First, Hermione made sure both her parents slept soundly in their bed. With that accomplished, she collapsed into her own, pulling the covers up and over her head and back down again.

She'd forgotten to open the Floo at Cyclamen, so Theo side-alonged with her, bidding her goodbye at the gate. He spouted multiple apologies about the encounter with Draco, and entreated her to reach out to his office when she selected a care home for her parents. She waved him off, eager to sleep off the rest of the day. Yet back in the draughty room, sleep eluded her.

Hermione blinked up at the ceiling, banishing the floaters from her eyes. Exhaustion draped itself across her body like a thick, heavy blanket. Every time she left the house, her problems multiplied. Heads off a hydra, exactly like Malfoy said. With St. Mungo's stricken from her list of care options, she now needed to research and vet additional facilities, likely abroad where no one recognized the name Granger. At least she'd have whatever funds she needed, courtesy of her husband.

This new Malfoy supplanted the previous versions in her memory. She'd never forget her first meeting with him — slicked-back hair, jeering face. And sixth year Malfoy, freshly Marked, a cornered wild animal. The man she married elbowed his way to the forefront of her mind. He'd been pale as porcelain, and just as shatterable. Nothing of the domineering, snobbish, clever, and conniving man lived on. Instead, she was greeted with a ghost.

It wasn't the ghost that hauled her out of the hospital lobby today. Hermione gently pressed the burgeoning bruise he left on her arm, biting her cheek at the residual pain. This was the handiwork of a pushy, prideful Malfoy. The one she'd expected on her wedding night, but for some reason, got yet another version instead. A version she didn't think about if she could help it.

No, the Malfoy today exuded wealth and quiet confidence. Malfoy's unexpected choice of Muggle daywear, a finespun crew neck jumper, hugged his broad shoulders and trim waist. He cut an imposing figure in all-black, a sharp contrast to his hair, platinum as ever and longer on top. The undercut suited his angular features, rendering him, Hermione could admit, rather appealing. He stood as tall as she remembered, but his eyes seemed sharper, as did his tongue. But she was touched by his concern for her parents, especially after recently seeing one of his own dead. Although he didn't appear too torn up about it.

Why was she thinking about a man who had so little regard for her when she could be sleeping? She kept a phial of Dreamless Sleep in her nightstand for emergencies, and the way her mind replayed the image of him hovering over her in the alley was starting to feel like it qualified as an emergency.

From the moment they met, Draco Malfoy brought Hermione nothing but pain. She suffered years of slurs and bullying from him and his simpering stooges. That cursed dagger would have never carved her flesh if not for him and his family of sycophants. Wherever Draco went, stupidity, bigotry, and idolatry followed. And if that wasn't enough, then he used her to get his filthy hands on his Pureblood money.

No, that wasn't entirely accurate. The Malfoy she knew would never stand for a single speck of dirt under his fingernails. She barked a little laugh. Even under excruciating pressure, his arm emblazoned with the Dark Mark, he couldn't kill Dumbledore. And that's what didn't add up for her, a girl gifted in every subject including Arithmancy.

Why did Malfoy pick her?

She'd always assumed he and Pansy Parkinson had an unspoken agreement to wed. Pureblood marriage, from what she'd read, required approval from the families involved, but even if Pansy wasn't Lucius and Narcissa's first choice of daughter-in-law, surely they'd favour her over Hermione Granger. Pansy must have been unavailable. Or perhaps Pureblood witches turned their backs on him after he took the Mark but the war was lost? It wouldn't surprise her. Rot often lay beneath the thin veneer of wealth and privilege.

Her thoughts returned to Malfoy's parents. Lucius was gone now, and had been in Azkaban since the war, but what about Narcissa? Hermione knew only a little of her post-war charitable endeavours, relayed to her in Harry's letters while she was in Australia. Did she know her son married a Muggleborn witch? The sole guest of their wedding was Theo, and he'd also played witness and attendant. It had been last minute, but wouldn't Narcissa, who so famously doted on her only son, stand beside him on such a sacred occasion? Hermione thought it likely that Narcissa knew and respected her son's Slytherin power grab but not his methods. Did it break her heart to know her son would marry not for love, as she did, but for money? Is that why she didn't attend?

