If Draco thought really hard about the situation, he became forced to reconcile with the fact that he was living a life he had never anticipated.
He was clinging to his position in the Auror training program by a thread, and he desperately desired to gain a foothold.
Despite everything his father had done during his lifetime, Draco would have to force himself to visit for his mother's sake. The hospital would allow a healer to attend the prison with Narcissa in the event of an emergency, but not the visitation itself. Draco wasn't certain of the protocol on the situation, but he suspected he would need to receive special permission from the DMLE in concurrence with St Mungo's.
It was a problem to deal with when he returned to work on Monday.
Because that afternoon, he would venture onto a Muggle university campus to attend a yoga class by Hermione Granger herself.
None of it made any sense―and Draco knew his younger self wouldn't have believed a word of it.
Never mind the fact that Draco had grown to consider that he was in over his head with regard to Granger. He had never been the romantic sort growing up―his parents' relationship had been characterised by mutual respect but coldness. Their marriage had been one of social and political gain, arranged between their houses, and while they had grown to care for one another eventually, Draco had rarely seen a positive relationship exemplified between them.
During his later years at Hogwarts, survival had been at the top of his mind. And in the years since, Draco had seen plenty of women casually but never had he truly felt himself lost to another person. He had grown too isolated and too independent for such a thing.
Spending time with Granger felt like standing on the edge of a precipice―and he could either back down to safety or jump into the void before him.
He didn't know what the void would hold.
Draco had never been the brash, impulsive type. He'd been sorted into Slytherin for a reason, and not only because of his blood. He was meticulous, careful, and to a certain extent, he had always been self-serving. So to throw caution to the wind―to offer his heart to another person to do with as they will―was terrifying.
But when it came to Hermione Granger, a small voice in the back of his mind suggested it might be worth the ride.
As he settled into the back of her yoga class, catching her eye with a smirk, he felt on the peak of that same precipice, a jagged cliff. On one side―retreat.
And on the other...
Riches or ruin―he had yet to decide.
The soothing tones of her voice flitted across the back of his mind, and when the class was over, and everyone else trickled out, Draco found himself waiting for her. She pressed up on her toes, wrapped an arm around his neck, and said next to his ear, "Thanks for coming."
"Of course," Draco murmured, drawing back to meet her eye. "So I'm told my poses need work."
A secretive smile played across her face. "Maybe I was only just saying that."
He grinned, allowing his palm to drift along her spine. "We both know it's true. Are you busy now?"
"I have to work at the shop in a few hours," she said quietly, chewing her bottom lip as she peered up at him but made no move to extract herself from his hold. "Should we get something to eat?"
"Sure."
Her chocolate eyes lingered on his as her fingers coiled in the hair at the back of his neck. "Do you like pizza? I've had a craving for pizza."
Merlin, he wanted to kiss her. But he didn't know where they stood after the last week, especially with the conversation the night before, and the last thing he needed was to overstep the boundaries between them and push her away.
So he pursed his lips and nodded. "I enjoy a good pizza." In actuality, he could count on one hand the number of times he had eaten pizza, as it wasn't something in which most British wizarding families indulged. But it wasn't a lie―he had enjoyed pizza the few times he'd tasted it.
"Okay." Her lips brushed his cheekbone―a brief, soft press, and he might have thought it hadn't even happened but for the slight tingling of heat that lingered. "Come on―I know the best place."
As it turned out, Granger's favourite pizza parlour was across London, and in order to get there, they would need to take the underground.
In all his years, Draco had never imagined taking Muggle public transit belowground, and it was a testament, he imagined, to the depth of his interest in Granger.
The last thing he wanted to do was to let on that he had no knowledge of the system―and furthermore that the idea of it frightened him more than it reasonably ought to.
He trailed along at her side as if he had any idea what he was doing, following her lead to obtain a ticket. With some luck and no small measure of cunning, he would be able to get away with it.
But as they descended onto the platform packed with people milling about on a Saturday afternoon, his eyes widened. The subways rumbled along on their tracks, and Draco flinched wildly when one roared onto the platform.
Granger's eyes flitted to him, and she lifted a brow, but he offered a meek grin. "I don't love traffic."
"Neither do I, to be honest," she said quietly, although her lips twitched with humour. "Though one would think as a Londoner you'd be used to it."
If Draco were truly honest, he didn't care for any aspect of it. The overbearing noise, the chaotic crowd, jostling one another to board, the rampant uncleanliness.
He didn't suppose he would ever complain about the hazards of travelling via the Floo network again.
