Au Courant

Chapter One

Diagon Alley.

To some, it was dirty, dreary, and not all it cropped up to be. Hermione found it beautiful.

Her eyes scanned the signs that hadn't changed since her sixth year at Hogwarts. Diagon Alley was so wonderfully static. It had only been damaged slightly during the war. However, three years later, you'd never be able to tell. Hermione certainly couldn't.

As she made her way down to the brick wall that would take her back to the Leaky Cauldron, she kept her neck twisted to the side to view all that the windows had to offer. Halting suddenly, she remembered: George! She had to visit him before she left.

Turning sharply on her heel, she scurried off, clutching her messenger back tightly so it wouldn't flop around as she ran (or hobbled, seeing as she was wearing heels). The last thing she needed was all of her papers and books flying out.

Hermione Granger was now Professor Granger at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. McGonagall had taken the position of Headmistress, and as the task of balancing teaching Transfiguration and the duty of Headmistress became more cumbersome, she knew she had to give up the spot. There weren't many options in her mind as who she should give the position to—she knew that Hermione Granger had been applying for jobs and would be more than willing to teach.

The witch had been McGonagall's prodigy throughout the years. There were times when she felt like her daughter, seeing as she never had any children of her own.

There wasn't any hesitation when Hermione accepted the position, wide-eyed and clutching the parchment as if she was holding onto it for dear life. That night, she had met up with Ron and Harry and went out to eat and dance. It had been a wonderful day.

Now, with three years of teaching under her belt, she had plans to go back to her flat in the Muggle world for the summer.

On her way to George's shop, she ran into Lavender Brown.

"Hermione!" she squealed, pulling the professor into a hug immediately. "I haven't seen you since... since... Wow, I heard about you becoming a professor. That's wicked, love. I never doubted for a moment that you wouldn't."

Hermione caught the hesitation to mention the war. Lavender had been saved by Hermione, though they never spoke a word about it. Fenrir Greyback had severely injured her—and, like Bill Weasley, she had escaped with only side effects of werewolves.

She glanced at the sky briefly and remembered that the full moon was about a week ago, meaning that Lavender was probably at the peak of contentment.

Smiling and switching her eyes back to Lavender's, she dropped her hands from the hug and said, "Thank you. Are you doing well yourself, then?"

"I am." Suddenly, her grin was lit up ten-fold. She placed a hand on her tummy, and Hermione caught the implication immediately, gasping before Lavender could even let out, "I'm-"

"Oh, Lavender, that's wonderful!" She took the other woman's hands and squeezed them. "You'll have to let me throw you a shower."

Lavender looked bashful. "Seamus nearly had a heart attack-"

BOOM!

The women jumped simultaneously, ripping their hands away from each other to place on their hearts instead. A few others around them elicited screams of surprise. Everyone snapped their gaze to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Upon knowing that it came from George's shop, Hermione was slightly relieved. Awful explosions were commonplace for him.

"I was just headed over there, actually. Good thing I ran into you," Hermione said, chuckling. "But I better go check it out to see George didn't damage anyone too badly."

Lavender nodded and gave Hermione another hug. "Owl me."

With that, Hermione was by herself once more. She readjusted her messenger bag and scurried over to George's shop, fully expecting the place to be on fire.

While it wasn't on fire, it sure as hell as smoky. She barely got a whiff when the doors opened before George was pushing her out, hands locked on her shoulders. "Hermione! It's you!" he said, seeming to half-forget what was going on while he was caught up in a reunion.

"What's going on?" she cried, exasperated.

"Just an explosion, nothing to worry about, happens all the time." Hermione's glare sent daggers after him, and he dropped his hands from her. "Well, the gas can't be inhaled. Not unless you want to forget who you are."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Hermione tilted her head, and muttered, "Memory loss?"

"Luckily there were no customers in there. We open officially in," he looked at the clock tower in the distance, "two minutes." Then, he amended, "Well, there was someone else in there, but I don't think I'd dub him as a customer. Bloody thief."

"Thief? Someone was stealing?"

George nodded. "That's right, Professor Twenty-Questions. Ferret must not have realized we set hexes for anyone who dared."

We? He kept using 'we'. "Er, George, have you an assistant now?"

He looked at her strangely. "No, why?"

She decided to drop it. George must have been in the habit of saying 'we' because of his late twin, and Hermione wasn't about to bring it up again. George seemed to be doing splendidly now that he had time to heal.

Suddenly, her mind was reeling. She thought of what he said a few seconds ago. "Wait a minute! Ferret? You don't mean-"

"Draco Malfoy. Yeah," he said, a smug grin plastered to his face, "caught red-handed. He was trying to steal something. Didn't really see what it was, since the smoke was too thick and all. Really thick, now that I think about it." He brought a hand up to his chin and seemed to be contemplating something.

Hermione was stunned senseless. Malfoy had been stealing? At George's shop, no less! Why on Earth would he need to steal when he had an inheritance at his feet?

"A-And," she began, still shocked beyond belief, "you're telling me that he's in there right now, inhaling that memory-loss gas—which you just said might be too thick?" Her voice was somewhat screechy, and in that moment, George was reminded of his mother.

Slightly intimidated, he backed away, raising his hands in defense. "All right, so maybe there were a few flaws in the development. I hadn't really tested it before. But hey!" he added, seeing the anger rise in Hermione's eyes, "who could be a better beta tester than Malfoy!

"George!" she yelled, exploding. "You do realize who his parents are? If he's lost more memory than you accounted for, he could be permanently damaged! Do you think for a moment that they wouldn't sue you for everything you own?"

She pushed past him, wand withdrawn, and opened the doors. "Whirlwindo!"

George let the last wisps of gas float outside and disintegrate into the air, officially harmless. He walked in after her. "Come off it, Hermione. His daddy's in jail and his mum's confined to the manor under some severe probation. I'm sure his inheritance is on lock down as well, if not lost altogether." He put his hands in his pockets.

Hermione stared down at Malfoy's unconscious form. He barely passed for a ghost of his former self.

The blond hair was unmistakeable, but the rest of him was... well, dirty. His eyes had dark circles underneath them, his face more hollow and narrower than she'd ever seen it. Aside from that, his skin was almost white, which contrasted with his collared shirt that might have, at one time or another, been white.

Though he appeared to be wearing the remains of a suit (a rather expensive one, at that), she had a dark feeling that it had been the only thing he's worn for quite some time.

She knelt down in front of him just as she heard George mutter, "They're not really supposed to fall unconscious."

Reaching out, she tilted his face so that it wasn't pressed against the ground. She lightly shook his shoulder. "Malfoy, get up," she ordered. She couldn't describe the apprehensive bubbling in her stomach. She felt his pockets for his wand, and to her surprise, found nothing but lint and a few pieces of scrap paper that she didn't bother looking at.

Suddenly, Malfoy let out a gasp and inhaled sharply as if his throat burned. He clutched his throat and writhed for a moment before the pain subsided.

Startled, Hermione pulled away and sat kneeling a safe distance away from him.

He seemed to have worked out the pain, glanced down at himself, at his surroundings, George, and lastly, Hermione.

There was no recognition in his eyes.

"Hello," he said.

And that was it. One word—a word that, seeing this was Malfoy, should have been Mudblood or Granger—told her everything she needed to know: Draco Malfoy had lost his memory.