AN: We're almost to the end here, folks! Thanks for joining me on this crazy journey, especially those who've been with me since this was on Hawthorne and Vine. Next chapter is the last one (unless I hear a huge outcry for an epilogue).
Mega700201: Thanks for the review and for being the most dedicated reviewer! Your notes do lift this poor writer's spirits!
Draco sat with Hermione and his mother in the library with the surviving members of the Order. Hermione had been revived after passing out from magical overexertion and still looked a little peaked, although she had helped tend to their wounded until Draco had physically dragged her to sit down (aided by Weasley, who said he'd hex her if she didn't rest). His mother looked regal despite the blood running from her face and rips in her robe. Another woman he didn't recognize, but who'd been introduced as his Aunt Andromeda sat nearby, fussing over a woman with violent pink hair who had lost a leg in the battle but was otherwise (in her own words) "complete fine!"
Potter looked shellshocked still. He had won the duel with the Dark Lord when Potter's shield had reflected the Dark Lord's own Sectumsepra back at the tyrant. No had been watching as the Dark Lord fell, although a good number of the Death Eaters had surrendered immediately when they felt their Dark Marks burn off with a vindictive fire. Another host had fallen as they clutched their arms in pain.
At that point, the Order had a decisive advantage and quickly disarmed and incapacitated the remaining Death Eaters and started to care for their own injured. Explanations of identity and allegiance quickly followed- Weasley and Potter vouched that "Bellatrix" was really Longbottom; Draco and Hermione and Snape were on their side; the Order had been summoned and let into the Manor by Narcissa Malfoy (by way of her formerly estranged sister) so she was cleared instantly. Draco took some pleasure in identifying his father as one of the Death Eaters and not one of the heroes. Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge, Garrick Olivander, and Professor Flitwick were the only casualties suffered by the Order, aside from Charlie before the battle. The Charms professor had single-handedly defended Potter from six Death Eaters who had started attacking from behind once the Order had arrived before he'd been felled by a stray spell from the Dark Lord.
Hermione's head dropped onto his shoulder, and for a moment, the world didn't seem so awful after all.
*** TR ** TR ** TR ***
Draco had last seen Hermione at the funeral and memorial service for Stanley Shunspike. Hermione had thrown herself into organizing it, working with Narcissa Malfoy to plan an appropriate event for the man she'd killed, and visiting with the man's elderly mother. That woman was, Draco reckoned, the reason Hermione was holding on at all; she had forgiven Hermione with magnanimity after Hermione had provided her with the posthumous Ministerial Pardon for his work with the Dark Lord as a Snatcher and the Prophet feature on the man that Draco had bribed Rita Skeeter into writing. The grieving mother had asked that Hermione's efforts focus on providing meaningful training and opportunities to young men like Stan, which was something she'd been happy to promise.
The funeral itself had been gut-wrenching. Arthur Weasley had spoken first, his voice thick with grief as he told the story of his own son's defection to Voldemort's service in an attempt to save his family. Days after his own son's funeral, he asked everyone in the audience to see any combattants and any bystanders as their own family and to approach them with love and kindness, instead of judgement. Draco didn't believe there was a dry eye in the crowd when he'd finished. Then Harry Potter himself had spoken, telling of his interactions with the man on the Knight Bus and how the smallness of the wizarding community meant that all of them were linked to each other. Minerva McGonagall spoke about his love for Transfiguration. Ministry members had spoken of his professionalism in driving the Knight Bus; regular passengers had shared his favorite jokes and how he'd take scenic routes past their favorite places if the bus wasn't full.
Afterwards, Hermione had been unconsolable, and Ginny had actually drugged her to get her to fall asleep after Draco and Hermione's friends had attempted to comfort her for several hours.
That was two days ago and none of them had seen her since.
*** TR ** TR ** TR ***
Draco sat with Potter, Longbottom, Weasel, and Weaselette at a newly re-opened cafe in Diagon Alley. The bustling shopping area wasn't quite back to normal and the mood of the shoppers ranged from elated to fearful as they grappled with the losses and fear of the previous year. Shopkeepers fell over themselves to serve the WonderGryffs and eyed him with interest and suspicion-the Prophet had written a glowing account of Draco and his mother's defection but, then again, the Prophet had said a lot of things that weren't true during the war. His presence in the shops with the Golden Crowd seemed to lend enough credence to the words that no one ran or shrank from his presence as they had done mere weeks ago.
"Where could she be?" Weasel grouched. "She's alone and doesn't remember her past! Why would she leave?"
"I still think she'd looking for her parents," Ginny said stubbornly. "She wouldn't want to be away from them for too long and once she learned she'd Obliviated them and sent them to Australia-" she glared at her brother and Potter at this point "- she would have been itching to go."
This was news to Draco. He hadn't realized anyone had told Hermione of her parents' likely whereabouts. He was inclined to agree with Weaselette's logic.
"We checked the Portkey office and had the Aurors do forensic detection on the Floos and Portkeys between the countries," Potter said wearily.
"She would have taken Muggle transit," Draco stated with sudden clarity. "If she were re-tracing their steps, she definitely would have taken the same route so she could gather more information."
The group gaped for a moment, before Longbottom piped up, "Right, can we take Muggle transit to follow her? She might need our help."
Despite himself, Draco felt himself warm towards the gangly man.
