Draco pushed forward from the emergency Apparition of St Mungo's. Hermione was barely functional in his arms, her face deathly pale, tears streaming down her cheeks from her closed eyes. The occasional whimper fell from her lips, but he couldn't tell if she was entirely conscious.

He shoved past the queue of people at the intake desk towards the nearest healer he could see. "I need Healer Huxley," he huffed, his heart racing so fast he could scarcely hear himself speak. "Now, please."

"Sir, you'll have to wait―"

"I can't," he ground through his teeth.

The woman's gaze scanned Hermione's condition in his arms, her stoic expression faltering, and she quickly conferred with another healer, the two of them glancing at a clipboard. "Healer Huxley is with another patient at the moment, sir―"

"I don't care," Draco rushed, pulling Hermione still closer as though he could steal her pain. "She needs to see him right now."

Both healers stared at him for a moment, and then the second looked closer at Hermione's face, her signature wild curls. "Sweet Merlin," he breathed, "is that―"

"Yes," Draco ground, a tight swell of emotion racing through his veins at the thought of anything happening to her. He had spent enough time at the hospital in recent months to last a lifetime, and the idea of losing Hermione left his chest impossibly tight. "Please―"

He didn't have it within him at the moment to wonder how anyone would react to her sudden reappearance in the wizarding world, and at St Mungo's nonetheless. Draco didn't care about anything other than making sure she was alright.

At last, the male healer nodded. "Very well. Come with me."

With a wave of his wand, he conjured a magical gurney, and though Draco didn't want to let her go, he laid Hermione upon its surface as carefully as he could manage. The healer performed a rapid-fire series of spells to ensure her safety during the transport and handed her purse to Draco.

He stared at the bag for a moment, blinking in surprise, then shrunk and pocketed it.

"You'll have to stay in the waiting room, sir," the healer said. "I'll transport her to Healer Huxley and―"

"Not a chance," Draco breathed. "I've already spoken to him about the patient in question." Without waiting for the man to refuse him again, Draco fell into step as they made a brisk pace through the corridors.

As they wound into the next hallway, Draco's heart racing ever faster the longer it took, the man spoke again. "Is this actually Hermione Granger?"

Draco fixed the healer with a stare. The man couldn't have been more than a few years older than him; he might have even been at Hogwarts at the same time. Everyone in their generation―and the generation above―knew her well enough to recognise her on sight. "Yes," Draco said with a sigh. "Though her presence in England isn't widely known, and she wouldn't care for this situation." He added, rather unnecessarily, "Obviously."

"Right," the healer muttered, looking perturbed. "I heard she died."

"She didn't," Draco clipped.

As the healer manoeuvred her stretcher into a lift at the end of the corridor, Draco released a huff of impatience. He could have done all of this faster on his own. But he bit his tongue to keep from responding inappropriately when he knew the man had likely just skived several hospital rules to oblige him.

"Didn't catch your name," the man said conversationally when they emerged once more on the next floor as if Hermione's life wasn't in his hands.

Draco lifted an unimpressed brow. Whether the man truly didn't recognise his signature blond hair or if he was simply trying to be polite, Draco had little patience for it. "My name is Draco Malfoy." Then, because the man wouldn't know that he'd been suspended, he added, "Auror."

"Oh," the healer said, surprise colouring the words, and Draco couldn't be certain as to which part. Anyone who recognised Hermione Granger on sight would surely understand the affiliations behind the name Malfoy.

But he was spared any further ruminations or incessant chatter when they turned into a room; Healer Huxley was already waiting for them, and Draco felt a breath of relief chase from his lungs.

"Healer Huxley," he said, grasping the man's hand as the first healer transferred Hermione from the gurney into a narrow bed with starched white linens. "Thank you for making the time today."

"This is your friend you spoke to me about," Huxley said, a deep knit of concentration between his brows as he ducked in closer to observe Hermione's form. "With the memory condition."

"Right." Draco jammed his hands in his pockets in an effort to control the tremble threatening. He couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to her. He could feel the stare of the other healer who had questioned him about her, and a prickle of irritation flared within him.

Pursing his lips, Healer Huxley drew his wand and began casting with a series of flourishes; Hermione stilled, falling asleep. He didn't look away from Hermione when he asked, "What happened?"

"I don't know," Draco muttered, pacing forward to look at her. "She was fine one minute, and then the next, she was grabbing her head in pain; she was barely mobile by the time I got her here."

The other healer jotted some details on a clipboard and handed it to Huxley, whose face remained impassive as he murmured, "Thank you." Then he ducked his head and left the room.

"As I told you during our first meeting, Auror Malfoy," Huxley said as he carried on casting spells, the magic flowing seamlessly from one into the next, "memory magic is both fickle and volatile. Without knowing the circumstances around what happened to your friend here―" The man cocked a brow.

