"Draco, darling. It utterly scandalised me when I got Theo's note. In the best way, of course."
Pansy Parkinson of Parkinson Public Relations perched on Theo's desk as if she owned it. Clad head to toe in red and sporting a chic bob, it occurred to Draco that Pansy looked every bit the powerful kingmaker she'd become. After renouncing her parents, she founded her public relations business, whose sole purpose was to rehabilitate the reputations of notable witches and wizards. Notoriously picky about her clientele and a perfectionist to a fault, Pansy established herself as the most highly sought-after professional in the field.
She clucked her tongue at him. "Married to Hermione Granger for nine years. And you never told me! We could've launched your redemption tour much earlier."
Draco snorted. "It would take more than magic to bring her to heel."
Theo leaned back in his chair. "It's true. You said she looked fit at the hospital, though."
"I saw her from behind and from that vantage point, yes, she's fit. But be realistic, Theo. We'll be splashed across the front page of every paper. She can't be wearing those awful Muggle denims." He scrunched his nose at the mental image.
Pansy looked up from examining her oxblood-painted nails. Her face contorted with disgust. "Wait, you were at St. Mungo's? I wouldn't set foot in there unless I was actively dying, and maybe not even then."
"That's where the whole thing started. Lucius finally kicked the cauldron and Draco, as next of kin, had to identify the body. Hermione was there for a tour of the memory ward. Her parents, who have special permission to receive magical care, aren't doing well."
Theo was calling her Hermione now? Draco pointed his wand at his friend and narrowed his eyes. "And you knew she'd be there, let's not omit facts, Mr. Nott, esquire."
Theo put his hands up. "I did. Guilty as charged. But I've got Pansy involved now, and I'll cover the costs to work with her firm."
Draco slipped the wand back into its holster with a nod. He had no intentions of allowing Theo to foot the bill, but he'd let it lie for now. Pansy got up to pace, her quick steps echoing across the hardwood floor.
"First things first — good riddance to Lucius. He was horrendous to you and I'm glad he's dead. It's not ideal that a reporter got wind of your little reunion, but my team will make some calls. We'll persuade the press to pause for a day or two while we put together the perfect marriage announcement. I'll need to hear the complete story and then we'll figure out the angle.
"That being said, you married well, Draco. Granger is too clever by half. We know she cleans up nicely — even you were salivating after her at the Yule Ball. Don't look at me like that! Ladies notice these things. If you can convince her to help your cause, you'll be sorted by the Solstice Ball."
"Sorted? You're just going to sort my life out? No, Pans. I've had enough people think they can steer my life towards their aims. I don't need your help, and I won't try to convince her to help me, either. That's pathetic. I don't beg or plead. Can you imagine me on my knees in front of Granger?"
Theo exchanged a look with Pansy. "You need her, mate. You're dead in the water without her. The public hates ex-Death Eaters, particularly you, and if you're ever going to get the case solved —"
Draco interrupted him. "I need her? She needs me. What does she have that I didn't give her? My money, my homes, my name — and what did I get in return?"
"The very money you're referring to, for starters. Look, you're stuck together at least until the ball. This might help you reintegrate and find new leads. With her by your side, all those Ministry knobs will have to take you seriously. And Hermione will help you. Think about it. She's not about to let your marriage destroy her reputation. Hermione might be rusty from her, well, rustication, but she'll always be the beloved little bookworm who helped Potter limp to victory. Pansy can coach you both and make it believable."
The Solstice Ball. The ten year anniversary of their deaths. All the right people would be there. Maybe Granger could… he swatted down the idea.
He put on his most antagonistic grimace. "And what, you want me to glean everything I can from her? Orbit her like a lesser moon?"
Pansy leaned over Draco in his chair, her cloying freesia perfume invading his senses. "You can't hide forever, Draco. The Malfoy name carries weight, and you two are the only ones left with it. Own it or it will sink you. Granger may hate your guts, and you certainly hate hers, but this marriage might save both your legacies."
"Her legacy is in no danger. There's a statue of Granger, Swot Extraordinaire, outside the new war memorial."
Pansy sighed. "Your flat is in the most fashionable neighbourhood in London, but you may as well live under a rock. Rumour has it she doesn't talk to any of her old friends. I know for a fact that includes the Potters and Ron Weasley. Luna told me Ron broke up with Hermione via letter, so it was odd, but not inexcusable, when she skipped his wedding to Neville. That'd put a dagger through any witch's heart. But no one's seen her since she left her Ministry job — the one she held for only a few days."
"I made her promise to leave London and never return unless it was absolutely necessary. It was for her safety," Draco explained. This was mostly true. He'd had some inkling of why his mother and intended bride were killed, and with the killer still free, he didn't want Granger's association with him to lead her to an early grave. But Draco's self-interests were never far behind, and their arrangement was also for his comfort. He had the freedom to live his life without worrying he'd see Granger around every corner. "She notified Theo about her trip, which definitely didn't meet the threshold of 'absolutely necessary.' We could've told her St. Mungo's was a pit. But I'm not so cruel as to ban her from speaking to her friends. Maybe they visited her at Cyclamen?"
Pansy shook her head. "I don't think so. She was close with Luna, and she's never extended an invitation to her — or to me." She twirled the shiny silver band on her ring finger.
"Have you given any thought to the list of her spending?" Theo summoned a heavy book and cracked it open.
"I don't keep tabs on it, no."
