Draco startled awake at a muffled banging, blinking several times in rapid succession before he scrambled for his wand and leapt from bed in only his sleep trousers. The clock on his bedside table read just past seven in the morning.
Carefully, he stumbled his way through the flat, rubbing the sleep from one eye before he reached the door. His mind still felt fuzzy from sleep, but he pulled the door open, wand ready at one side but tucked out of immediate view.
He squinted at the sight of Hermione Granger, fully dressed and prepared for the day, gnawing incessantly on her bottom lip.
"Hi," Draco muttered, squeezing his eyes shut briefly; he swept a hand through his sleep-dishevelled hair as alarm bells rang in the back of his mind. "Is something wrong?"
When he looked closer, her eyes were bloodshot and encircled with dark shadows, and he wondered if she had slept at all.
"No," she said quietly, "I mean yes. I mean, nothing urgent, but―" She shook her head, eyes lingering for a moment on his bare chest before she looked away.
"Come in," Draco slurred, moving out of the entranceway so she could step in.
She followed, wide-eyed and apologetic. "I didn't mean to wake you." There was really no denying that she had, so Draco only shrugged and dragged himself into the kitchen to put the kettle on. It was then that he realised the impropriety of the situation, and he slipped into his room to pull on a t-shirt.
When he returned, Granger still lingered in the kitchen, and he rubbed at his eyes. "Sorry about that. What's the matter?"
The situation in itself was startling when Draco hadn't even had a chance to wonder whether he would ever see or hear from her again or if she would vanish for weeks like she had the time before.
But Hermione simply collapsed into the seat at his kitchen table where she had sat not twelve hours before and placed the book he had loaned her into the middle of the table. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn she had read the entire thing already. "You're magic."
He eyed her for a moment, not entirely able to assess her mood. But his mind was still caught halfway in a fog of sleep; he didn't know whether he had managed to catch four hours. "So are you." His lips curled with a hint of a smirk. "Please don't tell me you crossed London at seven in the morning to tell me that."
When she huffed in exasperation, sounding so like her former self, he couldn't help the snicker that broke free. He rummaged clumsily for a tea service before drawing his wand and simply using magic instead. Then he poured two cups and dropped into the other chair.
Granger only stared at him as she stirred a splash of milk into her cup. At last, she whispered, "I don't even know where to begin."
"I didn't know how to tell you," Draco admitted at last with a heavy exhale. "Not when I've been cautioned against overloading you with too much at once. And the existence of magic; all of its facets―when you claimed you didn't believe in any of it―certainly counts as overloading."
With a steadying breath, she nodded. "I understand." She stared at him for another long moment as though he were something worth examining, and Draco wasn't certain he liked the way it felt. "I suppose my most important question is this: what do you know about my memory loss?"
Her words fell to a whisper as she spoke, and Draco felt his heart clench. He took a sip of tea as he measured his words, then said, "It's magical in nature. That's why your doctors can't figure it out."
Even before she spoke again, Draco could see the next question ready in her eyes, and regret darted through him.
"Can you fix it? With magic?"
Low as a breath, he said, "I would not dare try." Although she did her best to keep her face neutral, Draco could see the flicker of disappointment. "Memory magic―and mind-related magic in general―is incredibly specialised and dangerous. One wrong move, and I could cause permanent damage."
"Right," she whispered, shaking her head a little. "Of course."
Weighing his next response, he sighed. "Look, Hermione. There are healers, alright? The magical equivalent to doctors. I spoke with a cognitive functions specialist months ago―before we even got to know one another. It isn't impossible, but it's very risky without knowing what went wrong or what the spell was in the first place. And no one knows exactly what happened―not even Potter because he wasn't with you."
"So if I see one of these healers," she pressed, "can they help me?"
"I don't know." When she only remained silent, he carded a hand through his hair again. "It's difficult to say."
She deflated slowly, almost without notice, but Draco couldn't tear his gaze from her. She only took another sip of her tea, gazing around the kitchen, and then he caught the glassy sheen to her eyes.
"Please don't cry," he breathed. Drawing his courage, he reached for her hand on the table. "I want to help you if I can―if you'll let me."
"But you don't know if this is fixable," she surmised.
He couldn't lead her on. "Right. I don't know. The healer I spoke with was the one who suggested the safest way to restore your memories would be by triggering wherever they're trapped."
Granger didn't respond and only trailed her fingers idly along the surface of the table, but she hadn't retracted her other hand from below his. "Did I have a wand?"
Draco nodded. "You did, although I don't know where it ended up. There wasn't any information about that―but it doesn't mean you couldn't get another one. It might not work in the same way as your old one did, but you could find another that reacts positively to your core."
"Where?"
Her eyes were wide and curious enough that he allowed a small smile. "Ollivander's is the best option in England, though there are others on the continent." Before she could ask, he gave her hand a squeeze. "Diagon Alley is the wizarding high street in London for all your magical needs."
"In London?"
Draco hummed, taking another idle sip of tea. "There is more magic in London than you could possibly imagine. The Ministry of Magic is just on Whitehall, for instance."
