Draco slammed a shot of whisky with a grimace, dropping his tumbler to the table. "So, what do you think is going to happen?"

Waving his hands in a noncommittal gesture, Potter frowned. "Fuck if I know." He leaned back in his seat, staring around Draco's kitchen; when Theo attempted to kick the legs out from beneath him, Potter scowled. "It doesn't sound good. But you already know that."

Pursing his lips, Draco topped up his glass with a generous measure. He heaved a long sigh. "They've got lawyers, of course."

"Course they do," Potter went on, "but that doesn't mean they'll get off easy. The Wizengamot hasn't got any tolerance for this shite."

Theo clicked his tongue. "You forget how bloody corrupt the lawyers are, especially funnelling the Malfoy and Lestrange coffers. And half the Wizengamot used to be in Yaxley's pocket."

"Bollocks," Potter clipped. "They aren't anymore."

"Doesn't change the fact that even now, the Ministry's full of crooks," Draco mused.

They'd been debating the outcome of the trial for the better part of an hour, growing increasingly sloppy as they consumed more Firewhisky.

Hermione had gone home the day before following her second treatment session, citing she didn't feel well afterwards. She had also returned to shift work at the cafe; for Draco, it felt strange that she wasn't around his flat anymore, even though she had only stayed over for less than a week. He couldn't help but miss her easy presence.

Potter sighed and shook his head. "I don't know, mate. It's going to get vicious on both sides, I think."

"I don't suppose it will go well," Draco said delicately. "Robards didn't say I couldn't attend, though―and even if he had tried, there's no way I'm missing it."

Neither of them responded for a moment, though Theo looked as though he might say something when Draco heard the distant ping of his mobile phone in his bag across the room. He jumped up to retrieve it, skimming the message with consternation as he sat back down.

Hi. What are you doing?

Draco ignored his companions as he tapped out a response.

Theo and Potter are here. Do you want to come over?

Several minutes passed as he sipped his whisky, pretending as if he wasn't waiting for her return message. Only half focused on the conversation; he listened idly as Theo and Potter veered the conversation in a different direction. He didn't care to dwell on the outcome of the trial all that much anyway, and he flinched when the phone went off again.

That's alright. Tell them I said hi.

Draco ground his jaw and muttered, "Hermione says hi."

"Hi," the other two said in unison.

"Excuse me," he said, rising to his feet and pacing towards the bedroom. He didn't bother looking at Theo to read the amusement in his countenance, but something had niggled at him in the wrong way ever since she had gone back home. Sinking into the edge of the bed, he dialled her number and waited while it rang.

"Hi," her voice said, soft and tinny over the line.

"Hi." Draco shifted to lean against the headboard. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes." The word hung as if she meant to carry on, and Draco pursed his lips at the silence that followed. He opened his mouth when she spoke again. "I've felt a little fatigued, but Healer Huxley said that's to be expected."

Still, he could sense something deeper that she wasn't keen to voice, and while he didn't want to push, it left a prickle of unease within him. "Fatigued in what way?"

"Mentally. I've had a bit of a headache most of the day. Struggling to focus on anything," she said quietly.

"Hermione..." Draco released a long breath, his heart sinking at the uncertainty in her voice. Huxley had expressed as much to him as well, but he couldn't help but wonder how it would affect her as things grew more intense. "Are you certain you don't want me to come get you?"

Another tense silence lingered before she sighed. "You have company. And I don't want you to feel obligated to Apparate me everywhere."

"I certainly don't feel obligated," Draco clipped. "I offered. And these two won't be here late." He felt as though there was more she didn't care to express out loud, and the thought burrowed deep in the back of his mind with a nudge of trepidation. "Hermione, are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm okay," she whispered. "I suppose I'm just scared this isn't going to work. It's mostly experimental, really, without knowing what the spell was that went wrong in the first place―and obviously, if I could remember, we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with. As much as Healer Huxley knows what he's doing, he isn't even completely certain."

