The Question of When
I.
It started with a fever.
A dry cough came next, then bilateral pneumonia. A second reported case. A third. A tenth. Only when the sickness had been circulating for months was a news brief released from the impacted province in Central China.
The article hit Muggle newstands first. Two days later, it was picked up by Jonathan Tryes, one of the Daily Prophet's freshman science reporters. While Tryes felt that skimming the Muggle papers was drudgework of the highest order, he was still young enough to believe that diligence and hard work—instead of connections and luck—were the twin cornerstones of success. He spent one entire hour making the article his own.
The aspiring journalist submitted the revised text to his editor, Nils Kutz. Kutz normally dismissed anything submitted by a staffer with less than two years of experience, but one of his freelance reporters had just had a child and thus missed her submission deadline. Collier's Cure: A Decade Without Disease was supposed to span several pages, and Kutz, now left with nil, had tapped every journalistic well to find filler. A 500-word piece from a new nobody was a precious gift to a man on a deadline.
The paper was printed on time, but delivery was delayed. A particularly pernicious case of avian flu had infected the paper's owlery. More than half the birds had been culled to prevent the virus' spread. Those that were deemed healthy had been moved to a new, sanitized roost several kilometers away, which increased delivery time by several hours to Londoners and several days to those in outlying areas.
Late, grudgingly, and by chance: those were the conditions under which Hermione Granger-Malfoy first laid eyes on the information that would alter the wizarding world for years to come.
II.
Hermione waited in the vestibule of her husband's office, only half-listening to the rumble of voices emanating from behind the closed pair of double doors. It was the final fifteen minutes of an eight-hour ProVaction board meeting, complete with catered lunch and frequent snack breaks. She had been scheduled to present, but a surprise inspection from Ministry regulators had required a change of plans. The inspectors had left hours ago, but the headache they had inspired remained.
She crossed the waiting area to stand beside one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and rested her head against the cool glass, her eyes skating over the drab landscape. Trees without leaves. Flower beds a mess of twigs and old mulch. A frozen pond with a dry fountain. Exactly what she expected for early January. Even though they were on the upside of the solstice, she did not quite feel the lengthening days. Half past four and already the sun was sinking, the sky a blaze of orange behind bruise-purple clouds. Another hour before they Floo'd home. She could make it.
A round of applause drew her gaze to the door. The sounds of handshakes and back-slapping. She disliked the self-congratulatory parts of the business. Success was all well and good, but the Galleons on their balance sheet were not what drove her. Were not why she went into Healing, and then research, fifteen years ago.
The doors opened, and Hermione plastered a smile onto her face as she greeted the small board.
First out was Chadwick Zines, the youngest board member and a marketing whiz, recently poached from a United States firm. They clasped hands in a firm grip.
"Mrs. Granger-Malfoy, nice to see you." Ever formal. She would wear him down eventually.
"You as well, Mr. Zines. I hope you're enjoying life as a Londoner."
"Quite."
"My husband tells me you're recently engaged."
A flush crept up Chadwick's neck, and his serious demeanor cracked with a smile. "Yes, a Muggle-born named Veronica. I told her about—" He gestured at himself, his robe, his hip-holstered wand. "She didn't think I was crazy, so that's a start. We're very… happy." He finished the sentence as if the concept were foreign. On impulse, Hermione reached out and squeezed his forearm. He looked steadier, almost grateful for the reassurance.
"Congratulations," she said, her voice soft with sincerity. "I know how difficult it is to cross into a different world. If you or Veronica ever want to talk, individually or as a couple, you can reach out to us at any time."
He nodded and dipped his head, readjusting his glasses. "Thank you. That means…" He cleared his throat. "Thanks." He hurried off.
Second was Alodie Banque, a dark-skinned French woman with braided hair and a bright smile, which turned radiant when she spotted Hermione. She extended her hands, which Hermione took, stepping in close and turning cheek-to-cheek to exchange their customary set of bises.
"We missed you at the meeting," Alodie said, her accent light and musical. "Your husband walked us through the research, but, ah—" She threw a conspiratorial look over her shoulder. "—I think you know better than he, non?"
"I ought to," Hermione said with a smile. "Fortunately, he is far better at the accounts."
