Prologue.
Six years after the final battle and she was still waking frequently in the night, gasping for breath and reaching for her wand. More often than not covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat and stomach churning. There was no escaping it. It haunted her. Turning onto her side she glared at the glowing numbers on her distinctly muggle alarm clock, ten past four. The dawn not yet breaching the horizon. Hermione let out a frustrated sigh and flipped onto her stomach grasping at her pillow and burying her tear stained face into the soft down. What she wouldn't give for a full night of sleep. Outside of the small two story house a squat, fat, ginger tabby prowled the immaculate lawn. There wasn't much to entertain him in this quiet neighbourhood. Like his Mistress he had always been more intelligent than his peers due in no small part to the unique magical blood coursing through his veins. There was no challenge presented by the standard pet cats that roamed the streets, all being sure to give him a wide berth, and he had no need to hunt. Glaring once more at the lengthening shadows he stalked to the back door and through the flap, paws gently padding over worn linoleum and up the stairs in search of her. He jumped onto the bed and settled into the dip of her back, a warm, solid weight hoping to bring her some comfort, for nobody else came anymore. An hour later he was rudely dislodged as Hermione once again bolted to her feet, hand scrambling to the bedside table and grasping nothing but air. Within seconds she stopped herself, but the instinct was always the same. It had been years since she had last touched her wand, buried now as it was in the bottom of her old school trunk in the spare room that she never entered. She just wanted to forget. Yet still she reached for it. Not just when waking into panic, but for everyday tasks such as repairing small items or cleaning up spills. Resolute as always she told herself to stop it. To stop thinking of what was and focus on the here and now. On her reception job in a dental office. On her small but perfect-for-her house. On the mundane tasks and chores of living. On learning and reading about... everything. Anything to keep her looking forward instead of back. She wasn't acting the muggle anymore, she was a muggle. She was born a muggle and she would die a muggle, and those seven and a half years of her magical life meant nothing to her anymore. Nothing.
"Morning Crooks." She whispered, looking down at him as he wrapped himself around her legs. He was starting to show a bit of age now, some fur turning grey and sleeping more often than not. She wasn't sure how old only being able to guess at his age since he wasn't a kitten when she got him all those years ago. There again as he was part kneazle she wasn't sure on what his life expectancy would be anyway.
He answered with the expected mewling and she stuffed her feet into her worn out Garfield slippers and headed down the stairs to make tea. Kettle brewing she tipped a mix of biscuits and tinned cat food into his dish and idly watched his tail swish from side to side as he got stuck in. She contemplated breakfast but quickly disregarded it, her stomach still churning slightly from the last of the nightmares. Absentmindedly she rubbed the inside of her left arm only snapping out of the daze when the click of the kettle announced itself. She had been a little surprised at first, at how easy it was to slide back into muggle living. Almost as if she had never left. It took her longer to adjust to the subtle differences between England and the States than anything. The distance was comforting though. Her new life so far removed from the old it helped to keep the flashbacks at bay. She was almost normal during the day now. Those first months hadn't been easy, jumping at shadows and startling at every creak in the house. Suspicion so engrained that a friendly neighbour wanting to welcome her to the neighbourhood had nearly met a very sticky end. It was at that point she had hidden her wand away from herself. What good had magic ever done her really anyway? Magic was dangerous. Magic hurt.
Finishing her tea and dumping the cup into the sink for later she wearily headed back upstairs to get ready for work. The hot water of the shower easing some of the tension in her muscles away and allowing her to pretend that tears weren't once again silently streaming down her face. Only once she was all cried out did she turn off the water and leave the stall. Wrapping an oversized fluffy towel around herself she set to the marathon that was fixing her hair. It was easier to tame fresh from being washed. Twisting it into an elegant knot she moved on to her make-up. She kept it light working only to conceal what she could of the bags under her eyes before using foundation on her arms to cover the raised scars, careful not to focus on them in the process. She would wear long sleeves, like always, it was to risky not to, but the extra layer of concealment made her feel a little more confident. It was a small victory. Once dressed she headed back downstairs and collected her bag, seeing Crookshanks was asleep on the couch she didn't bother with calling a goodbye but left in silence to walk the five blocks to work.