Draco raked a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. "I know. But he's the best in the country." Sensing the desolation in her voice, Draco was of half a mind to simply Apparate to her flat, but he couldn't get a read on whether she truly wanted to be alone. "Do you have to work tomorrow?"

"No."

"Do you want to do something?"

For a split second, he thought she might simply say no, as the conversation had left him out of sorts in a way he didn't care for. "Sure," she said. "I thought it might be nice to visit Diagon Alley. I'd like to get some of my own potions equipment."

Draco sank with relief. "That sounds great. Just let me know when you'd like to go."

"Okay." He could hear a bit of a smile come into her voice at last. "Thanks for calling. It was nice to hear your voice."

He managed a thick swallow. "Of course. I'm always here."

"Good night, Draco," she said through a yawn, hesitated, then added, "I love you."

The words still made his heart race. "Love you," he returned softly. "I hope you get some good rest."

"Same to you. Don't let those two drink all your whisky." She tittered a little, and the line clicked off.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he ended the call, then he leaned forward and scrubbed at his eyes. When he returned to the kitchen, he found his guests making their way to the Floo. "Leaving?"

"Right, well," Theo drawled, "we weren't sure whether your call was going to turn inappropriate."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Potter, you don't know anything about Hermione's trip to Brisbane, do you?" Something had been bothering him for a while, and the conversation had stirred it to the forefront.

But the man shook his head. "Not really. Just that she went there to find her parents again―obviously under the Muggle pseudonym that she used when you met her, but she didn't even tell me that in advance. She was very secretive about it all, and I wondered if it was just because she feared it wouldn't turn out."

Folding his arms, Draco considered the thought. "And you don't know where she stayed?"

"That was in her report." Potter leaned against the wall beside the grate. "She didn't have any of her magical belongings in the hotel, so either she had them with her when she lost her memory, or she had kept them somewhere else. Never recovered at any rate. You know all this already, don't you?"

"Yeah." Draco could remember the vague details, but when he had first looked into the report, he hadn't possessed the same level of investment. "Just needed a reminder. This would all be easier if we knew what, exactly, happened there."

Potter sighed. "I know. But I've looked into all this numerous times, too. And we just don't know."

It wasn't anything other than what he expected, but Draco still felt a hint of disappointment. "Right. Of course."

"Believe me," Potter muttered, "I want her to get through all of this, too. It kills me to see her so uncertain." He clapped Draco on the shoulder. "We have to believe she'll be alright."

"Yeah," he said again. "Anyway―thanks for coming by."

Draco watched as the pair of them went through the Floo―and then put himself to bed, trying to ignore the cold pillow beside him.


Hermione's enthusiasm for Diagon Alley was only surpassed by the wonder he had seen in her face exploring La Rue Mystique. While both are magical high streets of their respective metropolises, the two couldn't be any more different. The rustic and good-natured feel of Diagon Alley was a sharp contrast to the crisp and chic storefronts on La Rue.

And Draco suspected she might have enjoyed Diagon more if not for the way eyes followed them everywhere they went.

Even if the magical citizens of Paris had recognised her, their attention wouldn't have been drawn in the same way. But the community of wizarding London was small―too small for its own good some days.

Draco felt wary at her side, feeling the stares draw instinctively from her to land on him, and he did his best to ignore the warmth that clawed up into his face at the feel of it.

Hermione was keen to see her Gringotts vault, though he wasn't certain how much was based on her interest to take the mine carts deep below the earth that she had seen in Paris. He didn't care to overstep any financial boundaries between them, but she wasn't bothered. After conferring with a pair of suspicious goblins who questioned the validity of her new wand, they successfully declared her to be who she claimed and revised her vault access to the new one.

She beamed at Draco as they boarded a cart, her hand trembling a little as it sought his, but she remained silent on the trip down. Their goblin was a surly elderly male who wore a look of deep disdain, and Draco scarcely managed to withhold a smirk when he caught her eye as the cart rumbled down the track.

