It was the Autumnal Equinox, when Hermione had finally come to in her private room at St. Mungo's. Apparently, the stress of seeing her parents again, after all this time combined with her compromised immune system, was too much for the frail witch to handle, and Draco had wasted no time getting her to hospital and to her Healers.

Unfortunately, he'd done so through the main part of St. Mungo's—outing her condition to the entire Wizarding World at large.

When she'd finally come around nearly three days later, her entire room was overflowing with flowers, stuffed animals and chocolates of all kinds, from hundreds of well-wishers.

Her parents, who hadn't left her side for nearly all of that time...had been flabbergasted at the outpouring of love and support for their only child.

It was then that they'd truly realized, just what role their daughter had played in the Magical War, and that she was a heroine to many within this world.

It made them feel immeasurably guilty for how they'd dismissed her five years prior.

They had been shocked even greater still, that no one but a very small handful of people had known that Hermione had successfully restored their memories, or what had happened after.

As always, their little girl had stoically soldiered on and suffered alone in silence.

That made Helen and Richard feel even worse...

...If such a thing was possible.

Then they'd met Harry Potter again, and he'd waxed on and on about how amazing their daughter was and how she'd never abandoned him during their year on the run. He'd explained everything in such vivid detail that by the time he was done—there wasn't a dry eye in the room.

But Hermione didn't know any of this, as she was still unconscious. She'd suffered a bit of a set back and Andromeda had called Dr. Sindlar, who had recommended keeping her hospitalized for the remainder of her treatments, and adjusted her chemo accordingly.

So here she was—propped up in her hospital bed and being besieged by visitors, when her Healer would allow them. Listening to her parents talking to Molly and Arthur Weasley, while Draco just sat in the chair next to her bed and held her hand within his—stroking it reassuringly, as he laid his head on her lap and allowed her to run her fingers through his hair. His grey eyes never leaving her amber one's for a second.

The love she saw radiating from those exquisite depths simply took her breath away.

Then there was a soft knock at her door.

Looking up, Hermione almost fainted again when she saw Narcissa Malfoy walk into her room with a bouquet of purple hyacinth's—her sister Andromeda following closely behind.

"Hello, Hermione. How are you feeling today?"

"Tired." She smiled genuinely at Andromeda. "How long am I going to be stuck here for?"

The room was quiet and Andromeda winced sadly. "Dr. Sindlar wants you to remain here for the duration of your treatment. Three weeks total. He's adjusted your meds and I've given you a bit of anti nausea medication to counteract the increased chemo. You'll be feeling a bit sick for the next week, but it should even itself out after that."

"And my numbers?"

"They're right where he wants them to be, now that we've adjusted everything. You're still officially in remission, but we won't know for sure until this last go round of treatment is done. Then it's just waiting the six months, like he said. If we get through that with a clean bill of health, he's fairly confident you'll be just fine."

Everyone's breaths all whooshed out simultaneously, and Hermione heard her mother sob and say, "That's very good news."

Hermione's gaze fell back to her parents and she just stared at them, unsure of how to respond. She thanked Andromeda, who gave her a fond pat on her arm, before leaving her to her guests.

Narcissa was greeted by her son, who offered her his seat—which the older witch took with a nod of thanks.

"I'm glad you're doing better, Miss Granger." Narcissa's voice was regal but hesitant, and Hermione smiled in welcome.

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. And thank you for the lovely flowers."

"You're most welcome, dear. Draco has told me that he's been sending you flowers daily for a while now. I think he's trying to get you to memorize that etiquette book he was force fed as a child."

Hermione giggled, while Draco just smirked in response.

"Well, it's been educational and I love learning new things...and I think your choice of flower is quite lovely."

"Well, it is my hope that you know that the sentiment behind these flowers is genuine and heartfelt."

"Thank you for that. I can't imagine it was easy for you to come here today and offer this olive branch. I can see you're sincere, and I would be very happy to accept that gift."

Narcissa reached for the young witch's hand and squeezed it with affection, giving her son an approving nod.

