A/N: This story deals with themes of PTSD and mental health. I have written ahead so the expectation is to have an update every Friday. I also don't own anything but some debt and my house.

Thanks: Extra Special Thanks to my wonderful alpha reader, LaDeeDaa and beta reader astrangefan

**

"True love does have the power to redeem but only if we are ready for redemption. Love saves us only if we want to be saved." - Bell Hooks


Unspeakable Granger

Hermione bit her lip as she considered, again, horrifying the Head Unspeakable by pulling out a pencil to do the Arithmancy calculations she'd previously been trying to compute in her head. No matter how long she lived in the Wizarding World she'd never gotten used to the ink and quill situation she'd been forced to adopt - especially not when doing maths. Arithmancy was essentially Wizarding calculus with Runes. But every time she snuck in a pencil or Muggle pen, Rilla Draguar - Head Unspeakable since the end of the War - pursed her lips and tutted at her.

Looking around surreptitiously, Hermione decided it was worth the risk. The equation was complicated and the last thing she wanted was to haul out the inkwell, sharpen a quill and go through the laborious process of chicken scratching until she banged out something remotely readable.

"Hermione!" she nearly jumped out of her skin as she stashed the pencil under her desk like an errant child trying to hide the cookies she'd stolen from the kitchen when her mum wasn't looking. It was just Tilda Cribb, fellow Unspeakable and sometimes luncheon partner - whenever Hermione actually remembered to have lunch. "Pencils again?" Tilda asked with a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "Just a bit," she confessed. "Can't do lunch today. Rain check?"

"Of course," Tilda said, sauntering off toward the lifts. The Department of Mysteries was in the lowest level of the massive Ministry of Magic and it could tend to feel like being locked in a dungeon at times. Everyone did their best to liven up the place, but at the end of the day, it was an office four stories below the surface.

Hermione didn't actually mind it, though. The lack of distraction helped her think. She turned back to her Arithmancy. Finishing the equation her brow furrowed. That couldn't be right. She ran the numbers again - yet another reason to prefer the mundane pencil over the fussy quill.

She swallowed nervously as she ran the numbers and runes again. No, that was the right solution but how? Her arm raised instinctively to the book shelf closest to her crowded desk. She knew every title, where each lay, and could select by touch the exact tome she wanted within seconds. She flipped forward, backward. Where was that section?

"Magical signatures in very rare cases might linger after the death of their owners - especially in cases of profoundly corrosive Dark Magics. Should the witch or wizard cast certain protective or personal runes (see page 348) before death, the lingering effects are as yet unknown."

Fuck. She felt an uncomfortable tingling, prickling at the skin of her chest and neck that she remembered feeling in the Before Times when she knew something very, very bad was coming. Her mouth watered and she considered whether or not she might have to run to the loo to get sick.

Deep breaths. She closed her eyes. That was a long time ago.In.Voldemort is dead. Out.You are safe. In.He can't hurt anyone you love anymore. Out.Opening her eyes, she slapped the book shut and considered her next steps.

Unfortunately, unlike the Good Old Days, she could not go to Harry or Ron about this. As an Unspeakable, she couldn't tell her friends anything about her work - not even if they were Aurors - unless the two Departments overlapped on a case, which did happen from time to time. She'd have to tell Rilla what she'd discovered - or suspected she'd discovered. All worries about being chastised for using a pencil were decidedly overshadowed.

Ms. Draguar beckoned her into the office after one knock looking expectantly at Hermione as if she'd been waiting for her to come at any moment. "So, anything?" she asked, indicating for Hermione to make herself comfortable in the armchair just off to the side of her desk. Everyone in the Department of Mysteries had their own office - it helped keep confidential work confidential - but the Head Unspeakable had the largest office. You could tell that Rilla still hadn't gotten used to the vast space because all her furniture and research was still crammed around her desk.

Hermione handed over her findings before taking a deep breath. What she was about to suggest was not going to earn her a congratulations. "I ran the numbers, I studied the runes. I went over them again and again." Rilla looked at the paperwork in front of her and nodded as if to indicate she wished Hermione to continue. "There could still be other explanations, mind. But all the evidence suggests…"

"Voldemort," the head Unspeakable said gravely. She looked at into Hermione's eyes. There was no reproach or anger there. She wasn't blaming the messenger. For that, Hermione was mildly relieved.

