Measure Of A Man

by inadaze22

To truly know someone is to differentiate between who they once were, who they are now, and who they're capable of being. Hermione realises the duality of one man as she rectifies what she knows of the past and begins to understand the pieces of who Draco Malfoy is now: a father, a son, and a man.

14. House of Cards

Fourteen

House of Cards

June 12, 2011

Raindrops.

They fell from the stormy sky in a torrential bout. Hard and fast, unrelenting droplets pounded against the glass panes of her lit conservatory, racing to the ground and gathering in puddles. It had been storming for hours, and visibility was nothing. All Hermione could hear was the nearby crackle of the trees as the howling wind tested the strength of their roots. Lightning streaked across the sky every so often, but Hermione paid it no mind.

She was too busy watching Scorpius.

He sat on the floor, in front of the conservatory garden, knees drawn to his chest as his eyes skittered across the room. With each pass, he would look back to where she sat with Narcissa, startle, and then look away. The plant life, with the stormy skies serving as a backdrop, made the air heavier than it should have been. Scorpius' red ears were indicative of his mood, which made Hermione lace her fingers together, and squeeze tightly to stop herself from doing or saying anything that could be counterproductive.

It was such a small detail—one she wasn't supposed to know the meaning of, but she did.

He was nervous. He would rather sit perfectly still than step a toe out of line.

"Miss Granger." Narcissa broke the silence in a move that made her grandson tense. He shifted yet again, both legs straight in front of him. "I thought you said he likes plants. He does not seem to be enjoying himself."

No, he didn't, but Hermione had several guesses as to why. "Perhaps you can go on with your day and I can report how the playdate goes."

"I would prefer to observe for myself."

That hadn't been part of the plan.

Hermione took a third hard breath in the last fifteen minutes. "Why?"

"To appease my own curiosity, and to see if he behaves around other children. It will be a test of sorts to determine if I will allow another one. Connections are best formed young, and this one is important. I'd—"

"I'd like it if you didn't treat my godson like an opportunity when he's a child. When they're both children." Hermione's tone made the older woman recoil. "The agreement was that this playdate will be conducted in my home, in the way that I see fit, which involves me facilitating alone. Harry and Ginny agreed. And need I remind you that you agreed as we—"

"No need to lecture, Miss Granger." Narcissa cleared her throat delicately. "An agreement is an agreement." She stood, looking first at Scorpius, whose eyes were across the room, then at Hermione, who refused to back down. "I expect a full report."

"You'll have it by the end of the day."

The silence that fell after her terse words was magnified by the storm raging outside.

But no argument followed.

"Scorpius." The boy obediently went to Narcissa's side. She peered down at him in a way that made Hermione swallow back her aggravation. "Remain on your best behaviour. I will have it no other way."

He bowed politely, and when Narcissa left, Hermione scowled at her back. She had half a mind to follow the older witch and lay out each of her mounting arguments, but she held her peace. Narcissa leaving was a win.

She tucked the topic of Narcissa's treatment of Scorpius in her pocket to discuss another day.

And she would.

Right now, though, there were more important things to think about. Scorpius deserved an actual tour.

She spent the next twenty minutes showing him each plant and letting him decide what was next. If he wanted to touch, she let him. If he didn't understand how, she showed him. Hermione demonstrated the touch-sensitive leaves of the plant that, much to her quiet delight, was last touched by his father.

Bit by bit, Scorpius relaxed, and his attention spread beyond the plants. He pressed his hands against the glass and watched the storm outside with innocent fascination, then marvelled at the lights that stretched across the room.

"Do you like it here?"

Scorpius turned towards her question and nodded, cheeks pink, before moving on to the next thing that caught his attention.

They were nearing the cactus on the table next to her ottoman when she heard the Floo activate. Scorpius went stock still with nerves. He went to fix his blazer but Hermione kneeled in front of him, smoothing her hands down his arms as he watched her closely.

"If you need me, just hold my hand, okay?"

Though Scorpius nodded, she doubted he would. Still, Hermione had no gauge on how he would interact socially. Having talked to Al at length the previous weekend, in an effort to help him better understand Scorpius, she hoped it would go well. But children were unpredictable.

"Ready?"

Scorpius held her hand tightly as they made their way to the living room, where Albus, with his back to her, seemed to be getting a similar pep talk from a guest.

Ron.

She had been so focused on Scorpius she hadn't noted his arrival.

He looked up at her as they drew closer. "Hey Hermione."

Al whirled around in peak chaotic energy. "Is he here, Auntie Mio—"

Upon seeing Scorpius, who had all but attached himself to Hermione's leg, Al stopped. Stuck between the two boys, she couldn't move, even if she wanted to.

Albus immediately turned bright red and clung to Ron, who whispered something in his nephew's ear.

Hermione couldn't read his lips, but whatever he'd said made Al nod and approach all on his own.

She'd never been more proud of her godson.

The two seemed to size each other up in a way only five-year-olds could. Hermione observed them both, able to quickly pick up the less obvious contrasts outside of their physical appearance. Al was messy where Scorpius was perfectly put together, eager where Scorpius was perfectly blank. There were more, but their similarities shone through.

They were both hanging on a moment, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Then Al boldly took the honour. "Can I call you Scorp?"

Ron suppressed his amusement with a cough as Scorpius looked to her in severe confusion.

"It's a nickname and that's your choice."

He seemed to consider it for only a moment before nodding. Al's face lit up, then crumpled in a way that made Hermione wince. Before she could ask what was wrong, his cheeks turned bright red.

"I did it wrong. I'm s'posed to say my name first. I—"

"It's okay, Al." She squatted in front of him. "You did great! Right, Scorpius?" The blond boy's response surprised her. He glanced down to where his hand was firmly holding hers, then awkwardly extended his other towards Albus, who was blinking back anxious tears.

Uncertain.

They both were—even still, their little fingers locked and held.

"I didn't mess up?"

It was clear he wasn't speaking to her, but Scorpius only kept his eyes on their joined hands, so Hermione answered. "Not at all."

She gave them a moment, but Al used it to try again. "I'm Albus."

For the first time, Scorpius let her hand go and waved.

"Auntie 'Mione says you don't talk but that's okay, I'll talk enough for the both of us."

Behind him, she could hear Ron's quiet laughter. "Don't forget to eat, Al."

His blush intensified. "I won't, Uncle Ron."

"Are you both hungry?" Hermione grinned.

They responded with twin nods. Scorpius took an unconscious step towards Al, face perfectly blank, but everything spoke to his curiosity about the other child.

"Okay, Al, show Scorpius where you wash your hands."

"Okay!" It was slow, but they ventured off towards the steps, hands still clasped together, Scorpius staring in open wonder. From the bottom of the steps, Al said, "I promise not to play in the sink this time!"

Hermione waited until they were out of sight before shaking her head and chuckling fondly. Rising to her full height, she suddenly remembered Ron was there, too. She greeted him somewhat awkwardly, running a hand through her hair. She hated feeling like that around him, but there was nothing to be done.

"Thanks for bringing him by."

Ron seemed equally as uncomfortable. "Harry got tied up at work. Something about a surprise inquiry with Malfoy."

Sounded like Tiberius was still up to no good.

The already strange silence stretched on, punctuated only by the sound from the sink upstairs and Al's childish chatter she couldn't quite hear.

Ron thumbed in the direction of the two boys. "So… that's Scorpius Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"I was expecting—"

"His father?"

"Well, yeah…" He trailed off with a shrug while Hermione mentally considered the comparison both fair and detrimental in equal measure. "Is he part of your work assignment?"

"No."

"Then why—" Ron shook his head. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter. I've got to go. I have a meeting with George and some investors."

"Oh, okay then."

Hermione waited until he was gone before she gathered everything for their meal: salad wraps with an assortment of fruits and vegetables she'd already peeled and cut. Albus wasn't picky and could be coaxed into trying most anything. Scorpius—well, Hermione hadn't been able to truly gauge his predilections outside the few lunches she'd made him. The meal she'd prepared was a happy medium. Al's wrap had been stuffed with ham, but she held off on doing the same for Scorpius, leaving him with only vegetables.

She had a tiny hunch.

By the time they returned, clothes dry and hands clean, Hermione couldn't help but notice the small shift between them. They both seemed more comfortable around each. There were less open stares from Al while Scorpius still watched in quiet wonder.

"Ready to eat?"

"Yes!"

The table in the conservatory was set for them to eat lunch with the storm overhead. Hermione sat across from the boys and smiled softly. Al, who had pushed their chairs close together while Scorpius removed his blazer, was patiently waiting for Scorpius to sit before tucking in.

