I own no part of the HP franchise and make no money here; all rights to JK, WB, and Scholastic, etc.

AN: Moving right along...everyone keeping up? Good.

Jean didn't know where to begin. She glanced down at her hands, watched them twisting about each other, fingers wrestling with one another anxiously, as if she weren't the one controlling them. As if she weren't in possession of her own body and mind.

Well.

She looked back up to Daniel, watched him rubbing a hand down his face, as if he weren't sure what to do, either, and felt minimally better...until he opened his mouth again to speak.

"You remembered, didn't you?" he asked for the second time that morning. Jean shrugged and stared back down at her hands. Their conversation from earlier twisted through her mind on repeat, slithering among the already weedy grasses of her confidence like the shadowy, poisonous lurker her memory was.

Daniel, opening the door of their flat, his movements slowed down by the weight of...something. It wasn't the single shopping bag sitting on their kitchen counter now, though, it couldn't have been. Then calling for her, finding her crouched over in their bedroom, back against a wall, facing their bed, but not looking anywhere. Finding the bottle of pills in her hand and immediately jumping to the worst conclusions imaginable…

"You remembered, didn't you?" he asked her, his voice unsteady and shaking with fear as he pried her hand open and took the bottle of paracetamol away from her.

His hands threw the bottle into the far corner and then grabbed onto her shoulders, hard, pinching her. "How many did you take, Jean? How many? My God, my God, you didn't have to do that, Jean - Jeannie, Jeannie, I'm so sorry I wasn't here -"

Her voice, finally eking out a presence in the room, ran over him like a dousing of cold water.

"I didn't take any, Dan. Lord, you actually think I'd do that? After all my hard work to get here, to this point?" She brushed him away and stood up, her legs a bit shaky, but steady on her feet.

Her hard work. Hers, not his, not anyone else's. There was only herself, now, after her dream from this morning. She was herself, even if she couldn't quite remember what made her so sure of it...just that it had always been her hard work. Daniel hadn't missed the distinction, either.

Her pronouncement was met with a sharp breath, then silence, and she made a show of marching over to their dresser and pulling out a few things for the day to give him time to regroup. She wondered why she didn't feel bad for being so short with him. He was beside himself, he loved her, he'd do anything for her…

She turned suddenly, an apology ready on her lips, when she saw he'd stood up. He was turned away from her, his profile in stark relief against the drab wall.

"You're right," he murmured. "Forgive me. I just…" He stopped talking and turned toward her. His face, the gentle curve of his lips, the pinched skin between his brows, the troubled gaze of those grey eyes - they spoke volumes, more than he could ever say to her, and she began to crumble.

"Dan…"

Her voice broke the spell a second time and his smile snapped back into place.

"I can't help worrying, you know me. Listen, I popped out for some groceries this morning. Realized after my parents left last night that we didn't have anything in the refrigerator except what we'd made for them. Come out once you're dressed; I'll make breakfast."

Then he'd moved quickly past her, dropped the barest resemblance of a kiss upon her cheek, and departed down the hall, back towards the front of their flat. Back towards doing something, anything, to feel useful. She'd been so sharp with him, so stand-offish, so...herself. Except she didn't even know why she felt certain that was just who she was. And now they were sitting across from one another in their lovely kitchen, pushing the remains of a lovely breakfast around on lovely plates and she wanted to scream. She felt completely torn in two.

"I don't know what I remembered," she finally replied. "Something, I guess. It was a dream and you know what Ted says about those…"

"Can't always trust them?" Daniel supplied and Jean nodded.

"But it was so real, Dan," she murmured. "So real. There was blood and darkness and warmth again…" She swallowed hard against the bit of breakfast that threatened to come back up. "That's why I had the pills," she offered. "Headache."

Daniel nodded slowly. "Are you feeling any better now?"

Jean shrugged again, for lack of a better response. She was, but she wasn't. Physically, her symptoms had waned. Mentally, she thought she needed the equivalent of a straight-jacket.