Hermione would have given anything for Hugh and Judy to attend her wedding, even if it was to her schoolyard bully. There were rites of passage that she would never regain. Tears rolled down the slopes of her cheeks as she imagined Judy helping her shop for a wedding gown. They'd have perused the flower shops together and spent hours eating dark chocolate and giggling over Muggle bridal magazines, because in a normal, ordinary world, her wedding would have elicited nothing but radiant elation.

And Hugh. She cried in earnest now. Her father should have been there, escorting her down the aisle. Hermione considered herself a modern woman and never wanted to be given away to her groom. But she longed to know what he might have said on their journey to the altar. Maybe he would have had sound advice. It was even more likely he would have made her laugh through tears of joy and hope. What would he have thought of the man who snarled at her today?

Hermione tugged the coverlet up to her face and blotted away her tears. Crying never got her anywhere. It would be best to focus on getting her parents squared away, and be thankful she had the resources to do it.

And however faded it might be, there existed a silver lining. Her face relaxed and she released a cleansing breath. She'd never see Malfoy again.

She slid the drawer of her nightstand open and peered inside. The phial winked at her in the moonlight, assuring her of its potency. Her burn stung, shooting hot sparks of pain up her arm to her shoulder. Relief was a sip away, but she'd been gone all day, and who knows what might happen with her parents tonight. With a sigh, she shoved the drawer back into place, the sound of the rolling glass tinkling like a distant bell.

Hermione wiped the damp trail of drool off her face. The light streaming through her curtains signalled to her she'd overslept. She pulled a threadbare dressing gown from the hook on the back of her bedroom door, slung it over her shoulders, and headed to the bathroom. After a speedy shower and change of clothes, she plodded down the stairs, unsure of what she'd be walking into. It had been a risk leaving Judy in charge yesterday, but she wouldn't hear about how it went until tomorrow.

Neither Monica nor Wendell were in the sun-streaked kitchen. Hermione put the kettle on for tea and peeked her head into the living room. Empty. Hermione frowned as the kettle called her back to the kitchen. It was such a beautiful day, maybe her parents were out for a walk around the gardens? It had been a long time since Monica had left the cottage.

She looked out the window as she poured the boiling water over a sachet of mint tea, scanning the grounds for any sign of them.

"He's at the pub again."

Hermione jumped and sloshed the piping hot tea over her hands. "Monica!" She quickly healed the burn with a swish of her wand.

"I can't control him, Hermione. He's got a mind of his own, my husband. Is your hand alright? I'm going back to bed." Monica yawned, her constant exhaustion overpowering her. Most days, Monica only got out of bed to eat or use the loo. It was impossible to hold a conversation with her, but at least she was eating on her own today. Her left hand gripped a scone, which she nibbled as she ascended the stairs.

Just as Hermione refilled the kettle, a dark owl cast a shadow over the stove. It pierced her with yellow beady eyes, willing her to open the window without so much as a hoot or tap. This must be Theo's owl, she thought. He's discreet.

Mrs. Malfoy,

I hope this note finds you well.

I have an urgent matter to discuss with you and Mr. Malfoy. I've cleared my schedule for the day. Please come to my office at your earliest convenience.

P.S. Feel free to give Albert a treat. He's usually a process server, so as you can imagine, he doesn't get much love. He's partial to the Eeylops Premium sort, if you have any lying about.

P.P.S. For Merlin's sake, use the Floo this time.

There was no way she could leave Monica at the cottage alone, not to mention Wendell was on the loose. She fished a cracker out of the pantry and offered it to Albert, who eyed it suspiciously. She gave up and tossed it in the bin, stomping away to the fireplace in her study as the owl took flight back to the city.