"This is phenomenal," she breathed as she gazed out among the cavernous space when they arrived at her vault. As a younger vault, hers was much higher up than his, but it contained a considerable amount of money. More than enough to cover her existence for a while, and Draco made his best effort at a rough conversion based on what he could tell.

He certainly wasn't the best judge of Muggle currency.

But she was surprised to realise her previous self had been in possession of as much money as she was, and Draco could see the cogs whirring in her head as she collected some of it into a bag.

"I can just come down here any time I need money?" she asked, fixing him with a stare.

"You can," Draco said, sliding his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the wall. "Provided Gringotts is open, of course. But it's a bit of a pain if you only need a bit, so most people keep extra at home. I can teach you some protective spells if you like."

"That would be brilliant," she exclaimed, turning to face him when her expression shifted. She paced away from the entrance, seeking a small collection of cardboard boxes in one corner, half-hidden in shadow.

Draco watched with interest as she shifted the lid free of the first, and at her quiet gasp of surprise, he crouched down at her side. Disregarding the dusty stone floor, she folded her legs beneath herself and began to sift through its contents.

Drawing a book from inside, she cast him a glance. "Are these school books?"

Humming, Draco shifted through as he joined her on the floor. "Looks like. Some of them, anyway."

She clutched the book in tight fingers for a moment before delicately replacing it between two others, skimming the titles before she set the box aside. The next box contained a cauldron, stirring rod, and other assorted potion-making equipment. A tightly packed array of parchment scrolls sat on one side, and when she unrolled one, Draco opened his mouth to make a quip that only Hermione Granger would save all of her old school assignments.

When he noticed her eyes were glassy.

She scanned several of the scrolls while he waited, sorting through her potions equipment to see what she would still need.

"I can't believe this," she breathed at last. "It's unnecessary that I saved this, of course, but... I wrote this."

Something in her voice struck him square in the chest.

Draco peered closer in the dim lighting, spotting her tight, tidy scroll discussing the uses of dragon scales, and he shifted a little closer into her side. "These boxes are a snapshot of your life." She offered him a sad smile, hanging onto the scroll for a moment longer before she stowed it with the rest. "Do you want to bring this all with you?"

"Yes, please," she breathed, swiping a finger below one eye while Draco shrunk the two boxes she'd already processed.

"Most of what you'll need for your brewing is already here," he mused, "so you won't need to buy as much."

Nodding, Hermione reached for the third box. Draco wondered what it said about how she appeared to have stowed most of her possessions in her Gringotts vault rather than any home, but then he remembered she hadn't even settled herself after Hogwarts before leaving for Brisbane. Still, not for the first time, the thought niggled at the back of his mind as to how thoroughly she'd wrapped everything up. As though she had anticipated being gone for a long while.

With a quiet, "Oh," she clapped a hand over her mouth.

While the first two boxes had contained books and school materials, the third contained personal effects. Hermione ran the gold and scarlet wool of her Gryffindor scarf between her fingers as she carefully pulled it from the box. Draco held onto it for her as she sifted through a number of items that must have at one point held personal significance to her. By the time she reached the bottom, her eyes were shiny with tears as she flipped through a stack of worn-looking photographs.

She stared at a photo of herself, Potter, and Weasley, the three of them looking scruffy and worse for the wear, but with grins on their faces.

"That's Ron Weasley," Draco offered, uncertain whether she wanted him to interrupt her quiet perusal. But she only offered another photograph, this one of a larger group smiling and waving. He tapped the face of each person in turn. "Potter, obviously―you and Weasley. This is Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Weasley's sister, Ginevra"―he wracked his brain for a moment and frowned―"Thomas and Finnigan, anyway. I can't recall their given names." A few other faces lingered in the background, none of them clear enough to identify.

"We were all friends?" she asked, her voice reverent but with an undertone of despair.