"He's dead," Hermione said emphatically. "He is, without a doubt, one-hundred percent dead. And yet…" She trailed off. "I'm not sure what this means. Professor McGonagall has the Dark Energy confined to one area. She's warded the spot, and the Hogwarts protection spells are easily able to manage this. However, we have no information about how Voldemort's magical signature is still thriving there, or why Dark Magic is tainting that section of the grounds at the school," she continued in summation.

Rilla nodded again. "I need you to research everything you can about Dark Magic, particularly the kind emanating from the spot at Hogwarts. I'm afraid I have another task for you, though." The woman looked regretful as she said it. "There's a problem at Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" Hermione queried. "Isn't that an issue for the Department of Law Enforcement?"

"Normally, yes. However, this is not a case of catching criminals, but rather in finding out what's happening to them," Rilla explained. "For a fortnight the prison has been dealing with a rash of mysterious illnesses, unexplained pain, psychological episodes, and the like. There is no explanation as to why except that it seems to only be happening to the inmates who possess the Dark Mark. There are two subjects, in particular, who are facing the worst effects, but it is a prison-wide epidemic."

Hermione digested this information. "Do you know which two have been most affected?"

"I assumed that would be your first question. I know this is somewhat difficult as you probably knew them, but I really don't know who else I can trust with this particular case. You're understanding of Healing - both Muggle and Magical…"

"I can handle it," Hermione insisted.

"Well, whatever this mystery ailment is, it's affecting Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy the worst," Rilla explained.

"Oh," Hermione said, her lips sort of stuck in that 'o' position as she processed what she'd been told.

Malfoy.

"Okay," she said, schooling her features and pulling a quill from her shoulder bag to take notes. "Start from the beginning, please."

**

"So, I've got the guy with a stunner and Harry's Disillusioned behind him…"

"Which you obviously forgot," Harry chimed in as Ron regaled the group with the latest Tales of Ministry Aurors installation.

"Oi, I didn't forget. Anyway, I stunned him and he falls directly into Harry who falls directly into a vat of Flobberworm mucus," Ron finished with a sort of hiccoughing laugh. The rest of the table joined him - it was a fairly funny story. Even Harry chuckled a bit.

"But, in the end you got him," Hermione pointed out. "And now that's one less absolute fool trying to sell imported Wampus Cats."

"Yeah, we did alright," Harry admitted. "Could have done without the bath of putrid goo. And before you ask, Hermione, a minimal number Flobberworms were harmed in the process." She just rolled her eyes at him as he smirked back at her, looking pleased with himself.

Hermione's mind was partially elsewhere but she tried to participate as best she could, glad that both Luna and Neville were there to take some of the attention off of her. Ron always got so cross when she couldn't give them her undivided attention. With her workload and the alarming trends she'd been noting from the over-editorialized populist nonsense in The Daily Prophet, her attention was divided more than it wasn't.

Her ears perked up when she heard Neville mention Hogwarts. "...is more worried than she lets on," she caught just the end of what he was saying.

"And no one knows what it is?" Ron asked as if he couldn't believe it was possible that someone, somewherewasn't on top of this. Hermione bit her lip. Unfortunately for Ron, mysterious Dark Magic on an otherwise perfectly warded property wasn't the jurisdiction of an Auror unless they could match it with a crime or potential criminal. As of yet, the Dark Magic had just been there, seeping into the ground without any rhyme or reason, no one to take credit. No one to hunt down.

"I don't know much about Dark Magic," Neville continued, "but I do know that before McGonagall put up the wards around it - it felt familiar. I can't really explain it. It was similar to the feeling that washed over me when I killed Nagini. It sent chills down my spine." Neville shuddered as if to illustrate his point.

"It's unnerving is what it is," Harry said. "Hogwarts, of all places. I can't believe…" He cut himself off and Hermione knew it was because he didn't want to go down that road. He didn't want to go back there. Harry Potter had gotten on quite well after the War, but it was no secret to her or anyone close to him that he was not healed completely - nor would he ever be, most likely.

Hermione put her arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder as she'd done a hundred times. It was a comforting gesture that had naturally cultivated between the two over more than a decade of saving each others' lives. She absolutely did not want to be the one to have to tell him that the Magical Signature associated with the anomaly at Hogwarts was Voldemort's. Sometimes she was relieved her job didn't allow her any latitude to speak about it.

Everyone seemed due for a change in topic. "How is Pavarti, Harry?" Hermione said, lifting her head off his shoulder. She knew he enjoyed any chance to talk about his girlfriend. It was relatively new, after all.

