Before I continue with the story I just wanted to say thank you for the follows and reviews.
I'm still learning this website and how to reply to people. One reader asked if I have worked in memory care or at a funeral home. I have not, but I'm glad my research has paid off and it's coming across.
I hope you all enjoy this next installment.
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Draco fell backwards onto the hard floor, short of breath. The acrid smell of singed fabric and the ache in his arm from the stinging hex exacerbated his headache. Despite a Sober-Up potion and several glasses of water, the untold number of drinks he'd had the previous night resulted in a piss-poor performance. He should have been dead several times over.
"You're distracted," Theo said, offering his hand. They'd been at it for an hour and Draco hadn't so much as disarmed his longtime duelling partner.
Draco took it and Theo pulled him up. "You would be too. I've lived alone for years and now I've got three more people living in the flat. Granger and I share a loo, for fuck's sake."
Theo quirked an eyebrow. "That bad?"
Draco ignored the question and readied himself for another round, turning and walking the required ten paces. Theo repurposed the room at his spacious flat in Chelsea years ago for this exact purpose, when Draco first decided he would have to be the one to bring the murderer to justice. Draco never expected he'd still be coming here weekly, honing his skills, but he was grateful for the distraction after last night.
He debated telling Theo about the vigil and the Death Eaters. Theo had more reasons than most to stay away. He'd denied Pureblood supremacy and his family's wishes much sooner than others in their circle, and combined with his reputation for locking away the Dark Lord's loyal soldiers, he was perennially at the top of their hit list. He'd been cornered a few times, but as a duellist he was positively lethal, and so Theo made quick work of his assailants. But as their numbers grew, so did the danger, and as much as Draco wanted to tell him, he wanted to protect Theo more. The less Theo knew about Death Eater activity, the less of a target he made himself. Draco could handle it.
And in truth, the situation he'd walked in on with Granger last night was the event that weighed more heavily on his mind. The screaming, the glass, the blood — it was all a horrific slurry in his mind, mixed up with memories from years ago.
They spun to face each other, and Draco blocked Theo's disarming spell. He cast a jinx in response that went nowhere. They battled back and forth for several minutes, Draco wiping sweat from his brow as he advanced, allowing Theo no quarter. But his friend didn't give up, giving as good as he got. After years of practise, the only way to gain the upper hand was to do something unpredictable.
"Granger Obliviated her parents," Draco blurted out.
"What?" In the split-second it took for Theo to register Draco's statement, Draco hit him with a Tarantallegra. Theo immediately sprang into a complicated tap dance. Draco twirled his wand so the thin-lipped solicitor performed a ridiculous pirouette. "Very funny."
Draco couldn't resist a laugh before ending his friend's misery. "Finite."
"I'm done for the day." Theo summoned a towel and a glass of water, and Draco followed him into the living room. "Did you mean that? Granger Obliviated her parents?"
"She didn't think to cast a silencing charm over their room and I heard them screaming at each other. Her mother knows she did it. I opened the door and found her bloody and her parents stunned."
"Sweet Salazar. So that's why you showed up smelling like a distillery this morning."
Draco shot him a look that he hoped conveyed his annoyance and settled into an overstuffed chair. "You'd be drinking too."
Theo's face twisted into an expression Draco couldn't place. "Maybe she had her reasons. Didn't you think it was strange she insisted on bringing them with her originally?"
He leaned back and summoned his own glass of water. "As you might recall, I wasn't thinking much about it at the time."
"Sorry," Theo winced. "Did you ask her why? Maybe she had a good reason to."
"What possible reason could you have for Obliviating your Muggle parents and doing such a shite job of it that they're permanently addled? Granger was always going on about being a proud Muggleborn and loving her parents. It doesn't add up."
"Which further proves my point. You should talk to her."
"I'm not keen on shacking up with someone with loose morals. And I'm even less keen on starting an inquiry into Granger and her personal philosophy."
"It's not shacking up if you're married," Theo shrugged and headed back towards his room, raising his voice as he walked away. "Besides, aren't you curious? She said she came back because she needs help for them. You could help. Do something productive for a change."