"Her name is Hermione," Draco said. "Granger."

Huxley's eyes narrowed briefly. "Indeed. It will be a tedious and complex process to determine how I might be able to reverse the damage to her memory. Furthermore, I can only surmise something happened today to trigger some sort of break."

Draco froze, his chest tightening as his heart dropped into his stomach.

For months, he had been wondering what it would take to trigger some sort of recollection. He would never forgive himself if being in Malfoy Manor had somehow stirred something negative within her. Warmth crept into his cheeks as he watched the man's meticulous work.

"We were at my family's ancestral manor," Draco ground out at last. He grimaced. "She… had a bad experience there during the war."

Although Huxley had hardly responded to learning her name, and he had never shown any signs of judgement when he first met Draco, the man cast him a heavy stare. When he spoke, the words were apologetic. "You'll need to be a bit more specific as to the nature of the experience. And what might have occurred today to bring it up in her subconscious."

Draco swallowed. "Are you suggesting she might have remembered something?"

"Maybe not in such a visceral, conscious way," Huxley mused, "but she might have recognised something else―the feel in her magical core or some deep part of her psyche."

Draco blew out a breath, emotion forming a hard lump in his throat. "She was tortured there. A month or so before the final battle. Magically―and physically."

Huxley only nodded, his face blank, and Draco felt a deep swelling of gratitude to the man. "Very well," Huxley said, marking several notes on his clipboard. "I've rendered her unconscious for the time being, but her mind is chaos."

"What does that mean?" Draco asked, his fear an uneasy companion to every breath.

"It means," Huxley said carefully, "it's a very good thing you brought her to see me today." Before Draco could dwell too long on the ramifications of the matter, the man spoke again. "I am going to delve beneath many layers of her mind to see what I can find―and to see what can possibly be done for her―not just today, but in the long term. Memory restoration is neither quick nor easy, and it's often a lengthy process."

"Right," Draco muttered. "Thanks for letting me know all of this."

For the first time, a hint of humour showed on Huxley's face. "Well, Auror Malfoy, it's quite evident the situation with your friend is less clinical than you initially inferred."

Draco felt heat creep up his neck and into his face, and he glanced away. "It's important to me that she recovers."

"I need you to write down any information you can think of that might be useful in this case," Huxley said, "as you didn't fill out any of the intake forms upon arrival. And please, include your Floo contact in case I need to reach you." The healer fixed him with a hard stare. "And then I need to ask you to leave me to it."

The last thing Draco wanted to do was to leave her there alone, to wake by herself in a place wholly unfamiliar. "Can I wait?"

But Huxley shook his head slowly. "She likely won't wake tonight. The procedure is slow and complicated, and if I'm not careful―both on the way into her mind and back out of it―this could cause irreversible damage."

Draco swallowed, reaching for Hermione's limp hand. Her breathing was gentle and even, but her eyelids fluttered rapidly in a way he hadn't noticed before; her fingers curled slightly against his. "Do you think you can manage it?"

"I won't have an answer for you, Auror Malfoy, until I try."

"Right," Draco muttered, blowing out a deep breath. "I appreciate this more than I can say."

There was something reassuring about Huxley's calm demeanour even as Draco's nerves roiled within him, churning a pit in his stomach. When the healer returned to his spellwork, Draco jotted everything he could think of on the clipboard the other healer had left behind. Then he nodded and slipped from the room.

It took all of his remaining strength to steer his feet away from Hermione's room and to the Apparition point home.


Alone in his sitting room, Draco couldn't control the shaking in his hands. The fear that had chased through him when Hermione collapsed in pain into his arms had been both daunting and overwhelming, and he didn't know how to wrap his head around the fact that something he had done had caused her such pain.

He should have known taking her to the manor would be a bad idea.

But she had taken so much of the information he'd shared over the past weeks in stride. She had discovered magic, learned about their shared history, and even experienced the magical world in Paris.

And only ten minutes earlier, they had been laughing and teasing one another. Draco didn't think he would ever forgive himself if he somehow made matters worse. His hands shook, heart racing with aggressive persistence as he poured himself a generous measure of whisky.

He jumped, startled, when the Floo awoke, but sank back into the sofa when Theo walked through.

Theo only conjured himself another glass and dropped into the sofa. "What happened?"

"How did you hear?" Draco asked, tossing back half the glass.

Theo shrugged. "Harry heard about it. He's still at work, though; I checked the hospital, and you weren't there." Releasing a long breath, Theo leaned back, his shoulder nudging Draco's. "You've got the worst luck, mate."

For a long moment, Draco didn't know how to respond. Some part of him wanted to scream that maybe all of this―the perfect storm swirling around him and encompassing all the people he knew best―was karma. This was some sort of divine retribution for the things he'd done as a youth, blindly following the ideals that had been instilled within him since birth―and that had ultimately steered him so, so wrong.