Bingo! Harry beamed. "Brilliant! She'll be home next week. She's just finishing up the wardrobe of some Mademoisellesomething or other - recent grad of Beauxbatons. Apparently her pèreowns half of Wizarding France or something. Vati hasn't gotten to spend that kind of money in ages, she says."

Hermione chuckled. "Well, if they deign to assign a Brit to the task of outfitting the most fashionable of France she must be a sight better than I am at dressing myself."

"Oh, that's not true," Luna said softly from across the table. "I've always enjoyed your Muggle jumpers, and jeans are one of their finest inventions." Hermione knew very well Luna liked Muggle jeans. She wore them everywhere - once even to a Ministry ball.

"Yes," Hermione said, "well, I'm constantly in awe of Pavarti. She can look at a rack of clothes and put together the most ingenious ideas." Harry beamed with pride.

"Speaking of abysmal fashion, when is Ginny supposed to get here?" Ron asked, his mouth full of shepherd's pie.

Hermione tisked, "Just because Ginny wears a Quidditch kit seventy-five percent of the time doesn't mean she doesn't know how to dress herself, Ronald. Not that you are one to talk…"

Ron just rolled his eyes and continued to shovel the food in his mouth. "Swallow, Ron. Swallow," Neville said with a chuckle.

"To answer your question, Ron," Luna began, "Ginny is not coming tonight. She is going on a date with the Seeker from Montrose Magpies. She sent out an Owl last minute to let us know. Padma can't come either. She is busy working tonight at St. Mungos."

They usually got together a few times a month as a big group - Hermione, Harry and Ron tried to get together a bit more frequently - but life was getting busier for them all as they aged up and got settled in their careers. None of them had yet married but Hermione anticipated that would not be too many more years down the road for some.

Harry and Pavarti would be her first bet to wed. Harry wanted a family more than anything in the world and after he and Pavarti reconnected some months back - through her sister's matchmaking - and sparks flew. She'd never seen Harry as over the moon as he was for the Gryffindor Patil twin. For her part, she was a delight. Once shallow and gossipy, Parvati had matured into a beautiful and successful business owner. She styled the rich and famous of Wizarding Europe.

She had hoped to see Padma, too. The Ravenclaw had become a very accomplished Healer and Hermione loved their conversations about medicine. She shared her friend's annoyance with the St. Mungos bureaucracy and how little trust they put in the hands of what they considered a 'bunch of kids who got lucky' in the War. She'd have to send a note after Padma to catch tea with her later.

"So, who's picking up the tab tonight, then?" Ron asked, a twinkle in his eye. He knew very well he'd eaten more than anyone else and ordered an extra helping.

"You," Harry deadpanned. "And don't think I forgot that you conveniently needed the toilet when the bill came at lunch."

"Fine, I'll cough 'er up. It's gentlemanly, right?" Hermione snorted a laugh. "Oi! I'm a gentleman!" Ron shot back, affronted.

"Next time, try it without half a treacle tart in your gob," Hermione said, smirking at her old friend. He smirked back and winked. There was a time she worried they'd never have this - the ribbing they'd always enjoyed as kids. For about 5 disastrous minutes after the Battle of Hogwarts they tried to date each other. It went about as well as anyone looking from the outside could have expected. About six months of awkwardness passed and they decided to pretend it never happened and moved on.

"You two still get on like an old married couple," Neville observed - not for the first time.

"Yes, after several failed attempts at romance, we skipped straight for the Golden Years," Ron said, his mouth finally, thankfully free of projectiles.

Hermione felt happy in that moment, among her friends. The nagging worry about her latest work assignments was successfully compartmentalised in the back of her brain. The latent effects of the Crucioshe still experienced, the trauma, the scars - they were there, and she was just as negligent as Harry in dealing with them - but she counted herself among the lucky.

Some people were dead - or worse.

That evening, after she said goodbye to her friends and returned to her flat not far from the Ministry, she looked over her notes from her meeting with Rilla earlier that day. All of the subjects had varying degrees of deterioration. While the prison itself blocked inmate's magic in their cells, the magic still existed. It didn't go anywhere, but in the case of seventy percent of the affected inmates, magical levels were dangerously low. In the case of Theo Nott, he'd nearly had his magic sucked dry.

She looked over other findings and symptoms. Lucius Malfoy was all but completely mad. He spoke to himself repeatedly in sentences that made no sense to anyone outside himself. He'd developed a limp without cause and screamed in agony through the night about every six days.

