As Tuesday wore on, Draco felt an unpleasant worry in the pit of his stomach grow.

He drew out his phone while working on a report towards the end of the day and shifted through his messages. Not counting the message he had sent Hermione late the night before―to which he had not received a response―he also sent three additional messages.

It might have felt severe and excessive if not for the fact that it was unlike her not to respond in a timely manner.

At every small sound, he jumped, wondering if it was the quiet vibration of the device. But still, nothing peered back at him when he drew it from his pack. More than once, he'd questioned whether maybe the Muggle item had simply stopped working, but he felt deep within him that it was more than that.

Either she was ignoring him―or something was wrong.

And after their conversation and lunch on Sunday, they had parted ways on good terms despite Draco's worst fears on Saturday night when she left his flat. So he didn't think she was upset.

Which only deepened the dour instinct swelling within him.

Distractedly, he pushed through the last of his report, submitted it to Robards' office, and gathered his things. He swept from the DMLE without lingering to visit and paced through the Atrium as quickly as he could manage without looking as though he were running. Within minutes of emerging onto Whitehall, Draco had Apparated home and changed out of his robes.

Briefly, he debated calling her. But if she hadn't responded to his messages, he doubted she would answer.

Draco didn't know Granger's work schedule because she worked part-time shifts, and it changed from week to week, but he slipped on his shoes and prepared to Apparate back across London to see if she was at the tea shop. Maybe it had simply been a busy day―but that thought felt too innocuous as well.

He froze as he reached for the door.

In the back of his mind, Draco could hear the thick Northern dialect of Granger's co-worker―Audrey was her name, he had learned―and his heart sank like ice in the pit of his stomach. On the first Tuesday of the month, Granger visited her doctors for a multitude of appointments.

Before. When she hadn't been aware of the fact that her malady was magical in nature. Nausea swirled within him, bile on the back of his tongue, and his head already spun moments before he twisted into Apparition.

He paced rapidly from the Apparition point and slipped into Granger's building when one of her neighbours entered the main door, as he wasn't keen to break in using magic. But when he reached her unit, he rapped sharply on the door, a sharp breath held in his chest.

Glancing down the otherwise empty corridor, he knocked again, with a gruff, "Hermione." He was about to draw his wand—consequences be damned—by the way every instinct within him flared, when the door swung open.

Granger blinked up at him through bloodshot eyes; her hair was tied into a messy knot atop her head, and she wore a faded Queen Mary jumper and joggers. She scrubbed at one eye.

"Hi. What are you doing here?"

Draco's brows knit with concern. "I've been trying to reach you. Is everything alright?"

At the words, her entire countenance faltered. "You came all this way to see if I was alright?" Belatedly, she edged back from the doorway to allow him entrance, and Draco pressed the door shut behind him.

"To be fair, it only took me a few minutes," he said, eyes fixed on her. "Are you okay?"

She wrapped her arms across her front, gnawing at her lower lip as she eyed him. "Yes? I don't know." Wrenching at a curl that had fallen loose from her messy bun, she levied a deep sigh. "If I'd known you were coming by, I'd have cleaned myself up a little."

"You look beautiful." The words dropped from his lips before he could even think twice, and despite the fact that she scoffed and rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile drew at her mouth. "I was concerned. First Tuesday of the month and all."

Granger leaned against the wall, though the movement was more as if she sagged entirely into it like she didn't have the strength to keep herself fully upright. "I didn't go to class today," she breathed, deep consternation pulling at her brow; Draco wondered whether it was the first time she had ever skived. "And I called the specialists to cancel all my appointments. I just... it doesn't feel like there's any point, now."

While Draco could sense a deeper cause behind her melancholy, he didn't want to pry, but he could see the sadness etched in every line of her face. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I think so," she breathed, but she shook her head slowly. "I've had a headache, and every time I feel the slightest bit off, I wonder if this is it and I'm just going to lose the rest of my memories and―" She sucked in a sharp breath, biting down hard on her lower lip. "And even though now I know the problem, I'm still no closer to figuring a way out―or if there even is one."

Before she could say anything else, or before he could make sense of anything, he drew her into him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She caved in to his chest as though she'd been using the last of her energy to stay standing, and her arms coiled around his back.

Breathing deeply of her messy curls, Draco dragged a hand along her upper spine.

He could hear her sniffle, and she said, muffled against his shirt, "I'm so tired, Draco."

"I know," he murmured, brushing a kiss against her crown. "I'm going to help you figure this out if that's what you want. If you want me to help."