Scorpius examined the wrap closely before he took his first curious bite.

"Is it good?"

"Yes!" Al's response was enthusiastic, but Scorpius' agreement was slow, and only after taking a second bite.

An animated Albus dominated all conversation between bites of his lunch; so happy to finally be in the presence of the boy Hermione had mentioned only a few weeks ago. Scorpius looked on in overwhelmed confusion that she watched closely for signs that it was too much. Overall, though, it seemed like he was trying to keep up with Al's chaotic chatter.

Al talked about what he'd learned at school and how he was happy it was almost summer break, but skirted around any topics of friends, which made Hermione's smile wane. There was a soft break before he resumed with renewed vigour.

Al talked to Scorpius at length about his siblings. "James makes fun of me so when Lily bites him I don't say anything."

His parents. "My dad is the best but my mum is scary."

The toys he liked. "I like dinosaurs."

The toys he didn't care for. "Lily tries to make me play with dolls. Gross!"

Hermione listened, as she always did, with her full attention on him. She glanced at Scorpius, who wore a slightly pinched expression as he ate. It was hard to tell if he was listening intently or irritated. She hoped it was the former. The latter would break Al's heart.

"Next time, can I show Scorp the chickens?"

"If it's not raining, of course."

Scorpius was hard to read. He wasn't smiling or frowning, he just seemed blank, eating with all the manners he'd learned. It was a little worrying, given his nature.

"Do you like chickens?" The hope in Al's green eyes was something delicate, something that needed protection.

Scorpius was a little slow on the realisation that Albus had stopped talking and was, in fact, asking him a question. He only shrugged his response.

Al's shoulders sank a bit, and Hermione couldn't help but intervene. "Have you seen chickens in person before?"

The blond shook his head, flushing in embarrassment.

"Oh!" Al perked up. "I can show you. I wish it weren't raining," Al pouted while looking up at the glass ceiling of the conservatory. "What's so good about the rain?"

"Well, rain gives us fresh water to drink, helps the plants grow, and it's nice to sit inside and watch the rain with friends."

Silence fell, but it only lasted until a crack of lightning streaked across the sky.

"Are we friends?" It was an awkward question from a hopeful child.

All of her private worries vanished when Scorpius offered Al a slice of his tangerine.

The answer in his action spoke louder than any words ever could.

Yes.

---

June 13, 2011

Hermione noted a minor adjustment to her morning routine.

As always, she woke early and prepared her body and mind for the day ahead. She made her customary to-do list while checking on her outdoor herb garden, noting which plants needed attention and which were ready to be harvested. She collected the morning's eggs and made certain all was well with the chickens, dropping a few scraps that they converged on, before she took her work indoors.

That was where her routine veered the slightest bit off course.

It was silly how attached she'd gotten to the cactus, quite barmy that every time she walked into the conservatory—teeming with plants that were bigger, more colourful, more important and honestly, more impressive—the little speck of green across the room was always the first thing that grabbed her attention.

It was the first plant she inspected.

And damn if Hermione didn't inspect it every day.

And every night.

The prickly plant still sat on the table next to her ottoman. Every person that saw it pointed out how sad it looked, except Theo who had just stared at it. Hermione, on the other hand, could only see the plant's potential and the daily improvements it made as it worked hard to stand up.

But it didn't need her help anymore.

Like people, Narcissa had said during their gardening session, plants needed time to adjust and heal. But that hadn't stopped Hermione from checking in each day, reading up to make sure it had the proper nutrients, and sitting with it as she skimmed the morning edition of The Prophet.

Had she not read the paper that morning, Hermione might not have noticed the other changes occurring around her.

Percy had been busy.

He'd apparently spearheaded a joint effort with fourteen other Ministries to form a coalition to fight the spread of terrorism. The story had been front page news, with the Chief Warlock next to the Minister, who was shaking hands with the American President. Percy had been in the background, stoic as ever. While the Wizengamot had made a big show of it, Hermione knew they had only signed because they'd had no other option.

It wouldn't be a good look if they didn't.

Just after six, Hermione stepped out of the Floo. She expected to be greeted with the sight of a Malfoy, glasses tipped on the bridge of his nose as he read the Prophet at the island, but unlike every other morning, she experienced the second adjustment to her routine.

The kitchen was empty, table completely clear except for the note on the table for Scorpius…

And the electric kettle was… on. For her?

Malfoy had already come and gone.

The disappointment she felt was odd in its severity. Coupled with confusion behind the source of her sentiment and his continued contradictions…

Well, it was funny how a gesture as simple as Malfoy leaving the kettle on could spark such deep thoughts.

It hadn't been an accident. He was far too meticulous. Hermione dissected it as she frowned at the kettle. She placed her bag on the island and put together the key points.

Automatic shut off withstanding, Malfoy must have known she would be there in time.

Which was interesting—Draco Malfoy only truly trusted himself. His friends seemed to have pieces of his puzzle independently, some more than others, but collectively, they didn't have them all. Certainly not the ones needed to form a picture of him that made any kind of sense.

But that day Malfoy had placed a piece of his puzzle in her hand.

A small one that was either insignificant or vital; she didn't know which, but what she did know was that piece meant trust.

At least as it pertained to the routine they'd formed.

Which was… different.

More than interesting, it felt like a shift, regardless if it was wanted or not.

Synchronicity found in a simple action.

By the time Narcissa all but stormed into the kitchen, irritation rolling off her in tidal waves, Hermione was on her second cup of tea.

Scorpius had come for breakfast, looking around for his father. Hermione didn't leave him in suspense; she told the little boy he'd already gone to work. Wincing, she noted his flash of disappointment. The moment passed and he collected his note and his herb sprig of the day: Basil.

Today, Scorpius had been more interested in her breakfast—eggs and toast with rhubarb jam—than the one Zippy had prepared. The poached egg and sausage was too complex for five-year-old tastebuds, judging by the way Scorpius refused to eat the runny eggs and ignored the meat with an upturned nose.

She was glad Zippy wasn't there. He might have been offended.

Hermione pointedly ignored his stares and talked to him about yesterday's lunch with Albus, grinning to herself when he expressed his enjoyment with a shy nod. After several minutes of owlish blinks and that same innocent expression of longing Harry's kids employed when they wanted something, Hermione offered him her second slice of toast.

Scorpius ate it all. Even the crust.

The sacrifice she'd made didn't feel like one at all when he smiled.

Hermione smiled into her tea at the memory long after he left for his lessons.

"You are awfully chipper today, Miss Granger."

Judging from the brittle insolence in her tone, Narcissa Malfoy was not.

Despite being well dressed, with her hair properly styled, exhaustion poured from every crevice. The physical signs had been either charmed away or hidden with makeup. But Hermione could see through the facade. She knew what to look for: bags under her slightly red-rimmed eyes and clammy skin. The older witch was not okay.

Hermione made mental notes and adjustments, but said nothing on that particular topic.

"Did you receive my report regarding the playdate?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Do you have any questions?"

"No."

Narcissa's behaviour hadn't changed much since their previous conversation, but she had, at least, been taking her potions and eating breakfast—notably, though, not lunch. The soirée had been the previous weekend, and with that over, Hermione was ready to discuss continuing on their plan.

"When would you like to resume gardening?"

"I have other matters that require my attention."

"Oh?" That did not like up with what Narcissa had said just last week. "Matters such as?"

"Scheduling marriage dates for Draco as a result of several agreements made at the soirée. Furthermore, the event was such a success that I was invited to three more. The prospect of expanding my search—"

"We didn't agree to this. If I recall—" Hermione ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "I'm not arguing about this today. I don't have the time or energy. If you aren't busy, I'd like to run some diagnostic tests on you."

Narcissa only sighed, acting more put out than she had any right to be. "Must we? Sachs already ran diagnostic spells on me this morning. The results appeared on the parchment just before I came downstairs."

"Actually, those results are the reason why I want to run more tests. There were… a few abnormalities."

"Oh?"

"I know what Keating's notes say regarding your sleeping habits, but I'd like to hear it from you."

"I am sleeping just fine outside of being increasingly restless."

Sachs came into the room holding two vials in her hands. "Mrs Malfoy, you've forgotten both your Invigoration Draught and Girding Potion."

Come again?

Hermione's eyes trailed the witch until she placed the vial next to Narcissa, who drank them both and continued eating like nothing was wrong.

But this was a major problem.

It was a cold reminder of the sheer amount of things that happened without her knowledge.

And that aggravated Hermione to the ends of the Earth.

