AN: Well. I had hoped I would be updating this with an AN that was just me apologising profusely for being so busy and not updating in a very long time. I didn't imagine it would include a genuine appeal to look after yourself, stay at home, only go out when absolutely necessary, and just please, please, please be careful. These are truly unprecedented times. I'm still going to apologise for not updating, uni has been keeping me very busy that I've just had absolutely no time to write! So I'm very sorry for the wait. FINALLY, here is an update!

Chapter Thirty Three – Cures

Draco took a deep breath. He straightened the cuffs of his shirt, locked in place by silver serpent links his mother had gotten him for his birthday, smoothed down his black robes, patted his hair, shuffled some papers on his desk, straightened the pile of books, moved his chair so it was perfectly in line-

In a minute's time, he would have his first class. First Years. Draco had a feeling McGonagall had arranged his timetable to start him in the shallows. Even so, he felt his heart beating in his wrists, in his temples, thrumming around his body, his nerves threatening to paralyse him.

He took another breath. Then, in a frenzy, he wrenched the sleeve of his robe up, hastening to undo his cuff, pushing his shirt to his elbow-

His skin was smooth and pale and blank. Draco sighed shakily, repositioning his sleeves. Just in case he'd forgotten...

The bell rang, and he stood to attention. His palms were damp. His eyes flicked around the room to make sure that everything was in place. He straightened the pile of books, then moved them completely to the other corner of his desk.

Slowly, the students trickled in, one-by-one, followed by a small group, laughing, the tail-end of their conversation petering into the room, dissipating as they sat down. Draco tried to smile at the ones who caught his eye, but they looked away just as quickly, and his smile faded. He wiped his hands on his trousers. Only once the room was full, and quiet, did he clear his throat.

A class of eyes blinked up at him. Occasionally, one of them would shift and the proceeding rustle of a cloak or scrape of a stool broke the anticipatory silence.

Draco took a deep breath.

"Most of you will likely know who I am, from the Headmistress' introduction of me at dinner, but for those with failing memories, I am Professor Malfoy. I will be teaching you Potions whilst you're at Hogwarts." He paused. His eyes swept across the sea of blank faces. "Any questions?"

One girl, near the front, raised her hand. Draco nodded at her.

"Is it true you're a Death Eater?"

His jaw ticked. A sudden hush fell over the room, and he moved the books once more on his desk, leaning back against it. "I was," he said. Murmurs rippled, but he cut them off. "The war was a very different time… There was no black and white, no right and wrong, only life and death. I'm alive because I was a Death Eater… I'm here because I was a bad one. You'll probably hear a lot about me, about the war, and you can choose to believe it. I can't change your mind about that. But I can teach you Potions." Draco inhaled shakily. "If you'll let me."

The class remained silent.

"Any more questions?"

Nobody spoke. Or moved.

Draco nodded. His mouth was dry. "In that case, we'll get on with the lesson."

He moved from the desk, flicking his wrist and the books went floating over to the corresponding child, gently landing in front of them.

"This year, we'll cover the basic theory of Potion-brewing, including the twelve uses of dragon's blood, types of cauldrons, and which phials are best used for which potions. You can see on the board the list of Potions we will be learning to brew this year, starting with the Cure for Boils," said Draco, motioning the blackboard behind him.

He'd written the list before class had started:

Cure for Boils

Forgetfulness Potion

Herbicide Potion

Wiggenweld Potion

Antidote to Common Poisons

Pompion Potion

"These potions have all been graded a difficulty level of easy by the Ministry, but that doesn't mean they are straightforward. Potions is not just about following instructions." Draco looked at his students. He swallowed, eyes flicking back to his desk, to the leather chair. "It's not just about ingredients. Some of you may not even think of it as magic. But Potions is an intricate art. Few can master it… But if you listen to me, and do as I say-" Draco suddenly heard the whisper of an old voice, floating around this very room, and he spoke with it, "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death… How does that sound?"