Thankfully, Granger knew her way around, and she didn't question his general cluelessness as he perched on his seat beside her, hands clasped carefully in his lap.
After a few minutes, he settled in for the trip, and they made idle conversation whilst Draco tried not to imagine the ground above caving in on them.
At last, they arrived at their stop. Draco breathed greedily of the fresh air when they emerged onto the street once more, and Granger led him towards their destination.
With each stolen moment of time Draco spent with Granger, he came to see one thing more and more clearly. That despite everything else, and no matter what was going on in his life, she could make him smile. When everything else felt as though it were crumbling around him, Granger had come to feel like a constant.
They ordered a pizza to share in the small pizzeria, and Draco couldn't remember the last time he had so thoroughly enjoyed himself.
It wasn't in his power to control Granger's decision, and if she wanted to keep him around her in some capacity, he was happy to stay. That he had informed her they had once known one another―and that the relationship hadn't been positive―felt like a weight lifted from his shoulders. Certainly, if she actually possessed the memories, the situation might have been different, but he had been as truthful as he could without completely jarring her life.
If at some point in time, she was willing to entertain the idea of magic, he would explain to the best of his ability.
Draco couldn't remember the last time he had simply allowed himself to exist.
A grin spread across his face as Granger shared an anecdote from one of her lessons that week, and after the fraught week he'd spent without her, he was content to sit and listen.
The sparkle in her eye―which he had feared was gone for good―returned as they settled into one another's company.
Draco only regretted that she had to work that night, and they would have to cut their afternoon short.
And the veil would come down, and he would be forced to return to his world―where uncertainty and anxiety led his decisions.
Granger hadn't explicitly said so, but he had to hope she had decided not to cut him out of her life altogether, given she had still invited him to join her that afternoon. First for her yoga class, and then for pizza afterwards. The time spent with her only renewed his desire to do whatever it took to stay in her life.
For the first time, he considered the fact that if she decided she didn't want to recover her memories after all, maybe it wouldn't be the end of the world. Of course, there were still things she needed to know when she was ready―namely that she was a witch―but she had dedicated the last several years to rebuilding her life from scratch.
If she wanted to move on anew, he could support that. Not because he didn't want her to remember their past, but because he didn't want it to weigh her down any longer.
Granger paused in her story, her gaze landing on Draco as she took a bite of pizza. "You're quiet; is everything alright?"
"Of course." He offered a smile in return, staring at her a moment longer. "I'm just enjoying our afternoon together."
He couldn't help the way she drew a different side out of him. As if the time they spent together was separate from the rest of existence, and he was able to just be himself.
Her smile softened, expression shifting into something deeper as she took a sip of water from a plastic cup. "Thank you for joining me. I know I haven't been particularly reassuring with regards to what any of this means for us―but I appreciate that you're still here."
Draco ducked his chin, drawing a breath. "If you want me here, I'll be here."
Sadness tugged at her brow, but her eyes never left his. Catching her hand on the table, he entwined their hands, his heart pulsing at the tips of his fingers.
"Thank you," she breathed, "that means a lot." Her throat shifted with a swallow as she wrapped her other hand around the back of his. "I do want to remember, and I think a part of me will always wonder. I want to remember you and the life I had. But I feel like I can't keep living in between the past and the present, lost and never quite knowing who I'm meant to be. And... I hope you can support that."
"That's your decision to make."
The vulnerability in her stare pulled at his heartstrings as she gnawed on her lower lip. "Okay."
"And I'll support however you choose," he finished.
At last, a tentative smile curled her lips. "Thank you, Draco." She glanced down at her watch, the smile falling from her face. "I'd better go, or I'll be late for work."
Finishing his water, Draco nodded and rose to his feet. "I'll walk you."
As they paced back down the block towards the metro station, her hand drifted into his once more; Draco resisted the urge to pull her even closer.
When they arrived at the station, she turned towards him and reached up to coil her arms around his neck. Releasing a breath, Draco wrapped his own around her back and drew her in flush, brushing a kiss to her temple.
Granger pressed up on her toes and planted a kiss to the stubble along his cheek. But she lingered, her breath warm on his skin, and then pressed another to his jaw. Stealing an instant of courage, Draco shifted his head just slightly, capturing her lips with his. She sank into the contact, her tongue teasing the seam of his lips for only a second as she toyed with the hair at the back of his head.