"I guess," she offered, "but my stomach is still trying to crawl out of my throat if I think about it too much."

Daniel nodded again and pushed her teacup closer to her. "This should help a bit. My mother used to make me extra cups whenever I was sick," he said.

Mine too, a small voice inside of Jean cried out. But the wisp of memory that inspired that knowledge was gone as soon as she tried to grasp it and she didn't offer it up to Daniel. It was hers, just like all that hard work. Not his. He didn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve any of it -

Jean reached out and closed her hands around the teacup so quickly that the liquid sloshed over the edge and onto her fingers, onto the countertop.

Daniel gave her a strange, pitying look, and reached over to wipe it up with his napkin. Jean had to clench her fingers around the cup, hard, to keep from knocking his hand away and instinctively she bit her lower lip, knowing there were more sharp words on the tip of her tongue.

The words slipped out anyway.

Ginny scrambled for her window, the insistent tapping having jerked her from her slumber. She waved at the bird outside, bleary and irritated, and barely contained her ire as she snatched the proffered letter from its beak. Well. Scrap of paper, really.

"Now? Today?" she breathed, clutching one hand to her head, mussing her already knotted hair. The bird dared peck at her and she swatted it away before practically throwing a stale piece of toast at it. It squawked indignantly and she waved a hand in its direction as she hurriedly jotted a reply on the note. Handing it back, the bird pecked at her once again before taking off, leaving a wake of feathers flying into her face. She coughed and sputtered before slamming the window shut again. Then she pulled a few errant feathers from her hair, looked at them bemusedly, and raced back to her bedroom. She had fifteen minutes before Theo wanted to meet.

She wondered briefly if she should let Harry or Ron know where she was headed, and why. But no, she'd promised Theo she'd stay out of it until he told her otherwise. She owed him a chance to speak to her honestly, even if the conversation started with, "The woman you saw is definitely not Hermione Granger."

Even if it started with the opposite.

"For God's sake, I'm not helpless, Dan."

The hand that was passing the napkin along the countertop stopped moving only briefly before Draco finished wiping up the spill. Then he rose from his seat and walked over to the wastebin, disposing of the sopping piece of paper neatly.

As the wastebin lid closed with a light clang, he turned back to her. This woman - there was no way she could know that he didn't think she was helpless, that he knew just how brilliant and capable she was. All she saw day after day was his determination to keep her safe, to coddle her, to give her the safety and luxury she hadn't had for so long, and maybe he had been holding her back with it. Maybe his actions, well intentioned though they were, had only hindered her memory. If she'd been able to do more, be more for herself, maybe it would have jostled those sleeping dogs better than any therapy, or conversations, or poisonous dreams.

Theo was right, he thought, with startling clarity. I am part of the problem, I always have been. He just didn't want to hurt me, knowing how I feel about her. I'm the selfish, wasteful prick her lot always said I was, and here I am, trying to keep her safe from her own identity. I've got to fix this. I can fix this -

Except they had a day left together, maybe less.

Draco decided to do the best he could anyway. He gave her what he hoped wasn't a pitying glance and took a hesitant step towards her.

"I know that, Jean. I promise you, I know that. I guess I'm so used to feeling like I have to protect you...but I'll be better, promise. You can clean up your own messes, got it." He gave her a half grin and a thumbs up, then set about retrieving their now empty dishes and carrying them to the sink. He hoped the action would hide the slight shake of his hands.

Jean didn't smile in return, or flash her own thumbs-up. He could feel her eyes rove over him briefly, heatedly as he turned from her again and he practically bit his tongue to keep silent, to give her the space she clearly wanted and needed.

He was rewarded a moment later for his patience and blessedly good acting skills with her presence at his side. Then her hands were there, picking up the dishes he so carefully set in the drainer, one by one. The towel in her hands made soothing motions over their surfaces and then her deft fingers stacked them neatly on the otherwise empty countertop beneath the cupboards.

