The situation with Granger had been eating at Draco more than he could have anticipated, and every time he thought of her, he wondered how she had ended up in London without any recollection of her previous life.

He couldn't help but suspect it had something to do with the fact that she had gone to Brisbane to reverse a memory modification spell in the first place. Memory magic was no joke, even for someone as technically proficient as Granger.

The thought that she had been forced to make such a decision during the war was a sobering one.

To think she had feared for her parents' lives enough to send them away and to run the risk that they might never remember her again?

And Draco thought he had enough problems with his parents.

Prior to bringing anyone else in, the next stage in his investigation was a meeting he'd arranged with a healer at St Mungo's. Perhaps if he could understand the possible ramifications of the situation better, he would be more informed with regards to a decision on how to move forward.

He couldn't help the niggling thought that attempting to jar Granger's memory in some way―or overwhelming her with people from her past―could end up doing more harm than good.

Following Auror training, several days after his last visit to the tea shop where Granger worked, he Apparated to St Mungo's.

The healer he had arranged to discuss the matter with was a cognitive functions specialist; Draco knew he would need to keep the incident as hypothetical as possible, as obviously, he couldn't simply bring her to see a healer.

Frequently, Draco asked himself why he cared so much.

Maybe it was related to the old trappings of guilt he still felt every so often when he thought back on the role he had played in her formative years―including the way he hadn't come to terms with his part in the war until after the fact.

A part of it revolved around the fact that it was strange to see Granger not Granger. She'd had so much magical promise and ability in their world, and if there was anything he could do to help the situation, he had to try. Now that he'd come across her, it felt like a responsibility of sorts, no matter whether that was actually the case.

But there was a tiny, quiet part of him that thought it went a little deeper.

He'd tried not to pay that part too much attention.

Rapping sharply on the door to which he'd been directed, Draco proffered a hand when the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man with silver-framed glasses and short greying hair.

"Healer Huxley," Draco said, flashing his badge briefly so the man couldn't note the Training status. "My name is Auror Malfoy. Thank you for meeting with me."

"Of course," the man said in a mild tone. He offered a bland smile and gestured towards a chair opposite his at a nondescript desk. "You said you had some questions regarding memory modification magic. I'd be happy to help in any way I can."

Draco settled into the seat, folding his hands across his front. "Absolutely. More specifically, I'm interested in the possible ramifications of the spell reversal."

Healer Huxley leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers. "I suppose it would depend on a number of variables. The ability of the caster, the type of spell, the length of time the magic had to take root. Without knowing the specifics, I can really only offer you a hypothetical answer."

"The caster was proficient," Draco said with a nod. "To my knowledge, the spell was a selective removal rather than complete Obliviation, and the length of time would be around two years. Possibly up to five."

He didn't care to get into the details of the situation, and bringing up Granger's name was out of the question. Especially since his investigation was more off the record than not, he would never speak of it if it didn't bear fruit. Technically speaking, Draco wasn't crossing any lines with the Auror's office unless the situation crossed into ethically or morally grey territory. Which, it could.

"Memory manipulation is fickle at the best of times," Huxley mused, gaze drifting towards the ceiling. "The caster may have done everything right initially, but the time in which the magic had to delve into the minds of the caster's target could have allowed the magic to take hold in ways different than intended. So then, even if the counter-spell would have worked, it could backfire."

The words spun in Draco's mind, falling awkwardly around him. "And what if the caster lost their memory in the attempt?"

Surprise flitted across the man's face. "Partially or fully?"

"Fully."

A heavy furrow pulled at Huxley's brow. "I can't give an explicit reason why that may have happened without seeing the patient in question. Again, memory magic can sometimes take on a mind of its own within the mind of the target."

Draco leaned back in his seat, sorting through the response for anything helpful. "Alright. Healer Huxley, if this were the case—in your understanding—would the memories still be trapped within the caster's mind? Able to be drawn out in some way―vial or Pensieve. Or would they simply have vanished?"

