shoulders and gave a curt nod. "Let's assess the situation. Flower shop―robbery―no evidence left behind. Poor customer relations? Lack of proper warding in place? Bad blood with the rival florist?"

They'd spent the last hour and forty-five minutes offering bland assurances to the florist off Diagon, ensuring the man they'd do their best to catch the culprit responsible for the theft of two dozen premade arrangements. Draco had expected his first case to be dry, but he hadn't expected... this.

Potter frowned. "Could be any of the above. Honestly, it feels like a waste of Ministry resources given the relatively low cost of the stolen merchandise. I suspect the only reason Robards even sent a team to check this out with as much urgency as he did is that there's been a string of similarly banal robberies down the high street in the past fortnight. There's a chance this could be connected―and the key suspect was formerly with one of the big crime syndicates we're aware of."

Draco cocked a brow. "Crime lords throwing a wedding, perhaps?" They both snickered. "Find out the colour scheme of the stolen arrangements, cross-reference to upcoming wedding announcements, and you've got the baddie."

The smile dropped from Potter's face to be replaced with consideration. "It's not a bad idea." He shook his head. "At any rate, we still need to submit the report. I can't imagine this is going to turn any heads."

"Noted."

As they began pacing the street, Draco couldn't help but feel impressive as an Auror on duty, even if the duty was investigating small-time flower thieves. More than once, eyes had landed on the pair of them together. And while Draco had never been keen to throw Potter's name around―in fact, he had sneered at the thought at first―there was something about being in the man's presence that bolstered his own self-esteem.

Potter checked his badge briefly. "Nothing new yet. We'll file this report and see what else has come in. We usually like to keep an Auror presence in Knockturn and the division between the two, especially at night." He sighed. "Okay, check with Hermione again."

Draco drew his phone out but still nothing. His last message had been sent prior to meeting with the florist. "It's unlike her not to respond," he murmured. "And she should have been done already." He didn't want to rehash the way she had suddenly forgotten about Potter the week before, but he couldn't help the creeping suspicion that this session hadn't gone any better.

He tapped out another message.

Hope you're feeling okay. Please check in when you can―Potter driving me spare.

"Hey," Potter barked, reading the message over Draco's shoulder, but he sent the message off anyway.

By that point, Draco suspected they were both delaying their return to the Auror's Office―not only because the case of the stolen floral arrangements felt almost too comical to take seriously—because their joint concern for Hermione had pervaded the easy atmosphere that had characterised the rest of the day so far.

Another ten minutes passed, and they still hadn't heard anything.

"Call her?" Potter suggested, jamming his hands into his pockets.

Draco sighed and dialled the number. He waited while the tone rang four times before cutting off. "Nothing," he muttered, ending the call. "I suppose we ought to return to the office and just wait for her to return my messages."

It wasn't that he didn't trust her to look after herself―it was that she had a tendency to go quiet when something happened that she couldn't understand or rationalise, and those were often the times when Draco wanted to be there for her. But he knew if something bad had happened, she might not want to let on.

Beyond all that, he couldn't ignore the churning in his gut, spurred by an instinct that something wasn't quite right.

As they were working on the report, the end of the day approaching, Draco felt his phone buzz in his pocket at last. He grappled for it, Potter's wide eyes meeting his, and his heart stuttered as he fumbled with the small buttons to open the message.

I'm fine. Just tired. Thanks for checking in.

Sucking on his teeth, Draco stared at the message before brandishing the phone towards Potter.

"Sounds like bollocks," Potter bit out. "Doesn't it?"

"It does."

He tried her number, but still, she didn't answer, and Draco sagged in on himself. The last thing he wanted to do was nag her to the point of irritation; if she didn't want to talk to him at the moment, he would simply have to respect that. With a shrug he knew was a little too flippant to feel genuine, he pocketed the phone once more.

"If she wants to be left alone, we'll leave her alone," Draco muttered. Potter looked as though he wanted to contest the statement but thought better of it. They both knew Hermione well enough to understand that it wouldn't go well to force her otherwise. But somehow, Draco felt all of his first-day enthusiasm seep away, as if through his skin. He shook his head. "Let's just finish this damn report."

Notes:

Thanks so much for reading! I always love to read your theories about what's going on. I hope you're all having a great week!

Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko, andFaeOrabel, respectively.

Chapter 34

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco couldn't banish the uneasiness that sat within him even after he left the Ministry and went home for the day. The last thing he wanted to do was continue bothering Hermione when she had made clear she didn't feel up to talking about her session that day. Even so, his heart ached at the thought that something else had gone wrong.

It was justified, he thought, to try and reach her―but even when he sent her another message late that evening before he imagined she would go to sleep, she hadn't responded.

Their weekend together had been so pleasant, and now, for her to go silent on him felt like several steps back. Furthermore, his instincts had roiled against the situation all day, and he knew something had happened that she didn't care to speak on.

Scowling at his dependency on the girl, he forced himself into a hot shower to clear his head and put himself to bed, but it was a long while before he fell into a fitful sleep.

In the morning, Draco awoke to a gloomy grey cloud in the back of his mind, and though hope swelled briefly within him, he had no messages from Hermione.

Fine, then.

He brewed a pot of coffee when he typically preferred tea in the morning―he'd slept rubbish and would need his wits about him for another day of investigating petty theft―dressed in his Auror's robes, and left for the Ministry.

If he had been hoping to steer clear of the situation, his hopes were dashed when Potter converged on him almost instantly with a brusque, "Have you heard from Hermione?"

Draco clutched his mug of coffee tight in one hand, raking a hand through his already dishevelled hair he hadn't bothered to comb and scowled. "I have not. Clearly, whatever happened in her treatment yesterday is not something she cares to talk about. And if you don't mind, I'd prefer not to dwell on it."

A pause hung between them, Potter's expression flitting through a myriad of reactions before he nodded. "Fine."

"Good." Draco took a swig of the scalding coffee and winced. "Where are we at today?"

Potter fiddled with his badge for a moment, clucking his tongue. "Knockturn. A pub brawl."

Draco blinked at him. "It's eight o'clock in the morning."

"Right." Potter grimaced but shrugged all the same. "Knockturn, though."

"Fair point."

They paced through the department's Apparition point, arriving in Knockturn to the pale sun shining overhead and a brawl spilling out into the streets before them. Draco caught Potter's amused stare before they both drew their wands and moved into the fray.


The matter in Knockturn had taken longer than Draco had expected; by the time they broke up the brawl and dragged the instigators into the Ministry to lay charges, he was able to forget the fact that he still hadn't heard anything from Hermione.

His concern had crept beyond worry, and into something else entirely that resembled fear.

They spent the afternoon sorting through another instance of theft on Diagon Alley, searching for any connections between a robbery at Scribbulus' and their florist from the day before. It all felt unrelated when there were no threads to tie the two together beyond location and crime, but it helped to keep Draco's mind elsewhere.

If nothing else, he and Potter got along as colleagues for the most part―which he had already learned from their many hours of training together in the simulations―and he enjoyed being able to get out of the Ministry and actually participate as an Auror.

"Theo and I are going to the Leaky tonight around seven," Potter said, glancing up towards the end of the day. "Join us for a drink if you like."

Draco wasn't sure whether he had only extended the invitation because Draco had grown progressively fidgety through the afternoon—and while ordinarily, he wouldn't care to tag along as a third wheel for anyone else, Theo had been his friend since they were boys, and he never felt that way with the pair of them. Thinking about another night with absolute silence from Hermione, he latched on to the offering.

"That sounds great," he clipped. "Thanks, Potter."

When he arrived home, however, he noticed an unfamiliar owl perched on a branch outside his window, and with a churning of nerves, he accepted the missive. The owl retreated without waiting for a response, and Draco sank into the sitting room sofa to read it.

Auror Malfoy

There has been a development in Miss Granger's treatment of which might be relevant for you to be aware. I'll be at the hospital until nine o'clock if you're able to come by at your convenience.

Healer S Huxley

Draco scarcely shrugged out of his robes before Apparating to the hospital. While Hermione hadn't responded to any of his messages, he hadn't wanted to reach out to Huxley, holding to the belief that she would talk to him when she was ready.

Tapping his fingers against his leg, Draco waited for the lift to Huxley's floor and was able to locate the man with relative ease, though the grim look on Huxley's face did little to alleviate his concerns.

"This way, Auror Malfoy." Huxley led him down the corridor towards his office, and Draco felt nerves sweep through him as he took a seat at the man's desk. Huxley fixed him with a stare reminiscent of the one Auror Robards wore when he had bad news.

"I received your letter," Draco blurted rather unnecessarily. "Is everything alright with Hermione?"

"I'm going to share this with you in confidence and with her earlier blanket permission to disclose information I deem relevant to you." Huxley released a long breath and straightened in his seat. "Her mind is beginning to respond to the treatment, but as with all facets of mind magic, we can never be sure exactly how that response will go until we see it play out. You're aware she had a discrepancy last week where some of her newly established memories flickered, which can happen as the brain attempts to sort through the old and new."

"Right," Draco drawled, doing his best to follow the man's explanation. "She couldn't remember whether she knew Harry Potter."

"Now," Huxley went on, "as of our last session, her mind has begun to recognise other things."

Draco pursed his lips. "Recognition is good, isn't it?"

"It is," Huxley conceded, though something in his tone still rang the same alarm bells Draco had been attempting to ignore for two days. "I suspected, based on the way she reacted to visiting your family's ancestral home, as the source of a major trauma that had happened in her life. Her mind never parsed through that reaction to identify it as a memory, but rather, more of a visceral response to something that happened once."

The skin between Draco's brows knitted. "How do you mean?"

"The recognition came from a feeling of what had happened to her―and it was why her body responded as it did. It's a different mechanism within the brain altogether." Huxley ground his jaw, deep in thought. "I suspect the same is happening now, but on a different scale. She has expressed a recollection of you, but not in anything so concrete as memories."

Draco's heart sank like a stone―through his sternum, heavy into his stomach―and plummetted into the soles of his feet. "So she... what, she's developed a bad feeling about me?"

Huxley nodded once. "Something along those lines. She is aware that the two of you had a tumultuous past growing up, but I think the visceral response of her mind without the context that would be provided through memories has left her unsettled as to the way she ought to feel."

He wasn't certain whether he was breathing, and Draco's gaze slid to the floor some distance away. His shoulders felt tight; his jaw clenched, fingers gripping tight to his own thigh. "And will this pass? What can I do?"

A thin, hairline fracture rent through his heart. His head spun as he attempted to process the thought.

"The good news is that she recognises the response as not entirely rational―obviously, she has her recent memories of you and the two of you together. She knows how she feels about you now, but this feeling from the past has cast a shade over everything new." Huxley frowned, leaning forward in his seat. "I'm sorry, Auror Malfoy; I thought you ought to know."

Draco focused acutely on his slow breathing, in and out, for a long moment. He asked again, "Will it pass?"

"Her treatment has advanced now to the point where I can't necessarily predict what will happen, but I think we can take some measure of solace in the fact that her mind is responding. This is all very experimental as typically no two cases are the same, and it's best to allow the mind to process as it will." Huxley fixed him with another of those hard stares. "As her memories begin to respond, I think that, yes, this will lead to another shift."

It had been a long time since Draco felt his shame well within him to the point where he thought he might simply be consumed by it. But at the moment, he felt as though he would melt through the floor and vanish entirely. Heat stung his cheeks, and his chest grew tight with the onset of panic.

"What can I do?" he asked, the words choking from his throat.

"Patience," Huxley murmured with a nod. "She will need time to sort through all of this. And with any small bit of good fortune, her treatment will continue to advance. I believe once she's able to identify the old memories that are creating this disconnect, she'll have an easier time working through them. And to reconcile the version of you that she's come to know now."

Draco blew out a long breath, sinking into his seat, drained of all his energy. He wanted to contest the matter; he wanted to talk to her and try to convince her how much he cared about her, but he couldn't argue that he had treated her poorly in the past. Idly, he wondered at the depth of the bad memories she had of him―their school years, the war, her experiences at the manor.

"Okay," he said, utter defeat coursing through him and threatening to fill his lungs. He was drowning in it. "Thanks, Healer Huxley. For letting me know."

"This work is never easy," Huxley murmured, "but it's important. And though I understand it may be hard to believe right now, this is a good sign. Her mind is taking to the treatment, even if it isn't quite how we anticipated."

"Right." He rose from his seat, marvelling that his legs even had the strength to support his weight. "Thank you for your time."

Hating the sympathy on Huxley's face, Draco made for the door, his mind a blur and heart throbbing painfully in his chest. For as much as he had tried to believe he could live in this world and play at something like forever with Hermione, he ought to have known it would all come crashing down upon him.

His past was never something he could escape―not really. He'd made too many faulty decisions and caused too much pain for anything lasting.

His eyes stung with heat and the threat of moisture, but he angrily blinked it back.

Ignored the way his heart felt irreparably shattered.

Felt the way his mind drifted through the what-ifs and the maybes and the hope he had allowed himself to indulge for too long. He couldn't make sense of one thought to the next, and by the time he reached the Apparition point, a vicious quake raced through his entire body.

He Apparated straight to the Leaky, a breath lodging itself in his throat, thick and arduous as he found Theo and Potter. He dropped into a seat across the booth, unable to find any words.

With a grimace, as though he could read the despair on Draco's face, Potter slid a drink across the table towards him, and though he hadn't eaten since lunch, Draco consumed half of it in one.

"Thanks," he managed, the word thick, gruff, and oddly disconnected from the chaos of his brain. Maybe if he tried really hard, he could drown it all out.


Draco received a message on his phone Wednesday at lunch. Although he had hoped for some sort of correspondence, the surprise of actually receiving it was startling. His stomach curdled when he read it.

Hi. If you have some time this evening, can we talk?

It was vague and ambiguous enough that his nerves tossed through him as he read it several times. He might have hoped for some sort of reassurance―but if she meant to break up with him, that wouldn't be a reasonable expectation.

Not that he thought Hermione was going to break up with him. Or so he hoped, anyway.

He feared he might pour his heart into the stupid device if he allowed himself to, so he sent a short response instead.

I have time. When?

Thinking back to what Healer Huxley told him―that Hermione didn't know how to process what had happened, but she recognised the discrepancy between her old memories and the new ones they had formed together―gave him enough hope that he thought he could make it through the day.

Hermione responded a few minutes later. Eight?

Sure. See you then.

He jammed the phone back into his pocket before Potter could notice; the three of them had stayed at the Leaky far too late the night before, and Draco had slugged too many drinks, but he had been grateful that neither Potter nor Theo had pried into his pathetic mental state. He hadn't been keen to rehash his conversation with Huxley.

Even so, he didn't care to mope around all week, and they had work to do. He and Potter had stopped at a cafe on Diagon for lunch before returning to their patrol of Knockturn Alley. Finishing the last of his lunch, Draco offered a grimace. "Shall we?"

Potter flashed him a grin; Draco wondered how much he appreciated that he wasn't relegated to a training room running simulations anymore. "Let's go."


Despite his best efforts, Draco couldn't get Hermione out of his head all afternoon and into the evening. He arrived home shortly before six, and the next two hours dragged something painful when he so desperately longed to find out what she wanted to speak about.

His mind had presented a wide variety of increasingly obscure results that might come of the evening, but most prevalent was the thought that she might simply need some time away from him while she dealt with the emotional fallout from her treatment.

And Draco would have no way to argue the point when he had known all along this could happen.

Not that he had anticipated it to come down this way―her mind mentally recoiling from him based on something vague and implicit. He would have preferred she have the memories to go with it. Still, the self-loathing within him had only grown since his meeting with Huxley―he was responsible for the way she had once felt about him. And if her past self couldn't stomach the idea of him based on how he had made her feel, he had no one but himself to blame.

He forced back a bland and uninteresting meal, unable to concentrate long enough to prepare something of better substance, and finally, it was ten minutes to eight. Dread sat in his stomach, hard and unforgiving, and he Apparated to the nearest alley by her building.

He couldn't imagine the familiarity of Apparating directly into her space after she had spent the last few days ignoring him.

Pressing the buzzer to her suite, he forced himself to draw in a long breath. He blew it out.

"Hello?"

Her voice through the speaker sent a flicker of nerves through him. "It's me."

The door buzzed open without a response, and Draco forced himself to walk. He stared at her door for a long moment before rapping on the wood. During the long moments wherein he waited for her to open the door, he leaned on the frame, counting the erratic thumps of his heart in his chest.

At last, the door swung open and Hermione's wide, startled eyes locked on him as though he had shown up unexpectedly. "Hi." The word fell from her lips like a puff of breath.

"Hello," Draco drawled, keeping his face as blank as he could manage.

He watched as colour crawled into her cheeks before she hastily moved out of the way. "Come in."

Pressing his lips into a hard line, Draco nodded and followed her into the flat. "Thank you."

The air already felt tenser than he would have liked, and he couldn't keep the worst of his imaginings from darting through his brain. Hermione folded her hands as she walked at his side, her body stiff and movements awkward.

"I made tea," she blurted, waving a hand towards her kitchen table where a pot of tea already sat on a trivet, a thin trickle of steam breaking from the spout. Draco hesitated while she bustled forward, pouring two cups. "It's raspberry herbal. Because you... enjoy it..." she trailed off.

"I do," Draco returned, slipping into a seat. "Thank you."

He couldn't wrap his head around how she was behaving, but he had to take it as a good sign if she had bothered with tea. If she had only invited him there to end things, he didn't know why she would have made an effort. Hermione perched on the front of her seat, eyed him for a second, then leapt to her feet again. "I've got you this, also."

Draco blinked at her.

She set a small card stock box on the table beside his tea before retaking her seat. She gnawed on her lower lip, and he surmised he was meant to open it. He opened the lid, peered down, and offered a thin smile. Inside the box sat a large slice of apple pie.

"Thank you," he said again, the words feeling a little too delicate from his lips. "Did you make this?"

Taking a sip of her tea as though it were finally safe to do so, Hermione shook her head. "It's from the cafe." Her gaze darted towards him. "I quit my job." Draco's brows lifted in surprise, and she blustered on before he could say anything. "I was there to pick up some things, and it was apple pie day, and―"

"I see," Draco murmured. "I appreciate it."

"At first I thought, maybe it was a rash decision, but I counted out the contents of my vault at Gringotts to determine how long I could afford rent, and I'd really rather find work in the wizarding world and―" She cut off, heaving in a breath before a frown pulled at her lips. "Sorry, I shouldn't go on like this."

"I don't mind. I think it's a good idea." He closed the lid on the pie, unable to stomach the idea of eating anything.

"And I visited some of the shops in Diagon. Just to see if anyone was hiring."

Draco didn't know what any of this had to do with the fact that she had ignored him for days when he knew of the tumultuous turn her therapy had taken, but he was keen enough to hear her voice that he didn't particularly care what she wanted to talk about. He would have listened to her drone on about laundry if she really wanted to.

"Did anything come of it?" he inquired, taking a sip of his tea.

Hermione deflated a little, her eyes wide and frightened as they locked on his. "Not yet."

He resisted the urge to fidget. "It sounds like you've been busy."

Anguish flickered across her face, and she simply stared at him, lost for words. Draco wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms, to soothe the sting of everything she'd had to deal with, but he still had no idea where all of it left the two of them.

At last, she spoke again, the words little more than a hoarse whisper. "I've kept myself busy."

"Healer Huxley sent me an owl." Draco supposed maybe they were through with pretence, and he didn't want to keep from her the fact that he already knew some of what had happened in her session on Monday.

Hermione glanced away, drumming her fingertips on the table. "I haven't known what to make of this feeling." When he looked at her, her eyes were glassy as if she were trying to hold back tears. "Realistically, I know you, Draco. I know what we have, and I know who you are now. I just—I think it would be easier to deal with it if I had any of the memories. I might be able to understand where the feeling comes from and seek closure."

"I understand," he mused.

"Do you?" Her large eyes landed on him again, a furrow knitting her brows. "I can't imagine it's... easy."

Draco glanced away, taking a sip of tea. But his hand trembled just enough that he feared she might notice, and he set the cup carefully back on its saucer. "I'm trying."

A quake crept into her voice, and it might have been unnoticeable if not for the fact that he had come to know her so well. "I was afraid, and I couldn't force any of this to make sense because now it feels like there's this disconnect between how I knew you and how I know you." She stared hard at the table. "And I was scared to talk to you because I felt so ashamed."

Draco leaned forward in his seat, releasing a long breath. "You don't have to feel ashamed."

"I do," she pressed, her cheeks flushed, "because just for a minute, I allowed myself to give in to the doubts."

His heart skittered in his chest at the admission, and then he felt like a frisson of ice had swept through his entire body; his head spun. He took another sip of his tea as he attempted to gather his thoughts, though the tartness of the raspberry felt bitter on his tongue.

"I don't blame you," he said, at last, the truth slipping from his tongue. "And I'm not surprised."

The same swelling of shame and vulnerability he had felt the evening before in Huxley's office built within him once more, only this time it was infinitely worse because it was Hermione. He had known this might be an issue all along, and still, he had clung to the hope that they might be able to leave the past behind.

"Draco," she said, sadness flickering across her face. "I don't want to question this. Ever."

But she had. Even if the hesitation was brief. And he could only blame himself.

"If you need some time," he found himself saying against the cold feeling splitting his chest in two, "or you want some space apart while you're in your treatment, that's fine."

Hermione froze, staring at him. "I never said I wanted that."

He dragged a hand down his face, scrubbing at his eyes; he couldn't look at her. "I'm giving you an out."

She remained silent, and in his periphery, he could see she sat very still. "Is that what you want?" she asked, her voice quiet and feeble.

Pain slammed through him at the thought, harder and more absolute than he could have imagined. "Of course, that isn't what I want." He gritted his teeth. "I love you."

"Please don't push me away over this," she whispered, and when he forced himself to look up, he saw a tear break from the corner of one eye; she swiped it away impatiently. "We haven't come this far for the first sign of something to get in the way."

"I'm not trying to push you away," Draco said, releasing a long breath. Everything was going so, so wrong, and his self-sabotage had shown up at the worst time. "I just don't want you to feel obligated to see this through with me."

"I have not once felt obligated to do anything with you," she said, the words a little sharp and stiff. "And I certainly don't intend to start now."

She grappled for his hand across the table, and though Draco fixated hard on the corner of the wall, he allowed his fingers to lace with hers.

Truly, he had no idea what she was going through. And the fact that she had even invited him over—despite how she felt about the matter—spoke volumes that he felt in some deep part of himself. But he couldn't let go of the way he had caused those feelings in the first place.

"I need you to do this with me," she breathed, and he met her eyes, at last, hardening his jaw. "And I don't know if that's unfair to ask given what I've just admitted."

"That isn't unfair," Draco responded, averting his gaze once more. "The only unfair part of the situation is that you have to deal with this at all. I'm sorry you've got so many bad memories of me buried somewhere in that brilliant mind of yours." He gave her hand a squeeze. "But of course, Hermione. I'm here with you. Whatever it takes, for however long it takes. I'm here."

"Okay." She blew out a breath, taking a sip of tea. Then she scoffed. "I don't want an out, you prat. I got you pie."

At the sudden, unexpected break in the tension, a bark of laughter fell from his lips. "Apple pie at that."

A sad smile pulled at her lips. "I still think the blackberry was better."

Draco brought their clasped hands to his mouth, brushing his lips against her knuckles. "I do believe you won't like the memories you find as this all proceeds. Aside from the time you hit me―you might like that one. But..." He trailed off, drawing a fortifying breath. "I need you to know that this is what's real. I care about you, and despite how all of this has gone, I can only appreciate the fact that it's brought me to you."

Her eyes were glossy with tears again; lips parted as she stared at him.

But he pressed on before he could lose his nerve. "And for whatever it's worth, I can't regret for a second the fact that I've been given another chance to make things right."

Hermione nodded, her face drawn with anguish, but he felt a distinct flicker of something that felt like this was okay.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thank you, as always, for reading. I hope you're enjoying the story xo

Alpha and beta hugs to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 35

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

As it turned out, many of the shops Hermione visited during her trip to Diagon Alley had, in fact, had positions open―or maybe they only had jobs to offer someone like Hermione Granger. The wizarding world was too stifling, too enclosed, and far too concerned with gossip and status.

Draco would know.

But regardless, within a matter of days, she had received close to a dozen owls, and Draco scanned her stack of job offers with amusement.

"Which one should I take?" she asked him when he came by her flat, brows high on her forehead.

Draco shrugged and gave her a noncommittal gesture. Things had felt a little stifled between them ever since their last meeting, wherein she had admitted she had briefly been uncertain as to their future. And though she hadn't spoken of it out loud, he could sometimes see the way her smile faltered when she looked at him. As if she still couldn't fully make sense of the way she felt about him―or the two of them.

It left him unsettled, to say the least. But he had promised they would work through it together, and though it stung, he wanted to be there for her.

"Honestly," Draco said, skimming the contents of her bookshelf, "no offence to shopkeepers. I think you're cut out for something more than retail on Diagon. Government, curse-breaking, healing." He gave another shrug. "If you don't feel confident in your magical abilities yet, you could take something temporarily."

The way she had raced through all of his books, and several loads from the manor's library, Draco would be surprised if she didn't know as much as she once had or more. But he knew so many of her hesitations were in the principle of it―that she didn't think she was ready to pursue anything else until she knew what she didn't know.

It had been fascinating to witness her pure and unaffected interest in magic when Draco had been surrounded by the politics and the bias of it his entire life.

"Curse-breaking sounds intimidating," she admitted, glancing away. "I've considered the idea of becoming a healer, but having spent so much time at St Mungo's, I'm not certain I'd be cut out for it."

Silence descended upon them; several of her shelves appeared to have been reorganised since the last time he was at her flat. A couple of them were loaded with her old school textbooks and a few personal items that he suspected she had pulled from the boxes in her Gringotts vault.

His eyes caught in disbelief when he spotted the Order of Merlin she'd been awarded after the war, but it was shifted to the side as though she either hadn't realised the significance of it or didn't care. Instead, in the centre of the same shelf, she had arranged several framed photographs.

A few were of her and her friends, including the one of their eighth year class, but the last was of a middle-aged couple with beaming smiles. Draco jolted with a start to realise she must have found a picture of her parents. The woman had her brown eyes, the man her riotous curls.

A soft smile lingered on Hermione's face when she caught him staring.

Draco took a seat on the sofa, careful to keep distance between them. While his pride stung at the thought that things between them might have gone a step backwards, he didn't think he could handle the thought of her recoiling from his touch.

"Have you considered a place at the Ministry?"

"I have," she mused, still absently shifting through the stack of parchment. "I've looked a little into it, but I don't know where I would be best suited." Her eyes flitted towards him, a hint of colour rising in her cheekbones. "I was quite fascinated by what you told me―about the Unspeakables."

Draco snickered. "You think curse-breaking is intimidating, but you want to be an Unspeakable?" Casting her a look, he smiled. "I can give you a tour of the Ministry if you like. The last time we were there was a little―"

"Right," she breathed.

The only other time she had been to the Ministry had been on the day of his father's trial and subsequent execution―or as good as. He hadn't been of much presence of mind to show her around.

His schedule had shifted with the beginning of his patrols, a little more erratic than it had been before when he had worked in the office. "I have Sunday off if you like. There won't be as many people around."

A tentative smile graced her lips. "Alright. That sounds good."


On Sunday morning, Draco felt nerves flicker through him when he stopped to pick up Hermione. It was good, he thought, to go when the corridors would be a little quieter; most of the Ministry kept regular hours on weekdays, and Hermione was less likely to be hounded.

"Hi," she said when she opened the door, a little breathless. She had dressed nicely, and he could tell by the way she wrung her hands that she was nervous.

He tried to remember the first time he had properly seen the Ministry. He must have been very young, trailing along on a meeting with his father. The thought caused a jolt of misery to shoot through him.

It had been a different time—a different world.

"You don't need to be nervous," was all he said. "Are you set to go?"