"And that is most important." Alodie winked. As the former Head of Finance at the acclaimed École des Artes Magique, it was her role on the board to consider financial headwinds, tailwinds, and everything in between.
"Lunch soon?"
"Absolument. I will 'ave my people call your people. We will meet before the month is out." Another set of bises and she, too, was gone.
The final board member swept her into a bear hug. Though Damocles Belby was well into his hundreds, he had lost none of his vitality, crediting clean living and liberal application of gin to his continued good health. He had retired after perfecting the Wolfsbane Potion, but it had been easy to lure him back into the field once the story of Hermione's accidental discovery of a cure to the feared Collier's virus went public.
"Don't listen to Frenchie," Damocles joked. "Your boy did just fine in presenting the science."
"I've been listening to her for long enough, I'm bound to have learned something."
Hermione's headache abated somewhat at the sight of the room's final occupant. Her husband of thirteen years, Draco Malfoy. She catalogued his face, as she often did. A quick diagnostic, a habit retained from St. Mungo's, even though her time there had been short.
Laugh lines creased the corners of his grey eyes, but the sclera were shot through with red, betraying his exhaustion. The shallow furrow that had started to mar the once smooth space between his brows had been dug a little deeper today, a testament to his focus and the challenging conversations that had undoubtedly arisen. His hair had more or less maintained its morning styling, so there had not been any catastrophic news. But the set of his shoulders and the way he leaned on his cane, an aid to help him through the lingering leg spasms from his own Collier's infection, told her that the day had been physically as well as mentally trying.
She disentangled herself from Damocles' arms and moved to Draco's side. She took his hand and squeezed, momentarily basking in the warmth of his gaze.
"I'm so glad to hear it," she said, turning back to look at Damocles, who wore a rather smitten expression. He had been with Draco and Hermione from the beginning, when their company was no more than eight people in a jury-rigged facility begging for funding and fending off lawsuits. With his guidance, they had built ProVaction into an undeniable market competitor.
Their vaccines arm, which had received approval for a Collier's virus vaccine just five short years after Hermione's initial discovery, had launched the company into early success and provided the seed funding for the equipment arm of the business. The early burst of funding had enabled their team of materials scientists and manufacturing engineers to continuously launch fast-to-market personal protective equipment for medical professionals and hospitals. A portion of those profits—along with substantial government and private grants—were promptly reinvested into vaccine research and development, creating a self-sustaining system that had thrived for fifteen years.
They were small, but nimble. Niche, but efficient.
And soon, their agility and speed might be sorely needed.
Her grip on Draco's hand tightened. Damocles, sensing that he was on the edge of overstaying, cleared his throat.
"Always nice to see you, Hermione." He laid a hand on her shoulder. "Draco," he said with a parting nod.
Hermione rested her head against Draco's shoulder, and they watched until the door clicked closed. Draco let out a sigh and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"How did the inspection go?"
"Fine. No questions we couldn't answer, but it's only the first day."
"You trust your Quality and Compliance lead?"
"Yes," she answered without hesitation. Syra Wright was a force of nature, as exacting and precise as Hermione herself, and with enough professional experience to balance the sometimes precarious mix of quality and speed that the R&D arm of the company required.
"Then don't borrow trouble." He kissed her again. "Will they need you tomorrow?"
"No, just today for the inspection's start and on Thursday for the wrap-up, though I want to be somewhat available for questions, just in case."
"I'd like to go over the board's minutes with you tomorrow."
"Any issues?"
"Nothing that would keep you awake at night."
The article in her pocket seemed to grow heavier. Her breath caught, and Draco's brows drew down into their familiar furrow. He knew her too well.
"What is it?"
"Let's sit down."
He gestured her into his office. She sat in one of the two deep, brown leather chairs that fronted his massive desk. He closed the office door and sat at the one beside her. A meeting of equals, as it had always been.
She pulled the clipped article from her pocket, handed it over, and waited for him to break the silence. Several minutes passed.
"This is serious."
Though she had expected his reaction, the pronouncement chilled her. She did not always enjoy being correct.
"It may be, yes."
"You think this is it?"
It had been called many things. The Big One. The Next One. The When-Not-If.
"I think it might be."
"Why?"