For a long, extended moment, he stood there with her in his arms and didn't even know how long because all he could think about was her silent tears dampening his shirt and her hands clinging to him as though he meant something to her. He didn't know how he might have dealt with everything if he were her―if he'd been fighting an endless battle for as long as he could remember.

"Merlin, I wish I'd come over earlier," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"You were at work." She still didn't extract herself from his chest, though her sniffles abated. "I didn't want to bother you."

"Bother me," he whispered, pressing another kiss into her hair. "You aren't alone, and you don't have to deal with this on your own anymore. I want you to bother me. I want to help you."

At last, she drew back, her eyes red-rimmed and watery, infinite sadness in the furrow of her brow. "I can't just pretend that I'm fine with never knowing," she said softly. "Not anymore after everything you've told me."

Holding her gaze, Draco nodded. "Then I'm here to help you. And Potter and Theo want to help you."

"Right now..." Granger trailed off, a dull flush of pink lifting into her cheeks. "I only want you here with me." Draco's heart clenched almost painfully at the words, and she released a deep sigh, sinking in on herself again as she peered up at him. "Have you eaten?"

"I have not." Draco eyed her for a moment before brushing a kiss to her temple.

"Do you want something, or some tea or―"

"All I want is for you to relax," he said quietly, running a hand down her arm, "and let me take care of you tonight. Is that alright with you?"

The first hint of life returned to her eyes, her lips quirking with a small smile. "Yes, I suppose that would be alright."


After tucking Granger in beneath a knitted afghan on her sofa, Draco first brewed a pot of tea and delivered a steaming cuppa to her specifications, and then he cobbled together a meal from the ingredients he found in her kitchen. Draco had never been a particularly proficient cook, and his standards for himself were much lower than they had been when he'd had a host of house-elves feeding him. But she didn't say anything; in fact, she cleaned her plate.

Idly, Draco wondered if it was the first thing she'd eaten all day.

Some of the colour returned to her cheeks as she sipped her tea, charmed to remain hot, and cuddled into his side after they'd eaten and he'd set the dishes to clean themselves.

While he had suspected Granger would refuse his efforts to look after her, he found he rather enjoyed taking care of the witch. She had obviously had an arduous day, and he couldn't blame her after the way every part of her life had upended so thoroughly, even in the last few days. Never mind the strain that she had been under through the years as she'd struggled with some semblance of understanding her circumstances.

Resting her face on his chest, she drew idle patterns across his shirt. "Thank you for tonight," she said quietly. "I imagine my parents must have done when I was younger, but I can't remember anyone caring enough to look after me."

Draco only swallowed heavily, tightening his hold on her smaller form.

"Will you tell me about Hogwarts?"

"Yeah," he breathed, turning to meet her stare. He considered the ask for a moment, absent memories fluttering through his mind. "Hogwarts was... honestly, it's rather bizarre. It was built over a thousand years ago by four founders, each brilliant in their own right, and each had their own house. You were sorted into Gryffindor―the house of courage and determination, though I always wondered why you hadn't been a Ravenclaw." When her brows lifted in question, he added, "Wisdom and creativity."

"And which house were you?"

He allowed a smile to play across his lips as he reminisced. "Slytherin. My entire family has been in Slytherin for centuries." His smile faltered as he absently grazed a hand along her spine. "Resourcefulness, cunning, ambition. Salazar Slytherin was... very particular about the students he allowed into his house, and the trend carried on."

While Draco didn't want to dig too deep into the inherent prejudices involved, especially when she'd had such a trying day, he didn't want to evade the subject entirely.

Her eyes sparkled as she gazed at him, waiting.

"You loved Hogwarts." The words fell soft and indulgent from his lips. "More than anyone else I knew. I think you lived at the library half the time, to be honest." He hummed, thinking back to the girl she had been. "You didn't like Quidditch, though both of your best friends played for Gryffindor."

She cuddled into his chest, her breathing even and gentle. "What's Quidditch?"

"It's the most popular sport in our world. It's played on broomsticks―seven players, three hoops per side, four balls serving different purposes." When she only snickered, he brushed a kiss to her crown. "In my knowledge, you never cared for flying."

"It sounds terrifying."

"There are ghosts," Draco went on, the memories drifting free of the tight box in which he'd stored them. "Each house has a ghost, and then there are others that roam. Our History of Magic professor was a ghost."

"No. Why would a ghost have any interest in teaching?"

Draco found it amusing that she didn't question the existence of them, as though she'd already opened her mind to the things she couldn't explain. "He died one day and simply kept teaching. His lessons were incredibly dry, though. I don't think even you liked them."

Shifting her head to peer up at him, a soft smile curled her lips. "You could be making all of this up, and I'd have to trust you, you know."

