Potter drifted by Draco's desk two days after Draco had explained the situation to him, his expression banal but brows lifted.
Draco sighed and set down his quill. "Yes?"
Pursing his lips, Potter flipped through the notes on Draco's desk. "What are you working on?"
"A report." He blew out a breath. "Nothing to do with that."
"Well, fine," Potter snipped, "but you're going to need to do something soon. Tell her, at the very least."
"I haven't talked to her since Monday." Draco wasn't in the mood to deal with Potter's shit; a headache had been brewing behind his temples for the better part of two hours, and the report he'd been working on was tedious at best. "And when I do, you'll be the next to know."
Potter didn't respond but to hum for a moment, leaning against the wall of Draco's workspace. "I might have peeked around a little. At the medical records of one Melody Simon."
Draco cocked a brow. "You what? Did you speak to her doctors or something?"
"Not quite." Potter glanced away, his face shifty, and Draco released a heavy breath. "Though you aren't exactly a paragon of morality these days, so don't give me shite. I just unlocked a couple of doors―no big deal."
Dropping his face into a hand, Draco shook his head. "You swiped confidential records."
"So did you," Potter reminded him.
"I reviewed an open case. I'm an active member of the Auror's department." Draco ground his jaw, releasing a breath. "Fine. What did you find, then?"
Potter brandished a folder, and despite himself, Draco felt curiosity well within him. But he frowned, crinkling the bridge of his nose. "Not a lot, to be honest. A lot of technical neurological sciences jargon that went over my head, but Hermione's initial assessments were in Brisbane where her parents live. There was no record of anyone with her at the time she woke, so..."
"So she was alone when it happened?" Draco asked, furrowing his brow. "That doesn't make any sense if she was trying to restore their memories."
"Unless it just didn't work and didn't register," Potter concluded. "Or the results of the backfired spell had a delayed onset." He frowned again, flipping through the pages. "Honestly, the part that I don't understand is that the spell backfired in the first place. Hermione's the most brilliant and magically proficient person I know. I can't imagine she simply made a mistake."
"I thought of that, too," Draco admitted. "But when I spoke with the memory specialist, he suggested the original memory extraction might have had some sort of adverse reaction, and as a result, her calculations in the reversal may have been askew."
They eyed one another for a long moment. "I suppose it's as good a guess as any until we know more." He flipped to another page. "The other key bit of information here is that her brain activity is abnormal. Whatever that means."
Draco didn't have any clue about Muggle medical practices. "Abnormal in what way?"
"In the way that her brain is wildly overactive." Potter hesitated, his lips twitching. "And not just in the way that she's always been a bit of an overachiever. But as if her brain is attempting to overcompensate for something."
Drumming his fingertips on the desk, Draco considered the thought. "As though it's strained? Doing more than it needs to be?"
"Maybe?" Potter's face faltered, green eyes locking on Draco's, and a flicker of vulnerability crossed his face. "Do you suppose it's trying to access her old memories?"
Draco released a long breath. "This is all speculation."
"Of course it is," Potter clipped, "but it's all we have right now."
"It's a question for the healer I spoke to in my initial investigation. Healer Huxley―his contact information is in the file I gave you on Monday."
"Good," Potter murmured, snagging a quill from Draco's desk and jotting the name onto a sheet of parchment. "I'll follow up on that. You need to see what you can do about triggering something in Hermione's memory. And for Merlin's sake, don't hurt her."
Swallowing a sudden lump in his throat, Draco offered a grimace. "That has never been my intent."
"I mean it, Malfoy," Potter ground out. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"No game," Draco muttered. "I told you I want to help her."
Although Potter's face softened a little, he still shook his head. "The longer you draw this out without telling her the truth, the worse it'll be."
"Don't you think I know that?" He worked a muscle in his jaw, staring hard at the desk. "I want to tell her the truth, and if she never wants to see me again, so be it. But I can't very well just out and tell her everything, can I?" They stared at one another for a moment while the idea danced around Draco's mind—to just throw it all out in the open and let the cards fall as they would. "She would think I'm bloody insane, Potter."
"You're probably right," Potter relented at last. "Merlin, I wish we had more to go on, but this is a start. I'll reach out to Huxley; you talk to Hermione. If nothing else, let her know she went to school with us or something. I haven't figured out the best way to approach Robards with this, but I'll have to make some adjustments to her case files."