"Draco has told me often of your capacity for kindness and forgiveness, and I am honored to be included in that circle. I just wish my Son had been a bit more forthcoming with me earlier, as to where his affections truly lay. It saddens me to think you felt the need to suffer through this alone."

Hermione shrugged, purposefully ignoring her parents, as she felt their eyes on her.

"Old habits die hard, I suppose."

"That they do." The elder witch smiled in understanding. "I won't keep you. Get some rest and perhaps I might return in a few days to check in and see how you're faring?"

"That would be most welcome. Thank you again for the lovely gift."

"Of course." Narcissa looked over at her son and said, "Walk me out?"

It may have been phrased as a question, but it clearly wasn't meant to be one. Draco nodded at his mother and then leant down to kiss her on the top of her head before saying lowly, "I'll be right back."

Hermione grinned and replied sassily, "I'm not going anywhere, apparently."

"Minx." He winked and left with his mum...while Molly and Arthur came over to take their leave with promises of returning soon.

When everyone was gone except Hermione's parents, the young witch just sighed and waited to see what they would do.

Her Mum came over and sat in Narcissa's vacated seat, while her Da made himself comfortable at the end of her bed.

It was a few minutes before he spoke.

"We own you a huge apology, Hermione."

Hermione just stared at her Father, but didn't speak.

She didn't know what to say.

"When your young man came to see us in Australia—I'm afraid we were rather unkind at first. He had some harsh words for both your Mother and myself, and then showed us his memories from before, during and after the War. At first, we were even angrier because much of what he'd showed us, you'd never shared. You never told us how dangerous everything was for you. How you almost died on more than one occasion. Then we were angry at your former Headmaster, for keeping the truth from us. But when we got over that, we'd realized that the anger we felt was at ourselves for not being better parents and asking more questions. You've always been so self sufficient, even as a young child—it was a shock for your Mother and me to really see how much you'd taken on and suffered through. How much you'd tried to protect us—because it was our job to protect you and we both failed you." Her Father cleared his throat several times, and by the sound of it—her Mother was already crying, but Hermione kept her gaze fixated on her Da...if she looked at her Mum...

"We are so very sorry, pumpkin."

Hermione choked out a sob at the use of the beloved nickname her Da had given her as a child.

She wanted very much to allow her parents to hold her—but something was holding her back.

"I'd never meant to hurt either of you. I tried to warn you both, but you didn't want to listen to me and I couldn't sit idly by and let you both be tortured and killed...which is exactly what would've happened had I not done what I did. I'm not proud of it...it nearly killed me to do it but I didn't see any other way. I couldn't leave Harry...if I had, he'd never..."

"We know, sweetie." Her Mum interrupted on a sob. "Harry told us everything. And by the looks of this room, you've managed to win the hearts of so many good people who care about your well-being. Your paper this morning was filled with well-wishers and articles on your acts of heroism, as well as the work you do for disadvantaged magical creatures. I don't think your Father nor I, could be prouder of you than we are right now. We know you have every right to be angry with us..."

"I'm not...angry that is." Hermione admitted shakily. "I'm just unsure if this is too good to be true. I've hoped for this for years and it saddens me to think it took me almost dying to earn your sympathy long enough for you both to come and see me. Did you agree to see Draco's memories before or after he told you I was sick?"

Both her parents looked away sheepishly, and she sighed in defeat. "I suppose, I deserved that too." Her voice was small and resigned, and her Mother went to reach for her hand, but thought better of it when her daughter didn't seem to reciprocate the affection.

"Thank you both for coming to see me. I do appreciate it. If you need to return home, I'd understand. I'm sure Draco can let you know how I'm doing."

Helen's voice broke down into hysterical sobs, but it was seeing her Father's tears that did it.

For months she'd not cried. Not really. Not since New Year's Eve...but now the sobs came and wracked her small frail body.

Hard.

Her mother grabbed her into her embrace and her father came over and put his large arms around them both—and the small family just grieved for all they'd suffered and lost.

Outside the room, looking through a crack in the open door—grey eyes watched with renewed hope that what was once fractured—could be mended stronger than before.