"Nott and Associates, London," she commanded her now-open Floo.

A red-haired secretary in a conservative shift dress appeared through the flames. "Hello, love. You're Mrs. Malfoy? Mr. Nott's expecting you."

"Would you kindly tell him that I'm unavailable today, as my parents aren't well? I can be in this office first thing tomorrow."

The secretary shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know that you'll want to wait that long, dear. As Mr. Nott said, it's urgent."

"Does he need me to sign something?" Hermione grew impatient. Who knew how many pints Wendell had already knocked back? The one day she'd slept in and everything was falling apart.

The secretary stepped away for a moment, and the lanky frame of Theodore Nott replaced her.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I know you didn't expect to see me again so soon. I've been anticipating your arrival. Draco is already here."

"I can't come right now, Theo. I can call you Theo, right? As you know, my parents are ill and need me. I can't simply drop everything with no notice." She left their illness purposefully vague. Hermione wasn't going to even begin to get into her parents' conditions, including her mother's dual personalities.

Theo sighed and ran his hand over his face. He locked his steely gaze on her. "I'll send someone to you who can help. As soon as they arrive, Floo here."

Hermione bristled. "They need more than babysitting, you know. And I don't want anyone else to know my parents are here. Besides, how can I trust whoever you send won't run their mouths to the press?"

"I can draw up a contract, and with their permission you can Obliviate them after you return, no need to —"

Hermione cut him off with a shriek. "No!"

Theo gave her a quizzical look and put his hands in front of him in surrender. "Whoa, whoa. Alright. How about this — I'll send a Healer who will operate with utmost discretion."

"I hardly think that will work," she said, drawing deep breaths into her lungs to calm herself after her outburst. If Theo drew any additional conclusions from her outburst, she hoped they were benign. It wouldn't do for him to know her secrets. She wasn't in the habit of trusting Slytherins, no matter how reformed many of them claimed to be.

"I'm not sending just anyone off the street. He's a personal friend, and I assure you he has no blood prejudices or biases. The Grangers will be in excellent hands. You have my word, Mrs. Malfoy."

Unused to hearing the Malfoy name associated with hers, she corrected him. "Call me Hermione. Please."

She saw him struggle to say it. "Hermione, then. I'll have Dovie get in touch with Blaise now and have him over within the hour."

"Blaise Zabini? Absolutely not," Hermione panicked at the thought of yet another Slytherin's involvement in this mess. "He's—"

"What? A Pureblood? A Slytherin? He's a high-profile Healer, and the most close-lipped person I know," Theo clapped his hands together and she jumped at the sudden movement. "We've wasted enough time. Look, I understand you need reassurance. Blaise typically guest lectures at the hospice centre on Tuesdays during tea — in fact he should be nearing the end of his talk now. I'll give you the address, and you can connect via Floo. When you hear him speak, you'll understand my recommendation.

"Write down everything Blaise needs to know, and after you introduce him to your parents, come over here. Make sure you eat something, all the takeaway options near the office are rubbish. Can't even get a good curry."

Before she could utter another word, he ended the connection.

Hermione shouted out the location Theo gave her and peered through the Floo.

Blaise Zabini, resplendent in lime green Healer robes that fit him as if they were the latest couture, addressed a packed house. He didn't fidget, stutter, or deviate from the notes displayed behind them, arriving and departing with elegant flicks of his wand.

"The four tenets of hospice care, which you are all familiar with, are of equal importance. And yet we focus so little on the third tenet — the needs of the families of the dying. The patient requires physical care, but what of their emotional state? Healing trauma before death, with assistance from the family, is best for all parties. Remember, the patient will die. Best efforts have already been exhausted by the time the patient enters your care. A good death is the goal. But after the patient is deceased, the family lives on. It's possible one of them will enter your care before your career is over, seeking that same dignity and resolution that you offered their family member.

