Draco couldn't banish the uneasiness that sat within him even after he left the Ministry and went home for the day. The last thing he wanted to do was continue bothering Hermione when she had made clear she didn't feel up to talking about her session that day. Even so, his heart ached at the thought that something else had gone wrong.
It was justified, he thought, to try and reach her―but even when he sent her another message late that evening before he imagined she would go to sleep, she hadn't responded.
Their weekend together had been so pleasant, and now, for her to go silent on him felt like several steps back. Furthermore, his instincts had roiled against the situation all day, and he knew something had happened that she didn't care to speak on.
Scowling at his dependency on the girl, he forced himself into a hot shower to clear his head and put himself to bed, but it was a long while before he fell into a fitful sleep.
In the morning, Draco awoke to a gloomy grey cloud in the back of his mind, and though hope swelled briefly within him, he had no messages from Hermione.
Fine, then.
He brewed a pot of coffee when he typically preferred tea in the morning―he'd slept rubbish and would need his wits about him for another day of investigating petty theft―dressed in his Auror's robes, and left for the Ministry.
If he had been hoping to steer clear of the situation, his hopes were dashed when Potter converged on him almost instantly with a brusque, "Have you heard from Hermione?"
Draco clutched his mug of coffee tight in one hand, raking a hand through his already dishevelled hair he hadn't bothered to comb and scowled. "I have not. Clearly, whatever happened in her treatment yesterday is not something she cares to talk about. And if you don't mind, I'd prefer not to dwell on it."
A pause hung between them, Potter's expression flitting through a myriad of reactions before he nodded. "Fine."
"Good." Draco took a swig of the scalding coffee and winced. "Where are we at today?"
Potter fiddled with his badge for a moment, clucking his tongue. "Knockturn. A pub brawl."
Draco blinked at him. "It's eight o'clock in the morning."
"Right." Potter grimaced but shrugged all the same. "Knockturn, though."
"Fair point."
They paced through the department's Apparition point, arriving in Knockturn to the pale sun shining overhead and a brawl spilling out into the streets before them. Draco caught Potter's amused stare before they both drew their wands and moved into the fray.
The matter in Knockturn had taken longer than Draco had expected; by the time they broke up the brawl and dragged the instigators into the Ministry to lay charges, he was able to forget the fact that he still hadn't heard anything from Hermione.
His concern had crept beyond worry, and into something else entirely that resembled fear.
They spent the afternoon sorting through another instance of theft on Diagon Alley, searching for any connections between a robbery at Scribbulus' and their florist from the day before. It all felt unrelated when there were no threads to tie the two together beyond location and crime, but it helped to keep Draco's mind elsewhere.
If nothing else, he and Potter got along as colleagues for the most part―which he had already learned from their many hours of training together in the simulations―and he enjoyed being able to get out of the Ministry and actually participate as an Auror.
"Theo and I are going to the Leaky tonight around seven," Potter said, glancing up towards the end of the day. "Join us for a drink if you like."
Draco wasn't sure whether he had only extended the invitation because Draco had grown progressively fidgety through the afternoon—and while ordinarily, he wouldn't care to tag along as a third wheel for anyone else, Theo had been his friend since they were boys, and he never felt that way with the pair of them. Thinking about another night with absolute silence from Hermione, he latched on to the offering.
"That sounds great," he clipped. "Thanks, Potter."
When he arrived home, however, he noticed an unfamiliar owl perched on a branch outside his window, and with a churning of nerves, he accepted the missive. The owl retreated without waiting for a response, and Draco sank into the sitting room sofa to read it.
Auror Malfoy
There has been a development in Miss Granger's treatment of which might be relevant for you to be aware. I'll be at the hospital until nine o'clock if you're able to come by at your convenience.
Healer S Huxley
Draco scarcely shrugged out of his robes before Apparating to the hospital. While Hermione hadn't responded to any of his messages, he hadn't wanted to reach out to Huxley, holding to the belief that she would talk to him when she was ready.
Tapping his fingers against his leg, Draco waited for the lift to Huxley's floor and was able to locate the man with relative ease, though the grim look on Huxley's face did little to alleviate his concerns.
"This way, Auror Malfoy." Huxley led him down the corridor towards his office, and Draco felt nerves sweep through him as he took a seat at the man's desk. Huxley fixed him with a stare reminiscent of the one Auror Robards wore when he had bad news.
"I received your letter," Draco blurted rather unnecessarily. "Is everything alright with Hermione?"
"I'm going to share this with you in confidence and with her earlier blanket permission to disclose information I deem relevant to you." Huxley released a long breath and straightened in his seat. "Her mind is beginning to respond to the treatment, but as with all facets of mind magic, we can never be sure exactly how that response will go until we see it play out. You're aware she had a discrepancy last week where some of her newly established memories flickered, which can happen as the brain attempts to sort through the old and new."
