I walked on the white carpet runner of the Chateau to the west wing, passing numerous closed doors I followed the faint smell of cigarette smoke to an impressive set of double doors.

"Hello?" I knocked lightly upon the door as I turned the handle. The stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke hit my nose as I entered the hazy, wood paneled study. The room was lit by golden wall lamps, but any bit of light seemed to get absorbed by the black rug and dark walls. And in the center of it all, was a man with his head on a desk who seemed to emanate darkness himself.

The first thing I noticed about the Master of the Chateau was his striking blonde hair. It appalled me- I tended to avoid people with this rare shade of hair, as it belonged to that boy I knew so long ago that made me feel hollow inside. The second thing I noticed was the finely made black suede coat that was perfectly tailored to fit the man's svelte but muscular frame. It looked like it cost more than my apartment's rent; and would most certainly be something that he would wear. But this couldn't possibly be him. There was no way; because that would mean that the child I just helped deliver was his-

It can't be him. The odds of that are impossible.

I stood before the man's desk, noticing the firewhiskey tumbler in his left hand, and his extinguished cigarette in the other. With every pounding heartbeat I became less certain that this was not the boy I left so many years ago.

Gathering my courage, I managed to make myself call him to attention.

"Excuse me."

The man slowly shifted at the sound of my voice. As he raised his head, dread grew within me. I wanted to tell him to stop, to not show me his face-

A face that was both familiar and new stared back at me.

The room was quiet as I tried to discern if I had tumbled into an illusion, or some sort of mirage. But I knew in my gut there was no doubt about it. The man behind the desk was Draco Malfoy, whose already mature features had become more defined and handsome with time. He looked back at me, his striking grey eyes gradually widening.

As we stared at each other, all at once, things he'd said came streaming back into my mind like an old movie I hadn't watched in a very long time.

"I was willing to hurt myself to get your attention."

"You're so pretty, baby."

"I want it to be you and me at the end of all of this."

"Let me die. Please, just let me die."

"I'll never forget you. Because you did make me happy."

The room was dark, and he seemed disoriented, but I knew he recognized me immediately just as I recognized him. All the difference 8 years made on his face… he wore them well. Stern lines had formed on his forehead and around his mouth where they had not been before, and even though he had a short, perfectly maintained haircut, unkempt facial hair dotted his jawline.

But his eyes- those grey, smoldering eyes- those remained the same.

Draco slowly blinked. Then, leisurely, he looked at the glass in his hand.

"I must have drunk myself into a stupor," he muttered, "If I'm hallucinating this much…"

I neatly folded my arms. "You're not hallucinating. You're drunk." At 7 in the morning, nonetheless. He must have been drinking all night.

Draco, who was indeed extremely drunk, dismissed me with a clumsy wave of the hand. "Leave me alone. I'm not in the mood to deal with some illusion, or boggart, or… whatever you are."

"I assure you, I am real," I said tiredly.

"No, no," Draco took a drag of his cigarette, not taking his eyes off of me for one second as he did so. He exhaled, gesturing to me with the cigarette between his fingers. "It's impossible that you are the real Erica Thorncroft."

"It's Erica Burton now," I replied coldly. "Doctor Erica Burton."

Draco's jaw shifted from one side to the other, seeming to debate with himself whether or not to believe me. "Clever illusion, you are. I suppose I could humor you with conversation."

He snuffed his cigarette out in a crowded ashtray. "So, Erica. You got married." He sounded rather pissed. "I shouldn't be surprised. After all, I did the same."

He clumsily rose from his desk and started to approach me. "My father-" he stumbled slightly, and then righted himself, "My father is a perziztint- persistent bastard. Said if I was going to live in hiding, it was going to be with a wife."

Our height difference had only gotten more staggering over the years, and even with him drunkenly slouching, he towered over me. His face was close enough for me to smell that his breath was a honeyed mixture of ash and whiskey.

"So..." His eyes scanned my face like he still wasn't fully convinced I was actually there. "If you are the real Erica… tell me why. Tell me why you got married."

I glared up at him with a firm jaw. "I refuse to converse with you when you're drunk." That was the polite way of putting it- in reality, I was completely revolted by this clumsy display.

Draco drunkenly scoffed. "Hmm, what a clever illusion. That does sound like something Erica would say."

From my medical bag at my feet, I summoned a fist full of sobriety powder, and flicked it directly into Draco's face. He sputtered and drew back, wiping the indigo powder from his nose and forehead.

"You're a father now," I spat at him. "Your wife nearly died in childbirth, and you were shut in this cave, getting piss drunk."

Draco dusted off the cloud of powder and righted himself. When he straightened, his presence pierced me with newfound clarity. It was like a switch had been flipped within him; and his drunken self had dissolved like paper-mache and revealed the marble statue underneath, hardened by experiences that no one should have endured. My throat constricted when his gaze shifted to me, and he realized that his ex-lover was actually there, and not an illusion after all. His stare was absolutely glacial.