In my many years of practise, I've had the honour of guiding many esteemed members of the British Wizarding community through the thicket of the unknown. I would be remiss to merely do my duty by the patient and ignore the truth so few Healers face: everything we do in regards to the patient is intimately interconnected with their family. Therefore, adopting a holistic approach to the third tenet of hospice care will not only yield the desired result of a peaceful transition for our patient and their families, but it will also guide you to a more fulfilling career with unique opportunities to serve your community. Thank you."

Applause rippled through the auditorium. Blaise bowed but didn't linger, exiting the stage and crossing right in front of her Floo connection. She didn't miss her opportunity.

"Mr. Zabini," she called out.

"Miss Granger," he intoned. She didn't correct him. "Did you enjoy the lecture?" He shook a colleague's hand and nodded at another.

"Very much so. I had no idea of your interest in Healing."

"It's my understanding you have little idea of me at all. However, your reputation precedes you, and you wouldn't be loitering now unless you needed something. How may I be of assistance?"

She blinked at his direct manner. "Theo Nott recommended you to me. My parents are unwell."

"Your parents are Muggles."

She would not be so easily dismissed. "Yes, however they suffer from memory impairments," she swallowed hard. "Brought on by Obliviation."

Wendell sulked all the way upstairs, where Monica fitfully slumbered. Although he protested, Hermione administered him some new potions to help him sleep off his afternoon of indulgence. She jotted down the dosage of each in her notebook. The phials she gave them practically overflowed with liquid, and they continued to multiply in number. Hermione made a mental note to revisit her idea for an undetectable extension charm for glassware. They were illegal, of course, but so were most of the contents of her greenhouse. As she closed the bedroom door, she lifted her sleeve and scratched the scar on her arm. It had never healed, and was becoming more bothersome lately.

She'd scarcely entered her study when the Floo roared to life, announcing Blaise Zabini's arrival. Hermione jerked open her desk drawer and flung her notebook inside, slamming it shut before the man imposed on her privacy.

Blaise Zabini stepped out of the fireplace into the messy study. He stood before her the picture of Pureblood elegance, unruffled by his recent travel. His posture remained perfect, despite the large medical bag he held at his side. His calculating, serpentine eyes finally landed on her.

"Miss Granger," he nodded stiffly.

"Hello, again" she said cautiously. "Thank you for coming." Unsure of what to do next, she held out her hand for a handshake.

He ignored it. "I'm here strictly in a professional capacity. You have instructions for me?"

"Yes, I'll need you to monitor my parents while I'm gone," Hermione paused, walking backwards to retrieve the carefully written directions for her parents' care from the sideboard. If Blaise noticed that she didn't want to turn her back on him, he said nothing. "I have a brief medical history for both of them here on the first page. I've already given them the potions listed on the second page, and here are my suggested dosages for any additional potions they may require. I don't know how long I'll be gone exactly, but I assume I'll be back before nightfall. On days like today, they mostly sleep upstairs, so they shouldn't give you too much trouble."

She held out the two pieces of parchment to him, which he accepted with spidery fingers. His eyes raced back and forth over the medical history.

"These are your parents, you said? Why does this say Wendell and Monica Wilkins?" His eyebrows raised in mild puzzlement.

"Do you need to know, in your 'professional capacity'?"

"Touche," he grinned, flipping to the second page. The grin immediately vanished. "Granger, these potions are — how long have you been dabbling in dark magic?"

She avoided answering him. "I'll relieve you tonight. Please take good care of them, Mr Zabini."

Hermione brushed past him, gathering Floo powder in her palm and shakily stating the address for Theo's office. She'd seen more people she knew in the past forty-eight hours than she had in nine years. The sooner she handled this urgent matter, the better. Then she could see her parents settled, talk to Harry… when she tried to think beyond that, the memory of the ritual called out to her, a voice on the edge of her mind whispering that she would be capable of so much more now.

Capable of what? She wondered.