She cleared her throat, turning her attention to Sachs and keeping her tone even. She needed to disguise her sharp sting of annoyance—and worry. After all, Hermione needed honest answers and her private healers were loyal. Especially Sachs. "I probably should take one of those from time to time."

"They're quite good for your mental function." Sachs looked quite proud of herself, but her smile waned. Apparently, Hermione wasn't able to suppress some of her more expressive looks. It became increasingly obvious that she was aware of Hermione's irritation because her features hardened into something that felt like a challenge. "Mrs Malfoy has been taking them for years. She stopped when you started treating her, but recently restarted because she's been so tired lately."

Fascinating.

Hermione sat her teacup down and leaned back on the chair, face blank. Sachs shifted from foot-to-foot. "Neither you nor Keating seemed to think it was relevant to inform me, her Primary Healer, of this?"

"Stand down, Miss Granger. The potions are harmless." Narcissa stood up and nodded at Sachs. "I thank you for bringing them to me. You may go." But before the other Healer could leave, Narcissa's blue eyes cut over to Hermione, who was tapping her fingers on the table. "I am feeling much better now, and have a fitting for a new pair of dress robes that will last most of the afternoon. Security will be around shortly to escort me."

"That's fine." Hermione was more focused on Sachs anyway. Raising a finger, she curled it in at the other witch. "Sachs? A moment please? In private."

Because it was clear her bridge-building and compromising attitude meant very little to everyone who liked to do things their own way. It just made them boldly think that they could operate as usual when she wasn't around. And even when she was.

Hermione was prepared to teach them all a firm lesson.

Narcissa sighed, clearly aware of the direction the conversation to be had in her absence would take. "Miss Granger." At the sharp glare she received in return, her patient rolled her eyes with the eloquence of a woman of her social standing. Narcissa swanned out of the room, her long periwinkle robes flowing behind her like a curtain in the summer breeze.

For once, Hermione waited until she was gone. "After today, no more outside potions."

"Miss Granger, as a—"

"Did you happen to read the research I provided to you at the start of my assignment? It's imperative that you and Keating know what to expect as her disease progresses, and why I am taking the treatment standpoint that I am."

"I did, and nowhere in it does it say that she can't take outside potions."

"Really? Because page twenty-eight says just that. A re-read might do you some good."

Sachs cheeks flared red with indignation. "I have been a Healer longer than you have been alive."

"Experience isn't always measured in years. If it were, it would beg the question as to why she decided to hire me in the first place." Hermione stood, resting her hands on her hips. The witch said nothing, only set her jaw in a way that made her look like an angry McGonagall. If it were the real thing, she might have backed down, but Sachs was no Minerva. "As I'm aware, your specialty is in terminal care. What it doesn't include is dementia or any other disease that affects the brain or neurological system."

"Neither does yours. You mainly work with recovering potions addicts and revived long-term patients."

Oh, so she had done her research—but not completely. Seemed to be a trend. "I also happen to specialise in slowing the progression of certain terminal diseases, so now that we have reviewed my credentials, I'd like to move forward with our discussion as it pertains to the care of our mutual patient." Hermione walked around the table and picked up the two empty vials. "I considered a myriad of factors when creating her potions. Weight. Height. Medical history. Tolerability. Formulation. Adverse effects. And last, but certainly not least, interaction with other potions: a factor that is testy at best."

"It's only been two days since she started taking them again. There have been no signs of any adverse interactions."

"That we know of." Hermione's fist clenched around the empty vials. "Do you know the long-term effects of mixing potions? Both you and Mrs Malfoy state that the potions she takes are harmless, but neither one of you are Potions Masters. And neither am I, but I've at least consulted enough of them to know that a reaction could be instant or slow. One could take months to manifest. I haven't had her tested in that capacity, as I didn't know I had a reason to."

Sachs sniffed, nose upturned sanctimoniously. "I don't think that will be necessary."

Healers, no matter what specialty, were narcissists in some capacity. Even her.

"You stick to your specialty, and I'll stick to mine," Hermione seethed. "At least I had the decency to consult an expert before administering a potion that I—"

"The ingredients to both are harmless."

"When taken separately." Hermione tried to keep her voice down and maintain her professional poise. "Narcissa is on nine other potions. You have no idea—"

"Mrs Malfoy has been repeatedly asking for the potions and I had no reason to believe that they would adversely affect her in any way." The other Healer remained completely calm in the near cresting of Hermione's temper.

"That's a careless way of thinking that I won't allow. That's not how I work; that's not how any of this will work. If you care about Narcissa as much as I think you do, if you want to work with me to preserve her mind for as long as we can, you'll try to help me instead of enabling her."

If unacknowledged guilt had a face, it would look a lot like Sachs'. She held her hands firmly together, gaze off to the side. She was no longer looking at Hermione when her thin lips pressed into a thin line.

"After today, no more," Hermione repeated with a soft finality that made it perfectly clear the argument was over. She Vanished the vials. "Is she taking any other harmless potions I need to know about?"

The older Healer's jaw worked stubbornly as she met Hermione's fierce gaze with one of her own. Sachs obviously didn't know her well if she thought any look would make her back down. Hermione didn't blink or move, just held her position firm.

After a solid minute of tense silence, Sachs confessed, "Once a week she has a sip of Dreamless Sleep."

It was the match that set her temper ablaze.

Hermione snatched her beaded bag off the table and stormed out of the kitchen with the other Healer hot on her heels, uselessly calling her name. She had one destination in mind.

Narcissa's bedroom was large, ornate, and decorated as one would a wing in a castle—not at all like the rest of the house. Like Malfoy's office, it was clearly her space. Large enough to host an intimate tea, it was a room fit for a queen. A separate sitting area was decorated with stunning plants, décor, furniture, and drapes. The door to the bathroom was open, while the double doors leading to her bedroom were closed.

Standing in the middle of the sitting area was Narcissa, flanked by her security.

Three heads immediately swivelled in her direction.

Hermione walked in without knocking, Sachs right behind her. "I keep giving you allowances, I keep trying to compromise, and I keep having conversation after conversation with you about your behaviour, and I'm done. Let me remind you that I'm the Healer and you're the patient and frankly, I'm finished waiting for you to realise enough is enough."

Narcissa's face was a mix of irritation and confusion. Her mouth opened, likely ready to demand just what the hell Hermione thought she was doing bursting into her quarters.

Or that was what she would have said.

Perhaps.

Instead, unintelligible words forced themselves out in a stream of consciousness that made no sense. Her eyes went wide with surprise, then hazy as all the colour in her face bled away. She spontaneously Apparated across the room and landed in a heap, catching her head on the edge of the coffee table.

A breath passed.

Then another before chaos ensued.

All Hermione heard was Sachs' useless gasp before she was swept up in a blur of motions that only cleared when she reached her patient's side. The guards that had 'saved' Hermione made it to Narcissa first. They had the good sense to protect her head and neck while Hermione set to work closing the bleeding gash. The other guard was staring past them all, head cocked in confusion, but she didn't turn to investigate. She was in emergency mode, checking Narcissa's vitals before the guard let her neck go.

Narcissa was breathing too hard, face twisted in pain, but her pulse was mercifully slow but steady. The sweat on her brow was as cold as her clammy skin. Hermione checked for any signs of Splinching then checked her eyes. Her pupils were so wide her eyes almost looked black.

Fuck.

"What's wrong with her?" One of the security guards asked; she didn't know which but it didn't much matter either.

Hermione was composed. She worked well under pressure, remaining calm during times of stress, and she already knew both what had happened and how to fix it. Potions mixtures, fatigue, and her disease likely coalesced and caused her to accidentally Apparate. There were so many ingredients that could have crossed and caused such a reaction, but she wouldn't be able to confirm the exact source until she ran the proper tests, but it was fixable.

Then Narcissa started seizing.

Hermione threw a look over her shoulder at Sachs, who appeared somewhere embarrassed and cross, before she returned to her task. In a rush, she upended her bag. All sorts of books and vials came tumbling out until she found the one she needed.

A Neutralising Draught. She kept one on her person at all times, as it was designed to reverse the effects of adverse reactions. Hermione uncorked the vial and tilted Narcissa's neck up to pour the clear liquid down her throat. It only took a minute for her body to relax, her breathing to even, and her pulse to normalise.

"That should do it." Relieved, Hermione sat back on her heels. She ran a hand through her riotous hair, which had sprung free from its elastic confines during the chaos. She found another hairband and pulled it all back into a messy bun.

"Will she wake up?" the guard on the other side of her body asked.

"Not immediately, but soon. She will need to rest." Hermione's response was clinical as she collected her bag and addressed the guard. "Can you levitate her to the bed, please?"