"Morning Mr Roberts." Hermione raised a smile for her employer as she came through the door, moving to stand behind the reception desk and flicking the computer into life. "Did you need something?"
"I need you to stop calling me Mr Roberts, Mi; you make me feel like an old man." He smiled at her.
"Alright then pain in my ass, did you need something?" He chuckled lightly at the cheek of the young girl in front of him, she was beautiful, though she didn't know it. Especially on the rare occasions she let her attitude come out to play. If only he was forty years younger.
"Can you book Lucy in with Carl for a check-up?"
Mi nodded in answer and took a quick look at the appointments screen, "Thursday at four-thirty ok?" She asked, smiling at the thought of seeing Mr Roberts book-loving Granddaughter.
"Sure thing. Could you bring me a coffee through when you get a minute?"
"Sure thing." She echoed his words back at him. Working as a receptionist and dogsbody at a dental practice hadn't even been an option on her list of career choices, but she was grateful for this job. Brightest witch of her age or not, she had no relevant qualifications in the muggle world, or even a school reference available. Things had been very tight for a while until she had chanced upon the interview for maternity cover. Her application form was half empty, and her interview had been, she knew, a complete disaster so poor was her confidence. She had been a wreck, barely able to look Mr Steven Roberts or his practice partner Mr Carl Gresham in the eyes, not to mention shaking like a leaf. Yet the knowledge of how a dental practice runs and what was needed, courtesy of her much missed parents had saved the day. Or so she thought. Neither of her employers had ever shared with her the discussion they had had before offering her the position. They both felt sorry for the young girl who was clearly trying to make her way out of a bad situation. They presumed some sort of domestic abuse. Everything about Hermione screamed runaway, and with her shaking hands and English accent it was obvious she had run far and run hard. Over the nine months cover they saw her confidence grow a little and she handled appointments, customers and stock-takes with such ease they wondered at her apparent lack of education. At any rate when their previous receptionist decided not to return they had no qualms about making Mi a permanent member of the team. They would be lost without her now.
xXxXxXx
"Stupid God Damned muggle medicine." He growled through clenched teeth. He felt like the side of his mouth was on fire. The tablets the pharmacist had offered him doing nothing to touch it. He was furious. All the stupid woman kept saying was to go and see a dentist. He would sooner prostrate himself at the feet of a Dark Lord. "Crucio is less fucking painful than this." Nobody answered. He didn't expect anyone to, for he had been alone for a long and miserable six years. Outcast from his world and made to live like one of the, "Stupid muggles." He growled again before grabbing the phone off the counter. Taking the card he had been given out of his pocket he dialled the number.
"Goldcrest Dental Surgery, Mi speaking." The English accent stopped him in his tracks. She sounded like home. "Hello?.." Dragging himself back to the here and now he bit out,
"I need an emergency appointment". The constant pain was to much. At least a Crucio was over and done with, it had been two weeks and the aching tooth was making his entire jaw throb.
"Are you a registered patient Sir?" the voice asked.
"No. I was given your card and told to call. Is that a problem?" He didn't know what he was going to do if it was. His name carried no weight in the muggle world. He hated feeling so out of his depth.
"We can offer you an appointment at three this afternoon, but you'll need to come in around twenty minutes before to fill out the paperwork." Thank fuck for that he thought.
"I'll take it."
"OK. If I could just take your name please Sir."
"It's Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy." The phone went dead in his hand. He shook his head and slammed the phone back down on the counter. Yet another example that muggles have no manners. Perhaps he would mention it to the chit when he arrived for his appointment that afternoon. There again given that his toothache was now accompanied by deep pangs of homesickness maybe he would be better off avoiding Miss-English-Accent if at all possible.