But all he could think of was Hermione, pale and crying in his arms.

The whisky seared through him, warming his veins and blurring his thoughts as he finished the first glass and poured another.

"She was fine―absolutely fine," he said, at last, his voice hoarse. As he mentally worked through everything that had happened, staring hard at the floor, he gestured with one hand. "And then... she just wasn't, Theo."

Cradling his drink in both hands, he propped his elbows on his knees and felt himself deflate.

Theo blew out a breath.

They had never been much for expressing feelings, and their most common coping mechanism was to get one another sloshed, but Theo's quiet presence was reassuring all the same.

"I dunno, mate," Theo said after another prolonged pause. "What did the healer say?"

"That she might have, I don't know," Draco wrenched a hand through his hair, "triggered some negative recollection. Not a memory, just something implicit. We were at the manor, and―"

"You took her to the manor?"

Draco scrunched his eyes shut. "She wanted to see the library."

He might have expected some form of Theo's signature derisive humour, but it was a testament to their friendship, Draco thought, that Theo only clapped a hand to his back. "You didn't do this, Draco."

"I did," he hissed, unable to bear the thought.

"Whatever stirred in her brain―whether it was some bad experience or something―was not your fault." Theo's palm remained flat on his back, firm and assertive, but Draco couldn't look up from the floor as he took another swig of alcohol. "Realistically," Theo went on quietly, "maybe it's a good sign that something is still in her head from before."

"Not like this," Draco whispered. "This isn't good."

It took several moments for Draco to realise he was crying, droplets clinging to his lashes as he blinked. The wooden floor was blurry, and moisture edged down his cheeks.

"She's in good hands, for now, mate. There isn't anything you can do tonight."

"She was doing so well," Draco only breathed. "We went to Paris, and she was practising magic again and―"

"Yeah. Harry told me."

"I can't―" He cut himself off, swiping at his eyes and sitting upright. His soul was depleted. "Whatever happened to her was absolutely my fault. I took for granted the way she was improving and―"

"Draco."

Grinding his jaw, Draco swigged the last of his glass; grateful Theo didn't mention the redness to his eyes.

"You can't carry this on top of everything else."

Theo's words were soft and apologetic, but Draco couldn't take it. Self-loathing roiled within him, escalating with the miserable pulse of his heart. "How can I bloody not, Theo? Everything else that's happened hasn't been in my control, but this... I'll never forgive myself if she doesn't recover."

"I know you won't." Theo's shoulder pressed against his, warm and sturdy, and Draco dragged a hand down his face as he blew out a heavy breath.

"I don't know how to―" He gasped, swiping at his eyes as more tears threatened to break free. "I love her, Theo."

With a thin press of his lips, Theo nodded. "I know you do." He poured them each another measure and took a deep swig. "I don't know her that well yet, but here's what I know about Hermione Granger. She's strong, Draco, probably stronger than you're giving her credit for right now, and she's going to get through this―all of this. And then one day she's going to remember everything and realise she's fucking Draco Malfoy and―let's face it, it'll probably be hilarious―"

Despite himself, a hoarse bark of laughter broke free, and Draco's heart clenched at the thought.

"And the last thing she is going to do right now is let you cause her any real harm." Theo clasped his shoulder with one hand and a tight squeeze. "If she can survive Bella's Crucio, she can survive the memory of it, Draco."

Draco lifted his gaze to the ceiling as he forced some of the tension from his shoulders. The emotional upheaval from the day hung heavily within every fibre of him and he felt as though he might simply collapse at any further provocation.

"I don't know how to help her," he bit out.

"Sometimes," Theo breathed, "we can't. Just like the way she can't deal with everything you're carrying right now for you. With your mother's illness, your job, your father's trial. She can only support you in her way, the same as you can do for her now."

Draco wanted to fight the matter. And the dark, cold part of him wanted to pull himself through the wringer. He didn't deserve Theo's reassurance or Hermione's forgiveness. He didn't know how to let go of this. When this was a direct reminder of the darkest parts of himself, and his worst mistakes, come back to haunt him, despite all his best efforts to put the war behind him.

But he slammed his drink in one, hardening the line of his jaw as he dropped his head against the back of the sofa.

With everything that happened earlier, he hadn't eaten, and he could feel the heat from the whisky buzz through his mind, warming his veins.

"I hate feeling so helpless," he said at last.

The words didn't speak only to the situation with Hermione but encompassed every aspect of Draco's life. For years, he had attempted to take control of his life and make decisions for himself for the first time. And now, he found himself surrounded by the crumbling remains of his decisions.

Theo sagged beside him. "It's the fucking worst."