The wizard nodded soberly, took out his wand and did as instructed. Narcissa's body rose from the floor as they both stood. Sachs rushed over to hold her arms comfortably so they wouldn't dangle.

The two Healers exchanged stony looks.

Now wasn't the time to lay blame on anyone's door, but Hermione hoped she finally understood.

The security team member was about to turn his head when he froze, just as his partner had, now that she thought about it.

"Uh. What are we supposed to do about him?"

Him?

Hermione whipped around to find a tearful Scorpius clutching a book to his chest in the doorway. Her heart skipped a beat.

The only word on her mind was not safe to speak around him: Shite.

"Take her, please. Sachs, cancel her schedule for the day." Hermione was no longer looking at them, still hyper-focused on the red-faced child. He dropped his book, blue eyes filling with tears. But she felt their questions. "Just go, all of you. Give us a moment."

To what extent they followed her commands, Hermione didn't know or care—she was in motion before the final directive was given.

It was pure instinct that brought her to her knees in front of the little boy. Safety and compassion that caused her to open her arms to him. Comfort and refuge she offered in her embrace. Kindness in her touch. Resting her cheek on the crown of his head, Hermione listened with a heavy heart as his sniffles escalated into great sobs.

Hearing Scorpius cry was like listening to someone who had been wounded; a sound so heartbreakingly raw Hermione would never forget it. But instead of shushing him with empty, mollifying words, she stayed silent and let him grip her shirt in his small fists and get it out.

She let him cry and feel whatever emotions were running through him.

All of the things he wouldn't say.

Fear. Sadness. Panic.

Grief.

Hermione stumbled over the word—the same one she desperately tried not to think about each time she saw Scorpius, but it was hard to ignore what was right in front of her.

The pain from the loss of his mother was there in his reticence, in every slow crooked smile.

It was there in the way he'd only leave after she promised to come back.

In every hiding spot, every expression, and every step in his routine.

In the letters Scorpius carried from his father.

In every fibre of his small being.

Hermione's heavy heart slipped from her hands, fell, and broke for the boy who preferred silence, even though it was so damn lonely. It shattered even further when she realised she couldn't do more to help him, to take it away. She would if she could.

The thought was excruciatingly overwhelming in its truth.

Heartbreak was a strange emotion. It never had any rhyme or reason, coming and going as it pleased. It was a word that implied something intense and loud, as if she would have heard the dam in her heart breach and give way to confirm that it had happened.

When Scorpius' sobs softened to hiccuping sighs, she brushed her fingers through the short blond hairs on the back of his head. In that moment, Hermione was once again reminded that heartbreak wasn't loud and fast. It was quiet and slow. Less like a tidal wave and more like slowly drifting out to sea without realising how far she'd gotten from shore.

First there was panic, then desperation…

Resolve and then finally acceptance.

The last came in the form of tears welling in her own eyes, tears that eventually trickled down her cheeks. It came in the way he still held on, even as his sniffles subsided.

Hermione had no idea how long they were there, but eventually Scorpius relaxed and his breaths evened out. Long enough for Hermione to swallow down the emotions she had all but choked on, rubbing away the tears cascading down her cheeks.

"There you—" Long enough for Catherine to find them. "What happened here?"

"He witnessed something that scared him."

"Oh, well, I can take him from here."

Hermione shook her head. "No, lessons are cancelled for the day. Feel free to notify his tutor."

She didn't leave room for any further argument.

Not that it mattered—Scorpius never let go.

He held her hand as they went to the kitchen, leaned against her leg as he drank the water she'd given him. She dried his eyes and took him outside for fresh air, and when he crawled into her lap, she thought about reciting a few stories she'd committed to memory, but realised that silence was better. More comforting. They drifted together in one all their own until the door opened and Sachs made her presence known by clearing her throat.

"She's awake."

Scorpius lifted his head.

"Do you want to see your grandmother?"

After biting his lip, Scorpius nodded tentatively. His eyes followed Hermione as she stood up, then lowered again when she offered her hand. There was unspoken trust in the way he placed his hand in hers, openness in the way she held it in hers.

The short walk back to Narcissa's bedside was quiet, and Scorpius slowed as they neared her quarters, hesitant until he saw her sitting up in bed. Her guards were standing by the window—waiting, watching. Hermione sent everyone out with a jerk of her head. The two men left, but Sachs remained.

"Why are you not in your lessons?" Narcissa's query was firm, but her eyes were surprisingly indulgent. It was the only thing that stopped Hermione from reacting in Scorpius' defence.

"Does it matter? He saw—"

"Had he been in lessons, he would not have seen a thing."

Hermione took a moment to collect herself, and rein in her professionalism. She directed Scorpius to the rocking chair, covered his lap with a blanket, and summoned the book he'd dropped before. For the first time, she looked at it. It wasn't the dictionary, but rather a children's book on plants. He looked small in the oversized chair, smaller still with each sneaking glance at Narcissa.

Hermione internally sighed and turned her attention to her patient, taking out her wand to run several tests. She stepped out of the room and contacted Charles to discuss the results as well as the incident itself. According to Charlies, while her reaction was concerning, it wasn't an entirely uncommon response when potions were mixed. Sometimes harmless potions like the ones Narcissa took could be added in with no consequences, sometimes they could cause serious damage. There was no rhyme or reason. It just depended on the patient's body.

Despite the fact that it validated her no outside potions rule, Hermione didn't like that answer.

The potions weren't a cure. They were meant to ease the symptoms, and not completely at that.

It made her think. Wonder.

There was no cure, every expert opinion and stitch of research pointed to this, but maybe there was the possibility of improving her potions, adjusting and stabilising them.

After her call, Hermione returned to the room only to find Scorpius asleep and Narcissa watching him with a complex look. Love. Pride. Sadness. It was an indication of a depth Hermione had no idea existed because she hadn't seen it for herself

"How do you feel?"

"Exhausted." Narcissa looked at her. "My head hurts, but I don't know why. I don't remember anything after leaving the kitchen."

That was what she had been afraid of.

Sachs, who was standing on the other side of the bed, made a small noise that got Hermione's attention. "I believe I—"

"I'd prefer it if we start over from here. Fresh. Today can't happen again for several reasons." Hermione glanced over at Scorpius. "I'm no longer bartering or trying to appeal to anyone's good sense. I'm not interested in playing word games and strategising. Moving forward I will require cooperation—from everyone."

Narcissa met her gaze but didn't say a thing.

"I'd like us all to work together to get you through your events. I recognise that you need the mental stimulation that society provides, in addition to your other worries." Her pale face shifted as she blinked in surprise. "Compliance and honesty start today. Right here and right now. I have no desire to control you, you hired me to help. If you don't feel like you have to cooperate, if you feel like you can't stop resisting me at every turn, please let me know so I can turn in my notice and move on to the next assignment."

Her eyes dropped to her hands. "I recognise that I have not been the best patient."

"No, you haven't. I understand that your life is changing beyond your control and you're trying to cling to normality. I cannot imagine what you're going through, what you've been through, and what's to come. And I don't presume to understand your thoughts or the fears you won't express. But I am and will continue to work hard to keep up my end of the agreement. This disease is your reality, it's your family's reality, not mine. I'm only here to do my best to give you a fighting chance. But you have to let me."

Hermione extended her hand and Narcissa quietly took it. She looked in the direction of the window.

But she didn't let go.

"From now on, everyone—me, you, Sachs, Keating, and your family—we all need to be on the same page. If we are not, you might not make it long enough to accomplish or mend everything you've been working so hard for all these months."

Hermione glanced over at the sober Sachs, then at Scorpius, who shifted in the chair.

"You gave him a fright, and I suspect it won't be the last time." There were so many words that wanted out, at least as it pertained to Scorpius, but now wasn't the time. With great difficulty, Hermione swallowed them. "I imagine that, coupled with the rough year he's had, Scorpius doesn't understand what's happening, and that simply won't do. He needs to know what's happening to you, but it's not my place to tell him. I'll leave that to you and his father."

Narcissa sighed with understanding, releasing Hermione's hands. "He has not had it easy, as many would believe based on his lineage."

That was a massive understatement. Not so long ago the name wasn't one that could be said with any sort of pride. Now, things were different—sort of. The opinions on the Malfoys were just as complicated as being one. It couldn't be easy, Hermione thought with a small frown. Given their traditions, and the airs and appearances they kept, duty to their bloodline forced them to set aside what they wanted and focus on what they were expected to do.