*** TR ** TR ** TR ***
Three weeks later, Draco found himself in the same company plus Hermione's Muggle parents in the waiting room at St. Mungos.
Once they'd known to look at Muggle transit, pieces had clicked into place immediately; Hermione actually hadn't made any effort to conceal her movement. She'd purchased a one-way ticket to Sydney, and left a trail of airline and immigration officials she had met with during the time she'd been planning Mr. Shunspike's funeral. Draco didn't mention the vague confusion a few of the officials had expressed when describing their conversations with the "bushy-haired brunette;" the rather tell-tale signs of compulsion charms was a secret he'd take to the grave with him. She had fought like hell for all of them, and if she was willing to bend rules to find her parents, he was not one to judge.
They'd booked emergency international Portkeys later that afternoon and used nearly every spell in the Location and Tracking Spells: 70th Edition to track down Hermione. The group together had then tracked down her parents and, while they hadn't risked trying to reverse the spell on her parents themselves, had convinced them of the existence of magic and the possibility that they had a daughter who had-hopefully temporarily-removed herself from their memories. St. Mungo's staff had fortunately been able to reverse the block Hermione had placed on their memories quite easily; the head Healer had been so impressed with the skill Hermione had applied the charm that he offered her a job on the spot until she'd revealed she herself had no memories of most of her life nor of the methods she'd used to cast the charm.
Which brought them all to the current moment, where Hermione was in a long, delicate group spellcasting session designed to bring back her memories; they'd brought in experts from around the world to consult and help with this complicated case. The Granger parents had been remarkably calm about the whole ordeal. Draco suspected it was hard to remain angry or fearful at a daughter who couldn't remember having cast spells against them but was clearly deliriously happy to have them back in her life. The pair sat on a bench re-reading the literature the Healer's had given them on the procedure they were attempting.
Draco fidgeted. She'd been in there a long time. He hoped that when she came out, memories restored that she'd still deign to speak with him.
Finally the door to the waiting room swished open, revealing the lead Healer for Hermione's case. Their group half-stood expectantly. Draco's heart dropped; this was it, the moment the real Hermione returned and he lost his fake fiancee, his co-conspirator, his friend.
He never imagined it would drop further when the Healer shook his head and announced, "The damage is permanent; we cannot return her memories."
*** TR ** TR ** TR ***
It was the Doctors Granger who'd suggested instead of returning her memories they donate them. They'd originally been thinking of Muggle methods-writing Hermione letters, showing her pictures, telling her stories, but with magical means assisting them, they'd soon enlisted nearly a hundred people to donate Pensieve memories of Hermione and her time in the Wizarding World. Those closest to her-Potter, the Weasel clan, the professors-were curating weeks of memories for her.
Draco stood at the back of the room at her "Pensieve Party" deeply wishing he hadn't participated in either the donation of memories or in this ridiculous event. It was held in the reconstructed Burrow and was hopelessly tacky. The Weasley twins had made gigantic decorations (after being introduced to the concepts of balloons by the elder Grangers) shaped like important elements of Hermione's past-the Gryffindor lion roaring and rearing rampant; a table full of Potions surrounded by flickering firelight; a giant Basilisk that froze the other balloons for thirty seconds at a time; the Hippogryff that had mauled Draco… the stuff of impossible stories that somehow were true. Molly Weasley had baked cakes and biscuits and chocolates and scones and whipped-up every confection or meal she could remember Hermione ever eating. Potter had somehow convinced the Professors to release copies of Hermione's exams for her to look at; they were displayed on little pedestals around the house and were charmed to speak the Professor's assessment ("marvelous!" "extraordinary") if one got too close. The Grangers had made "scrapbooks" of photos and letters for her that they invited the guests to sign or add notes to. Draco had to admit the books were beautiful thoughtful and so far from something he could imagine a Pureblooded wizard ever having that they were almost more enchanting for their oddness. Luna Lovegood had painted beautiful pictures of Hermione with her friends. All in all, it was an expression of the love the Leaders of the Light felt for the witch.
The atmosphere was joyous, despite all that had happened. They'd won and their heroine was injured, but in a way that love and donated memories could help. That concreteness, perhaps, had been why they'd all spent months planning and siphoning memories and talking together and brainstorming and siphoning more memories and writing letters and finding old photographs…
Draco scowled again. His memories of Hermione were not ones that would endear him to her. But he owed her. And so he'd donated his memories as well, cringing as he plucked the memory of the first time he'd called her a Mudblood, of the time he'd told her he hoped the Heir of Slytherin cleared out her kind from Hogwarts, of the time he'd hexed her teeth to grow as long as a beaver… His final addition had been the memory of his Aunt torturing her. The memory that had erased all of hers. He didn't know why he'd come to this stupid event. Once she'd watched all the memories-Gryffindor parties, how she'd set Snapes robes on fire, her exploits as part of the Golden Trio, dancing with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball-and compared her life with her friends with her history with Draco… he'd be lucky if she didn't spit on him in the streets.
He watched Hermione laugh as she watched a projected memory of her saying that she, Weasel, and Potter could be "killed or worse expelled!" surrounded by her classmates, professors, and family. The warm sunlight highlighted her curls, accented her smile. The happiness there; it was like seeing a world Draco could never be a part of in a crystal ball. Unattainable and fragile and heartbreaking.
He walked back out of the Burrow, leaving the laughter and joy back with the people who deserved it, and Apparated home.