A quick glance at the grandfather clock told Draco the solicitor needed to be at work soon. Draco cleaned both their empty glasses and sent them back to the kitchen with a few flicks of his wand. His only task done, he tapped his long fingers on the arm of the chair.
Did Granger have a good reason? She seemed sensible in both her mannerisms and attire. Sure, she hadn't gone about progress in an effective manner at school — her overly enthusiastic initiative to free the elves came to mind — but what had he accomplished in that same vein? Theo, Blaise, and Pansy were all in the business of helping others. He'd told himself he was, too, by dedicating himself to finding and eliminating his mother and Astoria's killer. The world would certainly be better off. But Draco hadn't had a lead in awhile, and it terrified him to think that not only had the trail gone cold, but he might be stagnant himself.
"I'm starting to think you like her more than me," Draco pouted as he adjusted his wand holster.
Theo came back into sight, wearing a fresh set of robes and gleaming wingtip boots. "Don't be a brat. I thought you'd grown out of that snide, jealous little prince phase."
Draco snorted. "Too bad you never grew out of your obsessive need to be right about everything."
"You're exasperating." Theo looked at the clock. "I'm going to be late. Same time next week?"
"If Granger doesn't scramble my brain by then."
"I don't know, maybe you should let her. Might be an improvement."
She'd really missed Wizarding London.
Even though she wore a glamour since she and Malfoy were keeping a low profile for now, Hermione felt at home amongst the throngs of wizards and witches doing their Christmas shopping. Street vendors called out, selling chestnuts and Yuletide candies. Children chased each other, arms laden with goodies, their laughter pealing through the frigid air.
She paused at a newsstand, pretending to be interested in the latest Witch Weekly as she covertly scanned the headlines of the major papers. A wave of relief washed over her. None of them featured any stories about Malfoy or herself. A black magazine cover with green sparks coming from the tip of a wand caught her eye as she adjusted her freshly purchased dresses over her arm. The Quibbler proclaimed Death Eater sightings were up across the country. Curiosity piqued, Hermione reached for the glossy magazine, but retracted her hand as she thought better of it. Her days fighting Death Eaters were over. Let the Aurors do what they do best.
She'd checked off everything on Pansy's list during today's excursion. As it turned out Genevieve was an elf, and very discreet. The mountain of dresses Hermione purchased to show her support had a Featherlight Charm on them, but they were still unwieldy. She hitched them up again, thankful that she'd already popped to Muggle London and gotten her hair cut so she could head straight back to Malfoy's flat. Their flat? No, Malfoy's flat.
Ordinarily she would have gone right back, but the cheerful holiday mood swept her out into the streets. For the first time in a long time, Hermione smiled. She pulled herself away from the small but intriguing selection of books and, in a moment of inspiration, shrank her dresses down to fit in her beaded bag. Her magic had been stronger since she turned over the care of her parents to Blaise, and her magical sensibilities were returning, too.
She still felt a bit off. A glamour usually covered any remnants of dark magic, but it didn't subdue the deep ache of the chemical burn on her wand arm, and it didn't hide it, either. The wound had fully blistered over, angry red outlining the large black oval, and it stung like a thousand little needles. She'd have to ask Blaise for a salve.
Once this business with Malfoy was over, and she found the right Healer for her parents, maybe she'd move to a city. Perhaps even London, if they got divorced, although Theo had made it clear when they wed that divorce wasn't an option. Maybe not for Purebloods like them, but for Hermione Granger? If anyone could figure something out, it'd be her. Unbreakable Vows surely had workarounds, didn't they?
Hermione shook her head, taking determined strides through the crowds. That was the kind of thinking that had gotten her here in the first place. Thinking that she could do anything, and do it alone.
She fiddled with her bag when a woman with bright red hair several metres ahead of her caught her eye. She had a shopping bag in one hand and a young boy holding the other, and wore a baby strapped to her chest — Hermione could see tiny booties sticking out on either side of the woman. Her heart stopped.
The woman crouched down momentarily, smiling at her son and fussing with his hat. One glimpse of her side profile was enough for Hermione to know exactly who she'd unwittingly followed. Ginny Potter and her two boys, Hermione's godsons.