Draco chewed on his tongue for a moment. "Fine. Let me know what you find out."
"I will. And you."
Potter slipped from his workspace, and Draco eyed his retreat for a long while, his heart anxious in his chest. He knew Potter was right, but Merlin, he didn't know how to bring it up without her getting upset with him. And if she refused to speak to him, it would cause trouble in resolving the situation.
He would have to come up with an idea.
Draco was nothing if not meticulous. He had to view a situation from every side and consider the merits and pros and cons before deciding or moving forward on a plan. And it was easy enough for Potter―a Gryffindor―to demand Draco simply tell her they knew one another at school, but Draco wasn't one to charge into a situation.
If he told Granger they had known each other growing up, she would be hurt that he hadn't told her before when she had bared her heart about the situation. Or any additional time they had seen each other.
Draco simply didn't have a good answer. Anything he could think of would potentially toe the line of upsetting or hurting her, and he didn't know how to explain that they had literally fought on two different sides of a war without raising red flags and pushing her away. If Potter wanted them to stay in her good graces, he couldn't rush in without considering each angle.
If anything, he had been acting more impulsive than usual since stumbling across her.
He knew better―and he always had―than to lead her on and let her believe there wasn't so much bad history between them.
Ultimately, when it came down to the heart of the matter, she deserved better than for him to withhold the truth. Even if it wouldn't make any sense to her because she had already informed him, she didn't believe in magic.
That conversation would have to come later―provided this one didn't end as poorly as he feared it might.
He had stared at the mobile phone for the better part of an hour, where it sat on the end table beside the sofa. In theory, he had learned how it worked well enough to reach out to her, even if he found it unnecessarily complex and cumbersome to use.
All he had to do was press a few buttons to navigate to her name and then one more to make the call.
But Merlin, he just couldn't do it.
With alarming haste, she had crept into his life, his thoughts, and his emotions. In the end, however, he had landed himself in this situation from his selfish actions years ago. If he truly cared about her finding peace and happiness in her life, he needed to do everything he could to help restore her memory.
He eyed the phone again; he plastered his damp palms to the rough fabric of his jeans.
As he made a move for the blasted device, it released a low, warbling ring, and he flinched on the spot. The small face of it lit up as it rumbled against the table, and his eyes shot wide.
He hadn't even touched it yet.
But he had studied the manual well enough to recognise that it was an incoming call. His heart tightened in his chest; it was as if she had read his mind.
It rang again, and he fumbled with the thing, jabbing his thumb into the button to connect.
Staring at it, Draco became highly aware of his breathing as he bit out, "Hi."
Granger's soft voice came through the line. "Hello? Draco?"
He squinted closer at the device and plastered it to the side of his head. "Hello, yes, this is."
A brief silence followed before she said, "Is this a bad time?"
"No," he muttered, clearing his throat. "Not at all. In fact, I was thinking of calling you."
"Oh." He could hear the surprise in her voice before she laughed. "Good timing, then."
"Right." Draco clenched his jaw, jumping to his feet to pace the small sitting room. "Is everything okay?"
Another pause lingered, long enough that Draco held the phone out before him to check whether it was still connected. Then her voice came through again, a little softer. "I suppose I just wanted to hear your voice."
Shallow breaths fell from his lungs, his chest tightening at the words. "Are you alright, Mel? Do you want me to meet you somewhere?"
"No, I'm alright. It's late already. Just a bit of a rough day." She was quiet for a moment, then added, "How was your day? Will you tell me about it?"
Sinking back into the sofa, Draco swallowed a breath and nodded to himself. "My day was alright―nothing out of the ordinary." He hesitated, but when she didn't respond, he went on. "Potter and I are investigating a case, but we're a little stuck on the specifics of it, and he's following a new lead. I'm hopeful we'll be able to resolve the matter soon."
"That sounds good," she murmured. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."
Her confidence in him was both jarring and humbling when he hadn't done much to earn it. "After work, I went to see my mother. She isn't any better, but her attendants said it's a good sign that she isn't doing worse."
"I'm glad to hear that."
Draco shifted on the sofa, laying out and propping his head up on the cushion at one end. With a wave of his wand, he lowered the lights. "Do you want to talk about your day?"