It was a challenge, but not to her assessment. He wanted the data, to know what she knew, and how she knew it. Unfortunately, she could not give him much.
"The information we have is incomplete. The article is a tertiary source, at best. I checked the Muggle WHO—the World Health Organization—and they don't have much beyond a cluster of pneumonia cases."
"I assume the virus jumped from an animal?"
"I believe so." That was how most novel viruses appeared in human populations, especially in recent centuries of global mobility.
"Can it spread between humans?"
Community transmission. Another chilling thought. "Not sure."
"Can it infect wizards?"
Hermione grimaced. "Its suspected city of origin is Wuhan."
Draco's expression fell. Due to its location on the Yangtze River, Wuhan was the epicenter of both Muggle and magical trade for Central China. The markets existed alongside one another, and though the Statue of Secrecy had been maintained, the barrier between mundane and magical Wuhan was a bit more permeable than usual.
"Did we cause this?"
Hermione knew he was referring to the magical population, and she answered him honestly. "I don't know."
"Shite."
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He had a headache, too, apparently, and she understood why. A novel virus spawning at the intersection of the Muggle and magical worlds complicated matters, prompting hundreds of questions that might never be answered. Had the presence of magic impacted the virus' evolutionary biology? If so, how? What were the impacts on infectivity? Symptoms? Morbidity? Mortality? Treatment?
He lowered his hand with a weary sigh. "What do you propose?"
"Slow the engineering arm and divert funds to R&D."
"Hermione…"
"We need to be ready, Draco."
"And if it turns out to be nothing?"
"Then R&D owes you a new technology."
"They owe me that anyway," he groused. Though Draco fully supported both arms of ProVaction, the pace at which their vaccines received regulatory approval nettled him. It was a slow process at the best of times.
"I'd also like to go to China."
"No."
The sharp refusal raised her hackles, but she had had enough of these conversations to know what to do. Keeping her face impassive, she asked: "Why?"
"If it's nothing, then I lose my Chief Scientific Officer for a week for no reason. If it's something, then I'd have allowed my wife to walk straight into dragon's fire without so much as a flame-retardant brassiere."
"Why does it always come back to breasts with you?"
He arched a brow and cracked a smile, his ire effectively disarmed. Hermione bit back a smug grin; suggestive jokes rarely failed to ease the tension.
"You say the Muggles are monitoring the situation?"
"Yes."
"Do you know if the Chinese Ministry has been informed?"
"I'm not sure. You know how secretive they can be. Even if they have, it's fifty-fifty on whether they'd tell us."
He sighed and looked back down at the article in his lap. "I've never liked risk analysis," he muttered. "All those what ifs and hypotheticals turn even more complicated when we don't know the variables."
"Then we simplify it." Hermione uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. "Scenario one: we're wrong about the virus and needlessly alter our business."
Draco nodded, willing to play along. "Imbalanced resources, wasted time."
"Scenario two: we're right about the virus and do nothing."
His silence was answer enough. She held his gaze, and she felt keenly the anxiety hidden behind his grey eyes. She remembered their time at St. Mungo's all too well. The deadly virus he had contracted. Their mad rush to find a cure. The desperate act that had changed her life and saved his.
"Who's our best scientist?"
They were all good. ProVaction's limited size meant that Hermione sat in on all interviews, and no one who fell short of her standards received an offer. However, even among stars there was one who shone brightest.
"Ioanna Vrubel."
"What's she working on?"
"Dragon Pox."
"Is she close?"
"Finishing up Phase II clinical trials next month."
"Mentee?"
"Of course." All new hires were paired with an experienced mentor. It was part of their strategy to retain and grow talent. "Antonio Borra. He's bright. Ready."
"Transition the project to Antonio and work with Ioanna directly. Just you two for now," he said, heading off her argument. "Let's keep this quiet until we learn more. I'll call in a few favors with the Chinese Ministry and see if I can shake something loose."
She extended a hand across the space between them. He took it, and they sat in silence while darkness fell, enjoying the peace while it lasted.
III.
By the end of February, speculation had turned to certainty. The virus was wildly contagious, sometimes fatal, and the world was not prepared.
By the first week of March, panic had set in.