In another life, she'd have joined them on this shopping trip. They'd get presents for Harry, Ron, the kids — and maybe Hermione would have her parents and her own little family to shop for, too. It was her fantasy, so she indulged herself even further, imagining that Harry and her husband would meet up with them and treat everyone to hot fudge sundaes or cocoa at Fortescue's. But any time she tried to picture her loving alternate-timeline husband, Malfoy's face popped into her head.
She was right up on them now. Hermione tried to tear her eyes away, but lost her focus and instead dropped her beloved bag. A few beads popped off and bounced across the cobblestones. Hermione dove for it without hesitation, but the little boy — James — picked it up first.
They stared at one another for a split second. His eyes reminded her of Harry's, clear and green. He offered her the bag with a shy look. "Miss, you dropped this. Happy Christmas." Ginny ruffled his hair affectionately.
"Thank you. Happy Christmas," Hermione murmured.
It happened in an instant. Ginny looked at the bag, then squinted at Hermione.
"Where did you get that bag?"
Hermione didn't respond. She panicked. She snatched the bag out of James's hands, saw an opening in the rush of people and leapt into it.
"Hermione!" Ginny yelled. "Hermione!"
But she didn't look back. She ran until she couldn't feel her feet, her breath coming out in quick little pants visible in the cold air.
She could avoid Ginny, at least for now, but she couldn't avoid Malfoy.
Last night, the only thing she'd wanted was to explain herself to him. But this morning, she slipped out of the flat as quietly as possible. Now, he sat at the kitchen table, head resting on his fists like a disappointed parent awaiting a teenager who'd snuck out the night before. A plain sheet of parchment lay before him.
Malfoy said nothing as she approached, sans glamour, and set her bag down. He didn't bat so much as an eyelash when she withdrew her shrunken shopping and returned it to normal size. Dresses, boxes of shoes, quills — both real and sugar — as well as various makeup and hair products filled the room, covering every available surface. It occurred to her that this brand of extravagance was probably what Malfoy would've expected from a real wife.
Instead, he had a wife who grew forbidden herbs and dug graves in the moonlight.
What could she possibly say to him to make him understand what she'd done, and why she'd done it? Harry and Ron had taken it rather well, but they'd been used to shouldering far more than they could carry, and they loved her. She was under no delusion that Malfoy felt anything for her other than acute repulsion.
Hermione decided to focus on their assignment. She could handle a little homework. Her face felt hot as she swept aside a shoebox containing a pair of strappy heels so she could see Malfoy's face. To her relief, he looked more amused than disgusted.
"We're supposed to be working on Pansy's enchanted parchment. What's this?"
He flipped it over to reveal a list written in neat script. "Since I can't think of even one nice thing to say about you right now, I figured I'd make myself useful another way." He slid the parchment across the table to her. "It's a list of Healers that specialise in memory care."
She thumped down in the chair, forgetting it held an entire wardrobe of clothing, and shot right back up, backside smarting.
"I'll get it." He raised his wand, signalling for her purchases to follow him. It was a strangely kind gesture.
Hermione moved behind the worktop to make herself and her parents some of the herbal tea Blaise provided. It had already proven useful for relieving her parents' stress, and Blaise attributed the results to slippery elm bark that dampened nerves. Hermione found it tasted rather medicinal, but she needed something after the shock of running into Ginny. She set a stasis charm over the cups for her parents until Mrs. Tannenbaum could take it to them.
"Don't go in my room," she called as he walked briskly through the hallway. "I've warded it against you."
"It's cute how you think some simple wards are going to keep me out of anywhere in my own home."
Simple? Cute?
Sparks flew into the hallway, interrupting her train of thought. Malfoy shouted something angry and unintelligible.
"Told you," she crowed. A smug smile flashed across her face as she turned her attention to the parchment before her. It was quite thorough. Malfoy had listed not only the name, credentials, and location of each healer, but also their subspecialties and publications.
"This is helpful, especially for you. Why are you doing this?" She yelled down the hall.
He stormed back into the room, his clothing shredded by her wards. Malfoy's ripped trousers revealed black pants, and strips of his white oxford shirt hung from his shoulders. Hermione stifled a laugh. He looked like a busted, muscled pinata. "Because I'm the one who's pure of heart in this — whatever it is we have. I threw your shopping bags into the room, by the way. It's a right mess now." He waved his hand through the air in irritation, and despite herself, Hermione admired the bicep that revealed itself through the remains of his sleeve.