It was easy work, done neatly in companionable silence. Their mutual apologies hung in the air between them and Draco felt Jean bump a hip against his. He bumped back, earning a soft, amused breath from her, earning forgiveness, and Draco could almost make-believe they were going to be ok.

Except they weren't, and this wasn't the first day of the rest of their lives together. None of their shared days had been, or would be. Everything with them was an end. An end to indecision, an end to abuse, to captivity, an end to the certainty that the courses of their lives were pre-defined.

Their shared days had been wonderful and harried, beautiful and frightening, but they were always destined to end...and that was how it should be. Jean - Hermione - was remembering more and more; her personality, her confidence, her logical, brave, and loyal mind was reasserting itself; and her magic was rising to the surface of a life that had been snuffed out like a candle flame deprived of oxygen.

Whatever spell had held her back was unraveling and he needed to pull the thread to help it along. He couldn't be part of what held her back any longer. He handed her the final dish and watched as she dried it carefully, drinking in the sight of her: Jean Mains, the domestic, charming, and tragic muggle who had captured his heart firmly. The woman who was going to disappear before his very eyes, who had in fact been disappearing for several weeks now.

If he kept her from finishing the process, she might never forgive him once she learned the truth - and he needed her forgive him, but not because he wouldn't be able to live, knowing she hated him, knowing she harbored anger for a man who loved her more than himself. No, he needed her forgiveness because he didn't want anything tying her down after she regained her memories. He didn't want her to feel held back by anger, or hatred, or hurt from this aberrant period of her life. He wanted her to find peace and move on and like so many of his peers, he knew full well you could never really move on without forgiveness for those who have wronged you.

"What do you say let's go for a walk?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Anywhere you like."

Jean looked up at him and if her smile was a little more hesitant than it had been, well, he could ignore it for now.

"It's raining," she pointed out, as gently as possible.

He raised his brows and walked to the hall, where he was able to see out of a window. It was, indeed, raining. Not that it had stopped them before. Jean loved the rain. Loved the smell, the sensation, the sight...but maybe Hermione didn't. He wouldn't know, because he hadn't known her that well. But he liked to think the two women had that much in common. That, or he was fooling himself. Either way, a walk in the rain was probably not the best place to discuss their current situation. He sighed and was about to turn back to the kitchen when a pair of slender arms went about his waist.

"Let's stay in," she suggested. "And snuggle on the loveseat."

"And talk?" he added, his voice soft without meaning to be. She heard him anyway.

"And talk," she agreed.

It was long overdue.

Theo let out the breath he'd been holding as Ginny finally nodded.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"I could ask the same of you," she parried, a wry, tired smile playing about her lips.

Theo shrugged. "That's fair."

The smile disappeared. "No, it's not. Nothing about this is fair," Ginny replied. "Especially not what's going to happen when this leaves our confidence."

"You think I don't know that?" Theo interjected, but he was too tired to sound very angry. "Look, just...you have your answers, you have the address, and I have patients to see to."

Ginny looked startled, more startled than she had by any of his revelations. "You're not coming? You, one of the people she trusts most right now?"

Theo closed his eyes briefly, tried to center himself.

"Weasley - Ginevra. This is...not an easy situation, no. And while I'm sure both Draco and Jean would appreciate my presence in some small way, there is more at play than a single witch. I have to see to my patients one last time. I have a whole practice to deal with in the space of the day your willingness has purchased me. Administrative assistants, medi-witches and wizards, and scores of patients who rely on me just as heavily as Jean."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, a whole practice to deal with? You're not - you aren't planning on closing, are you?"

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose. "What other choice will I have when all this is over, Ginevra?"

Ginny's heart pounded hard in her chest. She might not like Theo very much, and she might resent his part in all of this, but surely he'd be left alone? Surely he'd be acquitted, if it came to a trial?

"You really think it's that bad?"