She thought about Narcissa and the distance she kept from everyone, even her own family. About kind-hearted Scorpius and his silence. About the loss he'd suffered at such a young age. About what was to come. And then her thoughts turned to Draco Malfoy and his words to her in the hospital, over the course of the last few months, and the things Kingsley and Pansy had said at different times, in different ways.

Being a Malfoy was lonely, but it didn't have to be.

"Explaining Astoria's death was… difficult." Narcissa's confession was quiet and restrained.

"As it should have been."

"He has his mother's heart." Narcissa wore a frown of distaste. "He is also a sensitive boy, but I am afraid sensitivity is something he inherited twofold, believe it or not."

Twofold.

"I am working to prepare him." Narcissa's tone left no doubt that she would. Hermione couldn't help but think that it would be in all the wrong ways. "My methods may be seen as tough, rigid, and unforgiving, but I do it because that is how I was raised, Miss Granger. Furthermore, he needs to be strong. The world will not be easy on him because of who he is. I bear responsibility in that and I do what I can to make things better for him in society, but I am afraid that it will not be enough."

No matter how much she understood, Hermione couldn't hold back. "He's just a boy, isn't that what you told me?"

Narcissa stole another look, but said nothing.

Which was fine because Hermione wasn't finished.

"He's lost his mother. He doesn't need to just be strong or to compartmentalise his feelings. He's five. He needs a foundation. Security. He needs compassion and affection from you and his father." She glanced over at the blond boy with his thumb in his mouth. "You say that he has his mother's heart as if it's a bad thing. Well, I say there's nothing wrong with him having a heart that works."

---

June 14, 2011

Theo studied the now-leaning cactus with a peculiar interest, Hermione cycled between reading her book and examining him during the lengthy silence while reclining comfortably on the chaise in her conservatory. There was a purpose for his visit. Behind his every action there was some motivation, but she couldn't figure out what.

His silent presence typically didn't bother Hermione. In fact, silences with Theo—while thought-provoking due to the ambiguous nature of them—were never awkward or uncomfortable.

Companionable, in a strange way. Hermione never felt pressured to come up with a clever way to break it because she knew it was intentional. Theo would end the silence precisely when he wanted to, and not a minute before.

And… well, there was something shamefully cathartic about giving up a tiny piece of control—even if it was in something as minor as silence. Hermione wasn't inclined to relinquish any more than that. Letting go wasn't in her nature; she wasn't one to throw caution to the wind. Hermione liked to have a plan. She wanted to know what would happen and when, and if it took too long to decipher any of that, she became irritated.

The idea of not knowing made her want to figure it out more.

Today, the lack of control irritated her… as did his presence.

As soon as he'd arrived, Theo had pulled up a chair just to intensely analyse a cactus that was as straightforward as a prickly plant could be.

It didn't warrant scrutiny.

"Would you like more tea?" Hermione asked in what was such a diversion from their status quo that he actually seemed surprised when she spoke. The only flicker of emotion that registered was the slight way he drew back.

Then probing green eyes fell on her. He was meddling… again.

"No thank you," he replied slowly before taking the final sip and placing the teacup on the table next to the cactus. Theo sat back in his chair, looking out the glass pane where her extensive herb garden was on full display. It was cloudy, but it wouldn't rain until tomorrow, at the earliest. She knew the sight of row after row of crops wasn't the most entertaining of sights, but she couldn't tell by looking at him. Without turning around, Theo asked, "How are things with Narcissa?"

Immediately, she felt stupid. She should have known the real reason behind his visit.

"What do you think?" Hermione closed her book with a snap and arched an eyebrow at him. "Better yet, what do you know?"

"A lot." His initial response would have been as irritating as silence, but she knew what he really meant. Everything. The totality of his knowledge was more of a mystery. When Hermione sat up from her semi-reclined position, she placed the book on the table next to the cactus and his teacup. "I think starting over is a good idea."

Ah, so they had talked. Likely today, as Narcissa had slept late into the afternoon.

"Why are you here today?" The question flashed in her head like neon lights. She couldn't help but be blinded by it, nor could she stop it from coming out.

It was no secret that he had a stake in Narcissa's care, a reason why he needed her to live as long as possible, but to what extent and why… Well, that was a mystery she hadn't solved nor thought about since an even bigger one came into focus: Draco Malfoy.

Theo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the thighs of his slate grey trousers and knotting his hands together. "I could say tomorrow is the full moon and. In addition to obtaining an update on your assignment, I could also say that I'm here as a friend to offer my assistance in securing your wards. But I doubt you'd believe me."

"You would be correct. As you already know, I fixed the diversion wards. I told you that last week." Hermione stared him down, mouth pulled tight. "Besides, your concern about my wards is a bit personal for you."

"Everything is personal at some level because everything involves people, their emotions, and their devotions."

"You're talking in circles."

"No," he clipped. "I'm speaking the truth."

Hermione thought about laying out her argument—yes, he was speaking in riddles, but Sisyphus' eternal punishment of forever rolling a boulder up a hill in the depths of Hades was less of a waste of time than arguing with Theo.

"Emotion and devotion are not your thing."

"And you know this, how?" He challenged with a dark look.

"Because I do." Hermione knew Theo had a family of his own creation and had been single for years. So long that—until recently, with Draco Malfoy back on the market—he had been the number one bachelor in wizarding London. He had dated several witches, but never long enough to be considered serious.

Naturally, there were speculations as to why—Parvati had a list as longer than the essays Snape had made them write for Potions—but when asked by Witch Weekly and other media sources who reported such drivel, Theo always remained tactfully coy.

More mystery, less truth.

He was good at that.

"Interesting." Theo's response to her comment was as dry as it was curt.

"You just don't strike me as the sort that dabbles with emotions. You're practical. Detached." It felt more like she was digging her own grave, nailing the coffin shut with her inside. She shifted uncomfortably, awkwardly tucking away the fringe that framed her face.

For several excruciating moments, Theo remained silent as he stared between her and the cactus.

Finally, he snorted. "I suppose it takes one to know one."

Hermione winced at the low blow. "Out of the two of us, only one has been in a serious relationship, and I hate to break it to you, but it isn't you."

"I hate to break it to you, Granger, but one relationship doesn't put you on a higher pedestal. It doesn't mean that you were happier, loved more, or were even more honest. Perhaps you were at some point with Weasley, but I digress."

Theo stood and gravitated towards the glass wall in her conservatory, staring straight ahead as he took in the scene.

A quick glance over his shoulder was all she got before he spoke again in a voice so distant it was almost lost in time. "There are several things required for two people to form a connection, and a relationship status isn't one."

It stung with a poignance that shouldn't have left her unsettled. But it did. It made Hermione question established truths about Theo. She'd always thought of him as someone above it all, both too smart and not inclined to engage in normal human follies or irrational emotions. Love wasn't rational. It was unpredictable and unquantifiable—two things Theo didn't entertain.

Or maybe he did.

Maybe she didn't know him as well as she thought.

"Who was she?"

His entire body went rigid. "Nobody."

Tucking the lie away for later investigation, Hermione sighed at the cactus and joined him at the window. Clouds were slowly rolling in, further blocking the sun. The wind had picked up, judging from the swaying of the trees in the distance. The silence between them was full of unvoiced conversations.

In a move that halted her drifting thoughts, Theo spoke, his eyes still on the forest. "Any regrets about accepting Narcissa Malfoy as a patient?"

She mulled it over. "Despite our obvious differences, I can say I've only mentally quit thirteen times since the start of the month." And every last reason she stayed had less and less to do with her actual job.

"How…" He paused to rephrase his question, surely reconfiguring to mask his real intentions. "How are things? I'd ask Narcissa, but she's excellent at making someone feel very informed when, in fact, they don't know anything." Too true. "Scorpius doesn't speak." Which made Hermione look at him. "And Draco is vague."

Hermione snorted inelegantly and didn't feel sorry about it. "An understatement."

Theo hummed in agreement. "He has no trouble speaking to you."

"A recent development born out of tea and early morning conversation I've goaded him into."

"Draco grew up with the belief that he was better than everyone simply because of his wealth, surname, and the supposed purity of his blood. His entire life that belief was fostered by the false smiles and feigned niceties of people who kissed his arse because of who he was. He learned a very harsh lesson about how people actually felt about his family during the war, and also after. Especially after."

Hermione was struck by the memory of people rejoicing when his father died. She stopped to think about the effect that might have had on Malfoy's perception. It didn't change until the circumstances of his death emerged in Narcissa's book. Then it became far messier and more complicated. Now most people won't even talk about it.

"The variables Draco can control, he does, and that includes the people he allows around him." He glanced at her, but said nothing else.