She couldn't hold a laugh back at that remark. "No, really. Why are you helping?"
She levitated an orange from the fruit bowl with her wand and unpeeled it in one long, satisfying go. Malfoy quirked an eyebrow at her. Maybe he was upset she'd taken the last one. She held out a slice to him, which he took, but only stared at as it lay in his hand. After a moment, he spoke again.
"You can thank Theo. I spoke with him this morning while you were out." Malfoy didn't look at her, fully focused on repairing his tattered shirt.
"You told him?"
Her mind raced with all the things Malfoy might have said. Theo was his solicitor — their solicitor — and would undoubtedly keep her secret. She surprised herself, feeling relieved rather than angry at Malfoy or fearful of Theo. In the past twenty-four hours, more people learned about her parents' situation than in the last decade. And all of them were trying to help.
"We have a standing duelling appointment, and when I turned up, in his words, 'smelling like a distillery,' he knew something was wrong. Your secret is safe, Mrs. Malfoy. In fact, he concluded you must have had a very good reason to do what you did."
"He did?" She arched an eyebrow, both doubting Theo's reaction and surprised at his new name for her.
"In any case, we both agreed I should try to assist you in finding your parents the best, most discreet Healer as quickly as possible. Blaise is undoubtedly skilled, but from what I understand he focuses on end-of-life care. The goal is to fully restore your parents, yes? And though my connections are not what they used to be, I've assembled a list of Healers to start with. Of course we'll have to research them thoroughly. Not only should we take a tour of any memory care facilities you're interested in, we should also look up any instances of medical malpractice, that sort of thing." He retook both his seat at the table and the list, his warm hand brushing hers during the transfer.
Hermione couldn't believe her ears. We? Malfoy, offering help, beyond money?
"Whether we like it or not, you are a Malfoy. You already exhibit some of our key traits — lying, dabbling in the dark arts," he paused, whether for effect or to gauge her reaction, she couldn't tell. "But also loyalty to one's family above all else. You did this to them. But you didn't abandon them. There, I suppose I can say one nice thing about you."
How could she have abandoned them? It was unconscionable. Whatever they were to each other now, they would always be her parents. If she closed her eyes, she could see them as they used to be: Two people in love, singing along to old songs on the wireless in their former living room while dinner simmered and rain pattered against the windows.
She gulped, remembering the way she'd run from Ginny and her boys today, and how she hid away from the world the last few years — Harry, Ron, the other members of the Order. More people she loved, and that she actually had abandoned. Before this moment, she'd never stopped to think how she might have hurt them. She was protecting them by keeping them from the knowledge and fallout of her transgressions. Wasn't she?
At least with Malfoy it wasn't so unequal. His sins weighed even heavier, if there were scales to measure and judgement to be assigned. And though he didn't know the whole story, and at first he ran from her, he came back.
"I'd be grateful for your help. Thank you."
He nodded with a slight tilt to his lips, as if he understood how much the simple words cost her.
"This entire situation is fucked up, but I know you suffered for them. Maybe I know it because we both excel at self-created suffering and like recognises like. But I think there's more to this. Whatever your reasons were, Theo believes — and I suppose I can believe — you explored every possible option before Obliviating your own parents."
He offered her a handkerchief, which she accepted, dabbing at her eyes. "I did. I tried everything. This is big of you, Malfoy."
Malfoy's expression was shuttered. "It's nothing. Besides, I'm practising for our upcoming gauntlet of events and the relentless onslaught of deeply polarised public opinion, as you should be doing. All the world's a stage, you know. And the more we know about each other's secrets, the better."
Before she could process the fact that he'd quoted Shakespeare to her, he continued.
"There's something I have to tell you," he paused. The long white column of his throat bobbed. "About my mother."
Hermione took in a sharp breath.
"She was murdered. On December 21st, 1999."
Despite a skilled Reparo, Draco might as well have been naked in front of Granger. Whether it was the shock of her secrets or simply the events of the last few days, he couldn't say, but all his cold cunning drained from his brain whenever he was with her.