Draco nodded, rubbing a hand gently along her spine. "You were."

The next photo was one of their eighth year class clad in their dress robes―Draco had the same one stowed away somewhere―and a bright titter fell from her lips as she spent several moments attempting to pick out the faces she now knew.

"You!" she exclaimed, turning to him with a grin. "And there's Harry and Theo―you look miserable, Draco. Would it have killed you to smile?"

Snickering, he scrunched up the bridge of his nose. "I suppose not." But looking at the small version of his eighteen-year-old self, Draco propped his chin on her shoulder. "I guess I didn't feel like I had much to smile over back then." To emphasise the point, he dropped a kiss to her cheek.

Her smile softened into a mixture of nostalgia and sadness, and she blew out a long breath as she carefully tucked the photographs away again. "I'm glad we came down here. Even if I can't remember everything, it's nice to have some physical evidence that I actually existed."

Draco sobered and met her stare. "Of course you did. You were bright and brilliant and amazing, and I regret that I didn't see it in the same way everyone else did."

Hermione ducked in, capturing his lips in a kiss. "You're here with me now, and that means the world."

After they shrunk the rest of the boxes and she tucked them in her bag, they emerged from the vault to find the goblin looking as deeply irritated as he had the rest of the trip down.

"Do you need to visit your vault?" Hermione asked, turning to him with wide eyes.

Draco grimaced, considering the thought. "I suppose I could." In comparison to her modest vault, his would look utterly scandalous. "Hopefully, the dark artefacts are tucked away."

When he offered his wand to the goblin, the small creature's countenance shifted instantly; his shoulders straightened, his face falling stoic as he croaked out, "Yes, Master Malfoy. This way."

Hermione giggled as they settled back into the cart and said under her breath, "I guess I'm not old money enough."

Fighting back a laugh, he shook his head. "Please don't judge me on the contents of my family's vault." As the cart began the long descent into the earth below, Draco watched her wonder increase. "So I've heard," he said quietly, so as to avoid the attention of the goblin, "you, Potter, and Weasley flew out of here with a blind dragon. The only Gringotts breakout in history as far as I'm aware."

"You made that up just now," she hissed, gaping as the cart flew over a magical hole in the track. As if on cue, a dragon roared in the distance, and Draco lifted his brows when she paled.

When they finally arrived, the goblin leapt from the cart and ducked into a deep bow as they disembarked.

The look on Hermione's face when they ventured into the Malfoy vault might have been comical if he hadn't felt a stir of embarrassment. He hadn't made any secret of the fact that his family was filthy rich, but he didn't care to flaunt his wealth in the way he might have done as a child. Towers of galleons sat in every corner, shelves of priceless heirlooms stood tall along the walls, and Draco felt warmth colour his cheeks as he spelled some of his galleons into a bag.

"For the record," he drawled, gesturing towards the far more modest section from which he withdrew, "this is my earnings from the Ministry. I avoid withdrawing from the ancestral stores unless I truly need to. For my mother's care, for instance."

"No judgement," she whispered. "And I find that to be admirable." Almost as an afterthought, she added, "Treatment at St Mungo's is not cheap."

Draco eyed her for a moment, ducking his chin. She hadn't brought up the matter of her sessions with Healer Huxley, but he wasn't surprised. Entwining their fingers, he tugged her closer, meeting her stare. "I already know what you're going to say, but I would like you to consider allowing me to help out with your treatments."

"I couldn't," she muttered, glancing away. "It's manageable. I'll just have to work some more shifts at the café. And I've actually been thinking of picking up another job for the summer―"

"Please consider it?" he asked again.

Hermione gnawed on her lower lip as she stared at him; he knew she was proud enough that she would never ask, but he couldn't imagine she had a surplus of money saved up from working part-time as a student. And although she had money in her vault, he would have preferred for her to use that to get herself better settled. He knew from dealing with his mother's condition how costly specialised care could be.