A pause hung on the line, but finally, she said, "Some days, I just struggle a little more than others. In wondering what my life used to be like. About the people I used to be close with."
Every breath that fell from his lungs felt measured, as though he couldn't quite breathe of his own accord. He opened his mouth to speak, to push forth the words he knew he needed to say.
But before he could convince himself, she went on.
"Maybe it sounds crazy, and it probably isn't true, but sometimes I wonder if maybe I just wasn't that close with anyone. To think that it's been years now and no one ever tried to find me." He could hear her suck in a sharp breath, his eyes wide and unblinking. "Maybe I was just a cold, self-absorbed person, and no one wanted to be friends with me. And I didn't have anyone who cared enough to look."
"That isn't true," Draco whispered, feeling his heart recoil from the words. "I know it isn't true."
"How?"
The words fell from his lips of their own accord. "Because I know you, Mel. You're brilliant and beautiful, and you light up the room every time I see you." He forced a thick swallow, emotion swelling within him. "Even though you lost your memories, it doesn't mean you lost the essence of who you are as a person. And I don't know why nobody ever found you, but that isn't a reflection on you. I promise."
As the words poured out, Draco realised the truth of them. His heart pulsed a rapid cadence in his chest, and the silence that followed threatened to swallow him whole.
"I think," she breathed, "that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." A soft laugh fell. "That I can remember, anyway."
Draco couldn't quite manage a smile. Blood roared behind his ears, his fingers clenched tightly around the phone. "It's the truth."
Never before had he been so wholly enraptured by another person. He always kept his thoughts and emotions close to the chest, lest he wind up hurt, but for some reason, Granger had drawn more from him than he thought he even knew how to give.
"Thank you, Draco," she said quietly at last. "I really appreciate that."
"I'm sorry you have to live with all these questions and doubts." His eyes fluttered shut, and he soldiered on. "I believe you're going to get the answers you're looking for―and I have faith that you'll have your memories back one day."
"How do you know?"
Emotion stung at the backs of his eyes, and Draco squeezed his eyelids tight. "I just have this feeling. And I'll help you figure it out, if you like."
The silence that followed again was stifling, and he wondered whether she could see through him, paper-thin and wavering unsteady in the storm of his own making.
When she finally responded, he could hear the emotion in her voice. "I'm really glad I met you."
Merlin, you won't be, he wanted to say. He wanted to kiss her forever and push her away in equal parts, the fear within him urging him to draw back before he hurt them both because how could she possibly want him around when she learned the truth.
Draco jammed his fingertips into the corners of his eyes. "Are you free tomorrow night?"
"Yes."
"We should meet," he pressed on, unwilling to allow himself to cower. At the very least, she deserved an explanation in person. "I'd like to see you."
"Okay. When?"
"Eight. Does eight work?" His stomach rolled as the words poured from his mouth, a sort of deep-seated anguish settling with him.
"Yes, eight is good." A pause. "Draco, are you alright?"
His voice softened. "Yes, of course." Sleep tugged on his eyelids, the strain of another long day catching up to him. "I'll look forward to it."
"Me too," she said. Draco could hear her stifle a yawn on the other end though he would have liked to keep talking. "I'll see you then. We can work out the details tomorrow."
"Okay. Good night, Melody."
"Sweet dreams."
The line clicked off with a dull tone, and Draco stared at the phone for a moment, his heart still thudding in his chest as he pressed another button. He stared at the ceiling in the darkened sitting room, wondering what exactly she would think of him when she learned the truth.
"So? Did you talk to Hermione last night?"
Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes when Potter approached his desk. "Don't you ever have any of your own work to do?" he drawled, flipping through several pages of a report. Belatedly, he dragged his eyes up when Potter didn't respond. "I did speak to her."
"And?"
He released a heavy sigh. "And I'm meeting her tonight. Merlin, Potter, you could try having a little fucking faith."
"I would if I trusted you to follow through," Potter said with a scowl. Folding his arms, he leaned against the wall. "I think you're afraid to tell her you've been lying to her in case she drops you. If you don't tell her the truth, I will, and I won't sugarcoat things like you will."