"No, it isn't," she scoffed, though the words didn't carry any certainty. "I would have known if―" But she fell silent.
"I can't say whether you would have seen it, given you're magical," Draco mused, "but if you were truly Muggle, you wouldn't see anything at all. At any rate, there isn't a sign or anything advertising its presence."
She appeared to consider the words, cataloguing them in her clever mind, and still, she stared at him in that odd way that left him both anxious and unsettled.
"I'm not any different, you know," Draco said quietly. "All that's changed is now you know I can do magic. I'm not a different person."
Colour flooded her cheeks, and at last, she glanced away. "I didn't think―I suppose I'm just curious. I have… so many questions."
Draco chuckled, interlacing his fingers with hers. "I would be surprised if you didn't."
Any warmth faded from her face, her hand softening where it rested within his. "And then, still… I don't know how to address any of this. Because I still don't remember anything." Devastation flickered across her face. "There's this entire world that I should know about, and I just don't, and… it hurts, Draco."
His heart sank at the vulnerability in her words, drawing at the lines of her face.
"You can learn it again," he assured her. "And I'm going to tell you everything you want to know."
"Yesterday, when you told me," she said softly, sipping her tea, "I felt some sort of pain… a flicker of discomfort."
The words caused him to tense; he could recall her pressing at her temples as though in pain. "I don't know enough about all of this; I'm sorry. I don't want to overwhelm you and make anything worse."
"Okay," she whispered. "Maybe you could just tell me a little more about it all for now."
For a long moment, Draco only stared at her, and his heart beat a little faster at the trust and honesty in her eyes. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. Promise." He glanced down at the table beside their clasped hands. "We might need another pot of tea."
The last thing Draco wanted to do was to push too hard, and he was careful to answer each of Granger's questions as simply as possible. There would be time to get into the details―the politics, the subtleties and nuance, and the darker side of the wizarding world. Eventually, they would need to discuss the war and everything therein, including their individual roles.
However, as though she sensed as much, she too was cautious with the wording of her questions—easy questions looking for easy answers.
And Draco kept a close eye on her in case anything were to go wrong. He didn't know enough about memory magic to guess at what might trigger an old recollection―or dismantle the entire house of cards from beneath. He felt like the entire situation rested on a precarious beam made of glass, and his role was a balancing act.
Granger, for her part, appeared to be trying to learn as much as possible without pressing him for information he was reticent to give lest it was too much. Draco could only imagine how overwhelming it could be to learn about the entirely of the wizarding world in one morning―which bled well into the afternoon.
At last, exhausted and mentally strained, they looked at each other. Granger seemed to deflate, as if there were no more room in her clever mind for new information, and released a long exhale. "I think I've had enough for one day."
Draco managed an effort at a smile. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," she breathed, eyelids fluttering. "It's a lot to take in, but I haven't overwhelmed myself. At least, I don't think I have, but I don't know how exactly this is all meant to work. As far as pushing my mind too hard."
"Neither do I," Draco admitted. "If you'd like to talk to the healer―"
"Not just yet," she returned quietly. "But at some point, I imagine I would."
Granger had taken notes with an almost voracious intensity all through their discussion, as if afraid she might miss something and never discover it again. Draco had smiled at the old habit, even though he would remind her of anything she forgot or didn't pick up on immediately.
A part of him sobered at the thought; he knew it was her way of gaining some semblance of control in the matter.
"I never wanted to drop this all on you at once," he said, taking her hand between both of his. "I'm sure I could have handled this differently―better. But I don't know."
Assurance filled her stare as she fixated on him. "I don't know, either. I don't blame you, and I appreciate your consideration of my wellbeing."
Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her palm. "Have lunch with me?"
A soft smile lifted her mouth that warmed him from within. A calm sense of relief swept over him that she knew, and she wasn't upset and―
There were so many more doors open between them now. Routes to pursue in her healing and possible recovery, and he couldn't help but acknowledge the fact that he felt so much better now that she knew the truth.
Draco's heart stuttered when she leaned across the table and brushed her lips to his. "I'd like that."
"You did what?"
In hindsight, it probably hadn't been the best idea to bring up to Potter that Hermione knew about magic while already aiming a wand at him. Dodging a nasty hex, Draco lifted placating hands. "I didn't mean for her to just find out in the way she did."
"And how did she, Malfoy?"
Draco rolled his eyes at the melodrama. "She found my wand."
Potter made a face. "Why was your wand somewhere she could find it?"
Clenching his jaw, Draco considered his answer. With Potter's testy mood, Draco wouldn't be surprised to catch a fist to the face if he inferred anything too personal. At last, he settled on, "It shifted out of my pocket."
As though reading between the lines, Potter's eyes tightened. "Do I even want to know―" At Draco's grimace, he shook his head. "Never mind, I don't. Clearly, you forgot that we were supposed to go about telling her delicately so as not to cause any damage. What did you tell her?"