"Funny, he said that I don't fit your criteria of friends."

Theo's eyes flashed, but his voice remained even. "And that is?"

"You have an affinity for picking up wayward purebloods."

"Or people." He chuckled. "You fit in more than you know."

"I'm not—" Hermione stopped herself, filling in the last word in the silence. Lost.

But… she had been. And judging from Theo's raised brow, he knew.

To find a lost soul, one had to know what to look for. They had to have been lost at one point, too. The idea seemed preposterous, as Theo was probably the most put-together person she knew… but there was something that needled her. While improbable, the idea also was entirely plausible.

"Are you still lost?"

For several minutes, he didn't answer, then he backed away from the window, returned to his chair. and resumed his examination of the cactus. "Are you?"

"No, I'm happy as I am with what I have. I've found purpose and love for what I do and my life…"

"I feel like there's a but here."

Hermione sighed. "Perhaps… I want more. I suppose that's natural."

"Growth is part of the human condition." Theo's look bordered on amusement.

"You sound like a therapist."

"I know I do. Mine."

That was stunning; Theo had just willingly given her personal information. "I didn't know—"

"Everyone in our year ought to be in therapy—at least in some capacity."

That was an incredibly fair point.

They both laughed—Theo's was more like a chuckle, but the humour was still there. Still, they lapsed into another silence, but it didn't last long.

"I suppose he could be worse." Hermione wrapped her arms around her middle. "He could still be the same Malfoy from Hogwarts, who would have certainly refused to help me out of sheer spite." But instead he was the one who filled in the gaps in her charts surrounding the escalation of his mother's condition. "It was—"

Theo blinked. "He helped?"

"A few weeks ago he came by and answered all my questions. I sent them over to Roger because he's now interested."

"He didn't tell me he was helping past correcting her potion."

"Well, he owed me a favour."

"Ah, yes, Draco hates owing anyone anything."

"He's…" Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. Different didn't seem to encompass the complexity of his character. Nor did strange, but those were the only words she had right then. So, Hermione allowed them to trail off, allowed the unfinished sentence to hang in the air and dissipate without a fitting end.

"He's not as convoluted as you think."

"You just said he was vague."

"He's a lot of things." Theo shrugged. "Not all of them are consistent or congruent, but that's why you're curious about him."

Hermione froze, feeling hot and cold at the same time. "I'm—"

"You are."

She knew better than to argue with him on this. It wasn't like he was wrong, but hearing it out loud forced a swell of unidentifiable… strangeness to rise up in her. She did the only thing she knew to do…

She ignored it.

Still, Theo's tone was as collected as she was not. "It's normal for someone like you to be curious about something you don't understand. Admittedly, not much falls outside the purview of your knowledge, so when something sparks, it catches fire and burns."

Hermione said nothing.

"Duality is something you find fascinating in theory because the idea of being two-fold appeals to your linear way of thinking, but you don't like it so much when you see it day after day in Draco."

No, she didn't. Hermione was woman enough to admit that—but only to herself.

It wasn't a question, so Hermione said nothing in response, only stared past him.

"He doesn't make sense because duality is not about only one thing or another. Completely good or bad. Right or wrong. It's more about the clash between a man's morality and will, and where on the spectrum he will find himself at the end of the battle."

Something laced in his words caught her attention. "Where did you end up?"

"Presumptuous of you to assume I have it all figured it out."

"You don't?" Hermione watched him examine the cactus as if there were some philosophical wisdom hidden between the spines. "You seem to have everyone else categorised in neat boxes."

"And you don't?" Green eyes cut over to her. "Your world is segmented by the boxes you place everything in. My advice to you? Stop over-analysing the reasons why something won't fit in your neat little boxes and find a spot where it will."

—

Everything about Roger's desk was still neat, tidy, and efficiently ordered, but the man himself looked tired. There were ink smudges on his finger that jittered like he hadn't had enough caffeine… or maybe too much. He was looking for something, body bent over, half visible from her spot across the desk as he swore quietly to himself.

Roger's name had appeared on her Magi-Scheduler shortly after she had returned home from having dinner with Scorpius and Narcissa, who was nearly back to full-form. She was surprised by the abrupt request, but thirty minutes later, she was in his office, drinking a glass of water and wondering just what he thought was important enough to request her after hours.

"Ah, thank you for coming so late," Roger righted himself while placing a stack of files on his overly-clean desk. "I was wondering if you could spare some time to review these charts for me."

She peered at the pile, counting at least forty charts stuffed with parchment. "Is this for your research?"

"Not right now. There aren't enough subjects and we're stretched thin as it is."

Which was true. "What does it pertain to?"

"Narcissa Malfoy." Roger patted the stack of folders. "These are the files of American witches and wizards who have been diagnosed with her illness within the five last years. Some living, some not. Each one has a list of the patient's potions, and tracks everything up to their current state unless they've already succumbed to the disease. I also managed to obtain the notes regarding the experimental potion they're creating in hopes that it will slow the progression."

Interest morbidly piqued, which was normal for Healers—he was presenting her with a Gringotts vault of information that was virtually priceless—Hermione sat up straighter and sat the glass of water on the table. The American Healer hadn't been willing to release patient files, as it violated their laws regarding privacy.

"How did you—"

"Called in a few favours. I've only been able to acquire the files of patients that have previously signed waivers." The wizard shrugged like it wasn't an ordeal, but Hermione knew otherwise. "Perhaps these could help assist you with tracking her disease's progression."

"That would be great."

"And perhaps you could join the research team. Head the research efforts. Maybe even come up with a better treatment that will slow it down."

Hermione froze. "Is this a job offer?"

Roger sat back in his chair, elbows on the arms. "Yes and no, it depends."

"On what?"

"Well, you would have to find a replacement to work with Narcissa Malfoy."

Ah, there it was. Hermione barely contained her surprise. "Does Theo know?"

"No, I figured if you were interested, I would present my proposal to him."

She did consider it. Really, she did. But her brain ran quickly through the positives, negatives, and neutrals. First and foremost, Narcissa and their contract. The time she needed. The progress and setbacks she had made. Would she be able to transition smoothly to another Healer? Would such a drastic change be conducive to Narcissa's health? There was no answer.

Besides, Hermione had just gotten Keating and Sachs on her side through sheer strength of will. Perhaps she would get Malfoy, as well. Only time would tell, but not if she turned her case over to another Healer. It really would be unfair to throw someone else into the strange Malfoy family dynamic. She could practically see all the progress going down the drain. It would be a drastic change to the odd routine she was just getting used to…

And then her argument shifted to a little nugget of truth in the corner.

The idea of not seeing Scorpius anymore—just when he was starting to trust her—made her insides twist. The amalgamation of each factor, each argument, success and failure—plus one nugget of truth—made her answer very clear.

"I'll have to pass on that."

"Oh?" Roger seemed flummoxed by her answer. "I thought you would at least take a few days to think about it. You don't strike me as the sort to make rash decisions."

"My decision isn't rash. I've weighed all my options and this is my answer. I'd still like to look through the files, if at all possible, and I think it's brilliant that you are looking to do research into her disease, but I can't abandon my patient."

It seemed as though he had been expecting her response, at least in some capacity, as there was an understanding in his slow nod. Why had he asked?

"Can't say that I didn't try." The wizard clasped his hands together. "I've wanted you on the research side of the department for years now."

"Perhaps one day."

Roger's disbelief was clear, but he didn't have an opportunity to say anything else before the hospital alarms blared loudly in the silence and the lights in his office went from soft white to flashing blue.

They were about to get an influx of patients.

A moment passed, and they blinked at each other in confusion.

Then jolted out their chairs.

While Roger grabbed his vial holster and wand, Hermione cringed. Not only was she too far from her office to grab her own gear, she wasn't properly dressed to comfortably triage incoming patients in her jeans and orange shirt either. But she followed Roger out.

It didn't take long for them to find the chaos in the hospital's waiting area.

Blessedly, they weren't the first Healers on the scene. It seemed like every Healer in the building had descended on the area. Padma was already in action, blood on her robes unnoticed as she performed Healing Charms on a sooty Auror who was gushing from an open wound on his leg.

They were all covered in soot and coughing.

Hermione's pulse set a frenzied beat while time slowed. Realisation caused panic to flare deep in her gut. The raid. And by the looks of it, by the dozens of injured, bleeding Aurors and Task Force members… it hadn't gone to plan. Immediately, she struggled against the mounting sense of dread, trying desperately to maintain her logic and professional calm.

Harry was fine. He was always fine. He had to be fine.

He also had no reason to be in trouble.

Right.