She stowed her wand into one pocket before offering a nod. She slipped her hand into his, the feel of it a little unfamiliar after he had gone out of his way not to touch her for most of the week, but he tightened his grip before Apparating them both. When they landed, he released her, perhaps a little too quickly, and he couldn't read the look on her face when she averted her gaze and stepped away.

Merlin, he hoped something shifted soon. They felt trapped in some sort of strange limbo, and he didn't know what to make of the way everything stung.

"So this is the Atrium," he began, clearing his throat. The expansive hall was mostly empty but for a few people flitting through between the banks of Floo grates and the lifts. "Technically, we're on level eight. The DMLE is on level two."

Hermione drew in a breath before nodding, wrapping her arms across her front. "I'd like to see where you work. If that's alright."

"Of course," he said, his words tinged with a politeness that left him feeling awkward. "You can see all the departments if you like. Or as much as we can, not working within them."

"And can we see the Department of Mysteries?" Her large eyes were frightened, but still, he could see the curiosity that had rung beneath her tone when she spoke of the Unspeakables two days prior.

Draco grimaced. "We can, but we won't be able to go into the chambers. You won't be able to see much."

"Right."

He led her into an empty lift, the door standing ajar, and with a ring, the doors slid shut, and the lift began to move. Hermione clasped her hands again, one of her feet tapping on the floor of the lift. Draco felt a smirk tug at his lips.

"I don't know why I'm nervous," she blurted, as though reading the sentiment on the front of his mind. "I suppose I feel like I'm trying to make a decision with only half the information."

"You don't need to make any decisions," Draco said mildly. "Not now, or next week, or next month. But as it stands, I'm certain you could work in any department you chose if you want to work at the Ministry."

"Do you like it here?" Her large eyes landed on him as she worried her lower lip.

He hesitated for a moment before offering a nod. "Most of the time. There's a lot of bureaucracy and red tape, of course, which can be frustrating. But it wasn't about working here for me when I enrolled in Auror training. It was about becoming an Auror... but not. It was more."

Her face softened, and he could tell she understood that it was his way of making a statement to his father and the wizarding world as a whole. That he wasn't his father, and he never would be.

If nothing else, at least she could still understand that. She still knew him, even if she questioned the very same.

The lift pinged, and they strode from the lift into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "The DMLE is a large body that encompasses a lot of facets, and the Auror's Office is only one of those." He gestured towards the office, and she glanced around with uncertainty when he led her into the large open offices. "It's alright. You can be in here. Just don't, you know, commit a crime or anything because you'll get arrested pretty fast."

She shot him a look, even as her lips twitched.

A few Aurors glanced up as they passed, but most ignored them. Robards' door was open, the man working on some paperwork, and Draco flashed a brief wave.

"Auror Malfoy," Robards said, gesturing them into the office, then nodded. "Miss Granger. Malfoy, don't you have the day off?"

"I do." He slid his hands into his pockets. "Just showing Hermione around the Ministry."

Hermione cast him a sidelong glance. "It's nice to meet you properly, Auror Robards. Draco's been kind enough to show me through all of this. I'm going to be looking for a job, you see. Once I'm able to restore my memories."

Robards' brows lifted as though in surprise. "I see. I seem to recall making you a carte blanche offer for a job here in the Auror's Office after you completed your last year at Hogwarts."

Colour rushed into her cheeks as her lips parted on a sharp breath. Though Draco hadn't been aware, he wasn't surprised, given her antics with Potter during the war.

"I wasn't aware, sir," she said quietly.

Tapping his quill on the desk for a moment, Robards regarded her with focused eyes. "I'm sure the offer would still stand if you have any interest. I'd be happy to talk through it with you at any point. Of course, you'd have to be around this one every day." The grin he shot Draco was good-natured.

Hermione tittered. "I appreciate the offer and will certainly give it some thought."

"Talk to Kingsley," Robards said, his gaze sliding back to Draco. "He'll know more about where there are any open positions."

A dart of intimidation shot through Draco at the words. He wasn't on personal terms with the Minister of Magic well enough to simply walk up to the man, though it occurred to him that Hermione might have been.

"Don't suppose you know of anything in the DoM," he drawled, leaning against the wall.

Robards' brows shot high, and he removed his glasses, scrubbing at his eyes. Hermione's face faltered as she shifted on the spot. "Merlin knows anything about anything down there. But it couldn't hurt to ask. Talk to Unspeakable Caldwell. Throw my name at her if you like."

"Thanks," Draco clipped. "See you tomorrow."

Amusement lingered on the man's face as they moved towards the door. "Enjoy your tour, Miss Granger."

She ducked her chin in a little nod. "Thank you, sir."

Draco led her from the office and deeper into the expansive room; a few Aurors glanced up as they passed, and some of the stares lingered. He did his best to ignore them when he suspected most of the attention was because Hermione was with him.

"My desk," he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. "It isn't much―but I'll move once I'm through with training."

Hermione made a show of inspecting it, smoothing her hand over the wooden surface, tapping her fingers against her jaw, before she flashed him a grin. "It's a lovely desk."

Rolling his eyes and nudging her in the ribs, he muttered, "Come on. There are more interesting things to see than my desk."

As he led her from the office and back into the larger DMLE, however, Draco nearly collided with a man whose attention was fixed on the stack of paperwork in his hands.

"Shit," Draco hissed, jumping out of the way. The man glanced up in surprise, and Draco felt the blood drain from his face. It was Minister Shacklebolt. "Apologies, sir."

Startled, Shacklebolt looked between them. "Not at all; I ought to have paid more attention." His gaze lingered on Hermione for a long moment, as though he were warring with himself as to what he should say before he cleared his throat. "Auror Malfoy―and Miss Granger. It is wonderful to see you again."

Hermione's gaze slid towards him, and Draco ducked his chin. "Minister Shacklebolt. The Minister for Magic."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, and colour crept into her cheeks. "Of course. Please forgive me, Minister."

A chuckle fell from Shacklebolt's lips, but he offered a sad smile. "No apologies necessary. I've been overly familiar―you and I were once comrades-in-arms of a sort. During the war."

Draco saw Hermione's brows knit, and she offered another, more subdued, "Oh. Right." She shifted a little on the spot before her smile brightened. "Then it's lovely to see you as well."

"You don't need to explain," Shacklebolt said with another easy smile. "Harry―Mister Potter―explained the situation."

Hermione still looked a little jarred, though Draco couldn't tell whether it wasn't because of the familiarity Potter had with the Minister for Magic. "Draco's been taking me for a tour," she offered belatedly. "As I'm going to be looking for a job soon."

A pause hung between the three of them before Shacklebolt nodded. "You would be a most valuable asset to the Ministry."

"Thank you, sir." Hermione offered another smile.

Draco couldn't remember whether he had ever been so engaged in a conversation involving the Minister for Magic before, and he felt a little out of place between the two of them, despite that Hermione couldn't even remember the man. In fact, he hadn't even been aware Shacklebolt knew of him or his position as an Auror. But he supposed awareness of the minutiae of the Ministry fell within the man's job description.

"I've heard a little of the harrowing tale at play here." Shacklebolt offered another chuckle, his gaze shifting to Draco with a warmth he hadn't anticipated. "And might I just say, we're all glad to have you back. Enjoy your tour, Hermione." The man bowed his head for a moment and carried on down the corridor, burying his face in his paperwork once more.

When they were left alone once more, Hermione hovered in the hall without moving. "Does everyone know me?" she asked, her voice a little over a whisper.

Although she had received a lot of owls after the news began to circulate that she was alive and in the wizarding world once more, Draco supposed it was different when people approached her with the knowledge of shared experiences.

He couldn't lie to her. "They don't all know you. But yes. Everyone knows who you are." He released a snicker. "Maybe you knew Unspeakable Caldwell at one point. It would make getting a job in the Department of Mysteries easier."

Hermione shot him a look, her cheeks flaring with heat. "I don't want a job I haven't earned."

"You'll earn it." He sobered, recognising the embarrassment on her face. "I didn't mean it like that."

If he wasn't mistaken, she had been a little more on edge than he had seen her in a while, and he didn't know whether it had to do with the strange circumstances of being at the Ministry or if it was something more personal between them. Draco blew out a breath and jammed his hands into his pockets. "I genuinely believe you'd be able to do anything you decide on."

Hermione softened, her fingers brushing the side of his arm for a second. "I know you didn't mean it that way." When they carried on once more towards the lift, she frowned. "I suppose this is all just a little overwhelming. I appreciate you doing this."

The air still felt a little stilted, so he only nodded. They slipped into the lift, and Draco jammed the button for level nine.


As it turned out, Hermione had never met Unspeakable Caldwell. Fortunately, the woman was in the Department of Mysteries―Draco wondered if all department heads worked Sundays―and they came across her without any trouble. Unspeakable Caldwell was a middle-aged, no-nonsense woman with dark hair streaked through with grey, but her eyes were sharp and keen.

If she knew of Hermione or the circumstances surrounding her memory, she made no mention.

But she must have been living under a rock if she didn't know any of it. And besides, Draco didn't think the woman would have been as keen to talk to them otherwise.

Regardless, the seeming lack of one-sided expectations allowed Hermione to relax, and Draco slipped away for a few minutes while the pair of them conversed in the entrance to the department. He could see by the sparkle in Hermione's eyes that she was instantly taken with the idea.

Her cheeks were a little flushed when Unspeakable Caldwell carried on, and Hermione sought him out once more. "This department sounds fascinating," she admitted, "if a little intimidating."

"Told you," Draco mused, "the most intimidating in the whole establishment. But the place where you'll be able to explore magic the most by far."

"Unspeakable Caldwell asked me to send her an owl this week," Hermione said, beaming as they made towards the lift once more. "To arrange an interview. Do you suppose I could borrow your owl?"

"Of course." In an effort to avoid touching her out of habit, Draco slid his hands into his pockets again. "Do you want to see any other departments while we're here?"

She considered the thought for a moment, then offered an apologetic smile. "I think I've had enough for now."

"Alright."

They only went up one level before arriving in the Atrium, but Hermione turned to face him before they stepped from the lift. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

He had anticipated returning her home and perhaps feeling awkward about whether or not he should go home, so he latched onto the idea in an instant. "Sure. We can go up to the street level."

The summer sun beamed down on them when they emerged onto Whitehall, and Draco felt some of his melancholy seep away. As they strode through Muggle London, some of the tension fell away from Hermione as well, and they were able to fall into an easy conversation, more so than they had all week.

If nothing else, Draco was grateful for the time spent with her, even if everything else felt a little flat.

His hands hung at his sides, one of hers near enough that he could have taken it into his if he wanted. Before he could deliberate on the matter for too long―and ultimately persuade himself against it―her fingers nudged against his own.

Her pinky remained against his, and Draco cast her a brief sidelong glance.

"You know I'm not going to cringe away if you so much as touch me, right?" she breathed, the words scarcely a whisper. A flicker of something like hurt danced across her face.

Draco released a sigh. "I haven't wanted to push when I know you're trying to process this."

This. It felt simultaneously too narrow and too broad to describe how she had come to feel about her visceral recollection of him that had returned. If she had a bad feeling about him in the back of her mind, the last thing he wanted to do was make her more uncomfortable.

"Fine," she said and remained silent as they walked down the road. But her fingers still grazed against his before she pulled his hand into hers. "And part of processing it is reminding myself that it doesn't matter to me what happened between us years ago. The Draco I care about is the one right here with me."

He blew out a breath, attempting to stifle the slight quake in his hands.

"Okay?" she pressed, her stare hard on him.

Draco nodded, squeezing her hand a moment. "Okay."

"If anything," she went on quietly, "I have a chance to prepare for the memories before they arrive. I am sorry... that I had a moment of doubt."

He knew she was. And he was only sorry everything had crashed down upon her in such a way in the first place.

"You don't have to apologise for that," he murmured. Even though the thought that she had briefly considered something―he didn't know how extreme the doubt ran―he still didn't want her to carry any guilt over it. After all, he had expected she might come to her senses and leave him for months now.

Sadness lingered in her stare. "You're more important to me than that. So yes, I do."

Draco ducked in, brushing a kiss to her temple as they rounded the corner. "You're more than a flicker of doubt. Just as you're more than a collection of memories." He caught her stare for a moment, coming to an abrupt halt on the pavement. "You're the most important person to me. And I'm just grateful for the chance you've given me."

Her eyes were a little glassy when he fell silent, and her lips parted to speak.

"Hermione? Is that you?"

They both glanced up, startled, at the surprise in the words. A furrow knit Hermione's brow, and Draco's gaze settled on a man and woman, both staring at her with matching expressions of shock.

Draco's heart leapt into his throat, settling like a stone and hindering the next draw of breath.

His mind flickered back, only days before, to a series of photographs she'd framed on her bookshelf—a middle-aged couple―a woman with Hermione's eyes and a man with her unruly curls.

"Holy shit," he whispered to himself.

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes welling instantly with tears, and the couple rushed towards them.

"Mum?" she said, the word small as it fell from her lips. "Dad?"

Draco's eyes went wide, adrenaline clamouring through him as, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he found himself at a complete and utter loss for words.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! I hope you liked the chapter - the next one will be here in five days.

runs

Alpha and beta thanks, as always, to kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 36

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco had experienced a lot of strange things in life. Remarkable, improbable, and downright terrifying. And through it all, he recognised to a certain extent that some things just weren't easily explained―and usually, the reason was magic.

Finding himself in front of Richard and Jean Granger on the streets of Muggle London, when as far as he knew the pair lived in Brisbane, Australia with no recollection of who they once were or the fact that they had a daughter, rocked him to the core.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times, but no words broke free.

Mister Granger stared at her, a deep furrow of disbelief on his brow, while tears streamed down Missus Granger's cheeks. Eyes shifting between the three of them, Draco had never felt more out of place.

"Hello," he spoke, at last, his manners getting the best of him as he brandished a hand. "My name is Draco Malfoy."

Three sets of startled eyes snapped towards him, and Mister Granger shook his hand with an uneasy grin. "Richard Granger."

"Perhaps a cuppa," Draco offered politely. He scanned the road and was grateful to spot a small tea shop.

"Of course," Missus Granger said, shaking her head a little as she and Hermione still stared at one another. "Forgive me, this is just―I can't quite believe we've found you."

No one moved, and Draco swept a hand through his hair as their awkward congregation drew the attention of passersby. But when he glanced at Hermione again, he could see something else beneath the surprise of running into her parents. Despair.

That even if they somehow knew who she was, she knew them only by a photograph she had discovered in her vault. She didn't actually remember them. "Right," she said a moment later. "Tea."

Eventually, the four of them made their way towards the tea shop, and while Draco debated leaving her to reconnect with her parents, the way she clung to his hand left little doubt as to her thoughts about the matter. However, the prolonged and uncertain tension lingered as though no one knew exactly how to broach the elephant in the room.

"We've been trying to locate you for months," Richard Granger spoke at last once they'd received tea. "But we didn't... it was like you'd fallen off the map. All of your personal items gone from the house, and no sign of you. We didn't know how to access your magical friends."

Draco could see the cogs whirring in Hermione's brain.

At last, she took a sip of tea, and her hand shook so badly the steaming liquid threatened to slosh over the sides. Draco took the cup from her and set it on her saucer; she gave him a grateful look.

"While I'm elated to have come across you today, I'm afraid I have some bad news," she said quietly. "When I was in Brisbane five years ago, through an effort to reverse a spell, I suffered a complete long-term memory loss."

"Oh, sweetheart," Jean Granger whispered, clapping a hand to her mouth. "You don't remember anything?"

"Not prior to that moment," Hermione confirmed. "I have a photograph of you―both of you―but I..." She trailed off, glancing towards Draco as though searching for strength. He squeezed her hand under the table. "I've been working with a healer to restore my memories. Perhaps you can tell me... how have you come to be here?"

Her parents exchanged a look, hesitation and confusion flickering across their faces.

Mister Granger was the one to speak. "It's been a strange experience, to be sure. We met you in Brisbane five years ago―though you introduced yourself as Melody―and the three of us had a jarring encounter wherein you attempted to explain several things that made no sense. But then we never saw you again. For a long time, we were able to put the experience out of mind."

Draco frowned at the story, feeling as though he should be taking notes.

"About a year ago," Richard went on, "we both started remembering instances of the conversation. Certain things you'd said, details that we otherwise never would have remembered. Then about six months ago, it all sort of came apart like an avalanche, and we remembered everything. When we attempted to track down your alias, we found no evidence that such a person had ever existed―and there was no record that you had ever returned to London as Hermione."

At Draco's left, Hermione sat very still, processing the words. She stared at her teacup, lips parted and ghosting over the shape of words.

"I..." she fell silent, making a face. "I can't say what happened. With any of it. I returned to London believing my name to be Melody―I didn't even know my true name until I ran into Draco and Harry a number of months ago."

"Harry Potter," her mother urged.

Hermione nodded, confusion on her brow. "Yes."

Her parents exchanged a glance, and Draco could see Hermione shrink a little into her seat. He couldn't imagine the tumult racing through her mind at the jarring experience.

"You'll have to excuse me," she breathed, rubbing at her temples with a wince, "that I'm perhaps not as you hoped to find me."

"Not at all!" her mother exclaimed, sadness overtaking her countenance. "We're thrilled to have come across you at last―I'm only sorry to learn of what's happened."

"We've begun to see progress," she said with a nod a little too voracious, her eyes a little too bright, "in the memory restoration therapy. So with a little more time..."

When she trailed off, Draco could see she was on the verge of tears. He gave her hand another squeeze, and she interlaced her fingers with his.

"What can we do to help?" Richard Granger asked, leaning forward in his seat. "If there's anything, please just ask."

Hermione only shook her head as though lost for words. She looked pale, some of the sparkle gone from her eyes, and Draco wondered whether the encounter had taken a toll on her mentally or physically.

"Patience, I think," he spoke on her behalf. Her hand squeezed his again. "The healer she's working with is the highest regarded cognitive healing specialist in all of England. It's a slow process, but we're all optimistic about it."

Jean Granger gave him a warm smile. "Did you know Hermione at Hogwarts, dear?"

"I did," Draco allowed. "We weren't close at the time, though, so I don't know whether you would have heard of me." He didn't care to tell her parents at the first meeting that if they had heard of him, it likely would have been all bad. He dropped his voice so only Hermione could hear and asked, "Are you doing alright?"

"A little overwhelmed," she breathed, "and not feeling entirely right."

She looked even paler than she had only minutes prior, and Draco's heart lurched at the thought that the run-in might have been too much for her to handle, especially after she had already taken in so much at the Ministry.

"Perhaps we ought to carry on," he said, rummaging for some Muggle notes for the tea.

"Of course," Mister Granger announced, though her parents' faces fell a little. "Please, let us know if anything changes―if there's anything we can do to help."

Hermione seemed to gather herself a little, and she beamed between them. "This is so wonderful. For so long, I've wondered whether I would ever see you both again. I look forward to spending more time together." She jotted her telephone number onto a slip of paper and entered her parents' home number into her mobile.

By the time they emerged back onto the street, saying their goodbyes, Hermione looked sickly, and a thin sheen of perspiration had developed on her temples.

Concern swept through Draco as they ventured down the road. "Are you alright? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?"

"I don't know," she breathed, pressing the tips of her fingers to her head as she scrunched her eyes shut. "Just home, I think."

"Right."

Draco pulled her between the two nearest buildings and Apparated the pair of them directly into her flat. She settled on the sofa, her body quaking a little. Draco poured her a glass of water and wrapped her in a blanket as he eyed her with caution. "Your parents," he spoke at last.

He could see the glassy shine to her eyes as she nodded, offering a despairing sort of smile. "Can you believe it?"

"Honestly," Draco said, "no. I can't imagine what happened a year ago for them to remember you and why it might have taken four years."

"And what I did five years ago?" She released a heavy sigh, shifting so Draco could tuck himself onto one end of the sofa, then rested her head in his lap. "The whole experience felt odd like it was all pressing up against a wall of what currently exists of my mental capacity. I don't know; it's difficult to explain."

"I get it," Draco murmured. He played idly with her curls; her forehead felt hot to the touch, even as she shivered a little. "Do you want me to owl Healer Huxley?"

"Probably a good idea," she said, stifling a yawn. "He'll want to know about this. But maybe you'll just sit with me for a few more minutes."

"Of course," Draco murmured, brushing her hair back from her face. Her eyes slid shut as though the situation had completely drained her of energy, but at least she hadn't been half as affected as she had the day when she'd had an episode after visiting the manor. "Hey," he said quietly as she drifted towards sleep, "you've got your parents back."

A soft smile lingered on her face as she fell asleep.


A short while later, Healer Huxley knocked on the door. After Hermione had fallen asleep, Draco had sent an owl to inform the man of what had happened, who decided to come by and assess her state himself. Draco had felt a flicker of relief, given her fever hadn't yet broken―though it mingled with the alarm that darted through him at the thought that Huxley hadn't been keen to wait until their next appointment.

Within ten minutes, the sitting room looked like a makeshift hospital room, instruments and diagnostic tools whirring as the man hooked them up to Hermione's brain. Draco's stomach churned at the sight.

"Anything I can do?" Draco asked, propping himself against the wall as he observed, unwilling to get in the way.

Huxley didn't answer for a minute, gaze fixed intently on one of the instruments that he had perched on the coffee table. At last, he shook his head. "Not at the moment. Her mind is processing an astronomical amount of content right now."

Draco didn't have enough context to understand what that meant beyond the fact that the happenstance meeting with her parents had been impactful.

He didn't dare ask what it meant for her treatment.

As Huxley set to work, jotting notes on a pad of paper in a rapid, messy scrawl, Draco wrung his hands, fighting the urge to pace. He went into the kitchen, set on a pot of tea to busy his hands, and then delivered a cup to Huxley.

"Thanks," the man murmured, glancing up as though surprised to find Draco still there.

Finally, Huxley dragged a hand through his hair, set down his pad of paper, and requested Draco recount everything he could remember about the afternoon. Draco wracked his mind, trying to recall as many details as possible in as clinical a manner as he could. His training with the Auror's office helped him keep a level head when all he wanted to do was fret over Hermione's condition.

Draco wasn't certain whether she was simply asleep or if Huxley had dropped her deeper.

Humming and taking notes, Huxley didn't let on anything. But when Draco concluded with the story, the man's eyes narrowed in scrutiny. "I'm not yet able to tell what effect this will have on her. She's stable, at any rate―more so than she was the first time you brought her to me. But I don't want to disturb the processing her mind has been sorting through since I arrived—and presumably since coming across her parents."

"Do you know what happened to them?" Draco asked, sinking into an armchair by the bookshelf. "Why they remembered her so abruptly at such a later point in time?"

"I have a few suspicions." Huxley scanned several instruments, tweaking the calibrations; one whirred faster with a soft, shrill cry. "And some of them could even relate back to the matter of her memory loss. But I'll need to dig a little deeper."

As Draco watched Hermione's prone form, her brow furrowed with some sort of disturbance and fingers jumping at her sides, all he wanted was for her to break free of everything that plagued her. For her memories to return, no matter the outcome between them, and for her to begin sorting through what was to come of her life.

He didn't regret anything that had happened between them, but his heart ached for her as he watched her struggle. And now, this was just something else to deal with.

Even though her parents had understood the situation, he could see the way guilt flickered through her face. She had been the one to remove herself from their memories originally, and years later, the results still haunted her in a much more visceral way than she had ever anticipated.

And although Draco knew Healer Huxley and his team were doing their best, he only hoped for something to come of it.

Huxley finished his cup of what must have been cold tea, stowed his notebook, and peered at Draco for a long moment. "I'm going to lift her from the sedation, but she'll likely continue to sleep for a while as her brain processes." He packed up most of the instruments but for one. "Keep an eye on this, and if anything abnormal happens, please bring her to St Mungo's straight away. She should be fine at this point―and I'll see her tomorrow for our usual treatment session."

"Alright." Draco rose from his seat and walked with the man to the door. "Thank you for coming by―and for everything you've done for her to this point."

The man nodded, his eyes lingering for a moment on Hermione. "Of course, Auror Malfoy. It's my job―and furthermore―it's a privilege to help someone who's done so much for all of us."

Draco ducked his chin into a nod. "Indeed."

At that, Huxley stepped out, leaving Draco alone with Hermione's sleeping form. He didn't dare leave her alone for a minute, just in case something happened, so he selected a book from her shelf and settled into the armchair. After a while, finding himself unable to focus, he rose to prepare some food in her kitchen.

When he returned, he found Hermione restless in sleep, a grimace flickering across her face, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against her leg. A sheen of sweat had formed on her temples again, but the fever from earlier had gone down.

Her eyes scrunched up, her breathing uneven, but just as he reached to check the instrument Huxley had left on the table, her eyes slid open.

"Hermione," Draco huffed as he crouched down before her, relief darting through him as her aggravation settled with a ragged exhale. "How are you feeling?"

She didn't answer, staring at him as she drew in several deep breaths. Her brows knitted with confusion, and her eyes searched his for long enough that Draco grew uncertain.

"Hermione?" he said again. A jolt of nerves darted through him, settling as nausea in the pit of his stomach. "What's wrong?"

Fingers grappled for his, weak and trembling, and Draco took her hand.

Her eyes darted about the room, and her face was still pale, though some of the colour had returned to her cheeks. "Draco," she breathed at last, and warm relief swelled within him once more that she hadn't somehow forgotten him. But she pressed the fingers of her other hand to her temple, scrunching her eyes shut. "I am... very concerned."

Draco lifted a brow. His heart thudded an anxious rhythm; adrenaline dull behind his ears. "What are you concerned about?"

She blew out a breath, frowning, but her eyes opened to meet his once more. "I am trying to determine whether this is... real..." She shook her head once, and then her lips twitched as though withholding a smile. "I think you need to get a white ferret. As a pet."

His jaw fell open, surprise jarring his heart through an extended beat, and he stared at her, unblinking until he realised moisture had accumulated at the corners of his eyes. "That?" he choked out. "Of all things you could possibly remember―"

"I'm sorry," she tittered before devolving into a fit of laughter. But then warmth curled her lips, silent tears streaming down her face, and she caught his cheek in her palm; her skin was cool to the touch. "This is beyond my control."

Shaking his head, an incredulous huff fell from his lips. "Is that it?"

Hermione snorted into her palm. "In a sea of darkness in all directions, the only lighthouse is you, turned into a ferret."

Her amusement was contagious, and despite himself, Draco was pulled into her laughter. "Okay, but how long is it?"

"It's very short," she said, some of her joy sobering. "Blurry at the edges and bookended by blackness."

For a long moment, Draco only stared at her, his brows low. "This is the one memory you've gained from the past. Of all the fucking moments you could have remembered." But within himself, a flicker of pride mingled with the joy he felt at the fact that she remembered something. And it was something to do with him.

"It's a good sign," he breathed.

Another bright laugh fell from her lips, even as silent tears tracked down her cheeks, and she echoed, "It's a good sign."

Draco swallowed, his chest painfully tight and eyes stinging. "It means they're in there."

Her smile was so warm, filled with such significance and happiness and relief that he almost couldn't handle the brilliance of it. He pulled her into his arms on the sofa, tight against himself, and buried a hand into her curls when she sank into his chest. His heart thudded a song of such hope, and he almost couldn't remember the way that felt anymore, that he didn't know what to do or say.

As she trailed a pattern on his abdomen, tears of joy soaking through his shirt, her body nearly vibrated with energy.

"I love you," Draco managed, at last, the words choking from his lips amidst the swelling of emotion within him. "I'm so fucking proud of you."

Whether she was exhausted or simply without words, Hermione only clung to him, and she planted a kiss to his chest over his heart. Her breathing fell, soft and even, against his neck, and he lost track of time as the minutes dripped on.


"What's all this about, then?" Potter waved a vague hand as if to indicate Draco's entire countenance and cocked a brow.

"Care to elaborate?"