The class remained silent. Draco nodded. "Excellent."

He uncuffed his shirt and his wrists, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. With another murmur and hand motion, the blackboard cleared and the chalk resting on its ledge leapt into action, writing out the instructions for the Cure for Boils potion.

"Today," Draco continued. "I want us to jump straight into it. I want to see how well you can follow your textbook and what basic skills you already possess. First of all, though, we need to set up our stations. We'll do it together."

oOo

As he collected the books back in at the end of the class, there was a knock at his door. Draco looked up to see Hermione hovering in the doorway, hand still raised. She smiled. "I have five minutes. Thought I'd see how your first class went."

He stopped what he was doing, leaning back against the desk. There was a fresh cut along the seam of her mouth, and as her teeth worried it further, he knew she worried for him. Draco smiled.

oOo

Hermione's birthday fell on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. It was lucky, for it meant that the vast majority of students would be heading out of the castle grounds and into the little village, leaving only the younger students who were unwilling to venture outside in the bitter September chill. The sky was grey, overcast and heavy with the promise of rain, but the soil was dry and solid and that made it perfect for a picnic.

Draco collected the basket that morning from the kitchens, being greeted by a huddle of pleased and eager House Elves. They took it in turns to show him their contribution, lining up around the kitchen, proudly displaying their mini lemon and Bakewell tarts, immaculately triangular cucumber sandwiches, and little canisters of jasmine tea, before they were encased in the basket. He'd also transfigured one of his cloaks into a large blanket, tucking it on top.

It was after breakfast when he knocked on the door to her rooms, knowing that most of the students would have left by now. She opened the door, bleary-eyed, hair ragged and matted at the crown of her head, still in her pyjamas. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw him.

Draco grinned. "A little birdie told me it was someone's birthday," he said, hiding the basket behind his back.

"Oh, Draco!"

His eyes flicked up and down again. He pulled a face. "A little birdie that came from your hair by the looks of it."

Hermione scowled at him, but the heat was absent, and the smile pulling at her lips made her look like she was simply squinting, or still caught in the clutches of sleep. She stepped away from the door and he followed her into her quarters.

"How's the teaching life treating you?" asked Hermione, grabbing her dressing gown and pulling it on. She smiled sleepily at him.

Draco's lips quirked. He nodded. "Surprisingly well. Nobody has been set on fire yet, or blown themselves up, so I'm counting it a successful first three weeks. Pomfrey told me it's the best start a Potions Master has ever had. Usually someone's been checked into the Hospital Wing by now."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Oh," she said. "Well, that's something."

"Not a record I thought I'd break, but I'll take it."

She smiled at him. Draco melted. He pulled the picnic basket from behind his back, and said, "Now, back to business. I propose a picnic. It's your birthday, a weekend, and everyone is either inside or at Hogsmeade. And there's almost sunshine."

"Wow, you've really thought it all out," Hermione beamed. "How could I say no to such thorough planning? Just give me a minute to get dressed."

Draco stepped back out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. Picnic basket in one hand, he ran the other through his hair, flattening it, then swept it down his shirt, a crisp white one, and tried to straighten out the creases in his brown trousers. His attention suddenly shot to his arm, and he tensed, though upon seeing the clean expanse of his skin, relaxed again. He took a deep breath.

The door behind him opened and Draco jumped, spinning round. He blinked, grip growing lax on the picnic basket, before he clenched his fist. Hermione stood before him, dress to her calves, woollen cardigan hanging off her shoulders, smiling at him. Her hair was still wild.

"You can have an extra minute to brush your hair, if you need it," said Draco after a moment, but his voice was feeble, and his smile fresh and young as he took her in.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She was blushing. "You're a git," she said.

He grinned, and offered her his arm. "Miss Granger."

She smiled at him, and took it.