"I'm not making it up. You can ask Potter; he won't lie to you either."

Her eyes shimmered with warmth and anticipation, and it was a welcome juxtaposition from the way she had been when he had arrived.

His chest tightened at the thought.

Digging deep into the banks of his memory, Draco thought for the things she might have enjoyed the most.

"The ceiling of the Great Hall is enchanted to look like the sky outside," he murmured. "And deep on the grounds, near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a giant squid lives in the Black Lake. It's the best place on the whole castle grounds to watch the sunset." A chuckle fell from his lips. "The Slytherin common room is in the castle dungeons, and one entire wall faces the lake, kept separate by a pane of glass and magic―and sometimes you can see the squid and the colony of merpeople that live in the depths. If you ever want to bother Theo, ask him about the squid. It kept him awake for months when we were young, thinking the glass was going to give way."

She tittered a little, a smile hanging on her face before dropping off. "It sounds wonderful."

Only then did Draco notice the glossy sheen to her eyes through the warmth on her face. Frowning, he pulled a loose curl back from her face. "I don't mean to upset you."

"You haven't," she breathed, a furrow pulling at her brow. "It just sounds lovely. I wish I could remember any of this."

For a long moment, he only stared at her. Empty platitudes hung on the tip of his tongue, but finally, he sighed. "I wish you could, too. Maybe one day. I can stop talking about it if you prefer."

"Please don't."

He could see the hope in her eyes, even through the vague sheen of tears, and Draco nodded. "You and Potter were ridiculous―and your other friend Weasley. Always breaking the rules because you could get away with it and nearly getting yourselves killed in the process." He snickered, shaking his head. "While the rest of us had house points taken for the slightest indiscretion."

"That doesn't sound very fair," she huffed. "Why was that?"

Draco shrugged with a smirk. "The professors all loved you. Except for Snape―he was the head of Slytherin. Right hated you, as far as I could tell."

Although she lifted her brow, she laughed. "Well, he doesn't sound like a very good teacher."

"He was brilliant, but he wasn't a very fair teacher, no." Thinking of Snape buried a sharp spike of pain and guilt in his gut, and he grimaced, pressing on into a different topic. "You finished your testing, you know. Top marks of our year in every class."

Granger's eyes widened a little, but it was the only concession to his words; for a long moment, she remained silent, trailing lines across his chest as he rubbed a hand along her spine. At last, she released a quiet sigh. "I suppose I don't know what to make of that. With my work and my studies. Even if I wanted to pursue something else in your world―our world―I don't remember anything of what I learned."

"I understand," Draco murmured. "And just because I'm telling you about these things, it doesn't mean you have to do anything." The air felt a little tense between them, and Draco sank deeper into the sofa. "If you're happy with what you're doing now."

"Right."

He felt as though she meant to say something else but didn't want to pry. "Maybe someday, when you're ready, I'll show you some of it."

"Show me?" Sucking in a breath, she peered up at him. "What do you mean?"

The idea had lingered in the back of his mind for a while, but he hadn't known whether it was a good idea or not. Every facet of the situation required him not to overwhelm her or push too hard all at once. But if she greatly desired to know more about their world, who was he to keep it from her?

"I might be able to show you memories," he said quietly. "It's something we should probably discuss with a healer first―although most of the memories I have between us aren't exactly pleasant." He snickered, thinking back. "Like the time you hit me."

"I what?"

"It's fine. I deserved it."

Hermione tsked all the same, shaking her head. "It sounds like we were all quite ridiculous and violent at this school. When I met Harry, you said something about him trying to kill you. What was that about? And was there no authority in place monitoring all of this?"

"The headmaster was..." Draco's throat constricted, the words snagging and swelling on his tongue and refusing to come out. He released a breath, staring hard at the ceiling. "He was something else." He couldn't get into it all. Not when she had only just started to smile again; the last thing she needed at the moment was to learn about the bloody war. Finally, he settled on, "He was away a lot. From what I've learned, Potter didn't realise what sort of spell he used against me until it was too late. And it's never a good idea to mess with magic you don't understand."

"Is that what you meant about dark magic?" Uncertainty hung on her face as if she didn't know whether it was safe subject matter.

Carding a hand through his hair, Draco nodded. "So much of spellcasting is about intent. But some magic is, inherently, dangerous and harmful."

Granger gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment, her large eyes blinking at him. "And that's what you do as an Auror? You fight dark magic?"

His brows furrowed; never had he felt like such an imposter as under her intense gaze. The words fell hoarse from his lips. "I try to, anyway." He wondered how much she remembered of their early conversations before she knew anything real about him. But he could see it in her eyes, and he soldiered on. "When I was younger, I dabbled. I wanted to impress my father, and I just didn't... I have a lot of regrets, Hermione."