The fear replicated within the population like the virus itself: on an exponential curve. It started with a few people preparing, buying in bulk, withstanding the derisive looks of fellow shoppers and grocery store attendees as they placed bags of rice and dried beans into their carts. They wanted to scream, to wake people up and make them realize what was coming. That they should get what they needed now before what they needed disappeared.
Some listened.
Then almost everyone did.
Hoarding behaviors happened almost simultaneously with the WHO's categorization of the virus as a pandemic. Shops were wiped clean of necessities—bog rolls, soap, frozen meats, canned veg. Unscrupulous price gougers took advantage of the desperate and scared.
Stubborn skeptics continued to scoff, defying government recommendations of self-isolation and social distancing. They ventured from their homes, putting themselves, their families, and their communities at risk, while decrying healthcare professionals and the media channels they used to disseminate information as "fear-mongering catastrophists" and "fake news."
But there was no denying it.
The SARS-CoV-2 virus and its attendant disease, COVID-19, had irrevocably altered the fabric of normal life.
IV.
"Everything okay?"
Hermione flinched and pulled her gaze from the window. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the comparatively dim light of the laboratory, but when they had, she saw that Draco had set down his wand. The cauldron before him wafted thin tendrils of white steam.
She bit down the impulse to dismiss his concern with a rote, I'm fine. She wasn't. No one was.
The practice of social distancing had been in place for three months now, and, as predicted, the sharp climb of new cases had leveled. The once overcrowded hospitals had reached their pre-pandemic levels. Those who needed serious medical intervention received it, and Healers were no longer being forced to make basic care decisions on a calculation of survivability.
But the cost had been high. The worldwide economy had slumped, then sagged. Small businesses had closed and unemployment had skyrocketed. Two Muggle airlines had gone bankrupt. Cases of anxiety and depression had climbed, sparking a debate about mental health services, or lack thereof.
The social fabric that had held society together continued to fray, and the only thing that could stop it was a vaccine.
"It's like old times, isn't it?" Draco said. "Working together on a life-saving drug, just you and me."
"I wish it wasn't the case."
"Me too," he answered with a sigh. "Unfortunately, we can't always control the situations we find ourselves in." He looked at his cane, which rested against the lab bench. A permanent reminder of the consequences of chance.
"Can we do this?"
Draco's eyes shot to hers. Since the situation began, they had adhered to an unspoken rule not to discuss the what ifs. Not to shine light on the doubts and uncertainties that lurked like shadows in the corners of their lab.
"We already are," he answered. "We've shipped thousands of units of personal protective equipment to hospitals across Europe. We've converted all manufacturing to masks, gloves, smocks, and ventilation consumables. And this potion?" He nodded at the cauldron between them. "This could be the brew that stops the spread. It's not a question of can; it's a question of when."
Hermione looked down at her hands. She admired his confidence, his belief that, together, they could solve any problem. Especially on days like today, when hope felt furthest away.
"And I've been thinking about the kids," she confessed, the weight in her chest sinking lower.
"Excited to see them?"
Under normal circumstances, the answer would have been a resounding yes. Scorpius and Lena were twin moons in Hermione's sky. She would do anything for them. Even if it hurt.
"I think they should stay at Hogwarts."
Draco's shoulders tensed. Too late, Hermione wondered if she had started an argument. He had not spoken, however, so she continued with her reasoning.
"The castle has been locked down since March. No one's been in or out except for the elves, who are confirmed not to be carriers. It's the only U.K. location without a confirmed case. They're with their friends, they have plenty to do, and Sprout has already extended the option to families, so we know the castle has the resources."
His reply was quiet. "We haven't seen them since December."
Draco had been looking forward to their summer break; she had been, too. The manor felt cavernous and quiet without their children's laughter ringing through the halls. She missed family meals and the time they spent lounging, talking, and exploring the countryside. She missed traveling with them, seeing the world through their eyes. Their planned trip to Marseille, tentatively planned for August, looked less likely by the day. She missed raucous weekends with Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Pansy, talking politics and drinking wine while the children zoomed through the sky on broomsticks, hurling the Quaffle and taking turns as Beater.
"I know." She looked down at her hands, still and tightly folded in her lap. How could she explain to him why this was best?