Merlin knew Theo had dealt with enough of his own trials. In losing his mother as a boy―and in dealing with his own father, who made Lucius look kind and benevolent in comparison.

"Tell me something," Draco muttered, rubbing at his eyes. "I don't care what."

Snickering, Theo poured himself another drink. At this rate, they would both end up sloshed, but Draco didn't care. "Okay, here's one. I saw your Aunt Andromeda last weekend. Her grandson, Teddy, is Harry's godson―your cousin. She had us over for dinner."

Draco's brows lifted with surprise. Although he had seen Andromeda in passing once or twice, they had never formed a relationship given she and his mother had been long estranged, and he'd never met Teddy. He had also never met his cousin Nymphadora, and something had always stayed his hand in reaching out to Andromeda after the war.

He tried to recall anything he had heard about the boy. "Metamorphmagus, right?"

"Right," Theo said with a nod. "Funny little bloke; changes the colour of his hair at the drop of a hat."

Draco swallowed. While the conversation was a welcome diversion, it carried its own weight. "How is Andromeda doing?"

"Well, as far as I could tell, having just met her―Harry says she's doing well." Theo cast him a sidelong glance. "She not-so-subtly suggested she would be interested in connecting with you. Especially with... everything."

The idea stirred nerves in the pit of Draco's stomach, and he grimaced. "I hardly know her. It's awkward."

Theo's voice dropped. "She's family, Draco."

A hard lump accumulated in his throat when he tried to swallow next. Most every facet of his family had collapsed around him in recent months, and he couldn't help the niggling of curiosity in the back of his mind. "Yeah, I suppose so." He pursed his lips, taking a pensive sip of whisky. "How often does Potter see them?"

With a noncommittal wave, Theo finished his own glass. "Fairly often, I'd say. Most weekends, I think."

"Right," Draco breathed, his voice sounding oddly disconnected from himself.

"We're going back there for dinner on Sunday," Theo added. "If you want to come along. I'm sure Granger would be welcome too."

The thought of Hermione stirred the agony within him once more, but he suppressed the thought for the moment. He couldn't let himself sink back into his fears, or he didn't know if he would pull himself back out, as far into the whisky as he was.

"Maybe," he bit out at last. "I can't imagine she has any interest in―"

"Draco," Theo said softly, "she lost her family, too. Her daughter and husband. I don't see why she wouldn't want the chance to get to know you."

"Fuck," Draco huffed. "I guess so."

Theo's hazel eyes lingered on him for a moment as his shoulder pressed against Draco's again, the pair of them slumping into the sofa, more than a little intoxicated. "I know she doesn't talk to your mother any, but maybe that should change, too."

Draco appreciated that he didn't dig any deeper into the sentiment, but he could hear the unspoken words beneath the surface. If for no reason other than closure, when his mother's condition wasn't getting any better.

He pressed his eyes shut, feeling weariness and fatigue mingle within him. "Theo," he said, the word a little thick on his tongue. "Thanks for coming over."

Theo released an ostentatious yawn and slid his empty glass onto the coffee table. "Yeah. Not good for much else anyway."

"Liar," Draco muttered. "You're good at everything."

Silence followed for a moment before Theo's gaze slid sidelong to land on him. "I thought of something else. Another thing to tell you." When Theo didn't instantly continue, Draco snickered and waved a hand for him to proceed. "I got on for a mastery."

Draco's jaw fell open. "Theo, you prat. You don't tell me anything anymore. I bet you told Potter right away."

It wasn't a fair mention when Draco probably would have told Hermione something like that right away, too. He supposed it was just a strange new way of things.

To his credit, Theo looked sheepish. "I only heard back a few days ago, and you were in Paris and―"

Draco elbowed him in the side. "Good for you. I'm proud of you. Where?"

"Here in England. Near Dover."

"Good," Draco huffed, letting his eyes slide shut. "You aren't allowed to run off anywhere too far. Let fucking Potter know."

Theo barked a laugh. "You're a prick."

"I know." Draco cracked a smirk.

"Speaking of fucking Potter," Theo said, stumbling a little as he rose from his seat. Draco wrinkled the bridge of his nose in feigned distaste. "I'm going to leave. Get some sleep."

Draco blinked his eyes fully open with some effort. "Yeah. Thanks, Theo."

He watched as Theo fumbled with a handful of Floo powder before finally making his way through the grate, and a grin fell belatedly from his face. Left alone, his thoughts instantly drifted back to Hermione. A thought hung half-formed through the back of his mind that he ought to check on her, but Huxley had said they wouldn't know anything until at least the next day.

Wrapping a blanket around himself on the sofa, he fell into an uneasy sleep.


Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading. I hope you liked the chapter - we'll check in more on Hermione next time.

Love and hugs as always to my alpha, Kyonomiko, and beta, FaeOrabel.