A/N: This story takes place about 7-12 years after the Battle at Hogwarts.
Hermione woke up in the early hours of the morning. Feeling the cold, empty space in the bed beside her, she recalled her argument last night with Draco. It had escalated so quickly in such a short amount of time. Neither of them really knew how much anger was hidden beneath the surface. But Hermione was just so tired of her job being devalued. So what if Draco was a big, fancy Auror? As long as people were stupid and careless with magic, which they always will be, Healers will always be needed!
Having mentally justified her point in the argument, Hermione rolled out of bed and walked into the bathroom. She started to brush her teeth when she realized that the toothpaste she and Draco shared was missing. Confused, Hermione pulled a second tube from under the sink.
Brushing her teeth, Hermione walked into the adjoining closet to pick out her outfit. She turned on the light and her jaw dropped open, toothbrush and toothpaste falling out of her mouth.
The once-full closet was now half-empty. All of Draco's things were gone. The only things left were some winter coats in a box with a note saying, "I'll be back to get these."
He wasn't joking, thought Hermione. He's really moved back to Malfoy Manor.
That realization hit Hermione like a 1000 pound brick, and she sank to the floor of the closet with the weight of it.
She sat like that for the next hour, until her alarm clock went off to wake her up for work. Like a zombie, Hermione rose from her place on the floor and cut off the annoying alarm. She stumbled through her morning routine, not thinking, not feeling.
Several cups of coffee later, Hermione still was not able to focus on anything she did, and, being afraid that her removed state would affect her work, she sent a letter to St. Mungo's informing them of her absence today.
Having sent her owl off with the letter, she sank back in the old, weathered armchair and stared into the blazing fire.
Draco woke up in his adolescent, though extravagant, bed in his old room at the Malfoy Manor. He took a precursory glance around his surroundings and took in the gothic décor. Gray and black were the main colors, and the air was cold and stale. Draco sighed woefully, missing the warmth of his and Hermione's house.
"Rigby?" Draco called the old house elf into the room.
Before long, an elf with an oblong head, golf ball eyes, and wrinkled skin appeared in the doorway.
"Yes, Master Draco?"
Draco winced. Living with Hermione had taught him to think differently about the house elves.
"Please, Rigby, it's just Draco."
Rigby nodded in assent.
"Would you please bring in some coffee?"
"Yes, mas-, Draco."
Within minutes, Draco was settled in bed with the marble fireplace ablaze and a cup of coffee in his hand. Taking a sip, he recoiled at the bitter taste. His father had always drunk very strong coffee, and Draco never had an affinity for it, but Hermione introduced him to the many flavored creamers in the Muggle world, and now could not live without coffee.
Sighing, he went to place the coffee on the bedside table, but discovered that it was on the opposite side of the large bed. Finding that reaching across the bed to set down the coffee, Draco bent over the side of the bed and put the coffee on the floor. This motion has pulled the sheets from the end of the bed and they were now in a jumbled heap.
Now thoroughly frustrated, and quite awake, Draco got up and, "Damn it!" cried Draco. He had knocked the coffee over.
Rigby, hearing the racket, poked his head through the door. "Does Draco need any help?" he asked.
"No, no. Thank you, Rigby. I can handle this by myself."
And with a wave of his wand, the spilt coffee was cleared away, the bed was made, and the bedside table was switched to the other side of the bed. Draco only wished he had a chance to start the entire morning over.
Alas, he had to get to work, however tired he was, and however bored he was bound to be.
Hermione spent the day losing herself in her books. Having gone through all of the educational volumes and finding that they did nothing to remove her from her present state of mind, she turned to the multiple romantic fictions that cluttered her shelves, many of them involving swashbuckling buccaneers who had a habit for ripping their shirts off.
She read and enjoyed her entire collection of these fluff novels, yet felt no more cheerful than she had when she had woken up that morning. Yes, these fictional men were suave, charming, and certainly handsome, they had no substance. That was one of the many things Hermione appreciated about Draco.
He was never the type to baby her, or insult her intelligence. He respected and challenged her, but still found ways to be romantic, suave, and charming.
"Merlin, I miss him," sighed Hermione. "Is it too early to send an owl?" she wondered. "Or maybe I should just go in person… No, I couldn't do that. I'll write the letter. That should be fine. Right?"
So Hermione sat down at her antique writing desk with fresh parchment, ebony ink, and her finest quill and began to draft her letter.
It was midday at the ministry, and Draco was as bored as he had predicted, if not more.
This has to be one of the slowest days I've worked, he thought.
"It shouldn't be this slow for much longer though," remarked a cheerful voice from over Draco's shoulder.
He jumped at the sudden noise and turned around to see his co-worker Rolf Scamander standing at his massive height of 6'6" and wearing his customary tweed suit, today in a mustard yellow color. Recovering from his shock, Draco looked up—and looked up he did indeed—and asked, "How did you know I thought today was slow?"
"Oh, it was all in your body language, mate," replied Scamander. "The slouched posture, the resting elbow," he paused, "the heavy-lidded eyes?" Rolf winked as he said this last part.
Draco, somewhat disgruntled at having been caught in the act of detesting his work bristled and moved on.
"So what's going on that's going to be so interesting, huh?" Draco asked.
"Word is there's been outbreak of short-term memory loss in a small wizarding colony south of Welling. The uppers suspect it's some dark wizards causing a little mayhem, and they assigned you specifically to the job."