Draco led her through the castle, supplying facts like a tour-guide, embellishing the stories of portraits, who spluttered indignantly when he spoke loud enough for them to hear him bastardizing their livelihoods. Hermione laughed as he pointed out the step his foot had gotten lodged in in First Year, when Peeves had ambushed him with stolen leech juice from Snape's office. He watched her throw her head back and laugh, heart fluttering, smile loosely playing at his lips. They slowly meandered out of the castle and down the sloping grounds, heading to the familiar tree by the lake, where he laid the blanket down for them and presented her the picnic basket of treats. Casting a warming charm over them, Draco sat beside her, and helped himself to a Bakewell tart, shoving it in his mouth in one, which made Hermione scoff. He poured them both some jasmine tea, relishing in the warm look she sent him as he did so.

She took a lemon tart, her free hand cupped underneath as a makeshift plate, and laughed. Draco smiled at her. The curd and crumbs clung to her lips, and he pointed, "You've got some-"

Hermione tilted her chin so that he could brush it off. "All gone?"

He nodded, sucking the curd off his thumb. She watched him, leaning back on her hands. "This is very sweet of you, Draco."

He looked away, out over the lake, feeling his cheeks heat up. "It's your birthday," was all he said. "We should celebrate. There was a time when it was up in the air if we'd make it to his age."

"You still haven't," said Hermione. "You could annoy me so much between now and June that I make you disappear. I've done it before, you know."

Draco stared at her. "You're terrifying, Granger. I hope you know that."

She grinned, tipping her head back and laughing. The sound floated above them, whistling through the grass, rippling across the surface of the lake. Draco closed his eyes and listened to it like it was music to his ears.

As her laughter dried on her lips, Hermione sighed. In a quiet voice, she said, "Isn't it strange to think that just across that water, a year ago, the last thing we wanted to admit was that we needed each other."

Draco looked out across the Black Lake, remembering the shingle, the look in Hermione's eyes, the strain in her voice, the pain in his chest. He could almost see their silhouettes in the distance, but in the next gust of wind, they dissipated into the grey sky and the past.

"I don't think I'd be here if it wasn't for that conversation," said Draco. The honesty cut the roof of his mouth.

He felt Hermione's eyes on him. "No, probably not," she conceded. "I doubt McGonagall would have given you the job if not for the way you changed your life around-"

"That's not what I mean, Granger."

She was quiet for a while. Then, in a voice that barely shook the air around them, "You'd have survived, Draco."

He clenched his jaw, still refusing to look at her, eyes burning. Her hands were cold when they held his cheek, and she forced him to. Hermione didn't say anything more, she just stared into his soul, into his heart, with her loving insistence, her finger brushing away a stray tear he hadn't had the strength to hold back.

Draco nodded, and she sat back. He sniffed, wiping his nose, running his hand through his hair. He forced a smile, pulling the basket towards him and said, "You're not even curious as to what your present is?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "This isn't my present?" she asked, gesturing the picnic.

Draco scoffed. "Malfoy's can do one better than that, Granger."

She rolled her eyes at him, though she was smiling. He clung to her smile, counted the freckles across the bridge of her nose to steady himself. He reached into the basket and handed her a card, which made her beam even more brightly.

As she opened the birthday card, Hermione frowned when something fell out. She picked it up and read the front. Her face slackened of all expression. She stared at the ticket. A tear rolled down her cheek, made a small, dark circle on her dress where it fell.

"Draco," she whispered. Her voice shook. He barely heard it, but he'd learned to listen especially for his name on her lips.

"My Mother has a friend in the Australian Ministry, Hopkins. I've been in contact with him since my Mother's trial. He works in Muggle Liaison and he's been looking into it for me. His details are in the card. I don't know if you've ever travelled long distance with the Ministry," said Draco, talking quickly, in a low voice, eyes never leaving her face. "I suppose it's like a Muggle flight, only using the Floo. A ticket to Australia. Open return… Go find your parents, Hermione."

Hermione licked her lips. She raised her head and looked at him, more tears falling. Her eyes were rimmed with pink, shining in the sterile September sunlight. She looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time, eyes trailing across his face, flitting between both of his, then they dropped an inch.