Theo slid the book over to Draco. He flipped through the pages with gentle flicks of his wrist. Theo groaned. "Why do I even bother? Draco, she's blowing through potions ingredients. You eclipsed us all in Potions, but even I know what's in Dreamless Sleep. Some of it I've never heard of but — "
"She's got a habit?" It wasn't shocking to hear of a war survivor turning to Dreamless Sleep. But her?
"You've been down that road, Draco," Pansy said softly.
"And I don't pretend otherwise. Firewhisky only now, thanks to Theo."
"Draco, you want justice. We've pulled all the strings we can. But Hermione Granger — actually, I should start saying Hermione Malfoy — has more clout than anyone save Potter himself. This could be it. For you, and for both of them."
Draco knew which "them" Theo referenced. He looked away from his friends, out the window, where snow flurries began to stick.
"So I help her — with her parents, the potions. She helps me with the public and gets the Aurors to open and solve the case." It wasn't a Slytherin plan — there was give along with take. But it might be his only chance.
"We'll help you. Both of you." Pansy nodded resolutely.
Hermione found her parents sleeping peacefully, empty teacups and phials on their dresser, and crept downstairs. Fog had rolled in mid-afternoon, and she craved a cocktail before preparing for the move. Packing would be the least of her troubles. Hermione fretted to herself about her parents' delicate present and future.
Her mind was on rum and ginger beer when she opened her study door only to find Blaise Zabini coiled in her chair, reading her notebook. She'd assumed he'd left an hour ago. Infuriatingly, he didn't look up at her as he thumbed through years and years of her parents' medical history and data.
Blaise spoke before she could unleash her wrath. "Who else knows about this?"
"No one. Well, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, but as far as they're concerned, I've got it under control." She clenched her fist at her side.
"Hermione," he said, lifting his eyes to hers. It didn't escape her that he'd dropped the formalities between them. "I wouldn't describe anything about this situation as 'under control.' You've been experimenting with powerful dark magic."
He frowned at the notebook in his hands, and Hermione seized the opportunity to snatch it away from him.
"I'll take that," she seethed. She shrunk the notebook and tucked it in her beaded bag.
"Not going to do you much good now, I'm afraid. I've got an eidetic memory," he paused, his face devoid of emotion. "Unless you plan on Obliviating me, too? It's funny, in our first meeting you omitted the fact that you were the one who cast the original spell. It's no wonder you're struggling."
"Fuck you, Zabini. Get out."
Blaise didn't move. "I understand you're embarrassed. You must deeply regret your actions, even though I'm sure without them, your parents would've been victims of the Dark Lord and his ilk. And you've made considerable progress here, despite your lack of formal instruction. My reservations about your methods aside, I'm impressed."
Hermione approached the sideboard and withdrew a glass, shutting the cabinet door more forcefully than was necessary. "I appreciate what you did today, and I respect your work, but I have no interest in further help from you."
She poured herself a healthy amount of rum, followed by a miniature bottle of ginger beer, focusing on the repetitive ting of the metal stirrer against the glass as it irritated the two liquids together. Blaise sighed, perhaps expecting an offer for a drink that was not forthcoming.
"You know, I've seen a case like this before. It was difficult, to say the least, to watch the patient deteriorate so rapidly. In hospice, we accept we can't save the patient. We're one step removed and therefore remain clear-eyed through the decline and ultimate demise of our patients. But you are both their carer and their family. You have my sympathy, Hermione. This can't be easy."
"I'm not providing hospice care. Just because I'm searching for a better situation for them, and for me," she conceded, "doesn't mean I'm giving up."
"Then neither will I."
"I've already told you. I don't want your help."
Blaise leaned forward in the chair. "I've trained for years to become an expert in this field, and I've made a name for myself with my unique approach. I involve every member of the family at every juncture. Not every Healer would allow you to interface with them if they knew everything in that notebook, and you know it. I'd offer that continuity of care, and in fact I'd welcome your input. I've helped high-profile witches and wizards, much like yourself — and their families. Former members of the Wizengamot, previous Ministers for Magic, so on and so forth. I'm happy to provide you with references."
Hermione lifted her drink to her mouth, but lowered it back down without wetting her lips. "Why would you do all that?"
"I'm curious by nature, and you must admit, cases as unique as this don't come around often. It'd make a terrific case study. I'd keep all the major details anonymous, of course. Publishing case studies is the only way for Healers in my field to receive research funding. In addition, I'd consult a team of Healers all around the world and develop a protocol for your parents, as well as future cases similar to theirs. It's unlikely your parents are the only Muggles to have suffered from an Obliviation gone awry. It might help Magical people as well. The bottom line is, something good could still come out of this. And before you say anything else, I know you probably don't have much money, so I'll waive my fee. Let's just say you'll owe me a favour."
"The money won't be an issue," Hermione stated between sips. "My husband will take care of it. My parents and I are leaving Cyclamen tonight to join him. I should be packing right now."
Blaise arched a doubtful eyebrow. "You're married?"
"Yes. To Draco Malfoy."
If he'd been the one drinking, he would've choked.
"I believe you know him?" She couldn't resist a small smirk.
He ran a hand over his perfectly faded hair. "It wouldn't be right, taking money from a dear old friend — or his wife. Let's call it one favour, then."
Blaise stuck his hand out, ready to shake on their deal. She hesitated to trust him, despite his renown and experience, but he already knew her secrets. And the undeniable truth was she needed help with her parents sooner rather than later, especially in an unfamiliar flat in the city. If Wendell wandered… Hermione shuddered, horrific mental images tipping her over the edge.
Hermione took his hand in hers and gave it a firm pump. "One favour it is, then."
"Excellent," Blaise said, smiling with all his teeth. "When and where should we begin?"