Ever since the shelter-in-place order went into effect a month ago, she and Draco had been the only ones in the lab. And they hadn't left. Draco's executive suite had become their bedroom, the leather chairs elongated and flattened into makeshift cots. Their house-elves delivered meals to the utilitarian kitchenette and exchanged their dirty laundry for fresh clothes. Thank Merlin Hermione had talked Draco into choosing a workspace with an on-site fitness center. Otherwise, they would not have had a shower.
Ioanna worked remotely, Firecalling daily to share her theories and research, but it was up to them to execute the brew, perform the tests, and analyze the results. The work was slow, but it was safer for everyone to not risk infection, and fairer to Ioanna, who had a family of her own. Who didn't deserve to be separated from her children because of the profession she'd chosen.
Hermione pressed her interlaced fingers together, but the practice of control failed. A tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away with a shrug of her shoulder and a twist of her head.
"I don't want them coming home to an empty house," she said, her voice shaky on the exhale. "I want to be with them. I want to be a family, and with this virus, with what we still have to do, I don't think—"
She buried her face in her hands and felt Draco's arms encircle her moments later. He held her close and let her cry. When she had somewhat composed herself, he pulled up a chair and took her hands.
"I agree with you," he said.
She hiccoughed in surprise. "You do?"
He nodded. "At 13 and 11, they're old enough to understand the pressure we're under and the severity of the situation."
"It's not fair to them." She knew it was counterproductive to argue against her own suggestion, but the notion of stolen time stung. They would never recoup these months apart.
"Then we'll let them choose." He cupped her cheek with his hand, his thumb brushing away another tear. "It's about time they learned how to perform a cost-benefit analysis," he finished with a crooked grin.
Hermione choked a laugh, but nodded.
"The next time we see them," Draco promised, "it's going to be with a vaccine."
V.
Summer stretched to fall, bringing to an end Phase I clinical trials. Several doses of the ProVaction's candidate vaccine—a crystal-clear potion administered via a nasopharyngeal pump—had been tested. And though the effective dose was higher than Draco or Hermione would have liked, the drug was deemed safe by the Ministry's Medical Approval Board.
Phase II trials started soon after the first frost. Though cases had leveled, there was no shortage of volunteers. The candidate profile was specific: younger witches and wizards, healthy with few or no pre-existing conditions or risk factors, who worked in high-exposure environments, like St. Mungo's and the grocer's. The post-monitoring period took the longest, and they had to trust that the patients' self-reported notes regarding incidental exposure were accurate. But months passed, and none of their patients caught the virus.
Patients of every demographic and risk level were accepted into Phase III. Word of a vaccine had started to spread throughout the magical community, both from ProVaction and a competing firm in Germany.
No one cared which product hit the market first, as long as it worked.
VI.
Hermione ticked off the final box on her clipboard. The parchment curled without the weight of her hand to hold it down, and she let it. The ink had dried; the inventory was finally complete.
Across the ward, Poppy Pomfrey helped Draco set up the final station. The Hogwarts Hospital Wing was missing its characteristic beds and curtains. Indeed, it more closely resembled a battlefield triage unit, with four rows of ten cubicles, separated by modular walls and hung in front with soundproofed white sheets. Inside each cubicle were two chairs, a stack of patient intake forms, a pair of self-inking, quick-dry quills, several boxes of disposable gloves, and a case of packaged drug product.
Their drug product. Covimmune. The result of a full year of work and approved mere weeks ago for prevention of the SARS-CoV-2 virus.
Draco gestured her over, and she approached him and Poppy with a wide smile.
"This is going to be a long day," Poppy warned, looking between the two. "Are you sure you're up for it?"
Hermione knew what Poppy saw. Pale skin from long days indoors. Dark bags beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. Faint lines from worry and stress at the corners of her eyes and the angles of her mouth. She felt older than her 41 years. It was as if 2020 had lasted a decade.
"It's been a long year," Draco said. "I'm ready to put it behind me."
"Same," Hermione agreed. "Professors and staff first, as they'll assist with the intake forms. Then by House, I think."
Poppy nodded once. "Very well." She sent a sideways look at the first bay and cleared her throat. "Shall we, then?"
Draco pulled aside the sheet. "Hermione, would you like to do the honors?"
"I'd be delighted," she answered.
She followed Poppy into the cubicle and pulled the curtain closed.