"I know it's probably not proper to discuss so early on," Draco added when she didn't respond. "But we don't know how long your sessions are going to last, so I wanted to offer at least. You don't need to decide right away."

"Thank you." She pressed up on her toes to capture his lips in a kiss. "I appreciate the offer, and I will give it some thought."

Draco imagined her hesitance spoke her answer well enough, but he didn't want to push. "Good. Now, shall we go?"

She dropped her head into a tilt. "We shall."


Back on the high street, Hermione wanted to explore each shop they passed, if only briefly. To his surprise, she lingered in Quality Quidditch Supplies, asking him to explain the positions, the balls, and the gameplay. She was overjoyed by a glass case of fluttering Golden Snitches, and Draco purchased one for her as a gift; she selected one that flitted about in a listless pattern, her face vibrant as the shopkeeper packed it carefully into a small box.

He thought he would have to drag her from Flourish and Blotts, but her interest there was reasonable enough―perhaps because she had already borrowed most of his own personal collection.

All the while, Draco could feel the stares.

Roving the pair of them, lingering on the way she kept his hand clasped in hers as they walked, and for Draco, it was an effort to keep from sneering at the judgemental faces. But either Hermione didn't notice, or she didn't care, and it was enough for the irritation bubbling within him to subside into something mild and harmless.

More than once, strangers came up to speak with her, and in one instance, she fumbled her way through a conversation with the Patil twins while Draco watched on, feeling their furtive gazes.

It was a warm summer day, and the street was busy. Hermione's gaze landed on the long line outside of Fortescue's, and she nudged him in the side. "Should we get an ice cream?"

"If you like. This is your day to do as you please."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, her attention veering to the ostentatious storefront of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. "What's that?"

Draco managed a thick swallow. "That's the joke shop. You'll love it―but you know the proprietors." He led her towards the crowded store, hoping inwardly that Ron Weasley wouldn't be there. "Fred and George Weasley were a couple of years ahead of us and notorious pranksters. Unfortunately, only George made it through the war. Your friend Ron took over Fred's place some years ago now."

It felt odd to refer to each of the redheads by their given names rather than by a blanket assessment of Weasley.

Hermione's mouth fell open, her brow furrowing with sadness as he spoke. "And is Ron the one I dated once?"

"Yes," Draco muttered with a snicker. "And despite that Potter and I are on friendly terms, he does not care for my presence."

Tutting, she only dragged him towards the entrance. "I don't care if he doesn't like you because I do, and if he and I were friends, he'd simply have to accept it. Let's say hello?"

"That's fine." Draco steeled himself for an adventure onto her side of the yard, so to speak, even as warmth fluttered through him at her private assertion. He had spoken to George Weasley a handful of times in the years following the war, and even as a student, he had found the twins to be among the most congenial and open-minded of the whole clan.

Almost instantly, he spotted the man and nudged Hermione towards George, where he stood in conversation with one of the shop associates in her bright magenta robes. But George's jaw dropped open comically as he scanned the two of them, and before Draco could warn her, the man stepped forward and scooped her up from the ground into a massive embrace.

"Hermione Granger!" George exclaimed, setting her back down and folding his arms across his chest as he assessed her. "Aren't you a bloody sight." His gaze slid towards Draco, and he added, "Hullo, Malfoy. Good to see you as well."

"Weasley." Draco ducked his chin in a nod.

"Hello," Hermione said, a little flustered and uneasy, but a grin spread across her face all the same. "I'm afraid to say you've got me at a disadvantage, but Draco's informed me that we know one another."

"Do we," George responded with a chuckle. "Course we do. Mum's been having kittens you haven't been by the Burrow yet, and I don't know how many times I've told her to let you breathe. Harry'll bring you by when you're ready."

Draco could see her instantly relax in the man's presence; George Weasley had a way of doing that for even the most hardened individuals. "Right," she said with a smile. "It's been an adjustment attempting to integrate back into wizarding society, I suppose."