They'd been patrolling Knockturn and had very little to show for the morning, but the sun was shining, and Draco couldn't shake the good mood that had carried him through since the afternoon before when Hermione had alerted him to the fact that she had recovered one small memory.

As far as he was concerned, after the long months of nothing—following years where she didn't even know where she was—it was a victory.

Potter cleared his throat. "This. What's the matter with you today?"

"Can't be in a good mood?" Even as he spoke the words, he flashed Potter a grin. "Maybe I've received good news."

As though physically forcing himself to engage, Potter released a long breath and scrubbed at his eyes. "Fine, Malfoy, I'll play. What's this good news that's had you grinning like a prat all day?"

"Thanks for asking," Draco retorted, taking no small amount of pleasure in Potter's apparent irritation. "Do you by chance remember that time Crouch-parading-as-Moody turned me into a ferret?"

Potter blinked several times, his face blank. "Of course I do. But why are you happy over that? Surely it must have been embarrassing for you, given how hilarious it was for us."

Draco made a face. "Anyway." He fixed Potter with a look, his lips twitching. "So does Hermione."

"So does Hermione what?" The man's face scrunched up with confusion. "She―wait―" His jaw fell open, eyes shooting wide. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Draco held Potter's gaze for a moment, ducking his chin. "I am not. If I were making this up, I would have chosen a moment that cast me in a better light. Honestly, don't you know me better than that by now?" But Potter didn't respond, his jaw hanging open in pure, unfettered shock. After a moment with no response, Draco grimaced. "Did you hear me?"

"I can't decide," Potter choked out, at last, his voice tight, "if I'm thrilled to learn she's remembered something or dismayed it's something about you."

Draco snickered. "Fair point. Though you were technically there, too."

For a moment, Potter only shook his head. Emotion hung clear in the furrow of his brow, the tightness of his jaw, and Draco clapped him on the shoulder. "I can't believe it," he said softly, shaking his head. "Even finding her after so long, I guess I'd come to accept that this was as much of her as I'd ever get back―and don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to have that. But I just know how much it would mean to her if she were able to have her memories again."

"Yeah," Draco muttered, releasing a breath. "It's remarkable." He jolted physically upon remembering the circumstances that had led to her revelation. "Also, get this―we came across her parents in London, and they remember her."

Potter blinked, his face rapidly transiting numerous emotions. "You forgot to include that detail?"

Draco waved his hands in a flippant gesture. "I thought we ought to take a closer look at her file to see what we might have missed with regard to that side of the matter."

As they strolled the broken cobbles of Knockturn Alley, Draco filled Potter in on everything Hermione's parents had said―from the way she had been to visit them in Australia as Melody, to the way their recollection of their daughter had crashed down upon them.

The good part about patrolling the secondary street was that, provided nothing occurred immediately within their view and no brawls broke out, their job was simply to assert an Auror presence. Just the sight of their robes and badges―and often Potter alone―kept most of the lowlifes at bay who might have otherwise sought to cause trouble.

The pair of them spent a good portion of the day hypothesising as to what it all meant and how Hermione's parents had come to remember her.

And though they'd been drifting towards it for a while now, Draco had to acknowledge that it was nice to have a friend in Potter―even beyond the fact that he and Theo were obviously good for one another. For the first time in a long time, Draco felt as though he actually had a place where he fit.

His phone buzzed in his pocket just as Potter glanced down at an incoming message on his badge. Draco felt his lips curl up at Hermione's message.

Huxley says good news! Thinks we might be able to use this one memory as a sort of thread to unravel more? See you tonight?

The smile lingered on Draco's face, his chest tight with something that resembled joy after he'd stowed the phone back in his pocket with a quick response to confirm. He glanced up to see Potter eyeing his badge with a furrowed brow. "What have we got?"

"Your favourite," Potter clipped, returning his badge. "There's been another small-time theft at the apothecary."

Draco clenched his jaw, squinting up into the sunlight above. "Let me guess: someone's swiped a shipment of lacewing flies, and now how will we ever brew anything?"

"Close," Potter said, clicking his tongue. "But not quite. Aconite."

Interest flitted through the back of his mind as Draco inclined his jaw. "Aconite. Fresh werewolf in a panic trying to brew Wolfsbane?"

Potter shrugged as they tracked an idle course towards Diagon Alley. "As good a guess as any, I suppose. Wonder if they've got two dozen wilting floral arrangements stuffed in the den?"

Despite himself, Draco cracked a grin. "Must be a werewolf wedding."

Chuckling, Potter jabbed an elbow into his ribs. "Prat. I'll laugh if you're right about all this."

Notes:

Resolutions or just more questions? Thanks for reading - I hope you enjoyed the chapter! We're into the final ten chapters which I almost can't believe.

Alpha and beta love, as always, to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 37

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Something was coming; Draco could feel it deep within his bones.

Everything had been going too well.

Over a week had passed since Hermione had seen the first sign of her memory returning, since the day she had come across her parents again. Through the week, she'd retrieved two other small, inconsequential memories. One of a Hogwarts class from their early years, and the other from a point in her childhood before she had learned she was a witch.

They didn't make any sense, and there was no connection between the three, but Huxley remained optimistic that it was a good sign.

Draco agreed.

His work was going well, and he and Potter had been venturing out on some more interesting cases. Not every day, and certainly not as much as the rest of the Aurors in the office, but it was more than nothing.

But he wasn't used to things going well. In fact, things had steadily declined for so long, and every time he allowed himself to believe something good was coming, something bad would follow in its stead.

A nervous quake coasted along his spine almost ubiquitously when he thought of everything that had gone wrong, even in recent months. His mother's illness; his father's sentencing.

Maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction. Maybe Draco needed to accept that sometimes things went right, and he didn't need to question everything all the time. But he couldn't help it; the instinct was one that had been ingrained within him ever since the war started going bad.

If he prepared himself for the worst, he couldn't be surprised when it inevitably happened.

And things still weren't perfect by any stretch. His mother's healers were no closer to a cure to the illness that had ravaged her body and begun to chip away at her magic. Draco knew that, while Hermione didn't bring it up, she still hadn't entirely shaken the odd feeling that had taken her about them when her recollections began to creep back in.

But there were no fires to put out at the moment, and it left him anxious.

"Any luck?" Potter asked, dropping into the seat beside him.

Draco jolted. "Not yet." They'd spent the day in the office, and Draco had been sorting through the files from the string of seemingly insignificant robberies up and down Diagon Alley. He'd been picking through the cases when he had a few spare moments, but no one in the department viewed the matter as a priority.

Draco found himself wondering about the connections―if they were even connected at all. For all he knew, the timing was simply suspect, and there was nothing to draw the line from one to the next. Maybe it was a Hogwarts student, bored at home for the summer, and Draco was looking entirely too far into it.

He didn't know, and no one else cared enough to bother him over it.

Wrenching a hand through his hair, he shot Potter a grimace. "Please tell me we have a case."

Potter snickered and checked his badge. "Nothing yet, but I'm sure Robards can come up with a task for you if you really want."

"No." Draco rolled his eyes. "I can only imagine what that might be. I'll stick with petty stationery thieves."

"Just watch," Potter quipped, "maybe you're going to unravel a smuggling cartel if you keep at it. There's got to be something in there somewhere."

"I highly doubt it," Draco clipped.

With a great sigh, Potter sank into his seat. "Then why are you so set on this?"

"I'm not, really," Draco mused, flipping a sheet of parchment. "Though I suppose I do enjoy the obscurity and the challenge of it. If there's a link, I intend to find it." Potter snorted but remained otherwise silent until Draco cocked a brow and fixed with him a hard look. "What?"

"Nothing." He waved a hand and chuckled to himself. "It's just―I'm really seeing why you and Hermione are so compatible. That's exactly the sort of thing she would say."

Draco felt colour infuse his cheeks, though inwardly, he appreciated the comparison. And the recognition. He had long admired her for her intellect―even before he would have admitted such a thing to anyone, including himself.

"Speaking of," he muttered as his phone buzzed in his pocket. With a furtive glance around, he drew it from his pocket and flipped to the message.

Good news―Unspeakable Caldwell wants to meet for an interview next week.

A smile pulled at his lips, even as alarm bells rang in the back of his mind. Maybe Draco would just have to get used to the idea that not everything that happened in his life had to be negative.

"Only Hermione Granger would get an interview with one of the most prestigious, analytical departments in the whole British Ministry whilst missing nineteen years of long-term memory," he drawled, idly tapping a message in response.

Potter's brows lifted in surprise. "Which department?"

Draco smirked; it always felt good knowing things Potter obviously didn't yet. "Mysteries."

"Merlin," Potter muttered, dragging a hand through his messy hair. "Of course, she would want to be an Unspeakable. She's going to be more important than either you or I soon."

"Are you surprised?"

Flashing him a grin, Potter checked his badge. "Not even a little; I firmly believe she's going to take over the world one day. I hope you're prepared for that. Put your pet project aside for now―Knockturn calls."


Hermione flipped through a book on magical theory, an intent furrow in her brow. "Draco," she mused softly, dragging her eyes up to his belatedly. "I've been thinking a lot about something. Do you remember that day we went to the joke shop?"

"Yes," Draco clipped. He'd been hoping she had forgotten; a mild shimmer of unease ran through him. "What about it?"

"Well." She sighed, making a face. "Harry's suggested the Weasley family wants to see me. And I don't―I don't know if I want to go, but I don't know how to say no."

"It's easy: no."

"Draco."

He forced a thin smile. "I mean it. If you don't feel up to it, I don't want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. You have more than enough going on in your life right now, between your treatment, your parents, this interview... I say this as objectively as possible because they've never been my favourite people, but the Weasleys are a lot to handle. They're loud and plentiful and rather lacking in social nuance."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry said you wouldn't be keen."

Draco couldn't deny it; he shrugged. "I'm not. But if you asked me to go with you, I don't know how I'd be able to say no."

"Theo would be there," she mused. "And you and Harry get on well, don't you?"

He offered a noncommittal hum. For as much as he cared about Hermione, willingly going to a dinner at the Weasleys' house felt like a line he didn't care to cross, even with Theo and Potter present. Largely because he could only imagine how uncomfortable it would be for everyone involved, surely they wouldn't want him there any more than he would want to be there.

"At any rate," she said softly, glancing away. "I told Harry I'd give it some thought. And I'll not force you to go with me."

Draco sighed, drawing her close and planting a kiss to her forehead. "If you genuinely want me to go, I'll go. I just want you to be prepared for the fact that there will be bad blood, particularly between myself and your friend Ron; you saw some of that yourself when we ran into him. I can't imagine he's keen about Potter dating Theo, either." He thought about it for a moment. "Especially since Potter dated the only female Weasley once."

Maybe the situation would be chaotic enough for it to become amusing.

"I know," she said, her face softening a little. "And to be honest, I don't know that I'm ready for it yet anyway. Even Harry said it might be a lot to take in."

"On that note," he said, "Andromeda's invited us to dinner on Sunday if you're interested."

"Sure." She smiled. "That sounds a little more like what I can manage right now." As she turned back to the book she'd been studying, she sucked in a sharp breath and pressed a palm to her temple.

Draco lifted a brow. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she huffed, pressing her eyes shut tight. "I've been having a lot of sudden, brief headaches. Healer Huxley says it's part of the process." She blinked her eyes open wide again. "He figures the more my brain processes the new memories that have returned, the easier it'll be able to locate others. But the whole thing is rather a strain."

"Naturally," Draco returned with a nod. He still felt a little trepidation about her memories of him returning, but it was overshadowed by the hope he felt. The sparkle that came into her eye when she talked about it. "What day is your meeting with Unspeakable Caldwell?"

Hermione winced again and released a harsh breath before responding. "Wednesday. Healer Huxley is going to draft a letter for me to give her that will explain the situation." Burying her face in her hands, she choked out a quiet, "Sorry."

Frowning, he rubbed a hand along her spine. "You don't look alright. Do you want me to owl Huxley?"

For a long moment, she didn't respond, and when she sat upright again, her face was pale. "No, it's alright." She nodded once with a thin, unconvincing smile. "Furthermore, I've been thinking about whether I want to return for the fall term at Queen Mary. It's a decision I'll have to make in advance of the interview if there's a chance I might be able to get on with Unspeakable training."

"That makes sense," Draco said, considering the thought. She was on summer break from her studies, but she wouldn't be able to continue attending Muggle university if she were working at the Ministry. Following her lead, he didn't dwell on the way she appeared to be experiencing a major categorical rearrangement in her brain. "I suppose it just depends on which you'd rather do."

Hermione worried her lower lip, casting him a glance; moisture leaked from her eyes. "I think if I'm honest, as soon as I learned about the wizarding world, my priorities shifted. I just... I don't want to cast off everything I've spent the last years doing. It's left me feeling trapped between two different people. Of course, that's sort of been the case for the last number of years. I suppose this just feels like the path I'm meant to pursue."

Draco turned to face her on the sofa; she always grew talkative when she was nervous. "I think," he said quietly, "you should do what feels right. If you want to carry on with your studies, do that―and if you feel like you want to get on with the Ministry, then do that. It's no one's choice but yours. One day you're going to get through all this―I promise―and the different parts of yourself you've nurtured will come together."

Brows knitted, she stared at him and whispered, "Okay."

"Honestly, it's part of what makes you so special," Draco breathed. "You've always been unapologetically convicted in who you are." He ducked in, trailing a hand along her cheek before pressing a kiss to her mouth. "And I love every part of you."

A few stray tears broke from her eyes, but he wasn't certain whether that was from her emotions or the pain. He continued to ghost his fingers over her cheek and up towards her temple, and his eyes widened. Before she could respond, he bit out, "You are burning up."

"I don't feel well," she breathed, palming her own forehead.

"No shit," Draco huffed, fighting a bit of a chuckle. "You haven't been obvious at all. I'm taking you to the hospital."

Hermione's breathing grew laboured, her eyes squeezing shut again. "It's okay, I promise. I'm just―"

She fell silent, and Draco eyed her for a moment, and if he wasn't so concerned about Apparating her in her present state, he would have already taken her to see Huxley. Her fingertips drummed an anxious rhythm on the sofa, her lips mouthing over silent words; Draco's heart thudded dully in his chest.

"Are you remembering something?" he asked at last. All of the other memories that had broken through had been during her treatment sessions, so he didn't know what to make of the situation.

Her tapping intensified, but she offered a stifled nod. "If I think about it too hard, it can vanish." Although her eyes remained glassy with moisture, she flipped the page in her book. But moments later, she grappled for his hand and hissed, "Giant snake?"

"Basilisk," he said, squeezing her fingers tight. "Second year."

She grimaced, her hand clammy in his. "What else?"

Draco felt himself begin to panic and drew a slow breath, his heart racing. "Okay, right. So the basilisk was brought into Hogwarts by Salazar Slytherin and kept for a thousand years in a subterranean passage called the Chamber of Secrets."

"Pain?" she queried, giving up on her book entirely and plastering a hand over her forehead. "Why is there pain?"

His heart plummetted into his stomach. "Looking directly at the basilisk results in death. But to look at it through another method to obscure the contact causes petrification." He wracked his own memory, and the recollections churned uneasily within him. "It travelled from the chamber through the plumbing; you were petrified before it was caught."

She cracked one eye open as though she didn't entirely believe him, but then she nodded. "Please keep going," she whispered.

Although his mind suddenly went blank, he squeezed her hand. "From what I know of the matter, you figured it out. You saw the basilisk through a mirror."

"Harry can talk to snakes," she breathed, eyes scrunched shut. "Right?"

It took him a moment to recall that he'd known that. "Parselmouth, it's called. The language of snakes is Parseltongue. He picked it up from the connection with the Dark Lord formed when he was a baby." The words spilt from his mouth, trying to keep her as distracted as he could, even while his pulse raced with every word that she spoke. He hadn't even realised he'd chronicled so much information about Potter and their experiences at school; he felt nauseous at the next point. "Tom Riddle had a cursed diary, and my father planted it on a student―that's how the basilisk was being controlled."

Despite the visceral strain on her face, Hermione snickered. "You realise how utterly bollocks this all sounds," she whispered.

"I do," he conceded. "But this all happened. Potter stabbed the basilisk with a sword in the Chamber of Secrets. You weren't there―because you were petrified, I suppose―but shortly thereafter, you were restored with a draught made from Mandrake tears."

"Okay," she said, at last, her grip on his hand loosening. Her eyes slid open, watery and red, and she blinked at him several times. He could see her mind whirring as she stared at him. "Alright, I think it's settled. And it isn't... the others so far have all been just a snippet. This feels like―" Her eyes narrowed with concentration. "This is like a series of events. I can't quite piece them together, but I can tell they're related."

Draco's mouth fell open as he listened. "This is good news."

"It is," she murmured, still distracted as though playing over the freshly returned memories in her mind. Then she tittered. "I think I can see you in one of them; only it's a small version of you. You weren't very nice." The bridge of her nose scrunched up in distaste, but he could still see the beaming warmth in her face.

"Did warn you," Draco said, lifting a brow, "I wasn't very nice then."

Hermione snickered. "Your hair was interesting."

"I was twelve," he huffed. Even despite the mild irritation that she was intentionally prodding, Draco was overjoyed to learn about this latest advancement. Maybe Huxley's ideas held some merit after all―that she could use the first memories to unravel more. "I feel like you're discovering an album of my childhood photos or something, but I can't see them."

They shared a grin. Then Hermione abruptly threw her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck. Caught off guard, Draco sobered and drew her closer, pressing a kiss to her brow. Her chest tightened at the impromptu show of emotion. She drew back from the embrace after a minute, swiping a finger beneath the corner of one eye.

"It's remarkable," she mused and drew a blank sheet of parchment towards her to jot down a few quick notes. "That your assistance in talking me through all of it brought out more memories than I've so far been able to reach."

"It is," Draco agreed. "There must be something to it."

Hermione released a sigh and sank back into his hold. Her voice was quiet. "I'm starting to believe this might actually work, Draco."

"It will. I know it."


"So," Potter prompted, taking a swig from his bottle of water. "How was your interview? I've met Unspeakable Caldwell a few times, and that woman is intimidating as hell."

"She is," Hermione said, offering a smile. She had just finished her interview with the Department of Mysteries, and as Draco and Potter were in the department that day, the three of them had arranged to meet for lunch in the Ministry cafeteria. "But brilliant, truly. I can only imagine how much I could learn from her."

"And?" Draco drawled, cocking a brow. "What did she have to say?"

Hermione snagged a crisp from her packet and chewed it before speaking, her gaze drifting across the room to where a Ministry official appeared to be hosting a vampire. She jolted back to the conversation at hand. "She's naturally hesitant to offer me a job outright, of course, and I can't blame her. After all, I've only just started to remember things, and most of that doesn't comprise anything I learned in seven years of study at Hogwarts. But she and Healer Huxley have spoken at length, and she might be willing to take me on." Colour flooded her cheeks. "And apparently, Minister Shacklebolt also offered a recommendation."

"'Course he did," Potter said, barrelling through her evident embarrassment over the matter. "And you don't need to feel uncomfortable over that. You and Kings knew one another quite well during the war before he was made Minister."

As he finished his lunch, Draco could feel Hermione's stare on him, and he eyed her for a moment. "It sounds like it went well, all things considered. If it's what you genuinely want to do, then I think you should go for it if Caldwell offers anything. Then you don't need to worry about finding a shop job in the interim. To be honest, I've always found the Unspeakables to be fascinating."

"They're bloody terrifying," Potter added. "So you'll fit right in." He pointed at her with his bottle of water. "And you know―you probably ought not to tell Caldwell this, but we did break into the Department of Mysteries fifth year."

Draco eyed Potter sidelong.

"Only this one's father and his cronies," Potter went on, "thought it was a good idea to try and kill a group of teenagers."

Holding up his hands with a grimace at Hermione's wide-eyed astonishment, Draco said, "I take no responsibility for my father's actions. And honestly, you shouldn't have been trying to break into a Ministry department in the first place."

Potter fixed with him no small measure of derision. "It was with good reason, thanks." He fell silent, his face sobering. "And we lost a good man that night."

Draco knew that part of the story; his mother's cousin Sirius Black had fallen through the veil in the Death Chamber at his aunt's hand. "Yeah," he muttered, feeling the last of his appetite desert him. "Bloody Bellatrix."

"Bloody Bellatrix," Potter agreed with a grimace.

"The mad aunt?" Hermione asked, a little meekly as though she weren't quite certain. When Draco and Potter both nodded, she made a face and echoed, "Bloody Bellatrix indeed."

The table felt a little uncomfortable as such a heavy topic of conversation hung over the three of them. As Hermione began telling Potter about her plans to see her parents the following week, Draco glanced up when a DMLE memo came soaring towards him. He waved a dismissive hand when Hermione broke off mid-sentence and unfolded the lavender memo while the pair of them carried on.

Emergency Summons

Third Rank Training Auror D L Malfoy

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

Time: Immediate

His heart felt as though it shuddered to a halt in his chest, and the idle chatter between Hermione and Potter faded to background noise behind the thudding of his pulse. His mouth went dry, and he realised belatedly his hand shook.

"There it is," he breathed to himself.

The chaos that had been missing from his life.

The hospital would only have sent an emergency summons via the department if something serious had happened.

"I have to go," he choked, meeting Hermione's concerned gaze. He tossed her the memo, already jumping to his feet, then turned to Potter. "Please tell Robards I'll be back as soon as I can."

Hermione's eyes widened as she read the memo, and she pushed her seat back abruptly. "I can come with you."

Draco's head felt full of noise, a dull buzz that cut him off from everything else. He brushed a kiss to her cheek. "It's alright. I'll call as soon as I know anything."

He dashed to the nearest Apparition point.


Upon arriving at St Mungo's, still clad in his full Auror robes and with a dull rush of panic building in his chest, Draco found Lucy, his mother's in-home caregiver.

"What happened?" he asked, the words coming out brusque as he wrenched a hand through his hair.

Lucy's eyes were watery as she shook her head. "She began to decline yesterday, but nothing beyond the ordinary fluctuations we've seen. Her magic has been waning, as you know, but as of this morning, there was nothing―and then―"

Draco scrubbed at one eye with the heel of his palm. "Where is she?"

"Auror Malfoy." Whirling at the sound of Healer Brooks' voice, Draco's heart froze at the sombre look on the man's face. "Please, come with me." The man kept a brisk pace as he led Draco through the labyrinthine corridors of the hospital, his stride so quick Draco had to hurry to keep up. "We're about to go into an intensive magical procedure."

"And?" Draco scarcely managed to ask.

Brooks glanced at him as they walked. "And it's a last resort effort, Auror Malfoy." His lips thinned. "I can't give you anything more than that."

Warmth prickled at the corners of Draco's eyes, and he didn't trust himself to speak; he simply nodded in return. He couldn't stifle the terrible feeling that had utterly overtaken him—that he might not see his mother again.

By the time they arrived in the room, all of Draco's strength had seeped from him, his shoulders sagging, despair breaking through all of his many cracks.

Brooks clapped a sturdy hand to his shoulder. "You've got five minutes, Malfoy."

It felt like a bad dream.

He drew in as deep a breath as he could manage and slipped into the room. Several healers in strange outfits prepared vials, but Draco's gaze slid almost instantly to his mother. Whatever he had expected, he wasn't prepared.

Narcissa's face was pale, the skin around her closed eyes bruised; she might have been sleeping if she didn't look on the verge of something worse. Upon seeing her, silent tears instantly sprung to the corners of his eyes and slipped down his cheeks.

"Mum," he breathed, the edges of her blurry as he sank into the seat at her bedside. Pressing his lips into a hard line, he took her hand.

Although her hand was unresponsive in his, her eyelids fluttered for several beats then slid open. A soft, fragile smile pulled at her lips. "Draco," she whispered. Her lips trembled. "You're here."

"I'm here," he muttered gruffly, swiping at one eye. "I've got you." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "You're going to be okay."

Narcissa only shook her head, wincing as though the effort cost her. "I've always loved you, Draco." The words fell quiet, hoarse. "I'm so proud of you."

"You're going to be okay," he choked again. "Please, you can't―you're going to be alright."

A soft, sad smile pulled at her lips. "Tell Hermione," she breathed, "she must love you enough for both of us." Her frail fingers curled against his own. "She is a wonderful choice, Draco."

Tears spilt down his cheeks in earnest, and a sob slipped from his mouth. "You can't talk like that." He clung to her hand, and all at once, Draco was a small boy again, lost and uncertain without the support of his mother. "I can't lose you."

Across the room, the healers had stopped in their preparations; Draco heard the quiet snick of the door close behind him. Through the blur of his periphery, he saw Healer Brooks walk into the room.

"I love you, Draco," Narcissa said again, her grip on his hand loosening.

"I love you," Draco choked in return, leaning in close to brush a kiss against her temple. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many arguments left unresolved, so many tensions lingering between them. But he didn't know how to say any of it. In her eyes, he could see the same—and resolution. That, in the end, if this were the end, none of it would matter. He only said again, "I love you."

When he drew back, he met his mother's forced smile and forced one of his own. He reached out, tucking a stray bit of her hair into place. Narcissa nodded, tear tracks drying on her cheeks. "Thank you, Draco."

He wanted to fiddle with her hair a little longer; wanted to sit and hold her hand and make undue promises he had no right to offer.

Instead, he pressed another kiss to her cheek, rose to his feet, and breathed, "I'll see you soon."

"Soon," his mother echoed.

He couldn't bear to look back as he strode from the room.


Draco lost track of time.

It might have been hours; it was probably hours.

All he knew was fear, despair, the emptiness in his chest and when his eyes ran dry of moisture. Hermione joined him and sat at his side, and Potter, and shortly after Theo, too. His head spun, heart throbbing, and he clung to Hermione's hand like it was his tether back to reality.

Potter must have alerted Andromeda because she had arrived at some point, too, without Teddy. For some reason, that detail alone cemented what Draco already knew to be true.

He sipped a cup of tea someone had shoved into his hand, long grown cold, but he couldn't stomach the thought of food.

Draco felt depleted, spent, emotionally wrought.

The months of strain and struggle struck him all at once as he sat, staring at a blank wall across the room.

Some point later, after he could already see the sky darkening through the windows of the hospital, his gaze tracked the emergence of Healer Brooks. He idly noted the exhaustion in the man's countenance, the way Hermione's hand gripped his a little tighter, how Theo and Potter jerked out of their conversation.

But Draco could already see the reality of it all in the man's face, haunting his eyes, long before he spoke the words.

"I'm sorry, Auror Malfoy."

Notes:

Thanks for reading xo

Alpha and beta credits, as always, to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 38

Notes:

angst ahead <3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco knew time was shifting by, but he'd lost the ability to make sense of it. In the hours―or it might have been days―that followed his mother's passing, he largely fluctuated through different degrees of awareness.

Someone Apparated him to his flat―Theo, he thought―and Potter took Hermione to her flat, but she arrived back minutes later with a bag. She'd scarcely left his side since.

He'd been given the rest of the week off from work, and as though sensing he wasn't entirely cognizant of how to keep himself functioning, his friends came and went as they pleased and as often as they were able. Draco didn't know how to put most of his thoughts into words when thoughts of his mother encompassed his mind almost entirely, but he was grateful for their ambient presence. He didn't know what to say, but thankfully they kept themselves entertained.

Draco couldn't make sense of anything.

The last time he'd seen his mother, she had been weak but showing signs of improvement. At the very least, she'd had a measure more energy than she had initially when the illness struck.

From what he could understand, the illness had escalated to the point where it all but consumed her magical core, and in the effort to fight it off, the rest of her weakened body had succumbed.

He sat on the sofa, staring into the empty grate, Hermione's shoulder pressed against his.

His mind felt numb, borderline catatonic, as though it had yet to process the extent of what had happened, and all of his thoughts felt blurred around the edges. Brooks' pronouncement had struck Draco like it carried weight, and something within himself had collapsed at last. The strength had drained from him, his appetite was nonexistent, and he'd hardly slept in days.