The process took no more than ten minutes. Completion of the intake form, the original for ProVaction's records and a copy for Poppy's. A quick explanation of the potential side-effects: headache, nosebleed, facial tingling, and/or a lingering scent of elderflower. Preparation of the drug product: unpackaged, caps removed, patient's head tilted back. Two quick inhales, two simultaneous sprays, and the dose was administered.
After 24 hours, Poppy would be immune.
The old nurse blinked a few times, wiggled her nose, and then gave Hermione a frank look.
"You changed the world today," she said. "Twice in one lifetime. That's no small feat."
Tears sprung to Hermione's eyes, and she glanced at the shadow lingering beyond the curtain.
"Thanks," she replied. "But I didn't do it alone."
Poppy exited the cubicle, and Draco offered his hand to help Hermione from the chair. She stripped off her gloves and took it. He looked jumpy, uncertain.
"The pump, did it—"
"No jams, worked perfectly."
"Let me know if—"
"Draco." She rose onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, a quick, reassuring peck. "We have 280 students to vaccinate today. We have over 400 concerned parents to vaccinate tomorrow. Give yourself the win."
"Right." He shook his head as if to clear it. When their eyes met again, he had gained a measure of focus. Enough, at least, to get through the day. "Gryffindor first?" he suggested.
Hermione smiled. "Gryffindor first."
The first two Houses took until lunch. Hermione had hardly finished her pumpkin juice before the Ravenclaws began filing into the ward.
Between patients, Hermione saw Draco and Poppy with their heads bent together. Poppy gestured to a cubicle in the ward's back corner. Draco gave it a glance, then searched the ward for Hermione. Their eyes met. He nodded once, and Hermione understood: Lena was in that cubicle.
She hoped her daughter had brought a book.
Slytherin was the final House to receive the vaccine, and Hermione felt her energy start to flag. She walked down the row of cubicles, popping into each bay with a closed curtain, glad to see that the line of pending students had disappeared. After taking care of her final patient, she and Draco met in front of the back-corner cubicle.
"Ready?" Draco asked.
Hermione took a deep breath, shaky with excitement, and opened the curtain.
Lena and Scorpius looked up from their game of chess, then launched from their seats and into the arms of the nearest parent.
Hugs from Scorpius had grown rarer as he aged, a natural expression of independence as he progressed toward adulthood. Tears pricked Hermione's eyes as he wrapped his arms around her, and she let herself sink into joy of holding her firstborn after a year apart.
His hold slackened, but she held on just a moment longer before letting him go. She took a moment to inventory the changes a year had wrought. He'd grown taller and a bit broader in the shoulders, the transition from the lankiness of youth awkward and painfully gradual. She reached out and toyed with the ends of his wavy, platinum hair.
"You've grown it out," she said.
He ran a hand through it, practiced in a way that made her suspect it had been longer for quite some time.
"Do you like it?"
She nodded, suppressing either a sob or a laugh: her son was the double of his father, but with the long hair, he reminded her of Lucius.
Lena came next, her eyes red from tears and chin trembling with emotion. Their daughter had always been more sensitive and connected to her parents. Hermione gathered her close and held her longer, rubbing her back as she cried.
"I missed you," Hermione whispered. She tucked a loop of Lena's brown, curly hair behind her ear and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"But you did it," Lena said with a sniff. She let go of Hermione and wiped her eyes. "You made the vaccine."
"We did." Hermione said with a smile. Some days, it still felt like a dream. "How about we get you both dosed?"
Hermione took care of Lena; Draco worked with Scorpius. In a matter of minutes, the last two residents of Hogwarts were vaccinated.
Applause erupted as they entered the Great Hall, and Hermione gasped as a banner unfurled above the staff table, the words Thank You flashing each of the four House colors. Draco took Hermione's hand and squeezed, and she heard him give a faint, breathless laugh.
This was why they had worked so hard. This was what the lonely days and long nights—the arguments, the questions, the tears, and the stress—had achieved.
A population protected, the spectre of illness, and the shroud of death cleansed from their lives.
A world united, closer than it had ever been despite the distance that had been temporarily imposed.
The restoration of hope, and the rebuilding of a new normal for those who had sacrificed, grieved, and ultimately survived.
The End