"I think it's time I re-entered magical society." Hermione sat across from Wendell and Judy. While they sipped at tea and shuffled eggs across their plates, she vibrated with the energy of transformative knowledge; of moving forward. Surely even the room itself knew — the shadows from the kitchen window danced across stark white walls, taking the forms of grey leaves thrown from floor to ceiling as the wind blew outside.

The events of last night gifted her the first real clarity she'd had in years. She'd woken up after a sleep blissfully uncorrupted by nightmares. She threw on a heathered black hoodie to cover her scar and the purpling burn next to it, obtained from her wand during the ritual. Her veins looked grey through her skin, but she hid them easily with a little makeup. She'd smiled at her parents, and hummed as she made breakfast.

"Sounds like she's made up with her husband," Wendell confided to Judy in a loud whisper. He cleared his plate, leaving the two women alone.

"I know I shut you and Dad out after things got serious with Voldemort," Hermione began. She'd told her mother the entire story of the war as soon as Minister Podmore exempted her from the Statute of Secrecy. Judy didn't fully understand, but she grasped more than most Muggles would. "I thought if I clung to my magic, everything would work out. If I stayed close to Harry and Ron, helped them, whatever little scraps of luck they cast in their wake would cling to me and I'd become like them," she paused, getting up to pace.

"It's a beautiful lie, isn't it? It was so easy to believe that I could be like them. It was a fairytale, but I woke up one morning as an ordinary eleven-year-old and by nightfall, I slept at a school for witches and wizards. So at that time, fairy tales didn't seem as farfetched to me as they once did. I reasoned that if I stuck by these boys who rescued me from a troll, I might escape the hard realities of being a buck-toothed Muggleborn girl. If I studied harder, and took more courses, surely I would be accepted. If I flicked my wrist more delicately or more forcefully, they'd wake up and see me as an equal witch. I only wanted to be equal, back then. Ordinary in the Wizarding World.

"I dreamt I'd settle down, and maybe have some children. They'd be magical, of course, and I'd guide them through Hogwarts. I'd have a high-powered career, naturally. I had my heart set on a seat of the Wizengamot. They sorely need more female representation, and there's never been a Muggleborn member. Think of all I could contribute!

"All these plans wouldn't be achievable if I didn't help end the looming war. And I couldn't play the role Harry needed me to if you and Dad were constantly on my mind. It wasn't even that altruistic! I knew that sacrificing you both for your safety was a risk. I didn't even give you a choice of how or when! It haunts me." Hermione's hands were in her hair, fingers flexing, pushing firmly into her scalp.

"You made a new life in the magical world and you had to protect it. We've been over this. I get it, we held you back from achieving all your dreams," Judy said snidely. "You didn't even last a week at your fancy Ministry job that you dragged us to the magical world for. And now we're stuck here."

"You're twisting my words, Mum! I love you both and I always want you in my life. I thought I could have it all, both magical and Muggle. Just because I leaned into my magical side —"

"Leaned in? Hermione, every summer you came home, I lost a little more of you to magic. We didn't watch telly together, visit the dental centre, or cross off more libraries on our quest to visit every library in London. Sometimes we couldn't even have a conversation, and if we did I saw you weighing each word. You erected an invisible barrier between us. And I never let you see it, but I grieved you then. My only child, my bright and beautiful daughter, lost to magic."

Hermione sobbed quietly into her hands. It was useless to explain to her mother that magic had never accepted her, not like her family had. Her bravery during the war meant little in the end. With no castle to go back to, she never completed her studies. She'd been so sure the Ministry would understand the circumstances. McGonagall, the Weasleys, they'd help. But no, she didn't have any job offers after the war. Harry couldn't swat them off with a beater, but no, nothing for the Golden Girl.

In the end, her legacy translated into fodder for Witch Weekly. Sometimes they even spelled her name wrong. After everything she did, the magical public reduced her to little more than a footnote, a hanger-on who rode Harry and Ron's coattails. Her actions helped kill Voldemort once and for all, but because she barely registered as pretty, and she had Muggle parentage, she would never be accepted, let alone lauded.

But her magic would not lie quiet. It pulsed through her whether she liked it or not. She'd liked it, loved it, become addicted to it, hated it, and everything in between.

Hermione thought she'd accepted the status quo. Here in the Cotswolds, she was in, but not of, the magical world. But she was really in a deadly tango. Her parents survived only with the help of darker and darker magic, and it took from Hermione each time she tapped into the source. Eventually, there would be nothing to draw from. If she kept on this way, they'd all lie in those graves before the year was out.

She lifted her head and dried her eyes. "I'm going back to London."

Her mother revealed no emotion. "What happened to your promise to Mr. Malfoy?"

"He didn't specify it in our… terms," she said pointedly. "And although I've avoided the newspapers as requested, I can technically read those too if I happen to see them lying about."

"You're much more comfortable with breaking rules than I remember."

Tell her about the time you kept that reporter in a jar. All that power… you've never felt more alive. She shook her head, dismissing the intrusive thoughts that crept in. "Listen, I had a revelation last night. I love you Mum, and I have done all I can for you as your daughter. I will always love you, but who I am now isn't the best person to care for you. I thought I could do it all and heal you.

"When I was a girl, magic seemed the answer to all my problems. Finally, an explanation for the stardust rocketing through my veins. If that stardust could save the world, why couldn't it also save you?

"I'll regret what I did for the rest of my life. But there's more I can do, and it's time I do it. For you, and for me. For us."

Her mother held herself rigidly. Several moments elapsed before she asked her next question.

"When are you leaving?"

