Au Courant

Chapter Two

Stay calm, Hermione thought, feeling anything but calm.

She looked at Malfoy and opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.

"Wait, where the hell am I?" he hissed. Relief flooded through Hermione. Maybe he didn't lose all of his memory after all! But as she studied him longer, there was a bit of emptiness in his eyes. He looked... clueless. It reminded her of seeing Gilderoy Lockhart after he cast that memory-loss spell on himself.

"Odd place," Draco commented again, standing up and dusting his clothes off. His nose wrinkled in disgust when he gazed at what he was wearing. "What on Earth am I-?"

He looked at Hermione, who was still kneeling on the floor, speechless. He held out his hand for her, and she stared at it as if he sneezed on it. For a split second she considered taking it, but she shook her head instead and hastily scrambled up, messenger bag whacking her thigh uncomfortably.

"George," she whimpered, "what's going on?"

"He's still very Malfoy-like," George assessed, crossing his arms and finally coming closer. He leaned toward Malfoy to look him in the eyes. "But I don't think he's all there."

"Malfoy!" the blond chorused, snapping his fingers. He pointed toward George. "That's my name, isn't it? My surname, at least. I'm a Malfoy," he asserted proudly.

Cautiously, Hermione asked, "What else can you tell me about yourself?"

"I'm rich," he said, and then looked down at his clothes. "Well, it doesn't look like I am at the moment, but I swear I am. I'm an only child. I'm twenty, nearly twenty-one. First name's Draco."

There was a long, deafening pause. He suddenly looked pained—and then panicked.

"Wait a minute, why can't I remember anything else? Where are we? What's that?" he demanded, pointing to Hermione's wand. She held it close to her chest when he stepped closer to her.

George interfered at that moment, holding out his arm in front of Hermione. "Easy there, mate. You've just been in an accident. 'Fraid you lost your memory. Luckily you're not totally brainless—well, any less than you already were." He snickered, and Hermione gave him a withering look. "She agrees with me, don't mind her."

"How did I lose my memory?"

"You tried stealing from this store," George continued. "My store."

Malfoy looked affronted. "Malfoys don't steal!"

"Yeah, well, this one does. Look, you trying to steal set off one of my hexes. Turns out the hex was a bit too strong, and you were left in here for quite some time..." George had the grace to look sheepish.

Hermione, who still found the entire situation surreal, glanced back at the front doors. There were several kids outside, pressing their faces against the glass and whining about how they wanted to go in and buy whatever gadget or trick was on the shelves. That's right, she thought, George said he was just opening.

"George," Hermione said, "I think I should take him to St. Mungo's." That's where Lockhart had gone, after all. "You need to open soon." She inclined her head toward the doors.

He looked at her. "You sure?"

"It's not a problem at all."

George looked relieved that he didn't have to deal with the repercussions of the hex just yet. He nodded to her. "There's a back door that leads to an alley. Apparate there, it's less busy than out front."

"Okay. See you later, George."

Hermione looked back at Malfoy, who was examining his clothing disdainfully.

"Follow me, Malfoy," she said curtly. The blond had no choice but to follow without much of a mind to decide what the best course of action was.

The witch stepped outside, closing her eyes briefly. With any luck, she'd be able to drop him off at St. Mungo's and go on with her summer. Malfoy tapped on her shoulder, asking, "Where are we going? And what's your name, by the way?"

"St. Mungo's," she replied. His face showed no sign of recognition. "My name's Hermione Granger."

"All right, Hermione. Nice to meet you."

She didn't bother correcting him. Instead, she grabbed his arm and concentrated hard on the location of St. Mungo's. A half-second of twisting suffocation later, they were in front of the building. Hermione straightened her skirt and swept a lock of her hair behind her ear, while Malfoy was heaving on the ground. Clearly, he hadn't expected the Apparition.

"Get up," she said, taking his hand and none-too-gently helping him steady. Dropping his hand as if it burned, she marched onward.

Inside, there was a calmness that Hermione appreciated. A friendly healer was speaking with a family, delivering lovely news about how their son had only sustained minor injuries; the service desk had a blissfully short line; soft music played in the background.

She approached the counter. "Hello, I have a..." Her voice trailed off meekly. What did she say? I have a mortal enemy with me who's off his rocker, can you help him? Swallowing, she lied, "a friend here that was caught in a memory-loss incident."

"Cause?" the older woman asked.

"A hex."

"Substance?"

"Gas."

"Exposure time?"

"Five minutes, I believe?"

The woman glanced at the blond, a little skeptical. It almost looked as if she had sworn she'd seen him somewhere, but couldn't quite place her finger on it. Meanwhile, Malfoy was staring off curiously at the people around him. "And how much does he remember?"

"He knows the basics, such as his name and age," Hermione explained, glancing at Malfoy, "but I don't think he remembers any of his actions or the people he's met."

Nodding along, the woman pulled out a clipboard and grabbed a quill. "What's his name?"

Hermione bit her lip. Then, "Draco Malfoy."

She ceased her movements, and then set the quill down. From what Hermione could tell, it looked like she didn't write anything down. "Dear, you do realize the connotations behind his name, don't you?"