His entire countenance felt as though he were trying to see through water, trying to process his thoughts through a haze of fog.

Draco didn't know how everything had gone so wrong in only a matter of months.

Hermione's fingers idly entwined with his own. Maybe not everything. She sat cross-legged on the sofa at his side, a book open in her lap, eyes darting rapidly across the page. A hint of amusement pulled at Draco's lips, and he gave her hand a squeeze.

Jolting at the contact, she glanced up. "Do you want some tea?"

"I'm alright," he murmured, his voice hoarse from disuse. Through the entrance into the kitchen, he saw Theo and Potter playing cards at the table. Draco cleared his throat. "Thank you for staying."

"Of course," she said idly, bringing the back of his hand to her mouth. "I'm not going anywhere. Unless you want us to leave you alone, of course."

A harsh breath fell from his lips. "No, please stay." He had always been excessively private, and growing up, he had preferred to struggle alone in silence. But knowing he had people who cared enough to camp out his sitting room was oddly overwhelming. He added a hasty, "If you want to."

The thought had struck him more than once, intense and unwanted, that as the sole remaining Malfoy, he would need to deal with the funeral arrangements. But to accept such a thing would be akin to accepting that his mother was gone, and with the suddenness of it, he couldn't wrap his head around that, either.

"I'm getting dinner," Potter announced to the room at large, rose, and walked towards the Floo. "No one go anywhere." He vanished in a flare of green flames.

Draco fixed the grate with another stare. "I'll just stay here, then."

He hadn't been anywhere since they brought him back from the hospital, and at least a day had passed. Maybe more. Probably more. He'd drifted in and out of restless sleep, and someone had drawn the blinds, so his internal clock was surely inaccurate.

Silence drifted through the room again, and Theo walked into the sitting room. He perched on the armchair by the hearth and met Draco's stare. "Are you feeling alright?"

Draco pursed his lips and carded a hand through his messy hair. "Honestly? I don't know. I think... I don't want to face everything, but I know I have to."

Theo leaned forward, reaching out an arm to clasp Draco on the shoulder. "We're here to help you. Whatever you need."

"Thanks." He briefly placed a hand to rest on Theo's atop his shoulder, then collapsed back into the sofa, dropping his head back. "I don't know what I need right now."

"That's alright," Hermione mused, sadness pulling at her brow. "You've had an incredible shock."

Draco's thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to the final moments he'd spoken with his mother. The volumes that had lain unspoken between them and how, in those moments, he'd felt everything between them settle into only what mattered.

"I can't believe she's gone," he said, voicing the thought out loud for the first time. He grimaced, an uncomfortable storm swelling and constricting his chest. Dragging a hand along his face, he blew out a breath. "I knew she was sick, but somehow it felt like... I don't know. Like she was still going to pull through, somehow. She was so strong."

"She was," Theo mused, his lips thinned into a line. "I'm sorry, mate."

Draco's eyes slid towards Hermione, and he could read the emotion visible on her face. Sweeping an arm around her, he tugged her into his chest, drawing a deep breath. Her curls were fruity-scented and tickled his face. Somehow, just the feel of her in his arms released some of the strain.

"I think I'm going to have a shower," he muttered, pushing himself up from the sofa with effort after scarcely moving in hours. Hopefully, a scalding spray of water would clear some of the haze from his head.

"Harry should be back with food soon," Theo offered; Draco ducked his chin and slipped from the room.


The weekend slipped past in a blur. Andromeda had rescheduled their dinner arrangements; Draco spent half of it emotionally drained on the sofa and the other half dealing with barristers and settling his mother's affairs.

Despite the way he had actively avoided the manor for years, it was now entirely his. It would be something for Draco to sort out when the dust settled because he didn't know whether he would ever want to live there again. For the time being, Podski would remain at the manor, and Patroclus popped in and out of Draco's flat to ensure everyone was well-fed, and the surfaces were spotless.

It was oddly reassuring to know Draco wouldn't have to worry about those things in the interim, and the elf was ecstatic to see Hermione on a regular basis.

The funeral was set for Tuesday afternoon; Draco didn't think he was ready—didn't know if he would ever be ready.

In the matter of a month, he'd seen his father's soul taken by a Dementor and lost his mother. It felt like the sort of nightmare that might happen to someone else, and some part of himself still felt oddly disconnected from it all.

Draco suspected when everything slowed down—when the silence crept in—he would feel the full impact.

Through it all, Hermione remained at his side, and Theo and Potter showed up as often as they were able. He didn't know how to express his gratitude when he otherwise would have felt himself sinking into a dark place.

If nothing else, he tried to remind himself that his mother wasn't in pain any longer. As much as he'd wanted her to stay, she hadn't been well for months, and he knew she had been struggling more than she let on. It didn't reassure him nearly as much as he'd hoped. And Draco wasn't always certain what he believed―but maybe there was a chance she and his father were together again.

Monday, he would return to work.

He didn't know how he would manage to focus, whilst simultaneously, he longed for the distraction of it—for the reprieve from his grief, seeping in and colouring everything else with a shade of despair.

He longed for warmth and the tentative peace he'd felt just a week prior. That implicit feeling that things were alright, and there was a chance everything in his life would ultimately lead somewhere good.

The reminder felt bittersweet.

The darkness threatened to encompass at all times, and a chill crept through him to remember the last time he had felt so utterly hopeless. Back at Hogwarts, when he hadn't known what to expect or whether anything would ever be okay again.

If nothing else, he had Hermione, and he had friends who genuinely cared about him, and that was more than Draco could say about the time before.


Returning to the Auror's Office was, oddly, a relief.

He and Potter had been assigned to the office for the front half of the week, presumably because Draco wasn't entirely focused, but he understood the thought. To his surprise, Robards called him into his office first thing Monday morning to express his condolences, and the pair spent three-quarters of an hour simply talking. It was rare to see the side of Robards that was not the Head Auror but just a man, and Draco appreciated the respite.

Having something to distract his mind after spending the last four days stewing over his mother's death felt like a breath of fresh air to clear some of the fog that remained.

When he settled into work, he and Potter pulled up seats at one of the investigation tables and worked in companionable silence.

The latest―and most ridiculous, in Draco's opinion―of the bizarre series of thefts on Diagon Alley occurred over the weekend at Fortescue's. Draco couldn't imagine stealing ice cream, let alone the logistics around it.

"Okay," Potter said, at last, holding up his hands. "I concede. There has to be a link between all of these."

At least a dozen files sat spread on the table between them, each one representing one of their instances of theft, and Draco clicked his tongue as he glanced up. "Did I not say there would be?"

Potter scoffed and shot him a look. "Find it then, smartarse."

"I intend to." In actuality, it would be more difficult than in theory, given there were virtually no indicators to connect one to the others aside from the strange circumstances and ridiculous crimes. But if nothing else, he appreciated the fact that Potter didn't care to tiptoe around the situation.

He had been glad to have Hermione and Theo over all weekend, but Potter was the one who wouldn't worry about treading on his feelings. It felt like a bigger step back to normalcy than anything.

Idly, Draco considered the thought of being grateful to Potter for anything; he snorted.

"What?" Potter asked, cocking a brow as he peered at Draco over his glasses.

"Nothing," Draco murmured, flipping the page in one file. "I'm just looking forward to your reaction when I do solve this shite."

With a roll of his eyes, Potter returned to his work. "Good luck with that. At any rate," he went on, clenching his jaw, "we're partners. We'll solve it together."

Draco eyed him for a moment, his lips twitching with a smirk. "You're afraid I'm going to figure out the link before you."

"Not a bloody chance."

Ignoring him, Draco sorted through the files, arranging them into chronological order, then he drafted the sequence of events in cross-reference to the thefts. Whether or not Potter realised he had just initiated a race, Draco didn't know, nor did he care. Because right now, this series of strange, inconsequential cases was the only thing keeping his head on straight.


The funeral was simultaneously better and worse than Draco had anticipated. They had arranged for a small ceremony in the cemetery on the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

A number of Narcissa's society friends had shown up, though she had been less social in the years since the war. Most of them he knew―a handful he didn't. Lucy and Brooks and some of the other healers who had cared for his mother were there; Draco was glad to know her icy demeanour hadn't pushed them away in her final months.

At his side stood Hermione. He slipped an arm behind her back, seeking the strength she could afford him, and Draco was afraid he might simply collapse without her there to ground him. Then Theo and Potter, who scrubbed a hand through Teddy's hair, stood with Andromeda.

Draco could feel eyes on him, and some idle, distant part of him wondered how it looked that Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were both in attendance at Narcissa Malfoy's memorial service. Whether the detail would end up in yet another Daily Prophet article. The rest of him couldn't be bothered to care.

In the past week, he'd nearly spent himself of tears, though he knew his eyes were rimmed red. He hadn't cared to glamour himself, either.

He was surprised to see Healer Huxley in attendance at Andromeda's other side, and Draco caught the amusement in Potter's stare when they looked at one another. Whether it had been arranged in advance or was simply fortuitous, Draco didn't know, nor was it his business. Until a flicker of memory caught in the back of his mind that Andromeda and Huxley met at his father's trial.

There was a strange irony in the situation, but he didn't have the strength of will to dig into it.

Although Draco had been briefly able to stow away the voracious despair that had held him in its grasp during the initial days after his mother's passing, the bulk of it reignited as he skimmed his gaze around the small group that had assembled. The edges of his vision blurred, that dark, haunting fog creeping back into his head, and Draco firmly averted his gaze to linger on his mother's casket.

An official was speaking, sharing about his mother's life, but Draco could scarcely hear any of it over the coursing, broken throb of his heart.

All he could think of was his mother, who so rarely expressed any sort of genuine emotion. But she had loved more than anyone could have realised. She had loved Draco's father, ultimately, despite the circumstances around their marriage. She had loved the gardens and often dismissed the elves so she could tend to them by hand.

And, though they'd not always seen eye to eye, she had loved Draco.

More than anything else. He'd known as much, but he wondered whether he'd taken that fact for granted.

Whether she had known how much she meant to him, despite their petty arguments.

On an almost constant loop, his mind slid from one conversation to the next. Their arguments, their rare heart-to-hearts, and even more rare, the moments when they simply talked and joked and enjoyed one another's company.

He could remember her last words to him; they'd been ringing in his mind ever since. That she thought Hermione was a good choice after all. After all their debates about blood purity and marrying for social and political status.

Draco hadn't yet found the heart to tell Hermione. Every part of him had felt too raw, too encumbered by his grief.

And that last, quiet, peaceful moment between them, where Draco had felt them both release the grievances that had lingered for years. When Draco had allowed himself to say goodbye, and while he'd clung to hope that whole evening, he suspected he had known. Because it was her way of saying goodbye, too.

Silent tears slid down his cheeks as he stared at the tilled earth, anguish sinking his shoulders and drawing his brow into mourning.

Hermione tucked into his side, wrapping one arm around his front. Her eyes were glassy, and he planted a kiss to her temple, drawing a soft and fortifying strength from her presence.

Despite everything, she still stood by his side.

"Thank you for being here with me," he murmured into her hair, biting hard on his lower lip as a tremble threatened. He swiped away the tears that tracked along his cheeks.

Hermione only nodded with a sniffle, and she gave him a sad, watery smile. "Of course, Draco."

The officiant concluded the ceremony, and with a beautiful flourish of magic, lowered the casket into the ground. The tilled earth shifted back into place on top, securing his mother's resting place below the ground. Draco watched in silence, his jaw clenched; he remained silent as the small group stepped forward to pay their respects, leaving flowers and other tokens on the bare earth.

Each of them stopped to give their condolences, clasp his hand, offer a quiet word of comfort. Draco nodded but clung to Hermione's hand all the while.

Once everyone had gone for the reception at the carriage house on the grounds, Draco stepped forward. Potter and Theo lingered a short distance away, and Hermione stood back to allow him a moment alone.

He summoned an arrangement of his mother's favourite flowers―roses, nasturtiums, narcissus. He laid them at the base of her headstone, gripping the stone with one hand to keep himself upright.

Draco kneeled in the grass beside her grave and folded his legs beneath himself. He took several long, measured breaths and felt, at last, a great exhale fall from his lungs.

"I'll just be a few minutes," he said quietly. Hermione's hand curled around his shoulder, and then she slipped away with Theo and Potter.

Alone with his mother's grave, Draco allowed himself long minutes to grieve. To feel the depth of his despair and to allow the emotions that had been buried for so long. He didn't think there were any more tears, and so he spoke.

All the things he might have shared with her when he was younger if he had the courage. The fears he'd kept trapped inside during the war. The hopes he had once had and those he still harboured for the future. That he might one day make a positive difference―and that the name of Malfoy might one day mean something better.

And he thanked her for being the mother that she was, that he'd needed all along, even if he hadn't always seen it.

For everything she had done for him to shape him into the man he was and for her strength and love all throughout. For long minutes―he lost track of time as the words spilt free―he spoke to his mother's grave, and, somehow, he had the feeling she was listening.

Finally, spent of words, he simply sat in silence, and a sort of peace settled over him.

Draco didn't know what would come next, and he didn't know how everything was going to land in the end or even when he would be able to get his feet beneath himself.

A light breeze flitted through the cemetery, carrying upon it the bright, floral scent of the gardens his mother had tended with such care.

Allowing a soft smile to his lips, Draco rose to his feet. He planted a kiss on his palm, curled his hand around the top of his mother's headstone once more.

"Goodbye, Mother," he whispered, releasing another long, rattling breath. His heart felt just a little lighter.

Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and made his way from the gardens.


"So, what are you going to do with the manor?" Theo asked a few days later as the four of them made a solid effort on a bottle of Firewhisky.

Draco shook his head. "Haven't decided yet. Why, do you want it?"

Theo snorted. "Are you offering?"

"Dunno," Draco drawled, then flashed a crooked grin. "I don't know if I'll ever want to live there again. Suppose it's a shame though―so much history."

"Think of the library," Hermione said, her voice carrying a bit of a slur. "You can't get rid of the library."

"Okay, but―" Draco lifted a finger. "If I sell the manor, we can get a nicer property that wasn't taken over by a sodding dark lord. And we can have a bigger library."

He saw Potter and Theo exchange a glance, and it occurred to him a little belatedly he'd been including Hermione in the collective 'we' without thinking on it overlong. Colour flared into his cheeks; for a long moment, he kept his gaze steady on the table, hoping she hadn't noticed.

He didn't even know at what point he'd started considering a long-term future that included her in it.

Even so, Hermione slumped her chin down, pouting a little. "But the library at the manor is so nice." Even as she spoke the words, her lips twitched, eyes landing on him. "Of course, my perspective is skewed by my love for books and my utter lack of context. So, of course, if you decide to sell the manor, I'll be supportive."

Draco cracked a grin. "Promise you if I do, I'll have an even nicer library."

Straightening in her seat again, Hermione gave him a banal smile. "Then that's all well and good."

"You two, honestly," Potter said gruffly, scruffing his hair, though amusement danced in his face. "Never met two people who cared so much about fucking books. And for years, I thought no one would ever be a bigger swot than Hermione."

"Hey," Hermione scoffed. Then a titter spilt from her lips. "Draco isn't nearly as big a swot as I am."

"Disagree," Theo clipped.

Draco fired him a scowl but pulled Hermione into his side. "I take no quarrel with being called a swot. In fact, that's not the insult you think it is." He skirted his gaze across Hermione's face. "And if nothing else, Hermione's my swot."

"Your swot," she agreed, planting a quick kiss on his mouth.

Potter rolled his eyes and pretended to gag. "Honestly."

Fixing his stare back onto Hermione, Draco ignored the others. Her eyes were a little glazed from the Firewhisky but heated, and his core coiled tight. His breath picked up a little as her mouth curled into a tantalising smile that did something wicked to his insides. Hermione's fingers played against his thigh.

"Get out," Draco breathed, rolling his head towards Potter and Theo. He cleared his throat. "Now, please."

Theo snorted. "Prat." But he rose to his feet a little unsteadily, swiped the rest of the partial bottle, and tugged Potter by his collar towards the Floo. Potter lifted a brow, his cheeks flushing when he glanced at Hermione. But Theo manoeuvred them both into the grate with a facetious, "Have fun!"

Before the green flames had even vanished, Hermione straddled his lap, sliding her hands into his hair as her mouth landed on his. Draco pulled her close, heat roaring through him at the feel of her flush against him. He dragged a hand down her spine, rounding the curve of her arse, and delved between her lips.

As she reached for the buttons on his shirt, her fingers fumbling a little, Draco clutched her against him with one arm and rose to his feet, propping himself up with another hand to the back of the sofa. She laughed against his mouth, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carted her down the hall and towards the bedroom.

Notes:

Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed the chapter xo

Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 39

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"I went to see my father yesterday."

Draco looked up, brows flying high on his forehead, and stared at Theo. He took a sip of tea, far too casual for the impact of the statement he'd just dropped. "And?" Draco asked. "How did that go?"

Theo's lips twitched. "Rather amusing, actually. You might have liked to be there aside from the whole Azkaban thing. I took Harry along―thought it was about time I introduced the two of them."

At that, a surprised laugh burst free. "You introduced your boyfriend, Auror and saviour of the wizarding world, to your Death Eater father."

"That I did." Theo gave a nod and took another sip of tea. A grin spread across his face in recollection. "Honestly, the look on his face was just―you had to be there, I suppose. Harry was great about it all, of course." Theo shot him a look. "And you act as if my dating Harry is really all that different from you and Hermione."

"It isn't," Draco allowed, "but I never paraded her around at a visitation with my father."

"At any rate." Theo shifted in his seat, drumming his fingertips on the table's surface. "I asked Harry to go with me. I didn't know that I'd have the nerve to do it on my own."

Sobering, Draco caught his mate's gaze. "And did you?"

Theo considered the question for a moment with another shaky sip of tea, then nodded. "I did. You know me―I don't have any bloody courage. Luckily Harry has enough for both of us, I suppose. I told my father I was stepping up, and afterwards, we went to the Ministry to fill out the paperwork. I'm formally taking up the house seat."

"Theo," Draco began, reading the significance in Theo's face. A slow smile quirked his lips. "That's amazing. I'm proud of you, you know. For taking your life into your own hands. I know it can't have been easy."

For as long as Draco had known Theo, Nott Senior had been a constant source of anxiety and fear in his life. To see him now, pursuing a career of his own choice and taking control of his future struck Draco deeper than he had anticipated.

"Thanks," Theo said idly, but Draco could see that it all went deeper. "I probably wouldn't have done any of this without your support and Harry's. And for what it's worth―I'm proud of you too, you prat."

Draco huffed a laugh. "If only our teenage selves could see us now. Taking up with two-thirds of the Golden Trio." Draco thought for a moment, then added, "Although we still aren't certain Hermione isn't going to drop me on my arse when she remembers everything."

As her memories began to unravel, at last, it was like someone had pulled on a loose thread. Some days, so many small bits and pieces cascaded down on Hermione she didn't know what to make of them, and he had to help her parse through them to craft a timeline of sorts. Other days, she simply preferred to process on her own.

But the fact remained that her memories were returning, and Draco couldn't have been happier for the sparkle that gleamed in her eyes. Some of the memories involved him in some capacity, but he hadn't been a large part of her life through the first nineteen years.

He was still certain he would have many things for which to atone. Though while he dreaded her reaction to the truly heinous things he had done and said to her over the years, so far, she hadn't held too much of it against him.

"Well, if she does," Theo quipped at last, "you'll still have me. And I am better than nothing."

Draco squinted at him. "Just barely."

Theo reached across the table to swat the side of his head.


Potter walked into Draco's workspace looking as though an explosion had gone off―though to be fair, it wasn't that far from the truth. "What the absolute fuck are you doing?"

"Working," Draco returned, ignoring his presence as he waved a report up onto the wall between two others that shifted to oblige. "I remember things better if I can see them."

"This isn't even..." Potter dragged a hand through his hair and propped himself on the corner of Draco's desk. "Malfoy, it looks like you're trying to solve a multiple homicide."

Draco scoffed, folding his arms as he observed the wall, covered in reports and various bits of information. "As if the principle isn't the same. And as much as I love breaking up brawls in Knockturn, it's a far cry from trapping baddies. Let me have this."

"You do realise Robards has only given us these little jobs as a part of your level three training. We aren't meant to dig this far into them."

"That may be," Draco returned, "but look." He tapped two reports connected by a magical green thread and waited while Potter stood to peer closer. "These thefts were reported two days apart because one of the shops was closed over the weekend when the theft occurred, whereas the other proprietor noticed the next morning."

Potter's gaze swivelled to him. "They occurred back to back."

"According to the surveillance," Draco said with a nod. "There are a few small connections like that, but nothing that provides definitive evidence that these are all connected."

"Some might be." Potter brandished a hand. "While others could be coincidental."

"Right." Grimacing, Draco waved a hand at the wall covered in his investigation. "Hence all of this. I'm trying to narrow it down to what is and isn't relevant."

For several minutes, Potter merely observed the reports, following the threads Draco had connected between some and not others. Finally, he stepped back, shaking his head. "Alright, so suppose you are right and there's something deeper beneath all of this. Has Robards seen any of this yet?"

"Of course not." Draco snorted. "He'd think I've gone absolutely spare."

Potter adjusted his glasses, his expression distant. "Not necessarily. He's been known to chase a wild idea now and again. It shows initiative if nothing else."

Draco shot him a look and released a long breath. "I just have a feeling. There's something here, and it's going to click."

"Alright." Potter offered a crooked grin. "Then let it be known I've had faith all along."

There was something both surprising and reassuring about the fact that Potter hadn't given him shite for spending so much time on a string of seemingly insignificant robberies. That, to a certain extent, he trusted Draco's instinct, too.

Draco turned to face him. "Theo told me you went with him to see his father. And about the paperwork for the Wizengamot. Thanks, Potter. I know how much that's meant to Theo for a long time."

Potter's expression softened and took on an almost dreamy quality―similar to the one Theo wore when he spoke of Potter. "His father's a scary fucker, isn't he?" Draco snorted. "Theo was ready to do it all on his own. I think he just needed the extra nudge. And it's for the best―I don't want to see him struggle with his father for the rest of the man's life."

"You've been good for him," Draco said, attempting to keep the words as light as he could manage. "I've known Theo through all the worst of it, and I don't think I've ever seen him so settled."

"Thanks, Malfoy." Potter jammed his hands into his pockets; spots of pink appeared on his cheekbones. "Your friendship with Theo means a lot to him, and I never wanted to cross any lines. But he's become important in my life as well. And for as much as I still want to hit you for the way you went about everything when you found Hermione, I can't deny that I'm grateful for you bringing her back into my life as well. She's still hesitant about me as her memories come back, but I know she cares deeply for you as well."

Draco snickered. "We'd best stop before we start crying over pints of ice cream. But thanks, Potter."

Potter elbowed him in the arm. "You're probably right. Now come on―we're assigned to Knockturn. I know how much you love the pub brawls."


Hermione sat at his side, legs folded beneath her on the sofa while her eyes darted across the minuscule text of a tome so large she had struggled to lift it. But she hadn't spoken a word for half an hour while Draco skimmed the notes from his research at work. The silence had shifted from companionable to drawn out when he cast her a glance.

"What are you reading?"

"Unspeakable Caldwell gave it to me," she mused, turning the page without glancing up. "It's a compendium dissecting some of the deepest mysteries in the universe." Draco snickered, but her face remained impassive, and he grimaced when he realised it was probably true.

"Tell me about one." Draco rolled his neck out and took a sip from his cup of tea on the end table; Hermione glanced at him with one brow cocked.

"I can't," she said. "I would have to kill you."

He snorted, replacing the cup on its coaster. "Spoken like an Unspeakable alright."

A hint of colour crept into her cheeks, but her lips quirked with a pleased smile. "Unspeakable Caldwell's been cautious not to dive into the magical side of my training too fast while my memories are still returning, but she's given me plenty of reading material and some spells to practice. It's all quite fascinating."

"I'm sure it is," Draco admitted. "And if anyone's going to solve the mysteries of the universe, I imagine it'll be you."

Finally, she turned towards him with a smile. "You're too kind. And I almost forgot to mention; my parents have invited me for tea tomorrow."

He scanned her body language for a moment. "Do you feel alright about that?"

"I think so." She gave a short nod. "I've had a few small recollections about them return, but nothing around the memory spell I cast or the subsequent trip to Australia after the war. I think they understand the situation well enough, and they just want to spend time with me."

Draco returned the smile. "Alright." He hadn't wanted to push on the matter of her parents when it was so fresh and sensitive in her mind. And for as much as he couldn't help a certain measure of protectiveness over her, it wasn't his place to invite himself along. "I'm sure that will be lovely."

Hermione's expression briefly faltered. "They'll want to get to know you better as well, of course, at some point."

"I can't blame them." Ruminating on the thought for a moment, he glanced away. "They don't know anything about me. If anything happens or you feel uncomfortable, just let me know, and I can come get you."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

She still didn't feel fully comfortable Apparating significant distances, but she had been practising short distances within his flat.

Although he knew it was impractical, a small part of Draco feared the thought that if she no longer needed anything from him, she might grow to tire of him. But even so, he knew how much she had grown to mean in his life, and he could only hope the sentiment went both ways.

Witnessing the return of her life as she had once known it felt like hovering on the edge of a blade. Draco didn't know which side he would land on when everything came down at last.

But her hand grappled for his as she returned to her book, and some of the tension sank away.


Draco hadn't seen Andromeda in the weeks since his mother's funeral.

He could still scarcely wrap his head around the fact that she was gone; a sort of perpetual haze hung over everything, casting a shade of grey on the things that had once brought light.

His work with the Auror's office; his relationship with Hermione.

He knew it would pass―or rather, he hoped it would. But the look on Andromeda's face when she enfolded him into her arms on the stoop caused his heart to clench in his chest. He bundled the woman in his arms, allowing himself a long, deep breath, and swiped at his eyes when they finally drew apart.

Andromeda clasped him by the arms, her eyes so similar but so different from his mother's. He almost couldn't stand the reminder. For weeks, his final conversation with his mother had rung through the back of his mind. Almost non-stop, he'd questioned what he could have done differently, whether he could have done more in her final days.

"How are you holding up?" Andromeda asked softly.

Draco offered a nod. "Not terribly. Some days are better than others." It was the truth―or most of it, anyway. He was glad to have his work to distract, even if it meant he had been fixating on small and unimportant cases. And at least he had Hermione. "Are Theo and Potter coming for dinner?"

"They are. Should be here soon." Andromeda nodded, checking her watch. "Is Hermione joining us?"

He shook his head. "She's seeing her parents this evening, though she said she might check in later."

His aunt didn't immediately respond, sadness glistening as a sheen in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Draco. I know this can't have been easy on you―but for what it's worth, in the times that I was able to reconnect with your mother before she passed, I could see how important you were to her. Pureblood relationships are never easy to navigate, but your mother loved you very much."

To his own horror, he felt moisture well up in his eyes, and he averted his gaze to the eaves of the house. "Thanks, Andromeda. It's easy to question sometimes. To ask myself whether she knew how much she meant to me."

"She was proud of you, Draco. As I am as well."

Forcing back the tears, Draco bit down hard on his lower lip and nodded. "Thanks."

Andromeda's grey eyes shone as well when he caught her gaze, and a long moment of silence passed between them. In Andromeda, Draco had the only other person who had known Narcissa Malfoy in ways similar to him—who had understood her struggles and her nuances. Draco hadn't realised how much he needed the connection until that moment.

At last, Andromeda released a breath. "Come on, then. Teddy's been eager to see you."

Draco felt emotionally raw―more so than he expected―but maybe he had needed a night with family and friends. As a reminder of the people whose presence in his life still lifted him up. The wide grin that lit Teddy's face when Draco walked into the sitting room rejuvenated some numbed part of himself.

And when Theo and Potter arrived, the latter shoving a broom into his hand, Draco felt some of the weight he'd been carrying seep away as he kicked off from the ground. Flying, feeling the wind in his face as he pushed the broom to its limits and beyond, Draco could feel the moisture drawn to his eyes. He didn't know if it was from the wind or the burgeoning weight in his chest, but it felt like a release.