"Memory magic leaves traces," Huxley said quietly. "And I cannot answer that fully, but to say that for a person's whole memory to be removed―their recollections, knowledge of the people they loved, all the nuance that composes who a person is at heart―would be rare indeed."

The last encounter with Granger flitted through his mind. The way her old self had crept out when he told her his name.

"I will caution you, Auror Malfoy," Huxley went on, "that any attempts to draw out buried memories can cause more damage than good. The most harmless way to restore magically lost memory is for it to come organically. Reminders or hints of things they once enjoyed; subtle guiding points to nudge them in the right direction, rather than anything too overt and jarring."

"That all makes sense." Draco clapped his hands to his thighs, leaning forward in his seat. "Thank you for your time, Healer Huxley."

"Of course." The man offered a thin smile as he rose, and the pair of them walked to the door. "I wish you well in your investigation."

Draco ducked from the room, wondering whether he'd gained much of anything at all.


"You know, if I didn't know any better, I might think you were following me."

Draco glanced up from his notes, jotting several things in a small notebook with a quill glamoured to appear as a pen. He blinked, surprised to find Granger standing before him.

"That might be true if I was sitting in your shop drinking tea," Draco postulated, "but we're on neutral territory." He flashed her a grin, sliding towards one side of the bench. "What are you doing here?"

After his appointment at St Mungo's, Draco had found a spot to think along the River Thames by the Tower of London.

A hint of colour crept into her cheeks, but she slung a book bag from her shoulders and took a seat beside him. "I've just finished classes for the day. Queen Mary isn't too far from here, and I like to come here to read. I find it relaxing."

Draco lifted a brow. "Is that so? I do, too. A bit of nature in the bustling city."

"Were you training today?" she asked, snagging her lower lip between her teeth. His eyes followed the movement for a fluttering instant before snapping back to her stare.

Draco shut the spiral notepad and tucked it into his satchel. "Working on a bit of a case, actually." He offered a tight smile. "Unfortunately, it's been a string of dead-ends so far, but I'm starting to piece some things together."

"Very investigative of you," she said, and it occurred to Draco that she was teasing him. "I hope you figure it out. Can you talk about it? I'm a bit of a talent at solving puzzles."

"Confidential, I'm afraid, or I'd take you up on that."

She shook her head with a laugh. "Of course. I ought to have known that."

Draco eyed her for a moment longer. More times than he cared to count since he'd first come across her over a week ago, he'd wondered whether they might have connected had they been on the same side of things at Hogwarts. Or at the very least, in the same house. She was the only student in their year who consistently surpassed him in classes, the only one who frequented the library more than he did.

Maybe these encounters were simply a glimpse of what might have been.

But it didn't do to dwell on such things.

"So what made you decide to pursue law enforcement?" she asked, a soft smile playing across her lips as she gazed out towards the river. "Does it run in the family or something?"

Draco nearly choked. "Not at all. The opposite, in fact." He gave her a sidelong look for a moment. "My father hates that I've decided to take this path, but that's because he's in prison."

Granger's eyes widened, remorse flitting across her face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry."

"That's alright." He propped one ankle up on the opposite knee, interlocking his hands. "I suppose maybe it's because of my father that I decided to do this. I nearly ended up like him when I was younger."

Her shoulders sat heavy with tension, eyes lingering on him. At last, she offered a smile. "Then I think it's admirable that you pulled yourself out. It says a lot about you as a person, I think."

The words pulled at something in his chest. "Thanks, Gr―Melody." He bit down on his tongue to catch the near-slip.

"Dare I ask what he's in prison for?"

"You can ask," Draco chuckled, "but you might not like the answer." When she only waited, eyes expectant, he went on. "Multiple counts of murder, treason, attempted overthrow of the government, jailbreak, assault, torture, and various… others."

He nearly laughed at the look of horror on his face; his lips merely twitched with amusement.

"I can't tell if you're being serious," she breathed.

He shrugged, casting her a doleful look. "That's your conclusion to make."