"The day after tomorrow, just for the day. It's a 'Judy' day, so you'll be you, and I'll leave specific instructions on how to care for Wendell. He and I had a chat by the fireside last night and he was so much like Dad. I want to preserve whatever part of Dad I can and help Wendell, too. They're both real, you know? He's Hugh and Wendell, and you are Judy and Monica."

"I don't want to be both. I want to be myself again, all the time, with Hugh."

The weak sun trickling through the window did nothing to warm Hermione. She considered telling Judy the truth — she'd be intertwined with Monica forever if there was any hope for regrowth. Hermione had been too busy playing surgeon — trying to carve, excise, seal — to see it before. She hung her head, unable to meet her mother's eyes.

"I'm going to inquire about beds for you both at St. Mungo's. The healers there run the best memory care ward in the Wizarding World," Hermione said, infusing false enthusiasm into her voice, thinking back to her encounters with Lockhart and the Longbottoms. "And if there's time I might call on Harry."

"I thought you weren't speaking to Harry."

"I'll have to see him at some point, and I'll already be in town. And if it goes badly, well," She hesitated, unprepared to consider losing her best friend for good. Once he found out about Malfoy, all bets were off.

"What about your husband? Have you thought about the consequences?"

"I truly doubt I'll see him," Merlin, he would be the worst possible person to see. How could they meet each other's eyes again after their disaster of a wedding night? Her heart rate spiked. She pushed away the mental images of rumpled sheets and Malfoy's scarred white back hunched over the bed as he cried. "But it's probably best to let our solicitor know I'll be in town. Not that Malfoy would be caught dead anywhere near a public Wizarding hospital."

"I don't know how well your father will do alone with me. He relies on you, you know."

Her heartbeat drifted back to baseline. "He does. I'll only take the tour, okay? No visits to Harry or anyone else. Just there and back," Hermione leaned across the table, daring to hover her hand over her mother's. When Judy didn't recoil or flinch, she gently rested it on top of hers. "Mum, this could help. You said you'd give me a little more time to figure something out. I'm trying."

Judy leaned forward, all business, but didn't remove her hand from underneath her daughter's. "Let's talk through the instructions you're going to leave me."

The gravel skittered underneath her feet as she made her way to the greenhouse. Hermione left notes for Judy on most surfaces in the cottage — the nightstand, the pantry, the kettle. Each potion was labelled with directions on how much to take and when to take it. Hermione waffled a bit about whether she should ask the Dorseys to do a wellness check but eventually decided against it. Even if she catastrophised to the nth degree, there was only so much damage her parents could do in a day, and she had her mother's word that she wouldn't hurt herself or Wendell.

Now to harvest. There was a chance St. Mungo's wouldn't have space for her parents immediately, and in that case, she would still need the herbs within.

In her mind, she heard winter's icy knuckles cracking, itching to frost the earth from tip to toe. She ached for deep winter, who she welcomed to feed delightedly on what was dead and gone. It spoke to her, scavenger to scavenger.

Hermione paused outside the greenhouse doors and gazed out at the pond. It lay pristine; glass-like. Several times she'd gone out there on her skates when the ice was too fresh and prone to cracking, leaving little circles of white agony. Each year she dared to cut her blades deeper and deeper, searching for answers on airless days.

But in the end, she rushed back to warmth and safety every time. It was one thing to flirt with the abyss, another to close the deal. She shook out her curls, opened the doors, and relaxed into the hiss of steam hitting the cold air.

She went about her work until the light tapping of an owl's beak on glass caught her attention. Hermione quickly jostled the belladonna in her hands into the waiting phial and shucked her gloves off to let the bird in.

"Aren't you a pretty thing? Please thank the Dorseys for letting me borrow you," she cooed as she attached her note to the owl's leg. "There you are. Deliver this note to Theodore Nott of Nott & Associates, London."

With that done, she returned and finished her preparations. The moon winked knowingly through the skylights, finally dissolving into the fog.

The first thing Theodore Nott noticed as he entered his office was the towering stack of mail in his desk inbox. Merlin's great fucking beard. Isn't this what I have a secretary for? He ran a hand through his dark hair, which in a characteristic act of defiance, fell right back into his face.

"Dovie! Anything important in here or can I chuck it all in the bin?"

A bespectacled redhead craned her neck around the doorframe and squinted at the monolith of parchment. "Somewhere in there is the written order for the Wattle case, a death certificate from Azkaban pending family identification of the body — oh, and a letter from Mrs. Malfoy."

She vanished before Theo could pick his jaw off the floor. Mrs. Malfoy had written?

He'd never been the type to wait until after dinner to eat dessert. With a slash of his letter opener, he laid Hermione's missive bare.

Mr. Nott,

This letter is to inform you that I will be in London on unavoidable business tomorrow, the 12th. While Mr. Malfoy and I have no binding agreement on the matter, I understand he would rather not see me whilst I am there. Please notify him so he can develop alternate plans, should he need them.

Best,

Hermione Malfoy

The balls on that woman. That'll be a fun Floo call to Draco. Yes, I've just heard from your wife. She says stay the fuck out of the city tomorrow if you know what's good for you.

Next, he opened the giant envelope from Azkaban. The thick charcoal paper featured an embossed black dementor ominously circling his name and address. Inside was a form letter.

To whom it may concern:

This letter serves as initial notification of the death of

LUCIUS MALFOY II

A prisoner at AZKABAN. The remains will be transported to ST. MUNGO'S, LONDON for verification of identity to take place on 12TH DECEMBER, 2009.

The letter continued, but Theo dropped it in his lap in shock.

"Ding dong, that bastard's finally dead!"

He jumped up and ran down the hallway to the nearest Floo, all other business — including Hermione's letter — completely forgotten.