Some part of him wished Hermione was there, but she had her own life to rediscover.

Theo threw a Quaffle at him, and Draco barely managed to catch it before it hit him in the face. Cracking a grin, he fired it across the yard at Potter, and the three of them broke into a scrimmage with Teddy.

It felt strange to have a genuine laugh—to feel a lightness swell within him.

And when they landed in advance of dinner, Draco felt amusement tugging across his lips upon seeing Healer Huxley's presence at Andromeda's side. He shared a grin with Potter and settled in.


Hermione came over after she visited with her parents, long after Draco had already returned home to his flat. He couldn't miss the sparkle in her eyes, the glow on her face.

"How was your visit?" he asked, pulling her idly into his arms.

"Good." The word was muffled against his shirt, her arms winding around his back. "Very good, actually." She propped her chin on his chest, peering up at him. "How was Andromeda's?"

He was surprised at how true the words felt when he said, "Great. It was... nice to talk with her a little."

"I'm sorry I missed it."

"Not at all." Draco captured her lips in a brief kiss. "Though you wouldn't believe who was there."

Her lips curled with a smile. "I think I might. Healer Huxley mentioned something about her during our last session."

"It's good, I think." Draco shrugged, releasing her and stepping back. "Andromeda's been through a lot since the war. I'd like to see her find a little happiness of her own again."

Hermione smiled, grazing his jaw with her fingertips. "I think so, too. I had a memory of Andromeda the other day―during the war." She shook her head a little, pensive. "At her house, and there were lots of others there―and a great black-winged beast." She tittered, offering a bit of a grin. "I suppose it'll all have to piece together eventually, won't it?"

Draco noted she didn't bring up a fear that he knew she sometimes felt. That the memories wouldn't all return, and eventually, she would be left with bits and pieces, a fragmented past.

"It will," he murmured, brushing a kiss to her forehead. "I know it."

For a long moment, she only stared at him in silence. Then she folded herself into his arms, releasing a long breath. "You've been so good to me. So much more than… I didn't know what to think when I met you. You seemed on edge, and I guess I put the thought from my mind that it had any relevance to my situation because I'd long since given up on finding anyone that knew me before."

He brushed a curl back from her face. "Technically, we met when we were eleven. I was just a prat. For a long time. And circumstances just forced me to change."

Her eyes sparkled with warmth. "I remembered that the other day. Meeting you on a train―and something about a toad?"

"The toad." Draco barked a laugh, a slow grin spreading. "Longbottom's toad―I remember that. You must have come into the compartment four times looking for that blasted thing."

"I suppose I was determined, wasn't I?" Colour appeared on her cheekbones, even though she offered him a smile. "It's so strange to think, now, that we knew one another, but we never really knew one another."

"No," he breathed, the amusement dropping off. "We never did."

"And now…" She curled a hand around his hip to the small of his back, and despair shone in her eyes. "Now, I don't know how I would have made it through any of this without you. I don't know what I've done to deserve you in my life."

Draco's stomach rolled, heart tight in his chest as he stared at her, unable to piece his thoughts into words. Guilt rioted within him, even after everything, to think that she thought so highly of him when he was the one who didn't deserve it.

Drifting his fingers along her jaw, he tilted her chin, capturing her lips in a kiss. Against her mouth, he breathed, "I love you." And when he drew back, he suppressed the emotions that threatened to break free and leave him a shell, the husk of a man that he had been before she came into his life. "I promise I'm not worthy of you, but I'm going to do everything I can so that one day I might be."

Hermione shook her head. "You've done so much for me. You aren't that boy anymore. I've watched you face so much since we've met, and I'm proud of you―and I love you."

Thinning his lips, he caught her eye again as he released a breath. "Thank you."

She smiled, warmth fluttering across her face that was almost unbearable, and Draco had never realised he could care so much about another person. He wouldn't have imagined, growing up, that he could ever have a chance with someone like her.

Hell, for a long time, he didn't think he would live to see eighteen.

The trust in her gaze, the love swelling in his chest, sought to break him into incomplete shards of himself, and he knew if it happened, he wouldn't be reassembled whole.

He swiped gruffly at one eye. "You," he said at last, "need to tell me about how your evening went with your parents. I can't wait to hear about it."

She fidgeted with the buttons of his shirt, smoothing her hands along his torso and chest. "Fine. But I want to hear about dinner at Andromeda's―and a special focus on Andromeda and Huxley, please."

Draco grinned, pulling her in for another kiss, and dragged her towards the sofa. "Whatever you like."

"Maybe," she breathed, perching on his lap, "I don't want to talk about any of that just now."

Catching the mischievous glint in her eye, he rounded the curve of her arse with his hand, giving it a squeeze. "Maybe I like where you're going with this."

Taking his face in her hands, Hermione caught his mouth in a searing kiss that coiled arousal tight in the pit of his stomach. She ground against him, her breaths mingling with his own. As she played with the hair at the back of his neck, he pulled her shirt over her head, palming her breasts as he stole another kiss.

Draco swallowed her moan when he tweaked her nipple through her bra, rolling his hips against hers.

"Draco." His name whispered, rolling from her tongue like a caress, incited desire deep within him, and her glazed eyes landed on his. She leaned back on her heels, straddling his lap on the sofa, and slowly released the closure of his jeans, smoothing her hands along his erection as she tugged them from his legs. Then she removed her own jeans before climbing back onto his lap, catching his lips in another heated kiss.

He groaned against her mouth, feeling her tight heat through her knickers, and tugged them from her legs.

Hermione released a harsh breath against his skin when he palmed her core, slipping two fingers between her wet folds. She bit her lip on a cry when he grazed her clit with his thumb; a smirk tugged at his lips, heart racing in his chest when she yanked his shorts off.

Draco smoothed a hand down her back as he thrust his fingers into her, drawing delectable sounds from her lips as he slipped the clasp of her bra open.

Without any further preamble, she took hold of his cock, caught his eyes with a blistering stare, and slid down onto his length.

He groaned her name, an oath and a blessing, and buried his face in the curve of her jaw as she lifted herself up―and back down again. She ground against him, filling herself, taking her pleasure, and his heart throbbed at the feel of it.

Grasping her arse, guiding her rhythm, Draco laved kisses to her jaw and throat, basking in her breathy moans as she rode him. Adrenaline raced through him at the press of her bare skin on his, and he pulled her mouth towards his, feeling himself spiral towards his release.

The chocolate in her eyes was dark and molten when she caught his gaze, an absent smile lingering on her lips. Draco reached between her legs, pressing his thumb to her clit. Her eyes fluttered shut, a cry breaking free as her walls clenched around him.

She rode out her orgasm, and with a few more thrusts, Draco felt his own release crash down over him. With an unintelligible groan, he buried his face in her neck, feeling her breath coast along his skin as his pulse slowed.

Hermione toyed with his hair, her breathing falling steady, and her eyes shone when they met his.

Draco leaned in, nose brushing hers, and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "You mean everything to me."

Her eyes sparkled with something else, glistening with moisture, and she whispered against his skin, "I'm never letting you go."

Notes:

A bit of a lighter chapter - I hope you liked it! Thank you for all your wonderful comments. The kind support on this story really does make my day.

Alpha and beta hugs to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 40

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione had gone quiet again, and Draco didn't know what to make of it. Every so often, when the memories grew tiresome, she would vanish, lock herself up in her flat, and keep to herself.

He knew she was okay because he hadn't heard otherwise from Healer Huxley. But she had missed their lunch plans at the Ministry the day before, and Draco hadn't been keen to bother her.

"Heard from Hermione?" Potter asked the next morning as he breezed past Draco's desk.

"No."

It wasn't as if he couldn't send her an owl, but for whatever reason, Potter typically refrained from reaching out to Hermione directly. Whether because their friendship wasn't how it had once been or something else, Draco didn't know. And he hadn't asked.

Potter had recently mentioned the idea of going to the Weasleys' again, even though, to Draco's knowledge, Potter and Weasley weren't as close as they'd been in school. He suspected it was connected to the fact that Potter was dating Theo and not the youngest female of the clan.

Draco had finally resigned himself to the idea of it. Although privately, he still hoped Hermione might have changed her mind―not only because of his personal taste for the man but because he knew Hermione and Weasley had history.

If Weasley still had some old unresolved feelings for her from before the point when she went missing, Draco didn't want to deal with it.

"Did you call her?" Potter pressed, clearly unable to discern the fact that Draco didn't want to talk about it.

Draco peered closer at the report on his desk. "You're capable of calling her yourself, or owling her, or Apparating to her flat, or―"

"I get it." Scowling at him, Potter folded his arms. "I don't like to infringe."

At that, Draco looked up with a frown. "She's your best friend. How would that be infringing?"

"I know her better than she knows me. I don't want her to think I'm bothering her with things she doesn't remember." He shifted, looking as uncomfortable with the conversation as Draco felt. "Or thinking I'm... you know. Trying anything."

Draco clicked his tongue and picked up his quill. "She wouldn't think that. She loves Theo. And Theo wouldn't think that either."

"Fine." Potter released an arduous huff. "I suppose I'm just afraid that... once she has her memories back, she's not going to want to be friends in the same ways anymore. I mean... she left England shortly after eighth year, and that was years ago already."

Obviously, he wasn't going to get any work done. Setting his quill carefully on the desk again, Draco turned towards Potter. "You don't think I'm paranoid she's not going to want anything to do with me once it's all unravelled? For all I know, my days remaining with her are numbered. You two were—have been—best friends since first year. Whatever comes back to her, she's always going to know that you were there for each other through the worst of it." Although he didn't care to admit it in front of Potter, he begrudgingly added, "You've got a better chance of staying in her life long-term than I do."

Potter's shoulders sank a little, but he didn't say anything more on the matter. He simply observed Draco's investigation wall. "Have you found more connections?"

"Two," Draco responded, grateful for the change in topic. "Honestly, at this point, there are too many connections to ignore. And get this: a string of the robberies occurred shortly before that failed sting attempt on the dragon fang smuggling ring last month."

"What?"

Waving his wand, Draco highlighted three reports. "The timing is suspicious."

"A diversion?" Potter asked, snapping his head back towards Draco. Then he grimaced. "We're officially showing this to Robards."


Draco scrolled through the messages he'd sent Hermione that day. Although she had largely integrated back into the wizarding world, he couldn't deny the ease and convenience of communicating with her via telephone.

For three days now, he'd scarcely heard from her other than brief single-line messages.

He stretched out on the sofa, eyed her number for a long moment, and dialled. After the line rang several times, he was certain she wouldn't answer. She often felt poor lately after her sessions, but he was starting to wonder whether he had done something to upset her when the line clicked on.

"Hello?"

"Hi," Draco said. "It's just me."

Her voice softened. "Hi."

"How are you feeling?"

Silence stretched on for a long moment, and Draco began to wish he hadn't bothered her. "Alright," she said, at last, the word quiet and uncertain. "Not great. Everything feels… tangled."

Sometimes, when she expressed that she didn't feel well with the treatments, Draco's mind flashed back to the day he had taken her to the manor when she had experienced a mental break so severe he'd had to rush her to the hospital. He could still remember the fear that had roared through his veins, raw and visceral. The terror that she might not pull through.

Draco didn't think he had it in him to lose anyone else.

As everything came apart within her mind, he lived in perpetual fear that the same might happen again―or worse, that it could all cause irreversible damage. That she might not only never fully recover her memory, but that all of it could cause her to regress.

He sighed, staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry it's been a rough week."

"It's okay." From the soft, defeated tone of her voice, Draco surmised it was anything but. He knew she preferred to deal with it on her own, but sometimes he wished she was more willing to open up to him. He knew how much of a load it was for her to carry alone. "How was your day?"

Draco clicked his tongue but opted not to press. "It was fine. Potter and I might have found some key information in our investigation."

"Oh," she exclaimed, "that's good news, isn't it?"

"Possibly. We don't know for sure yet." He fell silent; he didn't want to talk about work when she sounded so desolate. "Theo and Potter are coming over tomorrow night for drinks if you want to join."

"That sounds fun." From the tension that stretched on, Draco sensed something further. Her voice softened, and she added, "I'll probably have to see how I'm feeling. I have a session with Healer Huxley tomorrow morning."

Draco tracked the lines in the ceiling with his gaze, releasing a shallow breath. "Right. Of course. Let me know."

"I will. Draco?"

His eyes stung. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry... that I've not been around much. It's been..." She drifted off, and Draco remained as still as possible as he waited. "I'm scared."

A hairline fracture began its slow creep through his heart, manifesting as a tightness in his chest. "I know," he breathed into the phone. "I wish I could tell you it's all going to be okay. But I'm here―promise."

"I know you are," she whispered. He heard a sniffle on the other end of the line.

"Do you want me to come over?"

Although Draco suspected he already knew what her response would be, he still clenched his jaw when she said, "Not tonight. Thank you, though."

"Of course."

The line fell silent again, and he desperately longed for something, anything, he could say to lift her spirits. But he knew anything he could offer would only be empty platitudes, and that wasn't fair to her. He dragged a hand through his hair, releasing a breath.

"I should get some sleep," she said at last.

"Yeah," Draco murmured, "same."

Never mind the fact that he was wide awake.

"I love you," her voice came across the line, soft and worn.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. "I love you, too. More than I can say. You're going to get through this."

"Okay." She sounded unconvinced, though her voice didn't waver. "Good night."

The line clicked off, and Draco jammed the button to end the call without looking at the phone. For a long moment, he only stared blankly, feeling turmoil build and twist within his chest, nausea growing in his stomach. For as much as he wanted to hope they would make it through what came next, he was so absolutely depleted.

Between everything with his father, his mother, and his career, Hermione had been by his side. And now he didn't know how to help her.

Or whether she would still want his help at the end of the day.

Everything that had transpired over the last number of months left him spent of energy and low on hope. He didn't know what he would do if he lost Hermione, too―but it wasn't about him. Because they didn't even know how everything would play out with her memories.

And she had her friends and her family, and maybe if she had all of that back, she wouldn't need him around anymore. Desperately, he sought to cling to the way he felt when they were together, and he could only hope she felt it too.


The world had a slight amber-tinted blur around the edges as Draco swigged the last of his drink. Theo and Potter were engaged in a rousing tournament of Exploding Snap, each one sloppier than the other. An orderly match of Wizard's chess had devolved into a series of modified drinking games, and Draco had bowed out after the kitchen wound up a disaster from Gobstones.

After a brief recess to clean themselves up, they'd moved on to cards.

Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd had quite so much Firewhisky, and he tried to pretend it wasn't anything to do with Hermione or the sad state of affairs in which he found himself. He knew he was moping―and he knew it wasn't his place.

He would have cancelled his plans with Theo and Potter if she'd asked, but she hadn't been keen on company after her session that morning. And he couldn't blame her for any of it, not when avoidance had been a lifelong tactic of his own.

He poured himself another glass, already slumped in his seat, slowly blinking as he watched Theo win the third match in a row.

Which was a feat, as Theo was hardly coherent.

Potter wasn't any better.

Idly, Draco wondered whether he ever could have imagined Potter sloshed in his flat. He didn't think so, realistically, and wondered briefly how his life had gone down this path. He supposed he could blame Theo for that particular detail.

He took a long swig of whisky, feeling the smooth burn down his throat and into his chest.

Theo grappled for the bottle, nearly knocking it over in the process, and Draco snorted. "You're fucked, mate."

"No more than you are."

Potter guffawed. "You're both gone."

Draco heard a faint buzzing, to which he had become instinctively attuned, and he leapt from his seat, stumbling over the legs of his chair. While Theo and Potter snickered, he recovered his mobile phone from the sitting room table, blinking several times through bleary vision as he made his way back to the kitchen.

Fumbling with the buttons, he navigated to the message Hermione had sent.

His heart dropped through his stomach, settling somewhere within his feet, and he felt as though he had no control over his balance any longer.

"Shit," he hissed.

Sobering, Potter lifted a brow. "What is it?"

Draco blew out a breath, scarcely able to hear over the throbbing of his pulse in his ears. Adrenaline rushed through him. "Hermione," he breathed, forcing a swallow. "Needs me to take her to the hospital."

"Fuck," Theo bit out. "You'll splinch yourself."

"I know," Draco huffed. He swept a hand through his hair. "Sober-up potions. Cupboard."

Jumping over the back of his seat, Theo crashed to the floor with a thud, and moments later, he rose with a string of curses. But he rummaged through the cupboard while Draco grabbed his wand, panic rioting within every fibre of his being. He caught the vial Theo tossed him with surprising dexterity for the way everything appeared doubled, and he instantly slammed the potion.

Potter and Theo followed suit, identical looks of concern on their faces while Draco attempted to send a message in response. After what felt like forever, the potion began to take effect.

"Don't ruin my flat while I'm gone," he bit out, wrenching a hand through his hair.

Potter scoffed. "We'll meet you at the hospital."

Before he could give the matter any more thought, Draco spun on the spot into Apparition. He landed directly in Hermione's flat and found her on the sofa, face pale and eyes glassy as she cradled a cup of tea in shaking hands.

Her brow pulled into a furrow as she breathed, "Hi. I'm sorry to ruin your night."

"Hi." It occurred to Draco that he hadn't seen her all week, but in the moment, it didn't matter. "Can you stand? Will you be alright to Apparate?"

Her eyelids fluttered. "Yes, I think so. I sent an owl to Healer Huxley, but I don't think I can get myself there."

Draco crouched down to meet her eyes. She looked lost and forlorn in a way he had never seen, and as if it were all too much, she winced briefly. He took the teacup from her hands and set it down, then helped her to her feet. Her body felt small and frail as if she possessed only half of her strength.

Fear and panic danced as one through his system as he drew her into his arms.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, tears spiking at the corners of her eyes. "I know you had plans."

"Forget it," Draco muttered. "You're so much more important. Hang on." Cradling her close and as stable as he could manage, he Apparated the pair of them to St Mungo's emergency access, his stomach sick at the number of times he'd rushed to the hospital within a matter of months.

When they landed, he helped her into a seat and immediately spoke to the receptionist. But within only minutes, two junior healers Draco recognised from Huxley's wing arrived and took her onto a gurney. Draco was prepared to follow her—hospital protocol be damned—when Huxley appeared, his face sombre.

"Thank you for bringing her here, Auror Malfoy," the man said, ducking his chin. "Unfortunately, I feared this might happen with the rate her mind is unravelling. We're going to have to initiate a procedure to stabilise her mind, and she won't be able to have any visitors for a day or two depending on how it goes."

Draco wanted to fight and argue, and a part of him wanted to scream and simply break down.

Instead, he ground his jaw, blew out a breath, and said, "Okay." As the man stepped away, he added, "Please take care of her."

Huxley nodded. "I'll do my best."

With the chaos of the past twenty minutes, Draco felt the energy seep from him like grains of sand, and he sank into the nearest seat. He didn't want to go home, but he didn't want to stay in the hospital.

Theo and Potter appeared at his side, peering down at him.

"Where is she?" Potter asked, urgency written on his brow.

Draco waved a hand towards the corridor down which she had gone. "Huxley says they have to do a procedure, and we can't see her at least until tomorrow."

"Fuck," Potter huffed, collapsing into the seat at Draco's side.

Theo perched on the front of the chair on Draco's other side, folding his arms and pursing his lips. "So," he said after a moment, glancing at each of them in turn. "This feels awfully familiar."

Despite himself, a wry laugh fell from his lips. It felt like so much time had passed since the first time the three of them had found themselves in a waiting room at St Mungo's. The first time Draco had attended Hermione's yoga class. The night Theo and Potter had properly met.

He could never have foreseen everything that had happened since.

"How the fuck," he said, hoarse and defeated, "has everything become such a fucking mess?"

Theo clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't know, mate. But the wind's got to change eventually, yeah?"

Releasing a great sigh, Potter tugged at his hair. "It's got to." He slowly shook his head. "Do you figure we'll sit here all night?"

Although Draco wanted to stay close by in case anything happened, he also believed that he wouldn't be able to see Hermione until tomorrow, and he trusted Huxley to keep him updated. "Don't feel much like drinking anymore," he muttered.

"Pizza," Potter offered. "We should get pizza."

Theo grunted. "Pizza's good."

Draco thought back to another time spent with Hermione; his eyes stung. At once, he wished he was alone, but simultaneously, he was grateful to have friends by his side. He scrubbed at his eyes, attempting to dispel the melancholy that had carried him all night. There was nothing he could do for Hermione right now.

He rose from his seat with a grimace. "Come on," he bit out, "I know a good place."


"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

Draco jolted, startled, and looked up from the report he'd been perusing. He blinked several times as Robards dragged a chair around his desk and took a seat. "Working, sir."

Robards fixed him with a look over his glasses. "You had today off." Before Draco could come up with an excuse, Robards lowered his voice as he went on. "I heard about Miss Granger; not much misses the Prophet these days. Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No." Draco blew out a breath. "I apologise, sir; I needed something to keep my mind occupied."

Folding his arms and leaning back in his seat, Robards shook his head. "You've really had a lot of shit piled on you the last while, haven't you?"

Draco grimaced but didn't have an immediate answer. When he thought of it like that, it was difficult to keep the cold from seeping in. "I suppose so, sir. I just want Hermione to be alright, and we knew it would be a complex process from the start."

"You shouldn't be here." Robards clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "You aren't going to do anyone any good if you work yourself into the ground."

Releasing a long breath, Draco stared hard at the reports on his desk. He didn't know how to tell his superior that he was hardly keeping it together, and if he were left alone with his thoughts for much longer, he suspected he might break entirely. He shifted through a few reports, but when he realised his hands were shaking, he clasped them together instead.

"I'm aware of that," he said at last.

He could feel Robards' stare on the side of his head, but he couldn't quite force himself to meet the man's eye. "Nevertheless," Robards said at last, "I get it. I remember when I was still in Auror training, and I finally felt like I would do some good for the world. I was a lot like you, to be honest. Not a great family, not a great upbringing. But within this department"―he glanced around the sparsely occupied offices―"I felt like I could make a difference."

"I didn't know that, sir."

Robards chuckled. "Not many do. I was young and idealistic, of course―I hadn't seen half as much as you have at this age. But working as an Auror was my first love."

Draco tried to think of the man at his own age, just beginning his career as an Auror and going through all the same steps to earn his position in the department. He snickered, suddenly grateful for the company. "I can't imagine you were such a wreck in your training as I've been."

"You'd be surprised." A wry smile tugged at the man's lips. "The Head Auror at the time was a man named Osborne, hard-arsed son of a bitch. Threatened my badge at every turn―but he made me better."

As the words sank in, Draco frowned. "I've always tried to be better. Most of the time, I wonder if it just isn't in me. At Hogwarts, I was among the top of my peers, but here… I don't know. I feel like I'm constantly running behind, and it's all I can do to drag along behind the rest of my training class."

"It's in you," Robards said softly. "I've seen it from the start, in the same ways I've seen a lot of myself in you. It's why I've pushed you―just like Osborne did to me. Because I know what the world will do to someone like you, especially in a role like this. I want you to succeed, Malfoy. Your performance in training isn't a reflection of your heart, just your doubts. You have moments of greatness, and that's what I'm looking for."

To his combined shame and horror, Draco felt his eyes sting. Fatigue washed over him like a wave.

As though sensing he didn't know what to say, Robards went on. "I was hoping to bring that out of you by putting you on patrols with Potter. And I'm proud of the progress you've made." His gaze flickered to the wall by Draco's desk, where he'd arranged all of the connections between theft reports.

"Thank you, sir," Draco managed, at last, his voice weaker than he'd intended. "That means a lot to me."

He couldn't deny any of what the man had said. He had wanted to make a difference when he enrolled in Auror training, especially after all the wrongdoing he'd put out into the world during his first seventeen years. And most of the time… he felt like nothing he did made any difference.

Feeling a flicker of embarrassment creep into his cheeks, Draco waved a hand at the wall. "I know this isn't likely going to turn up anything. I just thought I would try and see what I could find."

Robards' eyebrows lifted as though in surprise. "On the contrary, Auror Malfoy. Didn't Potter tell you?"

Briefly, Draco thought of Potter the night before, slurring his way through a bottle of Firewhisky and making a wreck of Draco's kitchen. "He didn't tell me anything new, no."

A slow grin spread across Robards' face, and he shook his head. "Your connections hit a lead. I had a team take a look at it; that smuggling ring we've been tracking? Your intel into these thefts provided a pattern of decoys that we were able to track―we nailed a major cell of theirs yesterday."

At once, Draco's jaw fell open, and his heart began to race. His pulse hammered in his ears. "You what?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

His head spun at the thought, and he half expected Robards to tell him it was a joke. But his superior's eyes shone with something that might have been pride. "Good work, Auror Malfoy. You've contributed to solving your first major case. And the information we gained yesterday is going to lead us deeper in."

Draco could scarcely believe what he was hearing. He couldn't even count the number of times Potter had given him shite for all the time he'd spent sorting through files, meticulously combing through for any meaningful connections. He shook his head slowly―and then a laugh burst forth.

"That," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, "is the news I needed today."

Eyeing him for a moment longer, Robards rose to his feet. He clapped a hand to Draco's shoulders. "Chin up, Malfoy. I'm not one to believe much in the intangibles in life when concrete facts are around―but something tells me your situation is going to take a turn."

He turned to go but halted, rummaged in his pocket, and drew his wand. "Let me see your badge."

For a halting, terrifying moment, Draco's brows flew up. The last time Robards had asked for his badge, he'd been suspended.

But his heart clamoured an anxious rhythm in his chest as he handed the badge over, and he gulped as Robards inspected it. Then Robards tapped it with a series of spells, flashed a grin, and tossed it back onto Draco's desk. Frozen in disbelief, Draco observed the face of it. His training modification was gone, replaced by a simple 'Auror'.

Gaping, he spun towards Robards. "Sir, what did you―"

"Congratulations, Malfoy." Robards chuckled and offered a grin. "You've earned it."

A sudden swelling of emotion threatened to render him speechless, but he managed a swallow. "Thank you, sir."

"Now," Robards went on, "go home. Get some bloody rest, yeah?"

As the man strode away, Draco stared blankly at his badge. A full Aurorship. He'd worked so hard for so long that now to actually achieve it felt almost surreal. Emotion threatened to stifle him entirely, wave after humbling wave. He blew out a breath, collected his things, and went home.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! I so appreciate everyone who continues to stick by this story as we approach the last five chapters. I hope you enjoyed this one!

Alpha and beta hearts to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 41

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Thoroughly disoriented from a late morning nap after his exhaustion caught up to him, Draco awoke to a loud noise from the kitchen. He leapt from bed, grappling for his wand on the nightstand, and edged from the room.

He lowered his wand and dragged a hand through his hair. "What the fuck are you doing?" he drawled.

Theo's eyes widened as though caught in a prank, and it didn't bode well for Draco's precarious nerves.

"Making you breakfast?" He brandished a loaf of bread like a peace offering.

"Technically," Potter interrupted, striding into the room, "lunch. But since you're just getting up, breakfast."

"I didn't sleep last night," Draco retorted with a strange mixture of defensiveness and gratitude. He dipped back into the room to tug on his jeans from earlier with the sudden and unexpected company and shrugged into a jumper as he walked back out.

Potter offered a thin smile. "We know. I've just been to check on Hermione's status at St Mungo's, and no news yet. One of Huxley's assistants suggested we might hear something by the evening."

Draco nodded, sinking into a chair. "Thanks for checking on her."

He already suspected as much as he'd stopped by the hospital on his way home from the Ministry. But there was something odd―and encouraging―about knowing he could count Harry Potter as a friend.

He supposed after everything they'd been through, it fit.

"By the way," Draco said, retrieving his badge. He tossed it onto the table, watching first confusion, then comprehension flit across his partner's face.

"What the fuck," Potter said, gaping. "Seriously?"