Draco shot him a withering look. But every potential rebuttal died on his lips. He hadn't explicitly lied to her, but he hadn't been truthful about any of it, either. And if he was honest, he was afraid Granger was going to walk away when she found out they had known one another at school, and he hadn't told her sooner.
Sweeping a hand through his hair, he blew out a breath. "Like I told you, I want to help restore her memory. And if you think some details about the past will jar something, then so be it. Merlin, you've been fucking antagonistic ever since I told you about her."
"She's my best friend, Malfoy." Narrowed green eyes locked on him. "And she was important to me long before you ever decided to look at her twice."
A spike of adrenaline chased through him, and Draco felt his hackles raise. "If she was so important, why did you let her fucking case go cold?" It wasn't fair to throw the accusation at Potter, who would have only been in Auror training himself at the time, but Draco didn't care for the insinuation. No matter how true.
Potter slammed a hand on the desk, anger flashing across his face, and he hissed, "It wasn't my fucking call to make." Just as quickly, he flinched, something like pain darting through his eyes. "I begged Robards to keep a team on her case, alright? But they can't keep resources investigating a case that has no leads. You know that."
"All I know," Draco said steadily, "is that whatever happened to her has had time to manifest deeper into her brain, and now she's had to deal with these issues for years when if someone had simply kept looking for her, that wouldn't be the case. She's been right here in London, for fuck's sake."
He didn't even know when the issue had become such a hot topic, burrowing under his skin, but after speaking to her the night before, Draco was all the more committed to helping her. And for Potter to throw accusations his way stung.
Potter's jaw was hard, his stare unfriendly, but at last, some of the anger sank from his countenance. "I know. Do you think I haven't been beating myself up ever since I found out? If I had only kept looking for her―had more connections in more places―we might not be in this fucking situation right now."
Brandishing his hands in supplication, Draco drew in a deep breath. "Look. We can't change any of that. I told you I'm going to meet with her tonight. She needs us to figure this out, alright? Whether she realises that or not. And we won't be able to do that if we're at each other's fucking throats."
"Fine," Potter muttered, shaking his head. "You're right."
"I know you want her back."
Blowing out a breath, Potter nodded. "I do."
"And we're going to try it this way," Draco said quietly, "and see if a gentle nudge will help. I don't want to ask a healer to force her memories back out unless it's our last resort."
"Right." Potter dropped his chin and let out a long breath. "Yeah. Fine." He glanced away, looking out towards the bustling central office. "You're not going to like this, but Robards spoke to me this morning. About you."
Draco's veins froze to ice. "With regards to what?"
Contrition crept across the man's face. "Your performance―in the simulations and training. Apparently, one of your recent reports left out some vital information and―look, Malfoy, I know you've been dealing with a lot. With your mother, and with this situation with Hermione. But he doesn't cut anyone any slack."
The words crept into his brain, insidious and threatening, but Draco kept his expression carefully blank. "And what, exactly?"
"And you're never going to see the field if something doesn't change," Potter said with a sigh. "There isn't room in the department for Aurors who don't pass their practical training."
His heart sank and sank into the pit of his stomach, and Draco felt instantly nauseous. After everything, he couldn't imagine being kicked out of the program. He tried to recall leaving something out of a report, but his brain had been so utterly jumbled the past two weeks that he could scarcely remember the details.
Anger mingled with despair in his chest, and he sucked in a shallow breath of air. His mouth went dry with the slamming of his heart. "He's kicking me out?"
"He has you on a short leash," Potter amended, a furrow in his brow. "I tried to tell him you're improving; I need you to prove it."
Scrunching up his face, Draco scrubbed at his eyes. That was the last thing he needed to pile on top of everything else. His work life had remained steady while his family and personal life was in a state of chaos.
"Fine," he muttered, wrenching a hand through his hair. "Fine. Thanks for letting me know."
"Malfoy―" Potter began.
"Please," Draco breathed, "I just need a few minutes."
"Right." Edging from the workspace, Potter eyed him for a moment longer. "We'll figure it all out, yeah?"
Draco stared, unseeing, at his desk. "Yeah."
As Potter retreated, leaving him alone once more, Draco tried to determine which of the crumbling ramparts of his life he needed to fix first.
Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying the story. Just a reminder Adrift will end up approximately 45 chapters (I have 40 written) so we're in for a bit of a ride. xo
Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.