"The day we married," she said, her voice infused with pity. He didn't want anyone's pity, especially not hers. He didn't want anything from her.
Draco nodded.
Twin tears fell from her doe eyes. "You married me on the same day your mother was murdered. Draco —"
He interrupted her. "Going to call me a monster, Granger?" He couldn't help the challenge in his words. If Granger took the bait, they could fight. He knew how to fight with her. She even made it enjoyable.
"Why would I do that? I remember, on the rooftop…." She trailed off. He'd made it worse. She clutched the handkerchief even tighter.
Draco threw up his Occlumency walls. He had to tell her, but maybe hiding behind his magic would make it easier. He pulled the bucket up from the well of his mind, filled with memories of his mother. Salazar, he needed a drink.
"Mother and I were supposed to have dinner that night. I still lived in the Manor. She needed me, you know. We had so much to repair," he stumbled on the last word. There'd been so much more than the estate itself to repair. They'd had to work on their relationship, too. Draco had found it impossible to understand why his mother stayed faithful to his father when she didn't hold the same set of beliefs or values.
Astoria had helped. But it didn't feel right to talk about her now. No matter what Theo or Pansy or anyone thought, talking never helped. It simply gave your enemies more ammunition.
But he had to talk, because the one person who might make him look worthy of justice sat across from him, hanging on his every word. Draco reminded himself she was still an enemy. He needed to tread more carefully inside these walls than out in the world.
Yet, an enemy of his enemy might just become a friend. While his wife hadn't told him anything about her relationship to the Ministry, Draco held suspicions that it was frayed. She'd abandoned her post without notice after their wedding, and for weeks the papers speculated on her whereabouts. Podmore couldn't have been too thrilled at losing one of his most powerful vehicles for propaganda. Plus, if Granger knew what Goyle was up to —not that he would tell her where he'd been last night — she would be twice as disgusted as he was now.
It was to his advantage to tell her the truth that most benefited him and advanced his cause. Theo was right. Draco burned with the need to know who killed his mother and Astoria. He'd hunt their killer to the ends of the earth. Avada Kedavra would be too quick, too easy — he'd use his bare hands. Only then would he have some semblance of peace.
He would tell Granger — his wife — only about his mother's murder. He didn't need to drag Astoria and her secrets into this.
"Malfoy? Where did you go?"
He startled, shaking a little — the permanent aftereffects of Aunt Bella's Crucios. She'd been more than happy to dole out punishment at Lucius's command while he was out on official Death Eater business. The tremors were worse under stress.
Draco focused on shoring up his walls, the stoniness dropping back into his voice. "Sorry, where was I?"
"You're an Occulmens," she whispered. A look of awe passed over her face.
She'd caught him out. He sighed. It was one more thing he'd have to talk about.
"Yes. My aunt taught me."
If the mention of the woman who tortured her bothered Granger, she didn't let it show.
"Snape tried to teach Harry," she offered. "Harry didn't put the work in, though, and he's still not very good at it."
"Saying a word against Saint Potter?" Draco sneered. "My, how the mighty have fallen."
At last, an opportunity to fight.
But Granger sidestepped his trap. Instead she rose from the chair, flinging down the handkerchief. It landed with his initials up, a cursive DM embroidered in silver thread. "He's not a saint; he's stupidly lucky. Half the time it's wasted on him. I'd have made a far better Occlumens. Merlin, I didn't mean to say that. I've been saying exactly what I think lately."
Draco looked up at her. Her hair was shorter, but no less tame, and her cheeks were flushed. Something uncoiled within him, unfamiliar and familiar at the same time.
"I came home at dinnertime," he began, willing his words into steadiness. "Everyone says this, but it's true — I knew immediately something was wrong. I called out to her, and when she didn't answer I started running. By the time I found her, she'd bled out. She'd been dead maybe a few minutes. I stayed with them — her — didn't even think to look for the murderer because in my heart I knew who did it."
"Your father."
"Got it in one. He sent someone, or someones, to kill my mother."