Theo looked up from his efforts with the kettle and snatched the badge. His jaw fell open. "Draco! Since when?"

Lifting his brows, Draco nodded. "I was at the office this morning, and Robards found me."

"So you're through with training?" Potter asked, releasing a low whistle. "I suspected you would be soon, but―congrats, mate. I imagine they'll put on a big do over it in the department. It's a big deal to pass training."

"You're sure you didn't know and just forget to mention it?" Draco drawled. "Sort of like a certain detail about that smuggling ring?"

Potter's eyes shot wide. "Shit. I meant to mention that last night. Then… you know, whisky."

Theo appeared again, setting a plate of toast on the table with some butter and jam.

For Theo, it was practically gourmet.

Draco selected a slice, surprisingly ravenous, and spread it with strawberry preserves. "Thanks, mate." He took a large bite, and within moments, he was preparing another. After the night before and the morning's events, it was nice to have a break.

Not for the first time, Draco found himself grateful for Theo and Potter in his life. He didn't know how the last number of months would have gone if he didn't have friends at his side.

"You know what we should do? Given today's likely to be unbearable, and we all have the day off." Potter asked, stirring milk into his tea.

"Sit here and stew over Hermione's condition?" Theo drawled.

Snickering, Draco took a sip of his tea. Over-steeped, as was Theo's usual preparation, but he opted not to jab this time. "Don't say drink whisky."

Potter shuddered. "Not whisky. We're going flying."

Draco blew out a breath. Although he wanted to remain nearby and within an instant Apparition trip to the hospital should any news arise, he knew they were right. If he were left to his own devices, he would sit and brood over Hermione all day. And truthfully, he didn't care to be alone.

There was a measure of solace in knowing neither of them judged him for the way he felt―more than he would have expected.

And while a part of him feared for the procedure they'd had to initiate on Hermione's mind; a bigger part feared the outcome—that she may end up worse off.

"Flying is good," he said, blowing out a breath. Despite himself, a grin spread across his face. "It's been a while since Potter and I battled it out for the snitch."

Theo snickered, sinking deeper into his seat as he drank his mediocre tea. "Just don't ask me to pick a side."


Draco felt surprisingly rejuvenated by the time the owl came.

Instantly, he recognised Huxley's tight handwriting, scanning the missive with bated breath, and his heart lodged in his throat.

Potter peered at the letter, shouldering his broom. "What does it say?"

"They've finished the procedure," Draco said, his mind whirring. "And Hermione's going home to recover. That's all it says."

"Recover how?" Theo asked, cocking a brow. "Rather vague, isn't it?"

Draco coiled the missive back into a roll and tucked it into his pocket. The first hints of sunset had just begun to play about the horizon, casting the world in a brilliant golden haze. But despite the summer weather, a shudder chased along his spine. He drew out his phone, squinting into the blazing sun, and dialled Hermione's number.

She answered after the third ring. "Hi."

Relief swept through him, a raw, visceral thing, and he released a long sigh. Some of the tension he'd been carrying since the evening prior seeped away. "Hi. How are you feeling? Do you need me to get you at the hospital?"

"I'm okay." Her voice sounded soft, but her tone gave nothing away. "I'm already home." Silence hung for a moment before she added, "I Apparated myself."

"Of course." She'd been practicing short distances, but obviously, she'd improved well enough. It was understandable she hadn't felt up to it the night before. "Can I bring you anything? Have you eaten?"

Draco could feel Theo and Potter staring at him, and warmth stung his cheeks. He took a few steps away.

"I don't need anything. Thanks, Draco."

Something was wrong; he could feel it in the edge to her voice, and he didn't think it was recovery from the procedure. "Did everything go alright?"

On the other end of the line, she sighed. "It was unpleasant, but I think so. Huxley wants to keep an eye on me for the next while to be sure."

"Right," he offered. "That makes sense."

"If you want… you can come by."

She didn't sound entirely convinced, and his heart thudded an anxious cadence in his chest. "I'd love to see you," he said, "but only if you feel up to it." Still, he couldn't shake the uneasy conviction that something else was weighing on her.

But her voice softened when she spoke next. "I'd like that. I… miss you."

Merlin, he'd missed her more than he could express, having scarcely seen or talked to her all week. And with the way fear had clenched his heart like a vise with her impromptu procedure, just the thought of seeing her embedded peace into his heart.

"Okay." He glanced at his watch with a grimace. After flying all afternoon, he was in need of a shower before he saw her. "I'll be over in fifteen or twenty minutes."

"See you then."

The line clicked off before he could say anything more. He found Theo and Potter waiting, expectant, and he shrugged. "She's okay. Home to recover."

"Why do you sound like this is bad news?" Potter cocked a brow, uncertainty flickering across his face.

Draco pressed his eyes briefly shut. "Because something sounded off. I've got to run―wish me luck."

Without waiting for a response, he collected his broom and Apparated home.


He found Hermione seated cross-legged on the floor of her sitting room, messy curls piled in a knot atop her head and her oversized Queen Mary jumper on. Her lips were pulled into a downwards tilt, a large cardboard box on the rug before her. She looked pale, her countenance fatigued but not nearly as washed out as he had anticipated. A cup of tea sat, neglected, on the coffee table to the side.

Without looking up at his arrival, she announced, "Hi. Tea's on."

Draco sank into the sofa, peering at her. "How are you doing?" When he looked closer, he realised she held a few photographs―and with a jolt, he recognised the box as one of the ones she'd salvaged from her Gringotts vault.

"Okay." The word fell from her lips, soft and uncertain, and at last, she lifted her gaze towards him. A quiet thoughtfulness took her, and at last, she flinched. "I'm doing my best to process all of this."

Something behind the words left him unsettled, and Draco frowned. "All of this―from the procedure?"

Her lips quirked into an effort at a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She tapped the side of her temple with two fingers. "All of this."

In an instant, understanding dawned, and his eyes widened. "Your memories."

"Yeah." The word was a breath, followed by a slow nod. "It's… not what I expected."

"You got them all back?" Draco was baffled, not only by the realisation, but by her blasé reaction to it all. After everything she'd been through to try and recover her memories, he had expected her to be ecstatic.

"It was touch and go for a while," she confessed. "According to Huxley, the procedure wasn't pretty. But it was either force them out or deal with the fact that they could be lost forever. I've got a blasted headache. But... I'm here."

He slipped from the sofa, folding himself onto the floor beside her. Her gaze was heavy upon him. "And how are you feeling about it all?"

"I am trying," she breathed, "to make sense of a lot of things. You, for one. Trying to put myself in your shoes that first day we met. How you must have felt to come across me, living the way I was and believing myself to be a Muggle." A bit of a humourless titter fell from her lips. "Trying to rationalise how I fell in love with Draco Malfoy."

Hearing her say his name, complete with the context she had still lacked until the day before, forced a chill down his spine. It was droll, sardonic, lacking some of the warmth he'd come to know.

"I don't―" He managed a swallow, pushing himself to hold her stare. "I don't know what to say about that other than… you already know how surprised I was."

"And imagine my surprise," she breathed, "to know you now, with a full inventory of knowledge and experiences back in place. The way we treated each other, the name-calling, the war." At once, tears spiked from her eyes, but she made no effort to stem the flow as they began to slide silently down her cheeks.

Draco reached for her hand, relieved when she didn't pull away. "I'm here," he murmured, "however you want me to be. Or if you don't―if you need some time."

"I've seen bits and pieces come back, of course," she went on as though he hadn't said anything. "Flickers here and there―and you've always told me our past was colourful. I guess I didn't realise quite…"

She trailed off with a sharp intake of breath, glancing away to stare at the floor, but she didn't withdraw her hand from his.

"I can only imagine."

Brow furrowed, she caught his eye again. "There's a part of me that can't believe it. But yet… I've lived it for months. It's an odd situation to be in."

It certainly explained why she had been cool and standoffish on the phone—why she wasn't overjoyed with the return of her memories. He could only imagine the confusion in trying to parse through the years of new memories now mingled with the old.

"I hope you know, despite all of this," Draco mused, "that my feelings for you are real. And I've never lied about that."

"I know," she whispered. After a moment, she added, "As are mine, of course. You should know by now that wasn't going to change just because my memories came back... although some of these are... I can't believe I hit you."

He snickered, feeling a flicker of hope for the first time. "I deserved it."

"You honestly did." Finally, warmth curled her lips in a smile he recognised. "Merlin, it's just... it's the strangest thing. I can't describe it. It's like… I've been living this life, with you, and Harry and Theo, and… it's all been an outward shell of everything I knew once. Like I've missed years of my life but still existed within them."

Draco couldn't understand the intricacies of it, but he could only imagine how complex the inner workings of her mind were at the moment. "What can I do to help?"

Her face was hopeful. "Patience? As I sort through everything. I love you, Draco, and that hasn't changed―but I need to sift through everything. Compartmentalise―determine what does and doesn't matter anymore. The new memories feel more important than the old ones, for the most part... but there's a lot here to dig through. Like an old photo album, but each photo carries so much weight."

"Of course." He brushed a kiss to her temple, blowing out a breath. "I'm here however you need me. Promise."

"There's something else." She looked down at the floor, where she'd set the photographs she'd been looking at when he walked in. With a jolt, he realised it was the photograph of her parents. "I'm just..." She dropped her face into her palm. "Really trying to make sense of what happened with my parents. With the memory spell―with everything."

He almost couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it instantly when he learned of her memories returning. It was one of the topics that hadn't returned to her at all. He dropped his voice and asked, "What happened?"

Hermione remained silent for a long moment, and then she gave a sniffle; swiped at her eyes. "There's a block of time that's still missing—from shortly after eighth year ended to the point where I woke up without my memories. Huxley thinks it might be because that was the moment when everything changed. The rest is... almost painfully vivid. Even things I'd forgotten about. But I have a bad feeling that... this wasn't an accident or a spell gone wrong."

Draco's heart sank. Ever since he learned she had existed as an alias and the preparation that must have been involved, he had wondered if there hadn't been some aspect of the situation that was premeditated.

She squeezed his hand, briefly, almost idly, and pressed on. "If I didn't know this was going to happen, at the very least, I suspected it. I was... prepared to begin a Muggle life."

"You restored your parents' memories knowing it could have wiped yours entirely," Draco mused. Despite the pain in her countenance, he kept his voice as clinical as he could manage.

She whispered a quiet, forlorn, "Something like that." She fingered the photographs, swiping at more tears. "I have to see them, to tell them I've got my memory back―but first, I need to know for sure."

His heart cracked at her desolation. "What can I do?"

At last, she lifted her eyes to his again. "I need a Portkey."


Draco spent the night at Hermione's flat, but he could tell she was both mentally and physically drained from the ordeal after their discussion. She slept tucked into his arms, her body wracked with restless quivers and mind churning with dreams.

In the morning, she apologised profusely despite his refusal of the affront.

Although he would have preferred to spend the day with Hermione to ensure she was alright, he knew it wouldn't look good if he missed the first day after Robards had announced his training complete. And Hermione had insisted she would be going to the Ministry herself to speak with Unspeakable Caldwell.

As it turned out, Huxley's idea of recovering was simply to ensure she had time to process everything adequately―because, after a night's rest, she seemed more mentally astute than he had seen in a while.

At lunch, Draco and Potter ventured to the Ministry cafe, and Hermione slipped in to join them, her expression almost apologetic and gaze fixed on Potter. Tears slid down her cheeks, visible even as she approached, and instantly Potter drew her into his chest, dwarfing her smaller figure.

When they finally broke apart, speaking quietly, Potter brushed at his own eyes.

Draco caught the fresh sparkle in her eye, and he couldn't miss the relief in Potter's countenance. Especially knowing the man had feared he might never recover their friendship. They sat together, talking throughout lunch, and Draco couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips to see her so carefree, even if just for a moment.

Before returning to the DMLE for their next assignment, Hermione pulled Draco's hand into hers as though for support.

It felt strange, knowing they were finally on an even footing, everything between them laid bare. And as far as he could tell, she still wanted him in her life. A part of him wondered at all of it―while another only appreciated the fact that he had been given a chance to get to know her without all the baggage between them.

He could never regret that.

In the Department of Transportation, Hermione spoke with the receptionist to secure an international Portkey to Brisbane, Australia for the weekend. She suspected the last of the answers she'd long been missing were still there in Australia, and in order to finally come to peace with the situation, she needed to know. Draco couldn't begrudge her that bit of closure.

"One passenger, then?" the woman asked, jarring Draco from his thoughts.

Hermione hesitated―just long enough for her eyes to dart towards him―before she opened her mouth to respond. She hadn't asked him to go along, and he hadn't offered, uncertain whether she wanted to deal with it alone.

But at the brief flicker of uncertainty, he cleared his throat and announced, "Two, please."

"You don't have to do that," Hermione said quietly, eyes shooting wide. "I'm fine to go alone―I know you've got to work, and―"

"And I can take a couple of days off."

At the finality in his tone, she visibly relaxed and turned back to the woman with a smile. "For two." While she spoke with the woman to finalise the travel plans, Draco couldn't help the slightest hint of warmth that chased through him.

He had never been to Australia―but furthermore, if it would help Hermione find the peace she so desperately longed for―he would travel to the ends of the earth.


"She probably hasn't told you," Potter said, "but it's Hermione's birthday next week."

Draco lifted his brows. "Every time I've asked her about it, she claims it doesn't matter, and with everything going on, I've forgotten to ask you." He frowned, mind whirring. "We're going to Australia this weekend."

Potter shrugged, skimming a report. "She'll tell you she doesn't want to do anything to celebrate it. Ever since the war was going on, she hasn't cared for it. But..."

"But she's only just got her memories back," Draco surmised. "And we ought to do something for her."

Setting the report down with caution, Potter turned towards him in silence. "Yes and no. I think it would be good if we did something for her, but I also don't want her to be overwhelmed by a large gathering or something. She still hasn't seen a lot of her old friends since Hogwarts." Their gazes met, and Potter released a sigh. "I know you aren't keen on this gathering we're meant to have with the Weasleys―and truth be told, I'm not exactly looking forward to it, either. I'm concerned they'll be critical of Theo."

"If anyone says anything rude to Theo," Draco drawled, cocking a brow, "I'll shut them up myself."

Although Potter fired him a scowl, his lips twitched. "I'll join you."

Draco sighed. "I don't want to go, but I know it's important to Hermione."

"Yeah," Potter muttered, sweeping a hand through his hair. "We'll get through it, and I'll pick up a bottle for afterwards."

Despite himself, Draco chuckled. Never would he have imagined a day when Potter was on his side regarding the Weasley brood.

"Don't get me wrong," Potter hastily tacked on, "Ron and I are still friends, and I get along with most of the Weasleys. There's just a lot of tension given the way Ginny and I ended things, and Molly Weasley never quite forgave me for it."

"No judgement here," Draco snickered. "You're good for Theo, and that's enough for me."

Potter's face softened. "Thanks, Malfoy."


"So," Draco prompted, fixing Hermione with a stare as she lounged on his sofa, her face in a book. "What are we doing for your birthday?"

She froze, fingers hanging over her page, and her eyes slid towards his. "Nothing."

"We aren't doing nothing," he murmured, "unless you really don't want to do anything."

Releasing a sigh, she sank back against the cushion. "I typically prefer not to―though ironically, I'd forgotten about that until recently. After I lost my parents, it didn't feel right celebrating anything, and then I sort of..."

"It stuck," he mused. She nodded, a frown tugging at her lips. "The good news is that your parents remember you again."

"I know." She drummed her fingers on the arm of the sofa, shifted one leg beneath herself, and sighed again. "I suppose there are a lot of things I've been putting off since my memories returned. Like seeing my parents―I told them I'd got my memories back. It just feels strange―like I spent so much time trying to get them back, but I lost track of everything when I lost my memory."

Sadness tugged at Draco's brow as he stared at her. "It doesn't minimise anything, you know—that you forgot about them. It doesn't change everything you went through trying to get them back―or what you did to protect them in the first place."

"I know," she breathed but sounded unconvinced. As though steeling herself, she blew out a breath. "You're right. We should do something. I'll talk to my parents―I know they'd love to get to know you better, and maybe you and I could do something with Theo and Harry? Maybe a couple other friends?"

"That sounds good." Draco didn't care to mention that he and Potter had already debated the same idea. "Hermione?" Her gaze snapped up; her eyes large and worried. "It's all going to be alright. I promise."

She offered him a sad smile that broke his heart. "I know it will. It just genuinely feels like it will take a while before things feel alright again."

"I know. Believe me, I know." Draco slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close into his chest. "And I'm here―however you need."

Some of the tension dissolved from her at last, and she pressed a kiss to his lips. "I love you."

Merlin, Draco thought he might never tire of hearing those words.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks, as always, for reading. As we near the end of the story, I'm excited to share that my next WIP will be a post-Battle of Hogwarts War AU! Stay tuned for more information xo

Hugs to my alpha, Kyonomiko, and beta, FaeOrabel.

Chapter 42

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco couldn't remember the last time he had been so uncomfortable. For the better part of an hour, he'd been wedged on one side of a long table, Hermione at one side and George Weasley on the other. If he had to choose a Weasley, he supposed George was the best of them all. But Draco had never been particularly fond of the clan, and to have half a dozen of them staring and assessing him―as though he wasn't quite welcome, but no one wanted to say it out loud―left him feeling more awkward than he had even expected.

In all fairness, he had come to know George well enough through interactions in Diagon Alley over the years since they had become acquaintances.

And Arthur Weasley had been making more of an effort than most.

But he could tell by the look on Theo's face, across the table from him, that his friend was as uncomfortable as he felt despite that he concealed it well.

Draco supposed the situation wasn't helped along by the fact that both Potter and Hermione had dated Weasleys before―both of whom looked as if they wished they could simply leave. The most critical appeared to be their mother, who had been tense and quiet throughout the meal, her narrowed gaze drifting between Draco and Theo―as though she couldn't wrap her head around any of it.

By the time dinner came to a stifled conclusion, Draco felt as though he might snap.

Hermione and Potter had attempted to keep a flow of conversation going, but Draco had given up on any efforts at speaking, instead focusing all his energy on not looking at his watch.

As soon as dinner ended, Ginevra Weasley leapt from her chair and vanished; Draco wished he could do the same.

Rather he sank into the sofa at Hermione's side, catching Potter's eye as everyone settled into the sitting room. In the kitchen, the steady sound of the dishes washing themselves interrupted the stifled silence. Hermione fidgeted with her hands in her lap.

George looked supremely amused with the whole situation.

Molly Weasley assessed the room, lips pursed as though she didn't know what to make of the group that had gathered in her sitting room. Draco didn't know about any of it either.

"So," she prompted at last. Draco could feel her eyes zero in on him. "Ronald tells me you're working with Harry as an Auror." She turned towards Theo, a thin smile spreading across her face, but Draco could read the insincerity in her face. He ground his jaw in Theo's defence.

He didn't care if the woman had an issue with him, but he definitely wouldn't accept her criticism of his closest friend.

Not for the first time, he wondered why they had all agreed to the charade. But even so, he was a guest in their home, and he cared enough about Hermione that he didn't want to cause a scene.

"It's true," Draco offered, as flippantly as he could manage. "Potter and I are partners in the Auror's department."

As though he weren't sitting in the same room, Molly turned towards Potter with a consoling smile. "I imagine that hasn't been an easy adjustment. Surely the department would allow you to―"

"Actually, Missus Weasley," Potter interrupted, clenching Theo's hand in his, "Draco and I work quite well together. And not only that but he's just received his full Auror certification and contributed vital information towards solving a major case in the department."

For a moment, Draco's mind snagged on the fact that Potter never used his given name without his surname attached―then he realised the man had stood up for him. He felt heat burn up his face and into his cheeks, and a restless streak darted through him as he stared hard at the far wall.

In his periphery, Molly looked flustered.

Hermione straightened and said, "I think you'd be surprised to learn how much Draco's grown since the war." Despite the idle phrasing, her tone brokered little room for argument, and a mingling of pride and affection swelled within him as he cast her a glance. "It's very evident, Missus Weasley, that you aren't certain what to make of Draco and Theo in your home, but I can assure you Harry and I are fond of them both."

Ron Weasley's ears were a bright red as he sank deeper into his seat. Arthur looked embarrassed by the whole thing.

At last, Molly sighed. "Well, fine."

Smoothing a hand along Hermione's spine, Draco pressed a kiss to her temple, a soft, "Thank you," breathed against her skin.

"There's dessert," Molly announced, rather abruptly, but some of the tension shattered in the wake of it.

Hermione shifted forward in her seat, offering a thin smile. "I'll give you a hand."

Molly's cheeks remained flushed, but as though chastened, she simply said, "Thank you, dear."

"I'm going to get some air," Draco said quietly; Hermione squeezed his hand with a nod. He rose, jerked his head towards Theo, and made for the garden door. As soon as the cool night air swept over him, he released a long breath; Theo fell into step, jamming his hands in his pockets.

"That was awkward," Theo drawled, peering up at the cloudless night sky.

"Right," Draco returned, feeling oddly deflated. "Where's Potter?"

"Stayed inside with Hermione." Theo cast him a look, and Draco couldn't quite meet his stare. "Are you alright? I know you better than to think you'd allow her words to get to you."

Draco managed a shrug that felt half-hearted. "Not really. But it's all… it's weird, isn't it?"

"Fucking weird," a third voice responded, and they both glanced up to see George Weasley brandishing a bottle of whisky and three tumblers. "Come on, lads. Join me for a drink while everyone else suffocates on whatever that was."

Despite himself, a smirk tugged at Draco's lips.


A drink and a half later, Hermione dragged up a seat at the garden table where they'd settled themselves, resting her head on Draco's shoulder. Potter and Weasley wedged themselves in between Theo and George, the former relieved and the latter a little shifty.

"How was dessert?" Draco asked, taking a swig of whisky.

"Fine," Hermione mused softly. "There's more inside if you'd like some." Then, lowering her voice so only he could hear, she asked, "Are you alright? Genuinely?"

"Yeah," he breathed, offering a tired smile. "I'm good."

Draco could feel Weasley's gaze linger on him, but when he slid his eyes towards the man, Weasley offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that―inside. My mum doesn't always get it." George snickered. "At any rate, friends of Harry and Hermione are friends of mine."

Lifting a sceptical brow, Draco assessed him for a moment before allowing a sigh. "I appreciate that, Weasley."

He wasn't certain what he had expected from Weasley or whether there would be problems. But in all fairness, Potter and Weasley were still friends, and Draco had been training as an Auror long enough that he supposed he could admit he and Potter had become friends as well.

Especially when dealing with Hermione.

But Weasley blew out a breath and poured himself a measure of whisky. "I know you and Harry worked together in bringing Hermione back to us and―well, that's important. So cheers, mate." He brandished his cup, and, surprised, Draco lifted his in return.

He took a sip and murmured, "Thanks."

As far as he knew, whatever had occurred between Hermione and Weasley after the war had been incredibly brief, and it was also years ago; the thought that Weasley wasn't still pining over her allowed a swell of relief into Draco's heart.

"Cheers to awkward dinners," Theo announced with a smirk, "and good whisky."


Hurricane Hermione had been racing around her flat for the better part of half an hour while Draco hovered in the living room, attempting to keep sane for both of them.

"I'm never this disorganised," she exclaimed as she rushed past him, wrenching at her hair. Her eyes were wide with unconcealed panic. "I don't know what I'm forgetting, and I―"

Draco caught hold of her shoulders, looking her straight in the eye. "Deep breath." Freezing on the spot, she took a sharp, rattling breath. "Another."

Hermione drew in another breath, deeper, and blew it out on a long exhale.

"Now." Ducking his chin, he offered a smile. "You've been packed for two days already. If you forget anything, we have money, and we have magic." When she still didn't relax, he frowned. "What is this actually about?"

The skin between her brows knit. "I'm afraid that this is all for nothing, and I'm still not going to find out what actually happened."

It was the only block of memories that remained absent, and as far as Draco could tell, it had left her more stressed out than she'd initially tried to let on. But after a conversation with Huxley, Draco suspected it wouldn't come back naturally. Whatever happened between the moment of the spell and the moment when her memories vanished was still a mystery.

He drew her tight into his chest, resting his chin atop her curls.

"I promise," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her crown, "we're going to find out what happened."

Her voice was muffled against his chest. "That isn't a promise you can make."

Draco drew back to look at her. "I know. But I'm making it anyway. Because even if this isn't it, and we don't find the answers in Australia, I'm not letting this go until you know exactly what happened."

She blinked large, watery eyes at him, and at last, some of the tension dropped from her shoulders. "How would I have done any of this without you?"

"You haven't needed me for any of this," he breathed, shaking his head sadly. "I've just been along for the ride."

"Wrong." Her gaze locked on his, beseeching, filled with that insistent, relentless hope she had carried for as long as he'd known her. "I never would have rediscovered any of this if it weren't for you."

"Eventually, you would have." He brushed her cheek with his fingers, scarcely able to hear his thoughts over the clamour of blood rushing in his ears. "But I appreciate you for keeping me with you. And for believing in me."

A solitary tear slipped down her cheek, but she didn't make a move to stop its path. "This feels so surreal," she whispered at last. "You and me." She entwined their hands, slipping her fingers between his with a squeeze, and a soft smile curled her lips. "Draco and Hermione."

The simple assessment of everything that comprised them―that summed up the weeks and months they'd spent learning one another, helping one another through hardships, loving one another―caused his heart to clench in his chest.

He caught her mouth in a searing, drawn-out kiss. Murmured, "I love you," against her lips. Then he met her gaze again. "Our Portkey leaves in ten minutes. Have you genuinely forgotten anything?"

"No." Swallowing, she shook her head. "I've triple-checked everything already."

"Good. Then we're all set to go."

Hermione nodded, a smile at last slipping across her face. "We're all set."


They didn't know how long it would take to sort through the vague knowledge Hermione did have from the last time she'd been in Australia. It was scarce information to go off, but it was enough for a start. Given the time difference, it was already the evening in Australia, and they'd only planned to get settled and prepared that night. The Portkey would return them to London for Sunday night.

Draco had reserved a hotel room in Brisbane, and at first, it almost felt like their trip to Paris―but so much had changed in just over three months.

The air was balmy on his skin, thick with humidity compared to London's typical dreary days.

"This is incredibly nice," Hermione said, sinking into the plush bedding in their hotel room. "Did you need to reserve the finest suite in the whole hotel?"

Sometimes, the difference between Hermione when she didn't have her memories and the Hermione who knew exactly who he was and how he'd grown up was glaring. The version of Hermione who knew all of his faults and his flaws had more of an edge, but he didn't love her any less. He cracked a cheeky grin, dropping down at her side.

He nudged her in the shoulder. "I did, in fact." Pulling her hand into his, he gave it a squeeze. "I know how important this is to you. And it means a lot that you wanted me to come along."

Hermione released a sigh, resting her head on his shoulder. "Of course, Draco. I'm glad I don't have to face this all alone. And I don't know―maybe it shouldn't matter all that much. My memories are back; my parents are in England. I should be able to put this all behind me without knowing what happened."

"But it does matter." Draco fixed her with a stare. "It's important to you that you know what happened, and it's important to me that you can finally put this all to rest."

Her eyes shone with moisture, and a soft smile curved her lips. For long enough that Draco grew uncomfortable, she only stared at him. Then she slid a finger beneath her eye, collecting a drop of moisture that had escaped. "Sometimes I think of you now, and I know if I hadn't witnessed the changes in you firsthand, I wouldn't believe it." She tucked closer into his side, and, without a word, Draco wrapped his arms around her. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she added, "And I'm so thankful we had the chance to get to know one another without everything else in the way."

Draco's heart felt tight enough to burst through his chest as he brushed a kiss to her temple. "Same. Believe me, same."

Every day, he wondered what he'd done to deserve her by his side.

She had been the lighthouse in the storm through one of the hardest times of his life, and Draco knew he could never fully express how much it meant to him.