She kissed him before he could blink. Hard and quick. Her lips pressing against his for just a second before she pulled back.

Draco stared at her. Her cheeks were wet, lips pink as carnations. The last of the summer light, as it pirouetted into autumn, danced across her face, catching and weaving in her hair. Hermione swallowed, then leaned in again, slower this time, eyes locked on his. Her eyelashes were dark and congealed. Her hands cupped his jaw, ticket floating down to fall on her lap, thumbs absently caressing his face, as she brought her lips to his once more. Draco closed his eyes. His arms encircled her without hesitation, pulling her closer, before one hand came up to hold the back of her head, fingers twisting through her curls.

They kissed slowly, languidly, their mouths hot against the cold of the September air. Draco kissed her like she was his lifeline. It had been dark, just as she'd promised that wintry day a year before, on the other side of the Black lake of their childhood, but she had held his hand through it all. Now, it was only fair that he gave her what she wanted most. If he could give her a chance at finding her parents, it still wouldn't be enough, when she had given him his life back.

oOo

Dear Draco,

Magic will never fail to amaze me. The Floo took seconds! A Muggle plane would take 20 hours to make that same journey. Incredible! It's a shame Wizarding Customs isn't quicker as well…

As soon as I got to my hotel, I sent an owl to Hopkins at the Australian Ministry. We're going to meet tomorrow so he can tell me everything he has so far. I've also been reading all I can on memory charms, and making notes. I'll let you know if I find anything.

Sorry this is so brief. It's already late here. I'll write to you tomorrow to keep you updated.

Once again, thank you, Draco. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Yours, Hermione

oOo

Dear Draco,

I've just come back from my meeting with Hopkins. Turns out there are a lot of people with the surname Wilkins in Australia. He hasn't found my parents.

I decided to look into the Memory Potion as a possible cure for the charm. I know how that sounds. As Potions Master, you're probably cringing at the mere assumption, but hear me out. The Memory Modifying Charm adds new memories, whilst the potion enhances mental cognition. I've been researching the ingredients; Mandrake, of course, returns transfigured and cursed objects back to their original state. Though not a curse, it may still recognise the magical modification in my parents' memories and go some way to reverse it? Galanthus Nivalis is used in the Muggle world to help with Alzheimer's, though my parents haven't necessarily lost any memories. I don't know what the semantics are. I think perhaps the best lead we have is with the Jobberknoll feather, used in truth serums. I'm going to look into the Potions archives at the Australian Ministry to check when it's been used and to what effect. I'll send you my notes.

I'm sorry if I don't reply immediately to your letter after this. I wanted to write to you now to ground myself, to give myself time to breathe and remind myself that this doesn't mean we won't find them. I still have hope.

I hope everything is well with you, and the teaching is still going to plan. Remember, if things start going wrong and you find they're not listening to you, just scare the shit out of them. It worked for Snape.

Yours always, Hermione

oOo

Dear Draco,

Okay. I understand where you're coming from with the Galanthus. Still though, if you combined it with Unicorn Hair to strengthen the properties, surely it would have some sort of impact on the memory. I had considered Chizpurfle fangs, but I ruled them out. I'll look into them again if you think there might be something there.

Hopkins and I are slowly but surely making our way through the list of all the Wilkins households in Australia. I have a good feeling, Draco. I know my parents are here somewhere. I'm going to bring them home, and then I'll work on restoring their memories.

I'm so glad classes are going well! You're an incredible Potioneer. Hogwarts is lucky to have you.

Yours always, Hermione

oOo

What do you think about Murtlap?

oOo

I've found them.

AN: Sorry it's a short one. Hopefully, it's still managed to stave off some of the boredom inevitable from isolation. I want to say that I will be updating more regularly now that I'm home, but the anxiety over this virus means that I'm not being as productive as I would like. Stay safe, my lovelies. See you next time. (We are so close to the end now!).