Even from a brief kiss, Draco's heart jumped to life in his chest, and he lifted one hand to trace the smooth lines of her face before he drew back. He tucked a loose curl behind her ear as his eyes slid open to meet hers.
"Goodbye, Hermione," he said softly. "Thanks for today."
Her lips met his again, featherlight and hesitant, and when she pulled away, her hands lingered for a moment longer on his face. "Bye, Draco." She extracted herself from his hold before he could say anything more and ventured onto the platform.
Releasing a long, shaky breath, Draco slid his hands into his pockets and walked back down the road.
After a pleasant weekend, everything else flooded in with insistence on Monday when Draco returned to work. Although he already knew he was walking a thin line with Robards, he needed to approach the man about arranging a visitation between his parents.
His mother wasn't well enough to leave St Mungo's, or the matter would have been simple. But even a short trip away from the hospital could drain her of the little energy she was currently able to sustain.
And his father was a high-security prisoner, having been a Death Eater in Voldemort's inner circle. Lucius would be lucky to ever see the light of day again.
Draco wasn't certain on the protocol, but there was nothing within the department to suggest that his mother's request for visitation even needed to be honoured. But if things were as Healer Brooks suggested―and Draco didn't even like to consider the thought that his mother might not recover―he wanted to do his best to fulfil her request.
Steadying his nerves, he approached Robards' office and rapped sharply on the door. While the man was often mild-mannered in character, he had high expectations for his Aurors, and he could be downright terrifying when something incited his temper.
"Come in," Robards called, and Draco slipped through the door, pressing it shut behind him. The man glanced up from some paperwork and fixed Draco with a stare from behind his desk. "Auror Malfoy. What do you need?"
Draco gave a stiff nod, clasping his hands. "I have a rather delicate request, sir. My mother has been severely ill in and out of St Mungo's for some weeks now."
"I'm aware." Leaning back in his seat, Robards diverted his full attention towards Draco and waited.
"Her healers aren't certain whether she's going to make it." The words twisted his insides into a knot as he spoke them, and Robards' expression faltered.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Malfoy." Robards lowered his chin. "What can I do?"
Draco released a breath, wincing. "The thing is, she would like to hold visitation with my father, but she's not able to leave the hospital for any significant length of time."
"I see." Robards steepled his fingers as he leaned forward over the desk. "As you are aware, of course, your father is in a ward of Azkaban that isn't allowed outside leave." When Draco only remained silent, Robards clicked his tongue a few times. "Obviously, this is beyond standard protocol, but I'll see what I can do. Just this once, mind you."
"Thank you, sir," Draco murmured, "I really appreciate that."
Robards hummed as he jotted several things on a sheet of parchment and set down his quill. "You'll have to arrange for St Mungo's to relocate your mother to a secure hospital ward for the duration of the visit, and I'll allocate a team to ensure nothing happens. You'll be there as well?" When the man looked up belatedly, Draco swallowed.
"I suppose so."
"Very well." As though reading Draco's reticence, Robards' expression softened ever so slightly. "I can't imagine any of this has been easy on you, and especially now seeing your father again. I know how hard you've worked to get on with the department."
After all of the extra hours Draco had been putting in to keep his position with the Auror's office, the subtle recognition caused a swell of something akin to pride in his chest. "Thank you, sir," he offered. "It hasn't been. I've intentionally chosen not to see my father for the last number of years in concurrence with my training here. But it's important to my mother."
"I understand." They both remained silent for several thuds of his pulse, and Draco edged towards the door, expecting the meeting had come to a close. But Robards sighed a breath. "It can't have been easy to defy your father and your past. I respect you for that, Auror Malfoy." He cocked a brow. "And it's the reason you're still here. Don't let us both down."
Despite the veiled threat, Draco chuckled. "I certainly don't intend to, sir. Thank you again."
A rare smile pulled at Robards' lips. "I'll speak with Azkaban and inform you of the arranged time for the visitation. Now get back to work."
As Draco ducked from his superior's office, any trace of warmth fell from his countenance, and nausea flooded his being. A part of him had almost hoped that Auror Robards might have denied his request and that Draco wouldn't have been forced into seeing his father again. But that part warred with the side of him that wanted to make his mother happy―especially if she didn't improve.
"There you are," Potter clipped as he almost collided with Draco in the larger offices. "Come on―we need to talk."
The last thing Draco wanted to do after speaking with Robards was to confront Potter's ambush when he had more than an inkling as to what the other man wanted to discuss. But he didn't have the mental wherewithal to dispute the matter, so he trailed along to Potter's desk.