"I'd say it would be." George offered another warm grin. "And of all people, you've got this ponce showing you around. I have to say I didn't believe it at first, but Harry swears you're in good hands."

Cocking a brow, Draco couldn't help the smirk that curled his lips. "Can't imagine Potter saying such a thing, but I'll take it."

George socked him one on the arm. "Ron's around here somewhere―watch yourself."

"Fantastic," Draco drawled, fighting the urge to roll his eyes when he felt Hermione's gaze land on him. "Figured we ought to come in―no visit to Diagon is complete without stepping foot in this orange monstrosity."

"Right you are," George said with a solemn nod. "And on special for today―anything the lady likes is on me."

Colour infused Hermione's cheeks. "Oh, you certainly don't need to―" When George only raised his brows, she fell silent and dropped her chin. "Thank you, George."

"You might not remember me," George said quietly, "but there was a time I considered you family. We're all thrilled to have you back."

Draco gave her hand a squeeze as her expression softened. "Thank you," she said again and added, "I'll speak with Harry about coming by for a visit at some point."

"Great." George flashed the pair of them another wide grin. "Enjoy yourselves, then, and if you need anything, you'll know where to find me." He clapped Draco on the shoulder and walked off.

Hermione ducked in and whispered, "If I'm going over, you have to come with me," but Draco was spared from dredging up a response when his eyes landed on the youngest of the male Weasleys.

"Hermione?"

Freezing at his side, her brows lifted, and she offered a thin smile. "Hello."

Weasley's gaze slid between them, a mixture of astonishment and disdain―and Draco was certain the disdain was reserved for him. The man stood at a safe distance as though he didn't know whether he ought to approach any closer. He cleared his throat with an awkward nod. "Harry said you were back."

"Right," she breathed, eyes darting towards Draco for a brief instant. "I've been trying to readjust after everything."

Draco straightened when Weasley's unfriendly stare landed on him once more, and he bit out, "Looks like you're managing."

Hermione shifted, her countenance wilting, and Draco dropped his palm to the small of her back in an effort at reassurance. "As I'm sure you can imagine, Weasley, Hermione's been dealing with a lot in trying to restore her memories. Surely Potter's informed you."

As Weasley's eyes narrowed in his direction, Draco wondered whether he was torn between his dislike for Draco and his interest in befriending Hermione for a second time. An even smaller part of him wondered whether the man still carried a torch for his former flame and hated seeing her with him.

But Hermione offered a smile all the same, and if Draco didn't know her better, he might have believed it to be genuine but for the warmth lacking in her eyes. "Harry's suggested it might be nice for a group of us to get together at some point."

"Right. Yeah." Weasley dragged a hand along the back of his neck. "That's a good idea."

Hermione shifted, her eyes brightening even as she moved back a little into Draco's palm. "I've been seeing a healer at St Mungo's, so hopefully, everything will get easier once I can remember more. It's all a little overwhelming."

"I imagine it is." Weasley's returning smile looked forced too, and Draco felt ready to crawl out of his skin at the awkwardness of the whole exchange.

"It was wonderful to see you again, Ron," Hermione said, a bit of warmth returning to her voice. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your day."

"Yeah, same to you."

When they carried on into the rest of the shop, Draco cast her a glance, fighting an effort to keep from laughing.

"That was a little uncomfortable, yeah?" Hermione asked, fixing him with a look. "Is he always like that?"

Draco snickered, dragging a hand through his hair. "That was probably due to my presence. But yes, it was fucking uncomfortable."

Hermione sagged a little as they picked through the store, and though several items caught her interest, he could see the last of her energy depleted by the time they left the store.

"You're ready to go home," he observed, pulling her hand into his.

Relief overtook her face. "Let's go home."


Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I've poured a lot of my heart into this story, and all of your kind words mean more than I can say.

Alpha and beta creds, as usual, to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel, respectively.