When she spotted them surveying the area, Padma ran over to catch them up. "Looks like the raid went tits up, and from what I've been told, a Death Eater cast Fiendfyre. The entire manor went up in flames. Surprisingly, no deaths." Hermione exhaled her relief. "Forty injured, but almost all of them only have smoke in their lungs. We're triaging down here and taking the more seriously injured to our floor, where we've got the most beds. " She pointed in a general area. "Hermione, start over there. Roger, you should go assist with the transport."

Hermione barely waited for her to finish before she took off running towards the commotion, searching for a familiar dark head, even as she fell into emergency protocol.

Whatever had happened had been ugly. A battle she hadn't heard the likes of since the Battle of Malfoy Manor. The information she had gathered from scattered conversations was slightly promising, but mostly grim.

The raid, despite appearing like an obvious failure with all the injuries, had mostly been a success—well, in the sense that nobody had died. The Fiendfyre hadn't been cast until the Death Eaters had started losing ground, but it had spread swiftly. In a roar that had apparently looked like a python, it brought back chilling memories of her own experience with flames determined to snuff out all life. Everyone had escaped by Disapparating, but Hermione recalled the plan had a lot to do with setting up wards to prevent Apparition—in or out.

What happened?

It was all a blur of single-minded focus and activity. Suppressing her questions, she went from patient to patient to patient, as she lost all sense of time and space. More than cuts and bruises, there were patients who were hexed and cursed—all unconscious despite reviving spells and potions. They would need beds. Others had broken bones and mangled limbs that would take ages to heal.

Burns ranged from minor to horrific.

After what felt like an hour, four vials of dittany, and every pain potion and Calming Draught she had in her beaded bag, Hermione found herself finishing up with the last patient. She caught sight of other Healers looking around for any additional patients, but she was pretty certain she was the only one looking for a particular person.

That she hadn't found.

Hermione assisted two Mediwitches with delivering the last of the critically injured—an unconscious Task Force member with a suspicious bite mark on his neck and arm. Only then did she realise they had merely transferred the chaos from one part of the hospital to another.

The hall was lined on both sides with floating gurneys, all of which were filled. Healers and Mediwitches were buzzing from patient to patient in a cacophony of noises that ranged from barking orders to general chatter.

Organised disorder seemed to work for them.

A Mediwitch was there to accept the patient while Hermione recited his injuries and diagnoses. The harried witch nodded with understanding. "He's my fourth one with extensive bite marks. Human bite marks."

Which was alarming, but also confirmation that all the inner circle of Death Eaters had been there, including a deranged Greyback. The night before a full moon. He must have been indescribably bloodthirsty. She shuddered at the thought and at what his victims had experienced and everyone else had witnessed.

"How bad?"

"They'll survive." Her wince told the entire story. "Barely."

Hermione shuddered and allowed the Mediwitch to take charge, continuing on and doing what she could as she made her way down the hall and used the last of her third bottle of dittany on several patients. It wouldn't completely heal them, but it would make things marginally better until they could be healed properly.

Curiously, at the end of the hall, there was a small gathering of Healers, Medwitches, and various patients that had already been healed. They were whispering back and forth to each other when Hermione slipped through the group. She spotted Susan sitting in a chair outside a room.

The door was shut but it couldn't block out the shouts from within.

"I didn't make a mistake! I did what I thought was right!"

She knew that voice. Harry.

He must have slipped past in the chaos. She was happy to hear him—even though he sounded angry.

"And it would have worked had they not started the fire! Maybe if you—"

"Don't try to turn this around on me. I wasn't the one that fucked up, Potter!"

The mystery of who her best friend was accosting was solved when Hermione heard the deeper voice ring out.

Malfoy.

With a new sense of urgency, she approached Susan. "How long?" Hermione thumbed in the direction of the shut door, where the two wizards were now shouting over each other in a deafening cacophony.

"Not long."

Just getting started, then.

Another look caused the seated witch to talk. "I was assigned to patch Harry up—he's got a head laceration and bruised ribs."

Wait… they weren't supposed to be part of the fight. "Okay."

"Before I could do anything, Malfoy stormed in, told me to get the fuck out, and then shut the door behind him. They've been yelling ever since. I would have cast a Muffliato, but—" Susan shrugged with a wince. Probably best that she didn't if someone needed to intervene. "I also would have broken it up, but that" —she gesticulated in their general direction, their voices clashing together like a wall of sound—"is above my pay grade."

Fair, but it wasn't above hers.

At best, them screaming at each other was confirmation that neither were incapacitated.

Oh, and that homicide hadn't been committed.

Yet.

At worst, well—Hermione thought it best not to consider worst-case scenarios.

After glancing over her shoulder at the mounting audience of worn-looking Aurors and Task Force members, Hermione glared. "I'm certain you all have better things to do right now. Go home. There will likely be a debrief in the morning." She didn't wait for an answer before turning and setting a charm that silenced the rapidly devolving argument.

Multiple footsteps scattered in all available directions. Good.

Hermione put her hand on the knob and took a breath. Before she opened it, Susan asked, "How long before you want me to come in?"

"Five minutes." That was an awfully bold assumption, they both knew, but Hermione knew nothing beat failure but trying. "Then come in and finish healing Harry."

"Malfoy's going to need one, too."

"Come again?"

"Not sure, but his arm is… rough." The other witch offered a shrug. "At best, dislocated. At worst, broken."

Hermione kept that in mind when she entered the room, eyes immediately landing on her current headache: Harry in Auror robes and Malfoy in his standard black attire. Neither fit the image of someone that should have been at a raid. She tried to figure out what they were saying, but they were both dirty, sweaty, and yelling furious, unintelligible words. It took Hermione back to Fifth Year quidditch before the fists started flying.

After a quick visual sweep of them both—noting the blood on Harry's face and the way Malfoy was holding his arm—she intervened, physically inserting herself between the two worked up men by pushing them apart.

"That's enough!" Hermione yelled and when Harry tried to argue, she grabbed the front of his Auror robes. "Enough," she repeated fiercely before whipping her head to Malfoy and blocking his attempt to yell over her by spreading her hand on his chest. She felt heat coming off Malfoy, not Harry, but they both smelled like smoke and fire. There was a rigid, cruel set in his jaw, an almost dangerous energy about him that put her on edge.

But she wasn't scared.

"Granger…" His voice was a low, measured warning; the result of either extreme anger or perfect self-control. The way his heart pounded under her hand didn't provide any clarity.

Either way, she knew she was pushing it and him.

But that wasn't enough to make her stop.

Malfoy grabbed her wrist firmly with his uninjured hand, forcing it into the space between them. A scowl marred his soot-streaked face. In direct contrast with his eyes, his hand was warm and dry as he gripped her wrist like a flesh covered vice. He let go after they both glanced down, then back at each other. Hermione held his attention a moment longer before switching back to Harry, who seemed curiously confused.

Now that she had their attention, she cleared her throat. "I don't know what happened tonight, or what went wrong during the raid, but you're both leaders—not children." Her words were calm and even, strengthened by the cool steel in her voice. "It's bad enough your teams heard you fighting. This isn't the place, nor is it the time to blame each other for what happened. There are injured people out there who need you both to lead."

Naturally, Harry was the first to speak. "I—forgot to set the charm."

"Yes, you both did." She glimpsed over at the other seemingly unrepentant wizard. With a roll of her eyes, Hermione returned her attention to the easier of the two: her best friend. Harry's temper, unfortunately, was trying to flare back to life in response to Malfoy's nonchalance, but she swiftly cut him down, in a practiced move that silenced him, with an audible clack of teeth.

Perfect.

"What happened?".

"Yes, Potter," Malfoy sneered with the utmost disdain. From the corner of her eye, she could see the vein on his neck becoming more prominent. "Tell her what happened."

Before Harry's indignation rose beyond his control and he started slinging verbal mud, Hermione snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Focus on me. Not him."

It worked.

Sort of.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, only to wince in pain. Probably broken. Quick fix. "One of the newbies tripped the wards before the Ward Specialist could take them down, which not only alerted them to our presence, but made it impossible for us to properly set up Anti-Apparition wards. Goldstein told us to call it off, but I—"

"Because it was compromised and like the reckless—"

With a firm hand, Hermione pushed against Malfoy's chest, raising her eyes to meet his with a critical but composed look. "Let him finish, Draco."

As soon as the word was out, they both froze.

A priceless combination of disbelief and surprise forced Malfoy to take a step back, still guarding his arm. Something was seriously wrong with his shoulder, not that it mattered, with the intense way he surveyed her, eyes travelling to her hand and back up. There was an inexplicable shift in his energy, though not menacing, his eyes were sharp enough to cut diamonds.