Granger's hands were clenched tightly in her lap, her knuckles white and chest stiff with shallow breaths. "Was your father in the mafia or something?"

"Something like that."

"Holy shit." She blew out a sharp breath. "Well, I don't blame you for wanting to differentiate yourself from him."

Pursing his lips, Draco averted his eyes. Not once had he ever sought Granger's affirmation, but he couldn't deny that it meant something, even if she couldn't remember the past that existed between them.

"What sort of history are you studying?" he asked softly.

"I haven't narrowed my focus quite yet," she returned, "but primarily European origins."

His gaze lingered on her pack, leaning against the leg of the bench. "In the interest of sharing stories you don't know if you believe, one of my ancestors travelled from France to England with William the Conqueror in 1066."

"Now that I don't believe," she said with a snicker. "Who knows their ancestry that far back?"

Draco cocked a brow. "My family. I can show you the documentation."

"Your family sounds quite interesting," she mused, "though now I don't know whether I should believe anything you're telling me after all. Maybe your name isn't Draco at all, and it's Paul or something, and your father operates a souvenir shop."

"Paul." He snorted, feeling a grin tug at his lips. "I don't care for it, but call me that if you must."

Still, she eyed him a moment later. "I think I believe you, though."

He released a haughty sigh. "It's the hair, isn't it?"

Granger released a laugh and offered him a full grin. "No, it's the posh accent. You speak as though you grew up a member of the peerage. Never mind the way you drink your tea."

Idly, he was curious why she'd paid him such mind. But he simply held up his hands in surrender. "You got me." When a companionable silence fell across them, and Draco felt himself relax in her presence, he felt an uneasy niggling in the back of his mind. As though he should be utilising the time with her in a more productive manner. "Do you have to work tonight?"

"At the tea shop, no," she said, "but I've got plenty of school work to do."

"Right," he drawled. "Well, don't let me distract you."

Startled, she glanced down at her watch. It was nearing dinner time, and the first hints of sunset began to play against the horizon out over the Thames. "I suppose I should get going soon. I'm about to lose my daylight reading window."

"Sorry." A smile pulled at his lips.

"No!" she exclaimed. "Don't apologise. I approached you, remember?"

"I do." Draco clicked his tongue, nodding. "So maybe you're the one who's following me."

She rolled her face towards him, unimpressed. "Your logic is severely flawed, given you've come into my shop twice, and I've stumbled across you once."

"A chance encounter, then." Despite himself, he laughed, enjoying the easy banter between them. He never would have imagined actually getting along with Hermione Granger. The thought immediately sobered him; in no rational world where she remembered him, would they ever get along.

Granger shifted to the front of the bench, thinning her lips as she watched him for a moment. Hesitation danced in her gaze, and Draco felt a strange tension between them. Then she grappled in her bag for a sheet of paper, scrawled something onto it, and offered it to him. Her cheeks flushed a dull pink.

Draco stared blankly at the lined page, his eyes skimming the ten crisp digits she'd written.

"I just thought," she muttered hastily, "in case you ever wanted to... rather, a more intentional encounter."

He swallowed, casting her a glance.

"You know what, never mind," she surged on, colour brightening in her cheeks as she reached to take the note back. "I must have misread―"

Folding the paper in half once and then again, Draco slipped it into his bag and offered her a smile. "I'd like that."

Granger fell silent, biting down on her lip as a smile tugged the corners of her mouth. "Alright then. I hope you enjoy your evening, Draco."

Merlin, he might have died at the way his name fell from her lips.

"Thank you, Melody," he murmured. "The same to you."

She hopped up from the bench, slung her pack around both shoulders, then with another tentative smile, departed towards the road. Draco watched her retreat for a moment, attempting to steady the racing of his heart.

He drew the sheet of paper from his bag, squinting closer at her writing.

He had no idea how to use a Muggle telephone. But now, he supposed, he would have to learn.