"Isn't it? Won't the great Harry Potter see it exactly as I imagine he will?" Theo levelled a stare at Ginny and she nearly flinched, but she was made of sterner stuff than that. She leaned forward in her seat and there was a hard, but gentle sort of justice in her expression.

"You did what was asked of you to help someone who desperately needed it - who likely still needs it. I'll make sure he remembers that."

Theo wondered if Ginny had ever been told how much she resembled her mother at times, came up with often, and allowed himself a small quirk of his lips that might have been a smile.

"Thank you for believing that, Ginevra. Now, I believe you have somewhere to be and I have a late appointment."

Ginny kept eye contact for a long moment, found whatever it was she was searching for, and nodded to herself. Then she stood up and reached a hand across Theo's desk. He looked at it and up at her, then stood, reached his own hand out, and took hers in a firm shake.

"Thank you," he repeated, and if his voice was a little gruff, Ginny didn't mention it, or bat an eyelash.

"Thank you," she responded, her own voice heavy with emotion. Then she turned, opened the door, and was gone. Theo watched her go and slowly the vise that had been around his heart, the one that had loosened as he'd spoken to the younger witch, began to tighten again. He sat down again, hard, and pulled out his phone to make one more call.

"You're right."

Draco gave a small start and looked across the loveseat at the woman who had her legs up, feet over his lap. She was fiddling with a loose string in the sleeve of her shirt and not looking at him. Her expression was pained, hard, sad, hopeful...the emotions chased one another around and around her features and Draco wished he could reach a hand out and smooth it down her cheek, bring her some peace. Instead, he continued the conversation she was willing to start - the talk they'd promised one another, just minutes before they'd settled onto the loveseat.

"What am I right about, Jean?" he replied softly. He reached for the blanket on the back of the loveseat and settled it over her legs and his; smoothing his hands over her ankles and remembering all the times he'd done this very same thing in the last few months.

"I'm remembering."

The answer was so bleak that Draco lifted one hand and dared hook his fingers about hers as one of her hands lay in her lap. She hesitated, then placed her other hand over theirs, intertwined.

"But not everything," he supplied. She nodded.

"Not everything. And it's not coming back clearly."

This, Draco could deal with. The rest of the conversation they still needed to have...he wasn't sure. But this, Theo had helped him prepare for, and he knew a little something about flashes of memories and thoughts, himself.

"Bits and pieces," Draco murmured, and Jean looked at him, finally. Her gaze was anguished.

"It's so foggy, still, and I can't keep hold of the actual memories - they come and go so quickly that it feels like...like I must be crazy, like they aren't real at all. And when they're gone, all I'm left with is this...certainty that I know something, or knew someone, or…" She trailed off, then started again in a rush. "It's so confusing, Dan. At least when I didn't remember at all, I wasn't questioning my sanity. But that isn't even the worst."

Draco steeled himself and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She held his hand more tightly in response and tried to smile for him, but only a few tears trickled from her eyes.

"The worst is that I think I'm...I think I'm trying not to remember. I think that's why I can't keep hold of the memories. They're so awful, and the feelings that I have, that I have had lately...I feel so upset with you for no reason, and like you're...like you're the enemy, somehow, when you've been nothing but kind, and I can't help feeling these things, but I don't want to be that way. I don't want to resent you, or hate you, I don't...I don't…" She caught her breath and then the words tumbled out and Draco felt himself cut to the quick.

"I don't want to be someone who can't love you."

"Yes, Theo. I understand. Thank you." Narcissa paused and Lucius watched her carefully. She spoke again into the telephone Draco had forced upon them for emergencies ages ago.

"No, that won't be necessary. Thank you again. I'm sure we'll see you before this is all over."

Another pause and a strange emotion, one Lucius had only seen fill his wife's face a few times before, entered her voice, making it tremble.

"You too, Theo. Good-bye."

Lucius let the hand that was on his wife's shoulder rub it gently for a moment while she collected herself. Then she turned toward him.