"She's alive?" Draco asked stiffly.

I don't know why I was surprised that the first thing he did was ask about his wife.

"She's alive. No thanks to those French ninnies you hired," I complained. "My god, they were daft. They only cared about delivering the child and getting paid." I paused. "By the way, it's a boy. Congratulations."

Now that he was sober, Draco seemed infinitely more troubled. He pressed a hand to his mouth, and drew his eyebrows down low as he crossed the room to think.

"Well, you certainly seem happy," I said sarcastically. "What, were you hoping for a girl?"

Draco's gaze was somewhere far away. "I was not expecting my wife or child to survive," he muttered.

In all my years of being a professional Healer, I had very few instances in which I was repulsed. But hearing Draco say "my wife" made my insides curdle. I became painfully conscious of the fact that I was in Draco's home, where he lived with his beautiful wife, and his new child. I was somewhere I was not meant to be.

"Of all the Healers in the world, why was I called upon, Draco?" I demanded. "Why, after all that we've been through, must I be the one to help deliver your child?"

Draco side-eyed me, and I almost staggered back. I had forgotten how much power he packs in just a glance. "Contacting you was my wife's idea. I'm an ex-Death Eater refugee with a cursed wife. We needed someone we could trust. Someone with talent. Naturally, the pickings were slim."

I scoffed. "I'm hardly the most talented Dark Magic Healer."

"Don't lie," Draco replied. "I know that you were the one to discover white ivy's healing properties. MACUSA gave you an award for it." Draco took note of my shocked expression and added, "I may be forced to live in secrecy, but I still have access to the papers."

I swallowed. When the Second Wizarding War ended, I read that the surviving Death Eaters were either jailed, punished, or exiled based on the degree of their crimes. I did not know which category Draco fell under, even though I had checked many times. I even waited from the ages of 16 to 19 for him to contact me. When I realized I wouldn't be receiving any information regarding his whereabouts, or if he was even still alive, I eventually had to move on.

As it turned out, he was one of the exiled ones. That would explain why he relocated to France and lived in a home layered under protection spells. Knowing that he was alive this whole time… it gave me an unexplainable feeling, like I should be happy. But it had been 8 years. I had grown up since then, and was able to look back at our relationship from a different lens. I was not happy to see him. In fact, I was feeling insurmountably resentful.

And Draco, somehow, didn't seem to be feeling anything.

Draco narrowed his eyes at me. "You were supposed to leave immediately after healing her."

Rage bubbled within my gut, but did not allow it to show. When I was in my Healer robes, I had to be professional, no matter what my personal feelings about him were.

In a clipped voice, I said, "I could not leave in good conscience until I told you that your wife needs additional medical attention. Blood curses require an individually tailored medication regimen, and a Healer with in-depth knowledge of the Dark Arts." I picked up my medical supplies bag. "Now that I've informed you of that, I will take my leave."

As I stepped towards the door, Draco's booming voice made me freeze.

"Wait," he commanded. "Does that mean you know how to treat her?"

I scowled, turning slowly to glare at him over my shoulder. "I am one of many Dark Magic Rehabilitation Specialists. You would be wise to locate a different one. Immediately."

Draco got that look in his eyes that I had seen many times before. It was a sort of stubborn stare that only appeared when he had been denied something.

"I have summoned many Healers to this Chateau," Draco stated grimly. "They have all dismissed her blood curse as a hopeless case. You are the only one to suggest a possible plan of treatment."

My lower lip quivered. How was it that I found myself in this situation again, so many years later, being implored by Draco to do something that I did not want to do?

"… Whatever you're proposing, I have to decline," I stated serenely.

Draco neatly folded one hand over another, his broad shoulders squared, and his sharp nose pointed right at me. "Why?"

I fought against the swelling in my throat. "You know why."

"We are both married to other people now, Erica," he said, very business-like. "Any personal history will be set aside for the sake of my wife's wellbeing. I will employ you, and compensate you appropriately."

That was it. Something inside me snapped, seeing how easily he was able to push our history aside like it was nothing. I bared my teeth at him, hoping that I looked as disgusted as I felt.

"All the money in the world wouldn't be enough to convince me to become your slave again," I spat.

I turned the door handle, ready to storm out and take the portkey back to America. But another House Elf stood in my way. This one was wearing what appeared to be wrappings made out of a faded gingham tablecloth, and they spoke in a scratchy foreign accent that was neither French nor British.

"Madam is having an emergency," they said.

I burst from the room, going into Healer-mode. I didn't notice if Draco was following me, as it didn't matter; if someone was in peril, it was my responsibility as the closest available medic to attend to them. Even if I didn't want to.