At last, Hermione withdrew from his hold with a sheepish smile. Draco pressed a kiss to her lips and murmured, "I'm going to have a shower."

They would have a busy day ahead of them in the morning, and the muggy air had pervaded his skin.

"Okay," she said, biting down on her bottom lip.

Draco slipped into the adjoining loo while Hermione began to sort through her bag, shrugging out of his clothes, and stepped into the spacious shower. Not a minute after he stepped beneath the hot spray, Hermione's head appeared through the glass door, face alight with mischief.

"Hi," he said, smirking.

"I've come to inspect the loo," she returned loftily, then stepped into the walk-in shower, fully nude.

"Oh," Draco choked. He swallowed, gaze roving her form as the peripheral mist caught in her curls and beaded on her curves. "Yeah, of course. How's it look?"

Her eyes remained locked on him as she breathed, "Fantastic."

The shower was more than big enough for two. Draco curled a hand around her hip, drawing her flush against him. "You have to really assess the water pressure."

"I agree," she breathed, leaning up to capture his lips in a kiss. Instantly, his body responded to her proximity, the feel of her pressed against him. He palmed her arse, groaning into her mouth as she wrapped a hand around his hardening cock. She drew back only slightly, a wicked smile curving her lips as she stroked his length. "It's really something else."

He released a heavy breath, losing track of the game. Rivulets of water chased down her smooth skin, arousal deepening and swelling within him at her languorous movements. But before he could do or say anything, her gaze flashed, and she dropped to her knees.

"Fuck, Hermione," Draco managed on an exhale, propping a hand against the wall as she ran her tongue around the head of his cock.

"I'm just," she giggled, taking him firmer into her hand, "ensuring the floor is comfortable."

Draco barked a laugh, the sound catching in his throat as she wrapped her lips around him. He slipped a hand into her hair, curls plastered sleek to her head from the relentless spray. She swirled her tongue around him, drawing him deeper, smoothing her hand along the flesh. A moan slipped from his lips at her ministrations, the almost lazy pace, the way her eyes flitted up towards him with a hidden heat.

Her mouth was searing wrapped around him, teasing and sucking, and combined with the scalding spray from the shower, Draco felt a quake in his legs.

"That's so good," he breathed, eyelids fluttering as she carried on, increasing the pace. Her hand wrapped around him firmer, dragging along his length in rhythm with the way she took him deeper into her throat. He dropped his head back against the wall of the shower, feeling his entire body tense and tighten with impending release.

Tugging her hair back, Draco stared at her for a moment. A smile curled her lips, and she darted her tongue out to lick the head of his cock again.

"Get up here," he muttered, pulling her to her feet, and pressing her against the wall. He kissed her hard, tasting himself on her tongue, and hitched her leg up around his hip. Sliding two fingers between her folds, curling them inside her, he smirked against her lips and swallowed her whimper.

Draco withdrew his hand, aligning his cock with her entrance and teasing the head along her folds.

"Draco," she breathed, snagging his bottom lip between her teeth. "Please."

His heart stuttered a beat at the sight of her, flushed from the heat, eyes sparkling with lust. With a sharp exhale, he eased up into her, allowing a moment for her to adjust to him. Slow, almost reverent, she curled a hand around the back of his neck, drawing his mouth back to hers for another lingering kiss.

She ground against him, her eyes sliding shut.

Pressing a hand to the sturdy wall, he withdrew―and drove into her. A cry fell from her lips. He caught her mouth, coveting her moans against his lips as he thrust into her in a punishing rhythm. Draco could already feel his core tightening with his approaching orgasm, rolling his hips against hers.

Hermione clung to him, winding her legs around his waist, wet skin slick against his. She dragged her nails along his shoulder blades, drawing a sting to the skin beneath the hot water.

"Fuck me," she breathed in between kisses, "harder."

He huffed a laugh, his heart racing, and slammed into her harder still. Her cries fell, muffled against his skin as she pressed a kiss to his jaw.

Reaching between them, Draco pressed his fingers to her clit. She came with a cry, her walls clenching tight around him. Unable to hold back any longer, he drove into her once more, feeling his entire body tense and burst, release crashing over him with undulating waves of pleasure. His vision darkened, overwhelmed at the feel of her as he pressed his forehead to hers, utterly spent.

Chest heaving, Hermione's eyes blinked open to meet his, and a soft smile curled her lips. She gave a bit of a wince as he eased himself out of her and unwound her legs from his waist.

"And?" Draco asked with a smirk, smoothing her hair back from her face. Her skin was pink from the heat and exertion. "How does the shower measure up?"

A bright spell of mirth fell from her lips. "It's probably the best shower I've ever seen."

Draco was inclined to agree with her.


He had long since given himself over to the fact that he cared about Hermione in ways that he never had for anyone else―nor had he imagined it was even possible―but Draco didn't know if he would ever get enough.

They'd stayed up late after actually cleaning up in the shower, fooling around in bed, until she rolled on top of him and rode him to completion again, indolent and slow.

But seeing her lithe form tucked against him the next morning, her face relaxed and peaceful in sleep, embedded a deep ache in his chest that Draco almost couldn't comprehend. He'd never imagined this sort of connection for himself―this sort of love.

This all-encompassing, unceasing desire for another person.

He couldn't help himself. Slipping beneath the thin sheet, he ran his hands down her thighs, gently spreading her legs. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin of her inner thigh, darting his tongue out to taste her sweet skin. As he drew a series of kisses along her legs, inching higher, she stirred with a quiet groan.

"Again?" she asked, tugging the sheet free and sliding her fingers into his hair. A sleepy smile pulled at her lips, and Draco dipped his tongue out to taste her clit.

He hummed against her flesh. "Again."

"Pull my leg, then," she breathed with a soft titter, spreading her legs to accommodate him better.

Parting her folds with his fingers, Draco laved the flat of his tongue from her passage to her clit, dipping his tongue inside of her as he drew slow circles against the sensitive nerves. He could taste her arousal, eyes fluttering as he smirked against her flesh.

"Draco," she breathed, arching her back as he thrust his tongue inside of her again, then shifted to suck her clit between his lips, teasing it with his tongue.

After the night before, he eased one finger, then two, into her, basking in the soft affirmations tumbling from her lips as she pulled at his hair, her legs tightening around him.

Lost to the feel of her, the taste of her, Draco plunged his fingers into her with a quicker pace, lapping at her clit. He knew she was close, could feel the quake in her legs as he held her in place. "You taste so good," he breathed, sucking her clit hard between his lips.

She came with a huffed curse, whispering his name as an oath as her hand tightened in his hair, her walls tightening around his fingers. Draco teased her nerves through her orgasm, licking her juices from his lips when he caught her eye. Her chest lifted and fell with rapid breaths, a lazy smile dragging across her face as she pulled him up.

Kissing him deeply, she palmed his cock, already hard from the taste and sound of her.

"You're insatiable," she breathed against his mouth, guiding him to her entrance.

Draco wasn't certain, but he almost thought she was more physical now that she remembered him; it was an interesting juxtaposition from what he had anticipated, but he wasn't going to complain. She'd started brewing contraceptive potions as soon as she remembered how, so they didn't need to worry about spells every time anymore.

"So are you," he muttered, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock. A wicked smile curled her lips as she moved, easing him into her. Despite her natural lubrication, she grimaced a little as he slid his full length in. Brushing a gentle kiss to her lips, he asked, "Alright?"

She shifted beneath him, curling one leg up against his side, and ground her hips against his. "A bit sensitive―but good."

He wasn't surprised after the night before but grinned all the same. "Okay." He slid back out and eased into her, careful and slow, his every nerve alight with the feel of her.

Although they had come to Australia for a reason, at the moment, they had all the time in the world.

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks, as always, for reading. It's crazy to think we're into the final few chapters, and in light of that, the update schedule is going to speed up in order to finish this story by the end of November.

Hugs and gold stars to my lovely alpha, Kyonomiko, and beta FaeOrabel.

Chapter 43

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco could see the trepidation in Hermione's face as they prepared to leave the hotel. Her memories from the final moments in Australia several years ago remained vague, but there had been limited information in her files. They intended to speak to someone at the hotel where she had stayed the last time to see what they could learn and then visit the community where her parents lived before returning to England.

"Hey," Draco said, casting her a glance. "Whatever happens, I'm here."

Her wide eyes locked on him. "Yeah," she said, blowing out a long breath. Her fingers curled around his elbow like a vice, as though for support.

His heart clenched in his chest. After everything she had already been through, this could potentially be the last major hurdle before she could set aside this chapter of her life.

And while Draco had initially feared she would no longer want him around when her memories returned, he'd been able to lay those fears to rest. If anything, now that they were on completely even footing, Draco felt more connected to her than ever.

He pressed a firm kiss to her lips with a muttered, "You've got this," and pulled them both into Apparition.


Their first two stops proved fruitless, and though Hermione outwardly remained positive, Draco could already see the crack in her confidence. Following several hours spent delicately attempting to glean information from the Muggle doctors who had assisted her immediately after she lost her memory the last time she had been to Brisbane, they were forced to accept that it was a dead end as well.

Too much time had passed, and the only information the doctors had was from their initial assessments.

Despite that the rest of her memories had returned, Hermione still carried a gap in her mind from the point where she sought to leave for Brisbane to track down her parents until the point when she awoke to her new reality.

If Draco didn't know better, he might have suspected foul play―but Huxley had been able to rule that out in their treatment.

He still felt an implicit wariness about what actually did happen. And now that they were on the ground in Australia, confronting the matter, it felt more important than ever.

Their next stop was visiting the nearest magical hospital, where Hermione likely visited in order to inquire about her parents' recovery.

As the day passed and some of their avenues to answers slipped away, Draco could see the tension growing within Hermione. He could only imagine how she felt―so close to the answers she'd sought for so long, but so far nothing.

At last, they came across a healer who remembered the situation, a middle-aged woman named Healer Williams. Although the situation was a little unorthodox, she listened to Hermione's story with a halfway disbelieving smile on her face, then clipped in a thick accent, "Come along, then."

After verifying Hermione's identity, Healer Williams brandished a file. All the while, as Hermione skimmed its contents, the woman kept an eye on her.

"This is all I have regarding your parents' case," Williams said, a little apologetic. "You say you lost your memory entirely?"

Hermione offered a thin smile, already skimming the file. "I'm afraid so. I've managed to recover all of it―except for this." She peered closer at one page before returning the file. "Thanks for the help."

As they walked away, Draco cocked a brow. "I expected you to drill her for more information."

"I might have if I thought she knew anything―but the files were practically bare. Except for one thing."

"Your parents' address or something?" Draco asked. "They obviously don't still live there."

"Not an address," Hermione mused. "But a location all the same. Just a mention―a bus station with public storage."

A slow grin dragged across his face. "You're brilliant."

Although she rolled her eyes in deprecation, a pretty flush coloured her cheeks. "Hold that thought in case we actually find something. I'm starting to think my former self might have had more plans than I originally thought."

Draco had been cautious about saying too much about the fact that she obviously hadn't known her plans in advance, or else the memories were still gone along with the rest of her trip to Australia. But he could see the concern on her face as well as they Apparated to the station in question.

The building was Muggle, which made sense given that according to her report, she'd stayed in a Muggle hotel―and carried Muggle identification.

At last, she released a sigh, her steps slowing. "I keep asking myself―what was I doing? Why did everything play out the way it did?"

"I know." He pulled her hand to his, brushing his lips across her knuckles. "Maybe today is the day you're going to find out."

"And if not?"

Draco could hear the trepidation in her voice; he knew all too well the suppression of hope. "Even if you never find out," he mused quietly, "it doesn't change who you are. The life you live now―and the future that's ahead. The past doesn't define us."

Reading the significance behind his words immediately, she turned doleful eyes on him. "It certainly doesn't."

Wrapping an arm around her smaller form, Draco drew her tight into his chest. For a moment, he allowed himself to indulge in the steady rhythm of her heart before he released her. Her eyes shone with the threat of moisture, something implicit and desperate beneath the veil of her stoicism.

"I have faith," he said, at last. "That you're going to find what you're looking for."

With a shaky exhale, she nodded. "I might need to borrow some of your faith for now."

"You've got it."

He led them into the station, skimming the crowds of people flowing in all directions; Draco could tell by the confusion on Hermione's face that it wasn't what she had anticipated.

"Why do you suppose this place was relevant?" she asked, peering around a large group. "It doesn't seem as if there's anything particularly special about it."

Draco cast her a cautious glance. "No sudden recollections? I can't help but wonder, given you must have had some plans in advance, why none of this is ringing any bells."

"I've thought the same," she returned softly. "Why do I have no memories leading up to everything that must have happened? And..." She trailed off, drifting from his side, and when Draco followed her attention, he spotted a bank of lockers along the far wall. She turned back towards him with wide eyes. "And I fear that something else might have been at play in the moments surrounding my memory loss."

He'd wondered about it so many times before. Whether it might have been more intentional―or whether she had at least suspected what might happen.

He hadn't wanted to suggest it outright, though―especially not when she was still working to recover her memories. But now that the rest had returned but for these, those that remained absent grew more glaring.

Sucking in a deep breath, Hermione made for the lockers, and Draco followed, his fingers itching to draw his wand and cast a few tests. There were too many Muggles around, but even without his wand to detect magic, he could feel it as they grew closer.

A heavy look from Hermione suggested he wasn't the only one.

"Tell me you feel that," she said under her breath, trailing her fingertips along the worn green surfaces of the small square lockers.

"I feel it." Draco squinted, attempting to track the source of the magic. "Warding, concealment, Muggle repelling."

She clasped her hands together, and he noticed her fingers carried a slight tremble. "I don't have a key or anything."

Casting a furtive glance around, Draco shrugged. "If you're careful, no one will notice."

She snorted, with a wry, "Some Auror you are," but almost instantly, the amusement fell from her face as she drifted a little farther over. "I'd recognise my own concealment wards anywhere. I just can't pinpoint the exact locker." Even as she spoke, her fingers froze over a door as innocuous as the rest of them.

919.

"Your birthday," Draco hedged.

Hermione gave a small shrug, smoothing her fingers over the keyhole. "If I wanted to leave a message, it's as good a reason as any." But even so, she let out a shaky breath, rolled out her neck, and turned towards him. "Draco, what if I did this? What if I knew what was going to happen, and I went ahead with it anyway, and―what if something happened that I wanted to forget?"

"Whatever might have happened back then..." he began, shaking his head. "Sure, I guess something could have gone wrong with the spell. The path led back here for a reason. So, even if you wanted to forget back then, it's different now, isn't it?"

Her fingers locked with his, giving his hand a firm squeeze. "Yeah. It's different now."

With bated breath, he watched her. "Open it."

For another long moment, her large, watery eyes focused only on him, and Draco was left to wonder what he had done to deserve her trust. "Thank you for coming with me," she whispered.

Draco pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'll always be here."

"Okay," she said on an exhale, shifting a step closer to the bank of lockers. Surreptitiously drawing her wand, she cast a quick and efficient series of spells to lift the wards, and Draco felt a brief shimmer of magic hanging in the air before it dissipated. Then she cast a simple unlocking charm.

The small door swung open.

But she squeezed her eyes shut, holding tighter to his hand. "I can't do it. You look."

Fighting the urge to snicker at her dramatics and knowing how important it was to her, he reached into the small locker. It was scarcely wider than his hand and only went halfway to his elbow. He sobered when his fingers grazed the contents―three items.

One at a time, he handed them to her.

A small beaded purple bag, a rolled-up letter, and a glass vial filled with shimmering silver liquid.

Hermione stared at the items in her palm, a knit forming between her brows, and for a moment, her chest stopped moving. "Was that it, then?" she asked, staring hard at the small bag.

Draco ducked down to peer into the locker and shrugged. "Unless you managed to conceal something behind the back of it." He dragged his fingers along the back panel. "I can't feel anything―and I can't sense any more magic."

"Neither can I." She closed her fingers around the scroll and the vial, eyes locked on her fist. "This must be it, then. I'd like to take them back to the hotel."

He nodded once. "As you wish."


By the time they were settled back in the hotel room, Hermione had hardly spoken more than three words. The bag was slung over one shoulder and she clutched the two items from the locker between white knuckles, her hand so tight he feared she might shatter the delicate glass.

But she sat against the headboard and folded her legs beneath her cross-legged, then set the vial and letter side by side atop the blankets. She set the bag alongside and toyed with the closure, casting him a glance. "This was my bag―I kept it with me all through the war. It has an Undetectable Extension Charm on it."

Draco pursed his lips as he settled against the footboard. "I really wish you hadn't told me that."

"Why," she breathed, a hint of teasing beneath the word, "are you going to arrest me for illegal magic?"

Unimpressed, he cocked a brow. "Don't test me, or I just might."

For a moment, a spark of amusement danced in her stare, despite the way tension hung in her stance. At last, she shook her head and said, "The contents of this bag saved our lives more than once." Then she slid it open, reaching inside.

She laid out an assortment of items on the bed: books, potions, assorted bits of parchment―and then she sucked in a sharp breath as she brandished a wand. Reverent, she held it between both hands, staring at the intricate vines carved into the wood.

"Your wand," Draco said with a thick swallow.

Nodding once, she breathed, "Yes." She set it on the bed beside the other one she'd purchased in Paris. "I wondered whether I might ever see it again."

Her fingers grazed some of the other materials on the bed, but her gaze slid back to the two other items from the locker―the vial and the letter.

"What do you suppose it says?"

Draco smirked. "There's a simple way of finding out."

She rolled her eyes. "Realistically, I don't know what I'm so hesitant over. I've wondered at what happened for years, but now that the potential answer is right in front of me..."

His amusement dropped off. "I get it."

"Right, then," she said, at last, wringing her hands together. "We haven't a Pensieve, so the letter first."

"The DMLE uses a proprietary Pensieve spell," Draco offered. "For cases like this."

Her mouth fell open. "Why didn't I know that?"

He nudged her knee with his toe. "Because you're not in the DMLE." When she only offered a thin grimace, Draco said, "Hey. It's going to be okay―I promise."

Finally, a true smile spread across her face, and she toyed with the letter. "Okay. You're right. I'm only making this worse on myself."

She unrolled the letter, spreading it open between both hands, and stared, unblinking, as she read. Draco longed desperately to know what it said, but he also recognised how significant the moment was for her, and he didn't want to press.

She sniffled, and he realised her hands were shaking. She shifted back to sit next to him, and, sensing her need for support, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. Without looking at him, she opened the letter again so he could see it.

Smoothing a hand up and down her arm, he read, recognising Hermione's clean script in an instant.

Dear Hermione,

If you never read this, it means my gamble didn't pay off. But if you do, I'm sure you have plenty of questions. I'm going to spell this all out in as much detail as I can manage, and hopefully, once you see the memories I've set aside in this vial, everything else will make sense. And, hopefully, you'll understand why I made the decisions I did (you have the same brain, after all―I only don't know how much time will have passed).

As you know, our initial attempts to restore our parents' memories after the war proved futile, and we returned to Hogwarts for eighth year and completed our NEWTs. What you won't realise―because I've removed it from your memory―is that I found something after eighth year and made the decision to act on it, even knowing what might happen.

I don't know whether it paid off. Only you know that.

Draco turned to Hermione, watching a few silent tears streak down her cheeks, but her gaze remained locked on the letter. Pushing back a sudden swell of foreboding, he read on.

The spell isn't light magic―I don't even know exactly how dark in the scheme of things, but dark magic always has a cost. One that I was willing to accept. There was a chance it would restore Wendell and Monica Wilkins back to Richard and Jean Granger as we knew them―but a chance it might not. And, of course... the chance that it might take our memories all the same.

I can only hope, Hermione, if you're reading this, you found an answer. You found yourself again. And maybe, you've even found our parents again―I simply couldn't carry on knowing I hadn't done everything I could.

I did my best to set you up with a contingency as Melody―an alternate life you could live, away from the pain and the tragedy that presently surrounds us back home. But I ran out of time to get the details right―the spell had a limited window, and it has already been so long since the initial memory revision. The longer I waited, the greater the chance this was all in vain. Even now, I fear it was too little too late.

I've left my research in our bag for you, in case you want to see it. It was an imperfect solution to a terrible decision, but the only one I could find at the time—just as we didn't have another option but to cast the spell in the first place. The reversal spell may take time to activate, or it may not work at all, and there's no way for me to know for certain. The timing of it all was imprecise, and even though nothing but disappointment has come of my attempts, there is still this one kernel of hope.

I can feel my memories slipping even as I write this―the worst-case scenario is playing out at this moment. I'm terrified but choosing to have faith. That we might one day overcome this―that you might one day be reunited with our friends and family. But I couldn't not try.

The vial included here contains everything you're presumably missing. I hope it explains what I cannot, as even now, I'm losing track of these thoughts like sand through my fingertips.

I'm frightened, Hermione. I fear that this was all for nought, and you'll never see this.

But if you never get your memories back and you never find this letter, I hope you're living a peaceful, fruitful life, away from the strife and chaos we've endured for so long. I hope the fear and the despair and the nightmares don't still haunt you.

I hope you've found peace. Maybe you've settled into a career; maybe you've met someone.

If you're reading this letter right now... I can only hope you'll forgive me that I made this decision on our behalf. Even knowing what's coming and what will happen now.

It's taking everything in me to cling to this moment, so I don't lose track of why I'm writing this letter in the first place. It's all hazy, and so much of it is already gone. Be well, Hermione.

Best wishes,

Hermione

By the time Draco finished reading the letter, Hermione clung to his hand, wide-eyed. Tears streamed down her face, unchecked, and he removed the letter from her other hand. It bounced back into a scroll, and he set it on the bed, drawing her smaller form into his chest. Her body quaked, wracked with trembling shock, and his heart tightened unbearably.

"I've got you," he murmured into her hair.

Hermione wound her arms around him, fingers trailing idle patterns along his back, and after several long minutes, she withdrew, eyes red but dry. She blew out a breath and rolled the letter back into a careful scroll; drifted her fingers along some of the books; fidgeted with the small vial of all that remained of her missing memories.

"You know," she said, peering at the silvery shimmer within, "I remember how it felt. I came here to Brisbane in between the end of the war and the beginning of eighth year―after things had settled down a little―and in all my research, I found nothing. My attempts at a reversal went nowhere, and every memory restoration charm I could think of resulted in nothing. I spoke to healers and Muggle doctors alike and..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I remember how badly it hurt―how much I feared I might never get my parents back. That the spell I'd cast had caused irreversible damage. And the guilt, Draco. It was unbearable."

He sat in silence, torn between dredging forth a meagre effort at placation and letting her carry on.

She stared again at the memories. "I want to be upset with myself. That a version of me from years ago felt desperate enough to perform dark magic in a feeble hope that it might work, whilst knowing, it could have done this to me as a result. I want to be upset―but I can't. Because I remember how much it hurt, and I know I would have done anything to fix it. Which, evidently, I did."

As she spoke, the words dropped to a whisper; the vial fell from her fingers to land in the blankets below.

Draco pondered the idea for a moment with a grimace. "You did what you thought was right at the time. Merlin knows, if it were my parents and I felt responsible for what had happened, I would have done the same thing. You can't blame yourself for how it all turned out because you couldn't have known."

Still, her gaze remained locked on the vial of memories as though it were a fixation, and her fingers twitched towards it again. "I can only imagine how it must have felt. Alone and afraid, out of options, and knowing that the last possible attempt had failed."

A shudder threatened to race down Draco's spine. "And then to feel your memories begin to vanish."

"Yes," she breathed. "The very essence of yourself, everything you've ever been through or experienced. Everyone you've ever known―gone."

A tense silence hung over them as they both considered her words, and Draco felt a sudden, awful clarity around exactly what she must have gone through to wake up, alone in a strange country with no recollection of anything. Without even knowing what had happened and how she ended up there.

"It makes me realise," she spoke again at last, "how fortunate I am that you found me. I could have carried on forever, believing myself to be someone entirely different than I am. To never again remember magic. And... maybe it would have been better that way. Maybe at the time, I was in such a dark place―haunted by the war, struggling with my parents' situation―that I truly believed it would have been better."

"A fresh start," Draco surmised. "That if you lost your memories entirely, you thought it would be better that way."

"I understand why I thought that way," she mused, picking up the vial again. "Because I still understand even now. Even knowing everything I've been through. Would I have made the same decisions knowing what was to come?" But she only shook her head. "I don't know. I suppose it's impossible to say."

Draco reached for her two wands, laying them both out in front of him for utter lack of a response that felt appropriate. "They're similar."

"They are," she breathed.

They were made of the same wood and almost the same length. "Which will you use now?"

Hermione set the vial down carefully beside the beaded bag and held one wand in each hand. "I don't know yet. A part of me suspects the new wand is more attuned to who I am now than who I was at eleven. But there's a certain nostalgic connection with a first wand, isn't there?"

"Yes."

She set the wands down again and turned to face him, shoulders low. "I can't deny it's a relief to know the truth, although I can't say whether I'm pleased or if this has simply given me more to think on."

"What will you do?" he asked. "With the final memories. You could restore them."

"A part of me wants to throw the vial in the Thames and never deal with it again―but I know myself better than that. I know the curiosity will get the better of me. I imagine I'll watch them, and then I can decide if I want them permanently restored. But I think... I need a bit of time to let this all sink in. To go home and get settled at last."

Technically, they still had another day left in Brisbane before their Portkey was due to return home. Draco could only imagine she was fatigued after the day they'd had. He held her gaze for a prolonged moment, finding the tumult of hopes and expectations mingled with utter exhaustion.

Draco smoothed a hand along her spine and felt some of the tension and chaos seep from her at last. "You can do that. You can put all of this behind you at last and begin to move forward. With some peace."

"Peace," she echoed with a bit of a nervous chuckle as though she didn't recognise the sentiment. "I suppose I can."

One at a time, she packed the books and other materials back into her bag. She set both wands side-by-side on the nightstand and carefully placed the memories alongside.

Then she shifted back into his side, dragging her bent knees into her chest. Quietly, she said, "For so long, this has all been my reality. And now... I don't know where to go next."

Draco couldn't even imagine everything she'd been through. He gave her knee closest to him a squeeze.

"Now... you can do whatever you like. You can settle into the life you might have had all along. Spend time with your old friends and rebuild the friendships you've missed; you can begin your Unspeakable training." Sweeping a hand through his hair, he caught her eye and lowered his voice. "Get to know your parents again, after all, you did to help them. Because whatever happened back then... it ultimately worked out."

"It did," she breathed.

"And maybe, you can take some solace in the fact that it wasn't all for nothing. Sacrificing your own memories—and all the pain and struggle you went through in trying to adjust to a new life―none of it was for nothing."

Her breathing was slow and measured as he spoke as if she were afraid to say too much in return.

"If I'm lucky," Draco went on, "you'll keep me around."

"Of course I'm keeping you around," she scoffed. "You've been here through everything."

He met her eyes, feeling the heavy significance of the statement. "So have you―for me."

When she released a long sigh, cathartic and draining at once, and sank deeper into him, Draco tugged at her curls. For a long moment, he simply basked in her presence. In the fact that, though the answers they found were sobering at best, that they finally knew. That Hermione might finally be able to rest in the knowledge of what had truly happened.

"Now," he said, drifting a hand along her arm, "we finish our time here and go home. And now... you can begin a fresh chapter."

Notes:

Author's Note: Thanks for reading - I sort of can't believe we're so close to the end of this story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

If you're on twitter, track me down @indreamsink - I post future fic updates, snippets, headcanons, etc. and it's good fun.

Alpha and beta thanks to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.

Chapter 44

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"So?" Potter's expectant gaze landed on Draco as he sank into the next seat with a swig of ale. "How was Australia? I've hardly had two minutes alone with Hermione today. I hear it went well enough?"

"Well enough," Draco allowed, though within his mind's eye, he could still see the way Hermione had deflated upon learning the truth. "I think she still has a lot to sort through, and—knowing Hermione—she'll want to be thorough."