"Well," she murmured, "it's begun."

Lucius refrained from pointing out it had technically begun ages ago and drew Narcissa into a warm embrace.

"And we'll face it as we have always done," he replied. "Together, as a family."

Narcissa turned her face into his chest and allowed herself one last minute of peace and comfort. Then she pushed herself from his arms - not in rejection, but in solidarity - and clasped his arms at the elbows, keeping his hands at her waist. She looked up into his lined face - the face of the man she'd loved naively, protected foolishly, and returned to bravely.

"Together, then," she whispered, and Lucius leaned down to capture her lips in a fond, chaste kiss: a kiss that promised they still had the years left together that their son would never have with his love.

It was a sobering thought.

Narcissa stepped smoothly from the embrace and turned to leave the room. Lucius watched her go, then moved back toward his desk. They both had plans to make.

Draco stared at Jean, horrified. That she could ever think she was incapable of love...of being anything other than the fiercely loyal, kind, brilliant witch she had always been underneath the layers of abuse and scars and anonymity...he gripped her hand a little more tightly.

"You could never be that," he promised. "Never. You are so capable of love, of any and all emotions that belong to the rest of humanity -"

She let out a dry laugh that he knew she hoped would distract him from his fervor.

"It's the rest of those feelings that scare me the most, Dan."

"And I understand that, Jean. I do. But…" He trailed off, realizing that he couldn't explain away her fears, explain why he knew the exact opposite was true of her, without telling her the whole truth. He couldn't say, I know you are so capable of love because I watched you give that love to two imbeciles for years; I know you can love well beyond your size because you gave your life, your home, your family for the lives of school children who could never begin to fathom what you'd given up. You gave everything you had and then kept giving, in the false hope that your servitude was keeping two people alive who were, at the time, total strangers to you.

He felt his mouth go dry, felt Jean's fingers trembling in his own, and thought that maybe now was the time. Maybe now he needed to tell her, about the visit they'd have from a red-headed witch later on; about the next steps her therapist had suggested; about how she was going to have to leave him for a while. Maybe forever.

"But what, Dan?" she whispered, interrupting his thoughts. "There is no but, because you can't tell me anything for certain. You don't know, but I do. I know what I'm feeling, and I hate it. I hate me."

Her voice trembled as badly as her fingers and Draco turned some, reached his other hand up, let his fingertips drift softly through her shortened curls.

"No, Jean. No…the truth is, I do know a little something. I know how hard it can be, to face the truth about who you are, who you have been, but I know it has to be done, because I've had to do it, myself. And you have to believe me when I tell you that you have to look that part of you dead on or you'll never be able to have any kind of future - whether it's a future that includes loving me or not."

He couldn't ignore how still she went as the words fell from his lips, but she didn't pull away. He forged ahead, ignoring the urge to cover those words with all the platitudes he wished he could use, knowing they wouldn't be believed anyway, and he'd just be trying to buy time he didn't have with them. Still, his voice nearly broke on his next words, knowing that he was starting down a path from which neither could ever turn away.

"Do you remember...when you met that woman at the grocery store?"

Astoria was incredibly bored by the conversation, but she wasn't about to let Clearwater know that. Especially not when it was clear that if Penelope didn't get a chance to really open up about this to somebody, they'd all be forced to hear about it every second of every day for the rest of the miserable time Astoria worked there.

She was about to nod sympathetically one more time, however, when something strange happened. Penelope Clearwater actually said something interesting.

"What did you just say?" Astoria interrupted and the other witch looked at her, slightly insulted.

"I know you're not paying attention, Astoria. Listen, why don't we forget any of this ever happened and you just take your things and go. I'll smooth it over with your mother, if you need me to."

"No, no, before that," Astoria replied, waving a hand.

Penelope rolled her eyes, appearing very irritated, but did as requested anyway and repeated herself.