She only leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a firm, decisive kiss. After a moment, she drew back, fingertips ghosting along his cheekbones. "All that matters to me is where you're at now. Who you are now. And I don't care about the rest of it; how could I care more about the things I don't remember than the man I see in front of me?"

As her words wrenched through him, Draco felt gutted by shame. Moisture stung at his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, forcing the emotion back. He only kissed her again, seeking the warm assurance and the absolution in her touch.

With a sharp breath, he drew away, meeting her eyes, and breathed, "You're incredible."

Sadness pulled at her brow, but a smile crossed her face all the same. "I think I'm starting to see that things go deeper than I first realised. The history between us―and surrounding magic." She worried her bottom lip again, shaking her head slowly. "But I don't think I'm ready to dig into all of that yet."

"That's okay," Draco murmured. "A lot of it isn't pleasant."

He didn't know how to sugar coat it, and she didn't deserve that when she had been so understanding and so patient.

As she settled her face into his chest again, she stifled a yawn, and her eyelids fluttered. "I'm a little sleepy. Thank you for coming by tonight."

Brushing a kiss to her temple, Draco glanced at his watch. He wasn't in a rush to untangle himself from her steady presence, but it was getting late. "Please know you can always reach out to me if you need to."

A pause, and then, "Okay."

"And I hope tonight wasn't too much."

"I don't think so," she mused, "but I'll let you know if anything feels off." Despite her words, she made no effort to move, and Draco merely pulled her a little tighter until her muffled words came against his chest once more. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

He wondered whether she could hear the way his heart stuttered a beat. "Alright."

With another yawn, she turned sleepy eyes on him and at last unravelled herself from him, rising from the sofa; Draco felt the loss of her warmth intrinsically within him. "Only if you want to. I know you have to work in the morning."

Following her up, Draco smiled. "I'd love to."

Although he recognised the offer for what it was―comfort rather than intimacy―he couldn't help the flicker of hope that darted through him at the thought that she wanted him around.

"Okay," she whispered, entwining her fingers with his. She led him down the corridor, collected some sleep clothes, and hovered on the threshold of the loo. "I don't know if you need anything―"

"I'm fine," Draco assured her.

Biting down on her bottom lip around a smile, she said, "Alright," and closed the door behind her.

His heart raced at the thought of sleeping over as though he were a teenager, and briefly, Draco scowled at himself. But there was just something about her that he couldn't quite get enough of. Waiting in her room, he transfigured his outfit into something to sleep in, and when Granger returned moments later in a thin top and shorts, her lips curled with a smile before she turned off the lights and approached. Draco swallowed, forcing his gaze away from her bare legs.

The pale light from the moon beyond her window cast her in a dull silvery glow, but Draco sought the lingering warmth in her stare.

"Thank you, again, for tonight," she breathed.

He offered her a smirk, wrapping one hand around the small of her back. "It was my pleasure. Thank you for allowing me to take care of you."

Something shifted, tensing, in the space between them, and she drew herself flush against him. Pressing up on her toes, she brushed a kiss against his lips. "Thank you for staying," she murmured.

Kissing her again, he couldn't resist snagging her lower lip with his teeth. "Also, my pleasure."

A teasing smile lit her face as she gave his hand a bit of a squeeze then slipped into bed. Draco followed suit, rolling to face her. To his surprise, she kissed him again, more assertive, and Draco's heart leapt at the feel of her against him as her legs tangled with his own. He grazed a hand along her hip, down towards the curve of her arse, and a soft groan fell from her lips against his.

She drew back, even as she whispered, "You're so tempting."

Draco snickered, toying with one of her loose curls. "You have no idea how tempting you are." He ducked his chin and added, "But not tonight."

She deflated a little, as though with relief, and agreed, "Not tonight. I don't know that I'm quite―"

"It's fine," Draco breathed, planting another quick kiss on her lips. "Promise. No pressure now or ever."

A flicker of emotion danced through her eyes as she stared at him, long enough that he began to feel uncertain of the scrutiny. But at last, she sighed and tucked into him. "You're too good to me."

"I am not nearly good enough to you," he huffed under his breath, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Get some rest."

She drifted off, heart beating in tandem with his, and in the quiet moments, before Draco allowed himself to succumb to sleep, he knew he was in trouble.


Author's Note: Hi everyone, thanks for reading the chapter, and as always I hope you enjoyed it! I have exciting news to share: I finished drafting Adrift this past weekend, and it will finish at 45 chapters. Lots more to come :D

Alpha and beta creds to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.