Realistically, why did he care so much whether or not Granger's memory came back? It was far from his business in the first place; there had never been even a shred of anything positive between them. And Draco knew even if he were able to help her, she would probably abhor the fact that it was him in the first place.

The further he indulged himself with the strange connection brewing between them, the worse the situation would be on the other side.

What he should have done was pass the situation to Potter or Robards or a healer or honestly anyone else.

But now, he felt invested.

And Draco knew more about the situation so that he could properly compile a report if―when―Granger's memory was restored. She wasn't dead, and now she wasn't technically a missing person anymore, either. The situation had gone from a criminal investigation to a search, and now it was simply a matter of dealing with the magic that had been cast upon her. Whether by herself or someone else, Draco didn't know, but the signs pointed to backfiring magic.

There were specialists for that sort of thing. One of whom Draco was decidedly not.

Still... folding his arms, he scowled at a public access telephone booth. A few times over the past two days, he'd taken to observing the booth and its visitors to determine how he was meant to use it to reach Granger.

The fact that she had given him means of personal contact left an uneasy twist in the pit of Draco's being.

While he didn't carry the same aversions he once had as a youth, the idea of reaching out to her with any sort of intentionality―the thought of spending real, unhindered time with her―left him in a lather.

Granger was beautiful. She was smart, ambitious, and kind.

She was everything Draco might look for in a potential partner.

But she didn't remember a damn thing about him.

So while Draco might have jumped at the chance to ask her out if she were someone else―or if she knew him properly and was fully cognizant of the past they shared―the situation at hand was infinitely more complicated.

He also knew enough about women to recognise that she would feel slighted if he didn't reach out to her after she'd gone out on a limb to offer, and it wouldn't serve to do either of them any good if he were to anger or upset her.

Some hidden, selfish part of him wanted to see where things could go, or where things might have gone had he not spent their childhood years acting like a right prick towards her.

But it didn't feel like his decision to make for both of them.

The occupant of the booth slipped out, and Draco's eyes tightened with concentration as he stepped inside, sealing the door shut behind him. He stared at the mechanism, its array of keys with numbers and symbols, and his eyes slid towards the handset.

Surely he could figure it out.

He picked up the handset, lip curling with distaste as he pressed it to the side of his face, and a dull tone rang in his ear.

"Hello?"

Clenching his jaw, Draco waited while nothing happened. He tapped several numbers on the keypad. He recoiled when a placid woman's voice spoke to him and slammed the handset back into its receiver.

He peered at a block of small text on the machine, grinding his jaw as he withdrew his wallet and fumbled for Muggle change. He hated Muggle coins and seldom kept any on him.

Cursing to himself, he extracted the sheet of parchment Granger had given him, picked up the handset once more, and tapped in the series of digits.

The same woman's voice came onto the line, advising him to insert money.

"Damnit," Draco huffed, slamming the handset down once again. As he swept a hand roughly through his hair, a sharp rap came on the glass from outside. Draco jolted with surprise, scowling at an irritated-looking Muggle man in a suit on the other side.

The man's muted admonition came through the glass, and Draco fired him a rude gesture.

But the last of his nerve seeped away as though into thin air, so Draco pushed out of the claustrophobic booth, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets as he paced down the road.

Forget the telephone thing, then.

He didn't know what he would say to her, anyway, as he didn't care to lead her on. Moreso, he was afraid to open that door, to begin with. If nothing else, he knew where she worked and where she went to school.

He wouldn't dare cast any sort of magic on her, knowing the precarity of the situation if a memory charm had gone poorly. But if he made a tremendous fool of himself—or somehow she decided he was, essentially, stalking her—he could simply vanish from her life.

Potter could figure the rest out.

Draco had always been stubborn. And he had never cared to walk away from a problem he was keen on solving. The issue remained that the matter of Granger's memory was infinitely more complex than anything else.

But he simply wasn't ready to give up just yet.


Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. As a heads up, this story is currently written to around 150k and should wrap up around 180k-ish.

A million alpha and beta hugs to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.