Their final day in Brisbane had been quiet and peaceful, just the two of them exploring, but all the while, Draco could sense the weight she carried. After everything she had been through since they'd reconnected, he wasn't surprised―but a part of him wished he could help.

"That she will," Potter returned. "And she'll want to do it alone."

Draco released a breath. "Yeah."

For a moment, they both stared across the yard. Although Potter had said they would keep the gathering small, a group of Hermione's friends from Hogwarts had been by her side ever since they arrived at Andromeda's for an impromptu birthday celebration. Sensing that she would want to spend time catching up, Draco had largely left her to it. It wasn't that he didn't want to get to know her friends better, but there would be plenty of time for that.

"She isn't like she used to be," Potter spoke again at last. "She's... I don't know. Quieter―more easily distracted."

"She's been through a lot," Draco reasoned.

Potter took another drink. "She has. It isn't a bad thing; it's just interesting. Like the drive to prove herself has faded a little with time. Sometimes I worry about her, but she's strong; always has been."

"Just wait," Draco said with a smirk, "I'm sure that drive will come back once she properly begins her Unspeakable training. At any rate, I think she's doing okay. She hasn't dumped my arse yet, at least."

He caught the glimmer in Potter's eye, half expecting a derisive retort. When Potter only remained silent, an indulgent smile tugging at his mouth, Draco cocked a brow. "Even I could have come up with half a dozen jabs in response to that."

"Oh, they're right here." With a grin, Potter tapped two fingers to his temple. "But I'm not going to say anything." His expression sobered, and Draco sensed the unspoken continuation for several tense moments. "You've earned my respect, Malfoy. And hers."

Draco didn't know that he was quite ready to unpack the way the blatant affirmation felt, but his chest grew tight, his hands suddenly anxious. He reached for his drink and took a swig, then ground out a low, "Thanks, Potter."

"From everything she's said to me," Potter went on quietly, "I know she appreciates all you've done for her. Maybe more than she's able to let on right now."

Letting his gaze drift across the yard again, Draco watched the genuine smile that spread across her face as she talked with Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. Her eyes caught his for a moment, the smile softening into something different—something he recognised as the one she reserved for him. His heart stuttered at the sight of it.

"In case you haven't noticed," Draco said brusquely, to keep the sudden swell of emotions at bay, "she's been by my side through quite a bit recently as well. I suppose it goes both ways."

"I suppose it does."

Merlin, just the thought of the pair of them sharing conversation and a drink would have been laughable six months prior. Never mind the fact that Potter had, somehow, become one of the select handful of people Draco knew he could depend upon the most.

At the thought, Theo swooped in and collapsed into the seat between them with an assessing gaze. "You do realise it's Hermione's birthday party and the two people she wants to spend the day with most are over here ignoring her?"

Draco clicked his tongue. "She likes you more than enough for both of us."

Theo preened and quipped, "It is true. She's rather fond of me."

"She's spent plenty of time with me lately," Draco returned. "She'll be happy to have some time to catch up with her old friends, I imagine. Besides―we're seeing her parents tomorrow for dinner as well. First time since her memories came back."

Both Theo and Potter cringed, and Draco couldn't deny he felt a little of the same. Although he'd met her parents before, it had only been brief visits in limited doses before Hermione had the full extent of understanding. This would be the first time he would spend any significant length of time with them, and he couldn't help the way old insecurities bled to the surface.

A part of him still dreaded what they might have heard about him in the past.

"Oh," said Potter suddenly, "you'll enjoy this. Someone"―his accusatory glare slid towards Theo―"decided the two of us should try yoga while you and Hermione were in Australia."

"You didn't," Draco choked.

Theo released an exaggerated, arduous sigh and held up his hands in surrender. "We did―and okay, I might have accidentally signed us up for the advanced class. It was a bloody disaster."

Potter only cocked a brow, unimpressed. Draco winced.

"If it helps," he said, sipping his ale, "it gets easier. If you tell Hermione, she'll want the four of us to attend together."

On one side of the garden, George Weasley demonstrated several flashy Quidditch tricks to Teddy, who clapped with delight while Andromeda and Huxley watched on while in quiet conversation. Draco skimmed the gathering; it was almost surreal to think of how much had changed.

But in some strange way, he felt as though he belonged, more than he had anywhere in years.

He caught Hermione's gaze again, and in the thin smile on her face, he caught the first signs of strain. She lifted her brows, tilting her head to the side, and his own smile dropped as he ducked his chin.

Even though she'd regained her memories, he knew she still struggled with more than she liked to let on.

Finishing the last of his drink, he rose from his seat with a quiet, "Excuse me." He slipped into the gathering with a hand to the small of her back and offered a nod to her friends; he ducked in to murmur in her ear, "Are you feeling alright?'

"I could use a breather," she allowed, quietly enough so no one else could hear.

Hermione had been back to see Huxley only once since returning from Australia, though she would continue her treatment for a short while longer to ensure everything in her mind was functioning as it should. Planting a kiss against her temple, he murmured against her skin, "Walk with me."

She gave him a gratified nod and fell into step as they slipped away from the rest of the group. Draco led her towards the expansive grounds beyond the rest of the gathering, and for several minutes they walked in silence.

"I've been thinking a lot," Hermione said, at last, her gaze carefully fixed away. "About that vial of memories."

Draco remained silent. After discovering the truth in Australia, she opted to wait on deciding whether or not she wanted to watch and reclaim the final missing memories. She'd left them untouched in the small satchel she found in the locker, along with her old wand.

To Draco's surprise, she had decided to continue using the wand she'd purchased with him on La Rue Mystique.

At length, she went on with a quiet breath. "I'm going to restore them into their rightful place. I have all the rest of my memories back, the good and the bad―and this just feels like the final step towards putting all of this behind me, whole and in one unbroken piece. I know it's going to be difficult to deal with at first, but ultimately for the best."

Draco nodded, tugging her hand into his, planting a kiss on her knuckles. "I'll support whatever you want to do."

"I think it'll be a good thing," she pressed on. "Especially with my Unspeakable training starting next week."

it would be a big step, and Draco could sense her hesitation, but he only pressed a kiss to her brow. "You'll be great."

And even though he knew she would enter a world filled with secrets―the deepest and most hidden secrets of magic and the universe―he also knew how excited she was. How valuable it would be for her to sink into a career that truly spoke to her finally. For so long, she had coveted knowledge, and Draco knew it was the ideal place for her to expand upon everything she had already learned.

"Yeah," she said, gazing across the yard towards the setting sun. "It's going to be good. I know it is."

At the shimmer within her gaze, as she turned towards him, Draco felt a sudden flare of nerves. He'd been doing quite a lot of thinking as well, especially since returning from Australia.

Thinking about the future. About their future.

Some days he still wasn't quite certain what to make of everything that had transpired―with his mother and father and his relationship with Hermione. He fidgeted with her hand in his while he gathered his thoughts, watching as her expression became guarded in the prolonged silence.

"I've been thinking," he said at last, "and you don't need to say yes―you don't even need to respond right away. I only figured that―" he felt heat rise in his cheeks as the words faltered―"since we've practically been living together anyway―"

"Yes," she replied, a furrow forming between her brows. A soft, hesitant smile curled her lips. "I think it's a great idea."

Draco swallowed, his heart feathering a rapid pulse in his chest. Hermione had scarcely returned to her own flat other than to collect some clothes since they returned from Australia. And even when she'd stayed over in the past―after his mother passed away―he had only longed to see her again after she returned home.

However, at her easy confirmation, he felt some of the tension seep out through his skin, and a slow grin spread across his face.

"I mean," she pushed on, her cheeks pink, "realistically, it makes sense, doesn't it? That we aren't both paying for flats when we typically stay together anyway."

"Yes," Draco smirked. "It makes financial sense." He brushed the pad of his thumb across her hand, toying with another thought that had lingered in the back of his mind for a long time. "I don't know what I want to do with the Manor. I don't―I'm not sure that I'll ever want to live there again. And... call it premature, but your thoughts on the matter are important."

At that, her face softened, and she drifted a step closer so that she had to peer up at him. "That," she breathed, "is ultimately your decision. Obviously, your experiences growing up there were far from ideal, and during the war―I don't even know the extent of it. But I guess what you need to ask yourself is whether you can ever move past that well enough to start over."

He hadn't expected her to have a definitive answer―hell, he certainly couldn't expect her to make the decision for him. But while some part of him didn't want anything to do with it, another deeper part recognised that there was a chance he might want to raise a family of his own one day.

Still, he shrugged. "I could just sell it and buy another house."

"You could."

He thought of his mother's headstone in the small cemetery deep within the grounds, and his stomach churned at the thought. "Or," he murmured, glancing away, "I could have it completely redone."

Before she grew ill, Narcissa had put a lot of effort into renovations―particularly the areas of the manor where the Death Eaters had taken over.

"You could do that too," Hermione said, lips quirking. "I know I'm not very helpful―but I want it to be your decision. All I will say on the matter is that if you do sell the manor, you'll need to find somewhere else with a large enough library to hold all of your books."

Draco didn't dare speak the words out loud.

Maybe one day, they would be her books, too.

He felt it in the rapid pulse of his heart every time he looked at her. Felt the warmth of her kisses, the sparkle of her chocolate eyes on his.

Maybe it had been building within him since the first time he'd heard his name roll from her lips without the cold derision he'd come to know and expect.

The first time his heart had beat a little faster in her presence.

"The books will be a priority," he said, at last, planting a kiss into her curls. "I promise."


He couldn't quite rationalise the nerves that swelled within him. The slight quake in his fingers as he fastened the cufflinks at his wrists. Draco caught Hermione's eye in the mirror as he adjusted a lock of hair; his throat felt thick and cumbersome, and he couldn't swallow with ease.

She slipped up behind him, lacing her arms around his middle, and rested her head on the outside of his arm. "Why do you look like you're preparing for the gallows? You've met my parents before."

For longer than he would have liked, Draco didn't have an answer. He adjusted the Windsor Knot at his throat and squared his jaw. "I don't know. It feels different somehow."

"Different," she mused, her lips quirking with amusement. "Because I have my memories back? Or because we're going to be moving in together?"

His mouth felt like the desert. "Both."

Her expression faltered, and the smile dropped off. "Or are you second-guessing that?"

"What?" Draco's brows shot up, and he spun to face her. "No. Of course not. I want us to live together."

After they'd returned home from Andromeda's the night before, they'd discussed the matter in more detail. It hadn't been a complex debate to determine that they would keep Draco's flat; for one, he had already purchased it outright, and it was notably larger.

She smoothed a hand down his chest, straightening his tie. "Then what is it?"

Searching his thoughts for an answer, Draco came up blank. "I don't know. Maybe it just feels like... at last, everything is laid bare. We're finally on the same page―maybe I'm still afraid you're going to come to your senses and realise you don't want this."

Her face grew stern, and she clicked her tongue in disapproval. "I don't even want to dignify that with a response." But then her voice softened, and she wound her arms around his neck, mussing his hair intentionally. "You do know I love you, right?"

"Right," he muttered.

"And you know I wouldn't just say that if I didn't mean it." A hint of that sparkle returned to her eyes, and Draco gulped.

"Right."

"And you love me." Her voice dropped to a whisper, with just a hint of a question.

Draco released a sharp breath. "More than I know how to put into words."

Hermione pressed up on her toes, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss. When she, at last, drew back, cheeks flushed, she smiled. "Then, as far as I can tell, this is all good. But I get it―Merlin knows I was terrified to meet your mother, even when I didn't remember her as your mother."

At the reminder, a bittersweet smile tugged at his own lips. A memory flickered within―he hadn't consciously suppressed it, but in the surreal blur that followed in the days after his mother's death, it had slipped his mind. "You know," he murmured, tugging one of her loose curls, "she really did like you. It was one of the last things she said to me―that she thought you were a good match after all."

Instantly, her eyes grew glassy, sadness furrowing her brow. "Draco... that means a lot to me. Thank you for sharing that."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close into his chest. "It meant a lot to me, too," he said into her hair. "In the end."

Especially given the way many of their last arguments had been about his duties to his house―regarding whether or not he would be able to select a woman of his own choosing when the time came. A small voice―growing ever louder―suggested he'd already found her.

At last, she drew back, her eyes a little red but a brilliant smile tugging at her lips. She fidgeted with his shirt and said, "At any rate, you have nothing to be worried about. My parents already love you."


In the end, she was right. Draco knew most of his worries were unfounded, but there was a certain formality to the meeting that had left him feeling out of sorts.

Hermione's parents were overjoyed to see her and to hear about their trip. It had been an emotional meal, and her parents had simply been so grateful that Draco's fears that they might not truly accept him simply evaporated into the aether.

If anything, seeing Hermione's connection with her parents―despite everything, the time they'd spent apart, the fact that she'd cast a memory charm on them in the first place―left his own heart soft. She had ultimately been willing to sacrifice everything she had ever known at a chance to save them, and the realisation hit so much harder now.

Now that she had her parents and her memories back, along with the understanding of what it had all cost.

Draco knew she possessed a beautiful heart―more so than anyone he knew―and the fact that she had chosen him to share in her life left him both incredibly humbled and emotionally wrung out.

After dinner, he'd left Hermione with her mother, the pair of them reminiscing and teary-eyed on the sofa, and joined her father on the deck. His tie suddenly felt a little like a noose around his throat, but the man had been nothing but kind all evening.

"Thanks for dinner," Draco said in an effort to break the silence; he fought a sudden urge to cringe at himself.

Richard Granger simply leaned back in his seat, folded his hands across his middle, and eyed Draco for a moment. "Quite something, isn't it? Hermione regaining her memory after all this time."

With a polite nod, Draco replied, "It certainly is. She's worked hard in her cognitive therapy to get to this point."

The man remained silent for a moment. "As I hear it, you were an instrumental part as well."

"I don't know about that," Draco returned. He felt caught under the man's intense scrutiny, as though Mister Granger were attempting to piece him together into something that made more sense. "All I did was direct her to the right channels."

"Which shouldn't be understated."

Draco began to feel uneasy, and he fought the urge to shift in his seat when the man sighed at last.

"I'll be honest, Draco. You aren't at all like I expected." When Mister Granger hesitated, Draco's gaze slid sidelong; his palms grew damp. "I remember hearing your name when Hermione was young. She mentioned you on occasion, and I never would have imagined this."

With a wince, Draco muttered, "Growing up, I was not a very good person, sir."

To his surprise, Mister Granger only smiled. "So I've heard. But I've also heard, in spending time with Hermione since the two of you have reconnected, that you've obviously grown up. Something about that big war that happened in your world―Hermione's always been a little overprotective in sharing too much with us."

Draco sensed the words left unspoken―that her drive to protect her parents from the darkest parts of the wizarding world led to the current situation. Still, he only managed a nod. "Yes, sir. My family was on the other side of the war, and it led me down a path I'm not proud of."

"I've also heard a little about that," Mister Granger replied, his voice apologetic. "About your parents. I'm sorry to hear."

"Thank you." His throat felt thick, and Draco had no idea whether he was botching the opportunity to make a good impression on the man. "My father was in prison since I was eighteen, but my mother... we were close―or at least to a certain extent." He forced himself to sit a little straighter in his seat. "I've tried to make strides in my own life since the war. I've recently completed my training to become a certified Auror with the Ministry of Magic."

"Hermione's said as much. I'm afraid to say there's little about you she hasn't already shared with us." Again, the man looked amused. "And knowing Hermione, even when she didn't have her memories, that means something."

Draco felt oddly humbled. Hermione had visited her parents several times on her own since they'd all arbitrarily reconnected in London, but he could never have guessed she'd told her parents about him. It stirred a flutter within his chest―especially when he had spent so much of that precarious stretch of time expecting her to leave him when she finally remembered everything.

He cleared his throat. "I care quite a lot about your daughter."

"I can tell." Mister Granger gave a sharp nod, then offered a brisk smile. "Hermione can look after herself―but that's good enough for me."

The sentiment felt like acceptance, and in the moment, so much of the strain he'd been carrying dissolved. For months, he'd struggled with too much. He felt a slow grin spread across his face and sank back a little into his seat. "She absolutely can."

"Every so often, however," Mister Granger went on, "she needs somewhere to turn. And I'm glad she's found that in you. Thank you for being by her side when we weren't."

His chest grew tight, and Draco barely managed to hold his composure as he met the man's stare. "Thank you, sir. Hermione has been that person for me as well, more than I can even express."

The man's voice softened. "I'm glad to hear it."

As they fell into an easier silence, Draco felt eyes on him and turned to see Hermione watching him from near the house. She drifted over to his side; she looked depleted, but her eyes were bright. "Are you ready to go?"

"Whenever you are."


He could see the exact moment when the memories settled. It was different than watching the hidden memories reveal themselves, and Draco wasn't certain what to make of it.

Watching the last missing memories settle in, he tried to imagine the silver shimmer of them as they slotted back into the channels of her brain where they might have existed all along. He wondered idly whether the two of them ever would have connected if she hadn't lost her memories.

And where he might have ended up without her.

Hermione sat still before him, her shoulders straight but gaze unfocused. A devastated furrow pulled at her brow, and she sucked in a sharp breath―and when tears began to leak from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks, Draco tensed.

"Are you alright?"

She gave his hand a squeeze. "Yes."

It was simply another thing she had to go through on her own, but after their evening spent with her parents, Draco felt more certain than ever that his place was at her side. That it had been for a long time now, even when he consistently questioned whether he was enough.

For the first time in years, he allowed himself to believe the answer to be yes.

He wouldn't always be everything she needed, and he already knew sometimes he would fall entirely short. Life was never a steady, predictable path―he'd learned those lessons by hard ways time and again over the years. But knowing Hermione wanted him in her life shifted the struggles further away until they felt a bit less concrete. Like they couldn't quite reach him with the same voracity with which he'd grown accustomed.

As the tears dried to tracks along her cheeks, as her breathing evened out, and as the quake in her hands subsided, he caught her gaze. Merlin, he could never grow tired of the warmth in her eyes.

"It's okay," she whispered at last. She gave a shaky nod, as though not entirely certain, but her hand remained firm in his as she said again, "It's okay."

The moment was sobering, a relief, a swell and rise in Draco's chest. But then it faded away, and he was left with the brightness in her stare.

It was fitting, Draco thought, when she had been his light for so long—his lighthouse in the storm.

And he knew she would always guide him home.

Notes:

Thank you for reading; a small epilogue will be posted in two days.

I have a few things to say, and first and foremost, thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story, and from the bottom of my heart, I hope you enjoyed it. I wanted to write a story that delved deeper into Draco as a character, allowing his development to drive the story more than the plot. I hope I achieved this in some small way. I appreciate every single one of you, and if you liked the story, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

I'm hoping to launch my upcoming War AU in early February, and this is the working summary:
In theory, the task is simple: kill Draco Malfoy. In practice, putting a curse through the Dark Lord's favoured lieutenant will take everything Hermione has―especially since he's trying to kill her, too. Even more so when the lines between them start to blur. Post-Battle of Hogwarts War AU.

Come hang on twitter for more updates @indreamsink.

Thanks, and see you soon!

Chapter 45

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Two Years Later

It was the same every month.

Draco preferred to walk the grounds, surrounding himself with the flowers his mother had once loved and tended with care.

It had been a small effort, at first. A way to readjust himself to the manor―to remind himself of the good amongst the years of bad. None of it easy; but all gradual.

More often than not, Hermione accompanied him. She had a keen eye for beauty to which he'd never aspired, and she always gathered an arrangement worthy of his mother's memory.

Every month, Draco found himself before his mother's headstone. He'd had a bench installed, wrought iron in vines and florals―somewhere he could reminisce and remember. Narcissa had loved him in her own way, and though they didn't always get along, Draco never doubted that.

This month felt a little different.

It had been two years since her passing. Two years since the hardest months of Draco's life, wherein everything that comprised him at his very core had been knocked down and rebuilt, painstakingly, from the broken shrapnel of who he had once been.

With careful hands, Hermione laid the bouquet she'd gathered on the base of his mother's gravestone. For several long, sombre moments, Draco simply stared.

He sat on the bench, pulling Hermione's hand into his.

Although he hadn't seen it at the time, his mother had given him so much. He wondered, sometimes, whether she could see him now—whether she would have approved of the life he'd nurtured. Draco liked to think the answer would be yes.

He had never had an eye for design, but Hermione had taken to it with a passion, and she worked with Theo and Andromeda to renovate and revamp Malfoy Manor completely from the ground up. Even with magical means, it had taken the better part of the last two years, and the final touches had just been completed.

No part of the manor reminded Draco of the way it had once been, and it was exactly as he had hoped.

Except for the library.

It had been Hermione's space to do with as she pleased, and he was surprised to find she'd kept it almost exactly as it was, aside from some minor details to brighten up the space and infuse it with new life.

Draco hadn't questioned her motives. After all, it would be her space soon, too. They'd discussed the idea at length and ultimately decided upon moving into the manor―eventually.

He wasn't in any rush.

As he gazed upon his mother's elegant grave, the stunning selection of flowers perched at its base, Draco swallowed. Speaking a few words to his mother inside his mind, he rose to his feet.

"Walk with me?"

Hermione followed, looping an arm around his back as she shifted closer. "Of course."

Draco didn't rush over many things anymore. He'd spent too long being driven forward by forces beyond his control, chasing after some semblance of meaning beyond his reach without any guarantee of finding it.

Now, he preferred to enjoy the small elements of his life that meant the most.

Like his relationship with Hermione, while rocky at times, he wouldn't have it any other way. She had rapidly become the most important person in his life. She was the one to push him, to challenge him, to reach his heart in ways he had never thought anyone would. And given she was nearly through her Unspeakable training, she often teased him with nuggets of obscure information the likes of which he couldn't even comprehend.

But still, she wouldn't tell him what she did all day in the dark.

The deep and implicit bond he'd forged with Andromeda sown from a seed of mutual loss and blossomed into a true familial bond. He'd formed one with Teddy as well, and the boy was trouble enough to keep Draco on his toes at the best of times. But it meant a lot to Draco to hold influence over his young cousin's life―and served as a reminder of the role he played in the lives of others.

His friendship with Theo and Harry, newly married and a mutual pain in Draco's arse. But they were the closest people in his life outside of Hermione.

And his career—which served as the root of redemption and absolution he'd once sought with unrelenting vigour—had opened more doors and led down more paths than he even imagined possible when it had been a fresh and terrifying endeavour.

Their walk of the grounds led past the carriage house. As always, Draco recalled the first and only time Hermione had properly met his mother―and had ultimately created enough of an impression for Narcissa to approve of their relationship.

Even now, it was his favourite place on the grounds.

"I've been thinking," he said into the comfortable silence between them, coming to a halt. "Now that the renovations are complete."

"Mostly," Hermione added.

"Mostly. Well, we might like to reconsider where we're living."

It was a late summer day, and the sun caught in Hermione's brilliant gaze, bringing to life the facets of gold within her chocolate eyes. "What's wrong with the flat?'

Draco smirked, catching her arms and drawing her close. Ducking in, he brushed a kiss to her lips and mused, "Nothing is wrong with the flat. But you've spent two years renovating the manor―it would be an awful shame if you never had a chance to live in it."

And it would―the manor was more gorgeous than ever, simple and understated yet elegant.

Just like the woman he loved.

He caught her slight hitch of breath, and it echoed the way his heart leapt as he waited.

"You want me to move into the manor?" she asked, quiet and careful.

"Only if you want to."

In the silence that followed, Draco felt certain his heart might simply beat free of his chest, laid bare before her as it had been since that first day he'd come across her in the cafe.

The silence grew prolonged, and he could sense something within her hesitation. It was only then that he realised her eyes were glassy.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, swiping a finger beneath one of her eyes. "It's just―I almost can't believe it." Then a slow smile pulled across her face, devastating in its beauty, and beneath the radiance of the late afternoon sun, Draco didn't think he'd ever seen her so perfect.

"I know. I don't mean to drop this on you. It doesn't need to be right away―"

"I'd love to." The quiet words stifled his own in his chest, caught in his throat where his heart beat an anxious cadence.

Before he could allow himself a moment of quiet relief, he blurted out, the words falling unprepared from his lips, "There's something more."

Hermione's brows lifted in surprise. "Something more than asking me to move into your ancient ancestral manor?"

"Yes." He felt like a teenager, palms sweating and jittery, his heart trapped in the teasing warmth of her stare. He cleared his throat. "Yes, something more."

A curious smile curled her lips, and Merlin, he wanted to spend the rest of his life kissing her.

Draco could see the familiar sparkle in her gaze, and he knew. She knew.

Before he could dredge forth the careful, meticulous words he'd prepared, they fell from his lips in a messy, "Marry me?"

Maybe she didn't know. She blinked at him, eyes wide in shock, lips parted for a moment so long it might have been comical if Draco weren't convinced he would be swallowed up by the grass beneath his feet.

"You want me to marry you?" she asked, at last, one hand drifting up to cover her mouth. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." Draco grimaced with a bit of a shrug. "If you want to. I mean―" He scrounged in his pocket, fumbling with the small velvet box, and managed to snap it open. "This isn't exactly how I meant to ask you."

Her eyes shone with moisture and something that might have been adoration―and when she looked at him like that, he still couldn't quite believe it. Through a sniffle, she asked, "How were you going to ask?"

She hadn't even looked down at the ring, eyes locked on his.

His lips twitched. "I was going to ask when we were in Madrid."

"Draco!" Her mouth fell open in disbelief. "That was more than a month ago."

"Tell me about it." Despite himself, Draco took her hand into his, brushing his thumb along her bare ring finger. "I made the mistake of telling Potter at work that I was going to ask you―"

"You told Harry!"

He sighed. "Right, and then Theo sent me a bloody Howler because he wasn't the first to know and―"

A brief, surprised laugh fell from her lips. "And did you plan on telling all of our friends but not me?"

Chastened, he smiled. "You're the third one to know. Promise."

Finally, her gaze dropped towards the contents of the small box he still held out towards her. The cut of the diamond was immaculate, set into white gold with a pair of rubies on either side. Almost imperceptibly, her eyes widened. She released an unsteady breath, and despite the mess he'd made of the situation, she hadn't withdrawn her hand from his.

"You really ought to know by now," she said, at last, turning bright eyes back on him, "that, of course, I want to marry you."

"That's a yes," he muttered.

"It's a yes." A tear slid down her cheek, and he brushed it away, his heart leaping with elation as a grin spread across his face. "Yes to the manor, yes to marriage, Draco―these years together have meant everything to me." As her voice dropped, the smile fell from his face, but she pressed on in a whisper. "You mean everything to me."

"I love you." The words were raw and vulnerable and everything he had learned to be with her. "And that isn't ever going to change."

"I love you," she replied, honest and simple. "I love our life together now, and I know it's only going to get better."

Merlin willing, it would. And though he didn't always know how, he always tried his best to keep her happy.

Somehow, she seemed to like him just as he was.

Managing to subdue the nervous energy in his hands, he slid the ring into her finger. If he hadn't already given his heart to her years ago, he might have thought it would burst.

Hermione caught his face in her hands, kissing him, and when she drew back, her eyes were glossy with the sheen of tears as she breathed, "I can't wait."

Every part of him longed for a lifetime spent with her, and it all narrowed down to the warmth in her gaze.

The way she had given him a chance when he hadn't even seen fit to allow himself the indulgence. And how, time and again, she had stood by his side and chosen him.

When Draco found her, he'd been a shell of the man he once hoped to be. Now, he could spend the rest of his life aspiring to be the man she'd seen in him from the start.

Together, they would navigate this new course ahead, wide open as far as he could see.

fin

Notes:

Thank you to every one of you who's joined me on this journey―I almost can't believe we've reached the end. I appreciate all of your kind words and support more than I can say. I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I liked writing and sharing it.

To my amazing team, my ride or die Kyonomiko, and my comma llama FaeOrabel, I adore you both. Thank you for your time, love, and patience.

I look forward to sharing many more stories very soon. xo

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