Draco shrugged, holstering his wand as he swept a hand through his sweat-dampened hair; they had been training non-stop all afternoon. He hoped by stowing his wand away, Potter might follow suit, and they might be able to have this conversation like rational adults. But Potter simply folded his arms, wand hanging from his fingertips.
"The basics," Draco clipped, leaning against the wall. "She had questions about the Ministry, and about the wizarding world, and where she could get a wand, and―I didn't think it was a good idea to go too deep into specifics. And it's not like I was going to lie to her."
"Because you haven't been lying to her this whole time?" The words were dismissive and derisive and stung Draco in the chest more than they should have but for the flicker of truth. That even though he had done his best to be honest with Granger, there had naturally been plenty of evasion in their interactions. Potter released a sigh and at last holstered his own wand, though he clicked his tongue in disapproval. "If your slip-up does any damage to her brain, I'm never forgiving you for this."
"You're a fucking prick, you know," Draco drawled in return. It wasn't as if he had simply thrown the matter at Granger and left her to sort through it all on her own. "And besides―how long were you thinking we would just refrain from telling her she's a witch?"
Thinning his lips, Potter gave a shrug. "I don't fucking know, do I? I've never dealt with this before. All I know is the healer said not to overwhelm her."
"There was no way not to overwhelm her." Draco threw up his hands. "It's all bloody overwhelming."
For a long moment, they stared at one another, half-glowering and half-resigned. Potter summoned a tall carafe of water from across the room and poured two glasses. Without a word, Draco swiped one and drank half of it.
"Fine," Potter said, the word delicate. "I suppose we'll simply monitor the situation. Hopefully, we're through the worst of it, now that she knows. Unless you're about to dive in and tell her your father would have gladly seen her dead over circumstances beyond her control."
Although, of course the sentiment wasn't untrue, Potter's attitude was grinding Draco's last nerve. "I'm done keeping things from her―but I'm not going to do anything to harm her. When she's ready to learn the deeper truth below the surface of everything, I'll tell her. And if she decides at that point, she wants nothing to do with me, then so be it."
Potter's brows lifted, scepticism plain on his face, but he only took a long swig of water. "Fine, Malfoy. But please, for fuck's sake, don't let her stumble across details from the war in your fucking trousers, yeah?"
Despite the serious subject matter, a snicker pulled impulsively from his throat. "Never thought you'd be so interested in what's in my trousers, Potter." He ducked the spell that flew from Potter's wand. "I'm unarmed, you prat."
Potter seethed back, eyes narrowed. "First rule of training?"
"Always be prepared for anything," Draco muttered under his breath, finishing his glass of water. Smug conceit drifted across his colleague's face as though he'd been proven right, and Draco scowled. "Still a fucking prat."
"I could offer a lot of choice words for you about what's going on between you and Hermione, Malfoy, but I am choosing to trust you, at great personal cost." He released a long, pretentious sigh. "Now, let's get back to work. I don't want to deal with Robards if you get yourself kicked out of here."
After an exhausting and tedious day, wherein Potter ruthlessly hammered him with duels well into the evening, the pair of them retreated to the Leaky Cauldron with Theo for a pint to blow off some steam and tension. Draco was nursing both the wounds from several spells that he hadn't blocked in time and his ego in knowing Potter had bested him in the majority of their sessions.
They'd discussed Narcissa―back at the Manor once more and still miserable; Theo's attempts to get on with a potions master―mediocre but with one valid possibility; and lastly, the matter of Granger and her discovery of magic for the second time.
By the time Draco returned to his flat, still cognisant but a little unsteady on his feet, she was all he could think of.
Particularly in light of his conversation with Potter that afternoon, Draco worried that their conversation had been too much.
That he was too much.
He eyed his phone for a long moment, considering whether it would be weird to call her after he'd had a few, but the hour was late enough that he couldn't be certain whether she would still be awake. He didn't know if she had class in the morning, as her classes were often sporadic depending on the day, but he didn't want to run the risk of waking her.
Collapsing into the sofa, he stared at the small screen on the Muggle device and blinked bleary eyes. He fumbled with the rubbery buttons as he typed in a message and re-wrote it three times.
Thinking about you tonight. I hope you're feeling alright after our conversation yesterday, and if there's anything else I can do to help, please let me know. See you soon?
He grimaced as he read through the message several times, dissatisfied with the tone of it, but he stifled a wide yawn behind his hand and felt sleep tug at his eyelids. Finally, he drew in a deep breath and jabbed the button to send the message.
Before he could overthink the whole damn situation, he dragged himself to the loo to prepare for sleep. He caught his own glossy stare in the mirror and scowled.
No matter what he did, and even with his best efforts, Draco still felt as though everything continued to crumble around him. And he didn't know what he would do if he dragged Hermione down with him.
With that unsettling thought in the back of his mind, he checked his phone once, and when he didn't see a return message, he put himself to bed. He drifted into an uneasy slumber within minutes.
Author's Note: Thanks so much as always for reading! I hope you're all still enjoying the story xo
Alpha and beta hugs to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.