She inhaled and exhaled, lowered her hand, and turned her back to him, facing Harry, whose dark brows were furrowed and his jaw clenched tight until she nudged him. "Go on."

His eyes met Malfoy's over her head in a silent clash, but she nudged Harry with her foot and sternly folded her arms across her chest.

"I didn't want to waste the opportunity, the time we'd spent training, so I didn't call it off when Goldstein said that we should." Harry argued his point more to the wizard standing behind her. "Who knows when we would have the opportunity again."

Malfoy obviously disagreed.

She couldn't see him, but she could feel his presence—visceral and furious.

"I know you're just waiting until the Death Eaters are captured to quit, so don't act like you wouldn't have done the same thing so you can quit earlier. Don't act like you wouldn't have made the call to continue—"

"Of course I am. But I can't fucking quit if I'm dead, now can I?"

Harry's snort lacked humour. "You're a such a—"

"I'm such a what?" Malfoy took an unconscious step forward, now pressed against Hermione's back. "The only thing I am is the person that saved your ungrateful arse."

"I had it under control!"

"Nothing about that raid was under control. If it weren't for me grabbing you when I Disapparated—you're welcome for that, by the way—you'd be burnt to a bloody crisp."

Hermione winced.

As much as it pained her to disagree with Harry, it sounded really bad all around.

"McNair and Rabastan are injured, you and we still captured nine Death Eaters and Jugson and Avery." Of course, Harry would find the bright spot among the darkness.

"Outside of those two, the rest are low-level, none of the ones that matter." Namely his uncles. Or Greyback and Rowle. Malfoy was unimpressed. "None of the ones that will cause a major shake-up in their organisation. The only thing tonight did was put a bigger target on our families' backs." He sounded incensed by that. Worried. And it brought forth the image of Scorpius. Oh. "They saw us both there, thanks to you charging in like the fucking hero you are."

Hero sounded more like excrement on the sole of his shoe.

"I was protecting my team and doing my job! I couldn't just sit back and—"

"You were a distraction in a situation that was already a complete and utter shitshow!"

"And you weren't? As soon as you came in, they—"

Hermione tuned the rest out. She had heard enough to know that a resolution wouldn't be reached that night. Or at all. It was late and they both needed medical attention.

The knock on the door was timed perfectly, but the person Hermione expected to see wasn't there. Instead, Theo entered the room, with Susan trailing behind him, smiling in a squirmy sort of way.

"Uh, we were just checking." Susan waved awkwardly, dark hair falling over her shoulder. "Theo said he was here to heal Malfoy's shoulder."

The two men exchanged a series of increasingly complicated expressions, which was practically a conversation as far as she was concerned. Malfoy stepped back and left without another word, passing both Theo and Susan. The former followed him out without a single word.

It was such an odd exchange, but she was too tired to mull it over. Besides, Harry needed to be healed and sent home to his family. The fallout of tonight's raid would still be waiting for him in the morning.

"I can heal Harry." Hermione patted the bag she had looped in her belt buckle at some point in the commotion.

"Great, I'll find Roger and help him."

The door shut behind Susan with a soft click.

Now that they were alone, Harry deflated like a punctured balloon.

Sitting on the bed, he scrubbed his face repeatedly, the stress rolling off him in waves. In a voice both brittle and dark, Harry said, "He's right."

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

"I really was reckless. I lost my head." He shook his head, fixing his glasses, which were still dirty with soot. Just like him. "I should have listened, and because I didn't, I put everyone's lives at risk for my own selfish reasons."

"I don't think—"

"There was a Dark Mark over my house this afternoon when I got home."

Hermione's heart sank. "What?"

"The door was kicked in and the house was in shambles. Nothing taken, but they left a message on the walls. No one was home and I panicked." For a moment, he looked close to tears. "I thought…"

Hermione filled in the blanks.

He thought that he was too late. Again. That his family was gone. Again.

"They were at the Burrow the entire time, Molly was fitting James for his sweater. They're still at the Burrow now. Ginny didn't want the kids to see, but we're thinking of sending them off for the Summer while we look for a new house. Bill offered to take them."

She knew he didn't like it—Hermione didn't either—but it was a good idea.

For safety.

"You know, if there's anything I can do. If you want them to come stay—"

"I know you will, but your hands are full with work. I don't want to put them on you."

"It's not an issue, Harry. You know how much I love them."

"I know." Harry drew in a few breaths. "Ginny and I will think it over some more and let you know, okay?"

That was fair enough.

Hermione filled the silence that followed, not with words, but with actions. Diagnostic results appeared on the charmed parchment at his bedside. She didn't see any lingering effects from any spells he'd been hit with, so Hermione healed his broken nose with a wave of her wand, and dripped three drops of Dittany on his head wound. He had a burn on the back of his hand that would need some extra work, but outside of the soot he was covered in, the stress of his job, the consequences of an awful raid, and the weighty concern for his family, Harry was fine.

That would have to do for now.

"Tonight wasn't about me being a hero. None of this is. I took this job knowing I'd be working with Malfoy on this and I just—" Harry exhaled his brittle frustration. "It's always been about eliminating the threat against my family. The threat against us all. It's exhausting looking over my shoulder, wondering when and where they'll turn up. I hate that I have to teach my kids how to fight and tell them what to do if they're attacked. I hate that they have bodyguards watching their schools. I had the opportunity tonight to end it once and for all and… Well, after this afternoon, I was acting on fear and—" Harry ran a hand through his hair. "It wasn't the smartest idea I've ever had, but if Malfoy were in my shoes, I'm certain he would have done the same thing."

Hermione thought about his security measures and wards. The rules and guidelines for those who entered his home. The background searches. His paranoia. The fact that Malfoy picked up an entire career just so he wouldn't be at the mercy of those who didn't give a damn about what happened to any member of his family…

The questions asked itself.

"How do you know that he isn't?"

Hermione excused herself from Harry's room when Hestia turned up and requested his side of events with a grimace. She'd already spoken to Malfoy. Hermione could only imagine how that conversation had gone. It was hard to gauge the time, but the halls were empty, and the earlier chaos seemed to have settled. It didn't look like she would be needed so Hermione started for the Floo.

Pausing mid-step, she rerouted with a new destination in mind.

Theo's office door was open.

The man himself wasn't there, but Malfoy was. Standing in front of the fireplace, arms folded, he stared at nothing. He was striking. Imposing. The fury that had been pouring from him earlier was now muted. Caged. And because Hermione has no interest in waking it up again, she knocked once.

"There's no need to—" His face shifted from exasperation to bored irritation when he saw her—one of his default expressions. "What do you want?"

"I came by to see if Theo needed a hand healing your shoulder."

Malfoy rolled his once injured shoulder. "As you can see, I'm fine." There was a slight hesitation in his movement, a stiff grimace that spoke of the pain. Given his continued discomfort, his shoulder injury couldn't be new.

"I can give you something for the pain." Digging into her bag, Hermione was determined to do just that. She crossed the room until she was standing in front of him, and offered him the vial.

"I don't need it." Malfoy fixed his cuff. "I actually need to go home and reinforce security measures over my home due to Potter's ineptitude. I advise that you do the same."

"Harry's h—"

"You're not on duty to mediate tonight, Granger, so if that's your reason for coming here, don't bother wasting your breath."

Hermione worried her teeth on her bottom lip before speaking carefully selected words. "For what it's worth, thanks for saving him." She placed the pain potion vial on the mantle and turned, intent to leave him to his thoughts with two parting words: "Take it."

From the doorway, Hermione glanced over her shoulder in time to see Malfoy pick up the vial, examine it closely, grip it tight in his fist, and slip it into his pocket.

The primary paradox that man is superior to all the things around him and yet is at their mercy.

G.K. Chesterton

---

Disclaimers remain the same.

A/N: First, thanks for all the well wishes. Covid absolutely sucks but I'm getting through it. Second, thanks to my awesome beta dreamsofdramione. Third, thank you for all the reviews. I'm legitimately blown away by the love and support and I hope you all have enjoyed this week's long anticipated playdate (of sorts). Do you all know how hard that was to keep under wraps? Phew. Also idk if I mentioned a part where I cried like a baby while writing...well it was when Scorpius pretty much witnessed Narcissa's incident. *chokes back a sob* because my heart hurt the whole time. And then it recovered when she took Narcissa to task in his defense. Also ouch that raid. And THEO coming in to steal scenes. That part is one I've literally waited MONTHS to post. The dichotomy of man. That one man. :D Til next week.

inadaze22