"Well, I thought-"

"His family has no medical insurance. And even so, we're run by half-bloods. They've never been here before to set up any sort of financial plan. As far as I've read, they have no finances. Oh, sorry, she doesn't." Hermione found it slightly disturbing that the woman sounded so pleased about it all. "The man's dead, isn't he? And they won't allow the boy to see his mum."

Letting this all sink in, Hermione shook her head. "So, you're saying-"

"It's not an emergency, so we can't provide anything for him."

"What if I were to pay?" she blurted out, suddenly feeling as if she had to defy the woman behind the counter. She was being rude! Hermione was one of the first on the list that hated Malfoy and everything his family stood for, but Malfoy had been stealing to get by; he'd been impaired. She was practically suggesting he live on the streets with no recollection of anything!

"For a check-up?"

"Yes. At least to see just how bad it's affected him."

The woman pursed her lips as if she didn't understand why Hermione was bothering to help. The witch stood defiantly with her arms crossed. She relented. "All right, dear. Sign your name and someone will be with you shortly."

Hermione picked up the quill and signed her name with a flourish, dropped the quill, and went to go sit down. Malfoy trailed after her silently.

He sat down next to her and asked, "Was all of that true?"

"All of what true?"

"My father's dead, and I'm banned from seeing my mum? And I've got no money to my name?"

Feeling a small amount of pity, if only because of the hopelessness in his voice, she answered, "Yes."

Malfoy went silent again, examining the dirt under his nails in what looked like deep thought. Hermione bit her lip and wondered if they would let Malfoy live at St. Mungo's full time if his memory was deemed never to return. In all honestly, she was hoping there would simply be a potion or spell to reverse the affects.

"Do I have a home?"

He wasn't looking at her when she glanced at him. "No."

"Oh."

Damn it all, she thought, I'm not supposed to feel bad for him. He deserves this, doesn't he? After all he's done?

It was hard to be confident in that thought when he looked so pitiful.

After a few more moments of awkward silence, a healer came down by the name of Fink. His brown, comb-over hair style reminded Hermione of her dad, and his glasses somewhat resembled Harry's. He had freckles and bright blue eyes that twinkled with something that told Hermione he loved his job.

"Come with me, please," he started kindly. Hermione and Malfoy got up to follow him to the elevator. "Belinda relayed to me what you told her. I'm going to ask a few more questions and see if I can look up a spell to reverse the affects."

Hermione looked tremendously relieved. As they exited the elevator, they turned at the first door on the left to a small room with a check-up table and a few chairs pushed up against the wall.

"Have a seat," he said to Hermione, gesturing to the chairs. "And if you could sit up here, Mr. Malfoy?" He did the same to the table.

The witch wondered briefly if it bothered Fink that he was examining an ex-Death Eater.

Fink proceeded to ask Malfoy more questions. Some of them were more challenging and detailed, such as, "How did you spend your summer? What house were you sorted into at Hogwarts?" Malfoy asked what Hogwarts was, and Fink took down a few notes. Then, he brought up more sensitive questions. "Do you remember serving You-Know-Who?"

Hermione said, "You mean Voldemort?"

And the healer glanced at her with a note of agitation in his eyes. Clearly, he wasn't over the war just yet, and Hermione bowed her head to show she wouldn't say it again.

Malfoy could answer questions about his personality ("If someone said this to you, what would you do?"), but when it came to actions and remembering people (aside from his family), his mind was dreadfully blank.

Fink examined Malfoy's eyes and reflexes, finding everything to be in order. He turned to Hermione. "And you said this was the result of a spell?"

She blinked. "A hex, but the result was gas. He inhaled a lot of it for about five minutes."

His expression changed. "Oh. That's different, then. I'm afraid this type of memory-loss can't be healed with the same therapy most of our patients endure, or a counter-spell." Hermione's face fell, and he added, "But I wouldn't worry. He's very lucky to remember personal details about himself. All he needs is time to recollect everything. I can't say how long the process will take, but I can assure you, it's not as bad as it looks."

Malfoy looked relieved, but Hermione was skeptical. "So you're saying the affects of the gas will wear off?"

"Precisely. Mr. Malfoy, you can step down now. Also, I suggest you recount a lot of what he's experienced. Tell him about his past—it'll kick start more memories and lead to recovery." Fink opened the door for them. "If you'd like, you can check in periodically and I can give him another examination, but I doubt you'll need to. He'll be fine," he added, misinterpreting her expression as remorse.

"Well... thank you, then." I suppose. Fat lot of good that did me. If he can't stay here, where's he supposed to go? she thought, biting her lip.

As they descended to the first floor and headed to the exit, Malfoy asked, "Wait a minute. Hermione, where exactly am I supposed to go?" he asked, nearly voicing her thoughts exactly.

As if she'd been holding her breath, she let out a long sigh. "I suppose you can stay with me. I live alone in a flat in the Muggle world." She waited for how he'd react to hearing anything Muggle related, but he didn't so much as flinch.

Then, he said, "We must have been good friends."

"... What?"

"For you to do this," he drawled, his tone giving off a duh vibe. Very Malfoy-like. "You've taken me to the hospital and now you're going to let me live with you until I'm healed? You certainly wouldn't be doing this if we were enemies."

Oh, the irony. A pained smile on her face, Hermione took his arm to prepare for Apparition and said, "Yes, you're absolutely right."

So what if she wasn't honest about their relationship? It couldn't hurt if he was civil to her for once.