Granger moved about the kitchen, running her hands through her wild hair and worrying her lip. "It makes sense now, all of it… when you said he made a move to disinherit you, you meant he'd killed your mother. Merlin and Morgana."
Draco pocketed the handkerchief after a wandless Scourgify. "Precisely."
"This is why you didn't want me to read the papers, in case they charged you with murder? You were there when the Aurors arrived, weren't you? Did you stand trial?"
Now he rose, bumping into her mid-pace. He caught her by the arms, realising for the first time just how much taller he was than her. She flinched and he released her immediately. "Worried I murdered her?"
Granger didn't even pause. "No. I testified for you after the war, and I'd do it again. You'd never do that." Fat lot of good that'd done. It was one thing for the Ministry to acknowledge a Muggleborn girl helped win the war, and another to listen to her diatribes about rights and lecture them with quotes from their own settled case law. They dismissed her as easily as they might swat at a persistent gnat.
"You'd be the only one who'd believe me," he said, unable to keep the bitter edge out of his voice. "The Aurors didn't arrive."
"What do you mean? Any time magical blood is spilled, especially that of a Pureblood, Aurors are notified."
"You've figured out everything this far. Tell me why they didn't come," he growled, stalking her across the kitchen. "Tell me why they didn't come!" His broken shout echoed through the flat.
His wife remained silent, pressing her back against the worktop. She didn't run. She didn't hide.
Draco closed the distance between them in two strides and rolled up his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark. "This is why, Granger. This is why."
To her credit, she didn't shy away. The unflappable Gryffindor held his gaze. "They didn't care about some Death Eater's mother getting killed."
"No matter what my mother and I did after the war — and we did a lot, by any standard — the powers that be only saw us as backwards bigots. Even though I stood before the Wizengamot after the final battle, supposedly receiving a fair trial, and told them under oath I only wear this disgusting brand on my skin because I wanted to protect my mother, this is all they see. And even worse, it was an election year when they — when my mother died." He corrected himself quickly. He had to stop saying 'they.'
She looked away. "No new bodies. Can't have it impact the polling. Nothing to see here."
"Precisely. But more than that, things were getting better for Half-bloods and Muggleborns. As they should," he said, appreciating the fierce nod she gave him. "But Podmore needed to unite them against something. It was the only way for him to hold onto power."
"It wouldn't be a stretch to further demonise Purebloods."
Gods, she was quick. The conversation made his blood sing. Maybe Theo had been right about talking.
She pressed the pad of her finger into her full lips. "But he'd create the same problem all over again… Purebloods are the most likely candidates for Death Eaters. And even though there's no chance Voldemort could ever come back, there's a power vacuum. They'll make a play at some point. Maybe they already have. The Minister can't be so blind."
"No? He turned a blind eye to the murder of Narcissa Malfoy, the best example of reintegration and unification possible. The whole Ministry is taking bribes from Pureblood families not to seize their estates and accounts."
"That means some of them are already taking bribes from Death Eaters. Maybe knowingly."
"I don't doubt it, I pay them myself. And every year it's always a little more. I paid off the reporters too, asking about what happened to my mother. I'm nowhere close to bone dry thanks to numerous investments abroad, but Pansy was nearly broke before her business took off. Why do you think Blaise is a Healer? And Theo never wanted to go into law, but it keeps him close to the powers that be."
"This isn't what we fought for." Granger's hand dipped into her pocket and clutched the end of her wand. Her knuckles turned white.
He smacked his hand on the worktop behind her. "These are the same people who let us fight their war. Maybe it wasn't what you were fighting for, but they got the spoils all the same. I remember that shitty flat they put you up in, and the minimum wage desk job they offered you. I, the former Death Eater, have enough money to make it work, but yet you, a bloody brilliant Muggleborn and war heroine, have to marry your childhood bully to get a decent roof over your head."
Draco realised he'd now said many, many nice things about his wife, who just last night he'd called a monster. If she'd noticed, she didn't show it. She stood with her arms crossed, the only evidence of her mood. But he'd been in enough classes with her to know the look on her face now. The wheels of her mind were whirling.
"We have to do something about this, Malfoy."
The sly smile rippled across his face before he could school himself. "Why, Mrs. Malfoy, I couldn't agree with you more."
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.