Antonin Doholov had rubbed the skin of his left arm nearly raw to the point that he had to have his hands restrained for fear he'd scratch himself to death.

Augustus Rookwood barely ever left his cot.

Theo Nott was in a state of unconsciousness that had lasted nearly two weeks. His left arm was red and the veins emanating from the Dark Mark had turned black.

Draco Malfoy's Mark looked similar but he was awake - almost never sleeping - and the pain got to be so much that the guards had taken to silencing his cell to avoid his eardrum shattering screams.

She shuddered as she read the file again. There were others, of course. After the War hundreds were rounded up and captured for trials. Those with the Dark Marks usually got the harshest of sentences, though. In all, there were at least 40 Marked Death Eaters in Azkaban. All of them were experiencing some level of trauma unique to them.

Trauma on top of trauma, obviously.

She had more questions than answers, as was usually the case when she took over a file. There had been some Death Eaters apprehended in other parts of Europe and even one in the US. She'd have to find out if they were having similar symptoms or if this was a problem just at Azkaban. Were there any of the Marked not in prison? She didn't think so, but she'd have to research that as well.

First order of business would be examining Nott, at the very least, and probably Malfoy as well - that was Draco Malfoy. She needed to start with the most serious cases first. She wrote a quick note to the current warden at Azkaban to have both inmates sent to St. Mungos the next day for her inspection.

She tried not to think about the fact that this would be the first time she'd seen either of her old classmates since the Battle of Hogwarts. Five years.

That day had been so traumatic her memories of it were somewhat fragmented, the timeline not precise. She remembered saving Malfoy in the Room of Requirement and he seemed as if he didn't really want to be there at all. She hadn't known Theo Nott as well, but the only time she caught a glimpse of him in Battle he'd been breaking the Slytherins out of their captivity in the dungeons, pulling Pansy Parkenson by the arm and running for cover.

Nott had been arrested at the scene. The Aurors didn't collar the Malfoys until they were extradited from Italy three weeks later. She'd only read about that in the paper though. It turned out that after being on the run for an entire year and defeating the greatest Dark Wizard in generations put you in need of a long Holiday to recover. By the time she had returned, all the trials had finished and sentences had been doled out. It was swift justice, executed in under two months.

There had also been people arrested in connection with the Battle who were not strictly Death Eaters, though - the Unmarked. She supposed she ought to add Narcissa to the list of people she needed to examine and question. She might make a good control subject if this mysterious illness was linked to The Mark. She sent off a request to have Mrs. Malfoy brought to St. Mungos as well.

That sorted, her attention went back to Hogwarts. She had two cases to untangle now. As far as she could tell, there was a patch of land just near the Forbidden Forest - completely off limits to students, by the way - that was giving off very malevolent energy. Further study of the magical signature and observations of its behaviour indicated it was tied to Voldemort, somehow. She still had no idea how that was possible or how it would have only been detected now - five years later.

To be fair, Hogwarts had been nearly completely demolished in The Battle, and the rebuild had taken three years. However, at this point the school - under Headmistress McGonagall - had an entire year under its belt before this energy was ever detected.

It was actually Neville who first noticed it. As the Herbology professor, he'd been foraging near the Forbidden Forest six months back when he'd felt uneasy and called upon Minerva to check it out. The anomaly was turned over to the Department of Mysteries almost immediately.

We don't know what it is, Department of Mysteries to the rescue!

It had started on Rilla's desk, but as she was already neck deep in mis-use of time-turner cases and because Hermione had a stronger background in Dark Magic, it was sent over to her two months prior. That was how Hermione got to the point of trying to uncover the magical signature within the energy. It took a lot of leg work, but she'd finally been able to decipher the runes that were hidden deep within the black smoky tendrils that were licking out of the ground where the Energy imminated. Those were Voldemort's runes. That signature was unique to Voldemort.

Could the fucking man not just go the fuck away already?

Slipping the files into her bag again, she padded into the kitchen to leave Crookshanks his late-night meal before going back to her bedroom. She probably wouldn't sleep, but she'd give it a try.

**

Hermione was jolted awake suddenly and without warning with an incessant tapping on her window. The sun was up, barely, its rays splayed across her mint green quilt - one her mother had made ages ago.

Don't think about her.

Shaking her head in hopes of ridding the cobwebs that had formed over the few hours that she'd actually gotten sleep, Hermione grunted and dragged herself out of the warm comfort of her plush bed to let the bloody owl attacking her window glass in. It was a St. Mungo's owl, and it was definitely told whatever it was carrying was urgent.