As a full Auror, Potter's workspace was much larger and more private, and Draco dropped into the seat across from him at the desk. He lifted a brow. "What is it?"
"What do you mean, what?" Potter scoffed. "You've been putting off the situation with Hermione for over a week now. Surely you've had some contact with her."
"I didn't put it off," Draco murmured, "she stopped talking to me after I did as you suggested and told her we'd known one another. As I already informed you."
Merlin, the man was a dog with a bone. "And you still haven't talked to her?"
Draco released a long-suffering sigh and glanced around the workspace. Where Draco's desk was bare and utilitarian, Potter's featured a handful of personal touches, including a photograph of him with Weasley and Granger. By the looks of it, it must have been taken shortly after the end of the war.
"I saw her on Saturday."
Wearing a look of disdain, Potter folded his arms across his chest. "And? Does she remember anything?"
"No," Draco clipped, "she doesn't. And truth be told, she doesn't want to."
Potter flinched, blinked several times. "What do you mean? Why not?"
Feeling a surge of indignation on her behalf, Draco scowled. "Because she's tired of living this way. Always questioning what might have been while trying to establish her new life. Can't you imagine that being tiresome?"
While Potter didn't immediately respond, a furrow pulled at his brow. "I suppose so―but she knows you knew her back then. Surely, she could just get more information―"
"She doesn't want to, Potter." In light of the harsh subject matter, Draco's voice softened. "I know it's difficult for you and me to understand. But I'm trying to put myself in her shoes. She's been dealing with this for years, and she's all but given up on the thought of her memories ever coming back. I suppose it would probably be different if there had been any hint of recognition, but honestly, I can't fucking blame her."
Potter slumped in his seat, and Draco felt a twinge of pity. The situation was difficult for Draco, who knew her better now than he had ever known her before. But Granger and Potter had gone through more in seven years together than most people could ever hope for in a lifetime.
"Look," Draco muttered, dragging a hand through his hair as prolonged silence hung between them. "I mentioned that she knew you. Once the initial shock of all this wears off, I'm sure she would be happy to get to know you again." When Potter lifted a brow, incredulity sweeping across his face, Draco grimaced. "I know―poor consolation to the friendship you once had. But isn't it better than believing her to be dead?"
Still, Potter didn't speak as he gazed at a framed photograph on his desk that Draco couldn't see. At last, he heaved a sigh. "I suppose so. But Merlin, isn't this like―utter shite?"
With a half-hearted snicker, Draco nodded. "Yeah, mate, it's shite. She had me ride the fucking underground. I would love it if she accepted magic, but I'm afraid to show her anything that might be too jarring."
Although he wasn't certain as to the nature of Potter's introspection, the man chuckled. "I would pay money to see you ride the tube." Then he lifted his stare back up to Draco. "Are you still going to see her?"
Draco shrugged, glancing away. "If she wants to keep me around."
"Isn't it weird?" He crinkled the bridge of his nose. "I know if Theo suddenly didn't know who I was or something, it would be fucking weird."
"'Course it's weird," Draco said, "but I never knew her then. Not really." He hesitated for a moment. "It seems as though you and Theo have really hit it off."
To his surprise, a dull flush of colour rushed into Potter's face. "We have, I suppose. He's interesting." Draco chuckled, fully aware of what Potter meant by the sentiment. "He makes me laugh."
For a moment, Draco softened. "Good. Theo deserves someone who's going to treat him well."
Although the flush remained in Potter's face, he pursed his lips. "You're trying to get out of talking about Hermione. Look―I don't think it would necessarily be a bad idea to show her magic, but just don't be obnoxious about it. We can talk to the cognitive specialist if you like."
"I never intended to be obnoxious about it," Draco drawled. "But she's so insistent that magic isn't real. I do intend to provide her with proof. And honestly, if she's tired of dwelling on the past and trying to move on, who am I to tell her otherwise?"
"The added bonus being that she won't remember what a fucking prat you used to be to her," Potter accused, brows high on his forehead.
Draco stared at the man for a long moment, read the challenge in his eyes, and peered up at the ceiling. "Honestly, Potter. If it meant her memories came back and she could finally be at peace, I wouldn't care what she remembers."
Potter's throat shifted with a swallow, his face blank. Then finally, he blew out a low whistle and muttered, "You've got it bad, mate."
Draco didn't know how to deny it or if he even could.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! It's my birthday so I wanted to get the chapter up today. I hope you liked it!
Alpha and beta love, as always, to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.