"Ok, thank you Scamander, I'll be sure to get on that," Draco said, dismissing the optimistic wizard.
Really? Draco thought to himself. There had been several outbreaks of "short-term memory loss" in many small colonies all over Britain. In almost every case Draco had investigated, the trouble had centered around a local pub serving too much firewhiskey, and—in the odd case—exploding lemonade.
But, his supervisors had assigned him a task, and anything would be better than sitting in this office any more today.
Well, almost anything…
Hermione had just finished her letter to Draco. 3 hours after she had started writing it. Several rewrites later, she was ready to send her owl off to the Ministry, but when she arrived at her owl's typical perch near the window, she found it empty, with no obvious sign of where the owl had gone. Hermione searched high and low for the absent bird however, it was not until she returned to the perch by the window that she caught sight of it.
"Athenos! Where have you been?" Hermione started to scold the owl for disappearing when she noticed a small piece of parchment attached to its leg.
Her heart started pounding. Was it possible that Draco had summoned their owl for the purpose of sending her a letter, the very thing she herself was getting ready to do? Hermione dropped the letter she was planning to send in order to untie the owl's letter. Her hands were shaking badly that it took several attempts at the neatly tied knot before it came undone and she was able to read the letter.
At first glance her heart sank. It wasn't from Draco. She would've recognized his handwriting, and this was not it. The top of the parchment said, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and read as such:
Miss Granger—
Your presence is required immediately at St. Mungo's. There has been a grave accident that requires your medical expertise and is best treated as quickly as possible. Please report directly to Fourth Floor: Spell Damage
—Healer Pye
At the bottom of the parchment was another note in a different hand.
Granger, I don't care if you're "sick," you better get your butt into work today or everyone will be paying for it. We need you, babe.
XOXO, Isobel
Isobel MacDougal. Former Ravenclaw student from the time Hermione and Draco were at Hogwarts, Hermione's co-worker and best friend. Aside from Ginny, of course.
Hermione chuckled at Isobel's note, but soon sobered up. "A grave accident" wasn't something to laugh about, and usually Healer Pye wouldn't call her to work when she took a day off. Hermione only hoped that she would be able to focus on her work, rather than Draco, and apparated to St. Mungo's.
When she reached the fourth floor—the floor for unliftable jinxes, hexes, and incorrectly applied charms, etc.—everything was in complete chaos. Healers rushed around the halls with their respectively assigned Trainee Healers dogging at their heels, followed by family member anxious to receive news about their loved ones.
Hermione spotted Isobel from across the room, standing behind the welcoming desk. Isobel was obviously stressed, and Hermione could she how much she was holding back as Isobel explained once again, "No ma'am, you may not bring your puffskein into the visiting room as it may cause an allergic reaction. Ma'am, please control your child!"
The child in question was currently zooming around on a model broomstick he had recently received as a birthday present and adding more commotion to the already hectic waiting room.
Hermione waved at Isobel to catch her attention, and when Isobel saw her, she smiled a relieved grin and beckoned Hermione over to the desk.
"Hermione! So I see you're not sick at all," remarked Isobel with a smirk. "And you can tell me all about whatever happened that made you stay home from work later, but now, we are in desperate need of our most prized healer?" Isobel's voice trailed up at the end of the sentence, but flattery would only get her so far.
Hermione grinned. "What's happened?" she asked.
"To tell you the truth, I'm not exactly sure," said Isobel, "Healer Pye wouldn't tell me, but it's something bad enough to make him call you in from home. Oh, and speak of the devil. Hello, Healer Pye, I have someone for you!"
"Miss Granger! Thank Merlin. I need you to go to room 16C. I will be there in a few moments; I just need to clear up some things up with Miss MacDougal." Healer Pye greeted Hermione, then turned to continue business with Isobel.
Sensing that the conversation was over, Hermione headed off toward room 16C, at the end of the western-most hallway. The din from the waiting room grew quieter as she walked, until finally she reached the room.
The door was slightly cracked, but the shades inside were drawn, so all Hermione could see was the faint outline of a man in a hospital bed. She knocked on the door, but got no response. She was about to push open the door when Healer Pye reached out and lowered her hand.
"Before you do that," he said, "There is something you should know."
Hermione grew apprehensive at the cautionary tone in his voice. What was wrong with this man?
"We are currently unsure of the cause of his malady, which is why we have recruited you. However, if you feel you are unable to handle this assignment, I will understand completely and will delegate it to another healer. Do you understand?"
Hermione nodded and continued inside the room.
"Healer Pye," she started. "What exactly is his malady?"
"Well, he appears to be having some memory trouble."
Memory trouble?
"I'll see what I can do," said Hermione. "But, there are no guarantees. I'm going to wake him up. Would you mind opening the shades so I can better assess his condition?"
Healer Pye nodded and went about the task.
"Sir," said Hermione, looking down at the patient's clipboard, "my name is Healer Granger and, oh!" Hermione had chosen that moment to look at the man's face in the light and as she did, a very familiar pair of steely gray eyes looked back at her.
"Draco?!" There he was, Draco Malfoy, sitting in her hospital room. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm not quite sure and, pardon my asking, but, do I know you?"
A/N: *Dramatic music plays...* So chapter 2 is up! It's a lot longer than the first one, and I think it's better too, but tell me what you think. Review!