"I said, 'Since the investigation reopened things have grown rather uncertain again. I put together flyers based on the description and as far as I know Ron has been helping Harry with it every waking moment, in addition to -'"

Astoria interrupted her. "Oh, skip a little, will you? You said something...something about...when all this started! That's it!"

Penelope's face cleared some as she thought. "Oh, yes. Well, I suppose I noticed a change when it was reopened, which was about...the end of May?"

Astoria's mind worked more quickly over a problem not immediately relating to shopping, men, or herself, than it had in years. May, the end of May…

"That's so strange," she muttered.

"What is?"

"Oh, it's nothing, really, but…"

"Out with it, Greengrass."

Astoria eyed the witch in front of her and found she was suddenly nervous. She didn't like this kind of scrutiny, not at all. It reminded her too much of the war.

"Well, it's just that, the end of May was about the time that Draco's business exchange was over," she explained and tried to appear as nonchalant as possible.

Penelope Clearwater looked at her like she was speaking in Parseltongue.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" the older witch asked. Astoria shrugged, uncomfortable.

"I suppose not. It's just that I was on the exchange with him for part of the trip. It was in Australia," she added, as if that would explain more. By the confusion on her superior's face, she was clearly wrong. Astoria sighed and attempted to explain once again.

" When Draco was in Australia, he and I went to the beach. All the time. Well, not all the time, but a great deal of the time. That's where he said he saw her."

Even if her statement wasn't completely clear, even to Astoria, Penelope was quick enough to finally catch on to that particular turn of phrase; and she leapt at it like a hound.

"Draco Malfoy saw her - Hermione," Penelope clarified, breathless, and leaning forward in her chair. Astoria nodded, relieved that the older witch finally seemed to understand.

"That's right. So, I guess he's the one who started this whole thing off again? I mean, I knew he was serious when he thought he'd seen her that day, but I really didn't think he would actually do anything about it."

"What?" Penelope glanced at her sharply. "What did you say?"

Astoria rolled her eyes. "Merlin, Clearwater, and I thought I was the only one not paying attention."

Penelope's whole manner changed and she was up and leaning across her desk, one slender finger pointing at Astoria sternly, fire in her eyes.

"This is not a joke, Greengrass. This means people's lives, their jobs, their futures. Don't test me any further than you already have, so help me."

Astoria leaned away, startled and maybe, if she admitted it to herself, a little frightened.

"Alright," she said. "Alright, just..let me think. Merlin."

Seemingly satisfied that she'd struck the fear of Dementors into her, Penelope lowered her hand, but she didn't sit back down.

"You said that you thought Draco must have reported the sighting," she prompted.

"Well, of course," Astoria replied. "Why else would Potter have reopened things?"

The fire in Penelope's eyes grew. "But he didn't, Greengrass."

"What?"

"Draco Malfoy never came to the Ministry to report anything regarding his time in Australia."

Astoria felt that small spark of fear grow and she knew her superior spotted the moment she'd made the same connections. In that moment, Astoria was very certain she never should have listened to her mother, never should have taken this job, and never should have antagonized Clearwater.

Penelope rounded her desk in a flurry of robes and propelled Astoria out of her seat in one fell swoop.

"Come with me," she commanded and the frightened witch stared at her with wide eyes, chin tilted with the last ounce of defiance she possessed.

"Where?"

"To report this," Penelope breathed. "Now move."

AN: Now we're in for it! Everyone still on board? Good. Hang on tight. You might want to take your dramamine. ;)

Also, a small word: as we move forward with this story, I will be deliberately paying more attention to Jean's characterization and voice. This is partly because of the direction the plot will take us. I just don't want anyone to be too surprised, particularly if you are reading because you prefer some of the other characters in the story. The thing is, Draco has had a very strong voice because Hermione/Jean has been stunted by her amnesia and her focus on regaining her memories. So we really haven't seen much in terms of development from her, just snippets here and there...but it is coming. FYI.