Fully awake, Hermione grabbed the letter attached to the owl's leg and absently fed it a treat she kept on the window ledge for just such an occasion.

Hermione,

You need to get to Mungo's quickly. I'm not sure what's happened but Azkaban has had prisoners sent here and the Head Staff won't allow them to be seen. I've tried to reason with them. We took an oath, but I'm afraid someone will harm Nott and the Malfoys if the Ministry doesn't step in. I read the chart and know this is under your jurisdiction and as an Unspeakable, I didn't think you'd want me to call the Aurors at this point. They are being kept in the back of Janus Thickey for the moment.

Padma
6:40am
Thursday, February 13, 2003

Hermione read it twice just to be sure she wasn't misunderstanding. She'd known that St. Mungos had some old-fashioned Healers - it was one reason she'd abandoned Healing after one year and pursued a career in the Department of Mysteries instead - but to refuse to see patients based on their status as criminals. Well, it was unheard of even in the Wizarding World that didn't technically utilise the Hippocratic Oath. It did have its own Oath and, 'Do my job unless it's for a criminal' was not part of it.

Shit.

Saying a prayer of thanks for the existence of Padma Patil, she hurriedly got dressed and Apparated just outside of the St. Mungos ED. It was already 7:15 and she had no way of knowing what state she'd find her charges in with no care for going on a half hour.

This case was her responsibility. This was the first case she'd been given from the start, and she wasn't about to prove everyone who said she was too young to have her position.

Setting her jaw, she marched into the hospital ignoring the Welcome desk entirely on her way toward the lifts to the Janus Thickey Ward. At the very least, they'd had the good sense to put the patients where they had some privacy. The very last thing she needed was to have to obliviate an entire hospital ward.

Obliviate is part of the job, Hermione.

She heard the commotion before she saw it. Angry voices shouting back and forth as she exited the lift and moved down toward the back of the JT Ward. As she rounded the corner she saw Padma, hands clenched at her side receiving a dressing down from an older Healer that she could only tell from the back was male. Three or four other healers stood nearby shouting their own discontent.

"What is going on here?" Hermione asked, her voice clear and stern. Padma looked up, a relieved look crossing her face.

"This is a private Ward, Miss…" the older Healer began. He was probably closer to one-hundred than he was to fifty. His tone was condescending and it irritated Hermione.

"The patients are here under my guardianship, under the care of the Department of Mysteries," she said, pulling herself up straighter. She would not be intimidated by the likes of a washed-up Healer on a power-trip.

"Hermione," Padma started, moving closer to her. "They won't even let me in to run diagnostics. We set silencing charms - the screams are unbearable." Hermione's eyes darted to her friend.

"They are currently in pain?" she asked, looking back to the other healers standing around.

"We aren't in the business of providing reprieve to Death Eaters," one of them spat. This one, a woman in her late fifties if Hermione had to guess, looked as if she was sucking on a prune.

"Forgive me, but that's exactly what you arein the business of if they require it," Hermione's tone left no room for argument. "Move aside," she finally said. "This section of the Hospital is now under the jurisdiction of the Department of Mysteries. I'll take Padma as my designated Healer for the moment. You aren't needed."

The old Healer sputtered indignantly. "This is myward! You can't just come in here and hijack it for murderers!"

"I can," Hermione said, "and I will. If you have a problem with that," she reached into an inner pocket of her robes and produced a business card, "please do take it up with Head Unspeakable Rilla Draguar." Then she literally shooed him with her hand. The look on his face was worth the early morning wake-up alone.

He didn't move but the Healers behind him seemed to understand they'd been beaten for the moment. The mutinous glares they shot at her indicated that her quarrel with them wasn't over.

The head Healer didn't move. "Would you like me to have the Minister come down here and explain to you the chain of command on issues relating to the Department of Mysteries?" Hermione asked. "I'm sure that's exactly what he wants to do with his day. Come all the way down here to explain to you that you can't just refuse patients sent over bythe Ministry and you cannot interfere with the work of Unspeakables. I'll bet he'll love making that trip so much that you will get a promotion!"

His gaze faltered and he muttered something under his breath but he finally left the hall. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't have time for this.

Turning her attention back to Padma, she gave her a small smile of thanks. "Okay, Padma, first things first. Tell me what happened this morning from the moment they arrived."