"Right," Draco drawled, doing his best to follow the man's explanation. "She couldn't remember whether she knew Harry Potter."
"Now," Huxley went on, "as of our last session, her mind has begun to recognise other things."
Draco pursed his lips. "Recognition is good, isn't it?"
"It is," Huxley conceded, though something in his tone still rang the same alarm bells Draco had been attempting to ignore for two days. "I suspected, based on the way she reacted to visiting your family's ancestral home, as the source of a major trauma that had happened in her life. Her mind never parsed through that reaction to identify it as a memory, but rather, more of a visceral response to something that happened once."
The skin between Draco's brows knitted. "How do you mean?"
"The recognition came from a feeling of what had happened to her―and it was why her body responded as it did. It's a different mechanism within the brain altogether." Huxley ground his jaw, deep in thought. "I suspect the same is happening now, but on a different scale. She has expressed a recollection of you, but not in anything so concrete as memories."
Draco's heart sank like a stone―through his sternum, heavy into his stomach―and plummetted into the soles of his feet. "So she... what, she's developed a bad feeling about me?"
Huxley nodded once. "Something along those lines. She is aware that the two of you had a tumultuous past growing up, but I think the visceral response of her mind without the context that would be provided through memories has left her unsettled as to the way she ought to feel."
He wasn't certain whether he was breathing, and Draco's gaze slid to the floor some distance away. His shoulders felt tight; his jaw clenched, fingers gripping tight to his own thigh. "And will this pass? What can I do?"
A thin, hairline fracture rent through his heart. His head spun as he attempted to process the thought.
"The good news is that she recognises the response as not entirely rational―obviously, she has her recent memories of you and the two of you together. She knows how she feels about you now, but this feeling from the past has cast a shade over everything new." Huxley frowned, leaning forward in his seat. "I'm sorry, Auror Malfoy; I thought you ought to know."
Draco focused acutely on his slow breathing, in and out, for a long moment. He asked again, "Will it pass?"
"Her treatment has advanced now to the point where I can't necessarily predict what will happen, but I think we can take some measure of solace in the fact that her mind is responding. This is all very experimental as typically no two cases are the same, and it's best to allow the mind to process as it will." Huxley fixed him with another of those hard stares. "As her memories begin to respond, I think that, yes, this will lead to another shift."
It had been a long time since Draco felt his shame well within him to the point where he thought he might simply be consumed by it. But at the moment, he felt as though he would melt through the floor and vanish entirely. Heat stung his cheeks, and his chest grew tight with the onset of panic.
"What can I do?" he asked, the words choking from his throat.
"Patience," Huxley murmured with a nod. "She will need time to sort through all of this. And with any small bit of good fortune, her treatment will continue to advance. I believe once she's able to identify the old memories that are creating this disconnect, she'll have an easier time working through them. And to reconcile the version of you that she's come to know now."
Draco blew out a long breath, sinking into his seat, drained of all his energy. He wanted to contest the matter; he wanted to talk to her and try to convince her how much he cared about her, but he couldn't argue that he had treated her poorly in the past. Idly, he wondered at the depth of the bad memories she had of him―their school years, the war, her experiences at the manor.
"Okay," he said, utter defeat coursing through him and threatening to fill his lungs. He was drowning in it. "Thanks, Healer Huxley. For letting me know."
"This work is never easy," Huxley murmured, "but it's important. And though I understand it may be hard to believe right now, this is a good sign. Her mind is taking to the treatment, even if it isn't quite how we anticipated."
"Right." He rose from his seat, marvelling that his legs even had the strength to support his weight. "Thank you for your time."
Hating the sympathy on Huxley's face, Draco made for the door, his mind a blur and heart throbbing painfully in his chest. For as much as he had tried to believe he could live in this world and play at something like forever with Hermione, he ought to have known it would all come crashing down upon him.
His past was never something he could escape―not really. He'd made too many faulty decisions and caused too much pain for anything lasting.
His eyes stung with heat and the threat of moisture, but he angrily blinked it back.
Ignored the way his heart felt irreparably shattered.
Felt the way his mind drifted through the what-ifs and the maybes and the hope he had allowed himself to indulge for too long. He couldn't make sense of one thought to the next, and by the time he reached the Apparition point, a vicious quake raced through his entire body.
He Apparated straight to the Leaky, a breath lodging itself in his throat, thick and arduous as he found Theo and Potter. He dropped into a seat across the booth, unable to find any words.
With a grimace, as though he could read the despair on Draco's face, Potter slid a drink across the table towards him, and though he hadn't eaten since lunch, Draco consumed half of it in one.
"Thanks," he managed, the word thick, gruff, and oddly disconnected from the chaos of his brain. Maybe if he tried really hard, he could drown it all out.
Draco received a message on his phone Wednesday at lunch. Although he had hoped for some sort of correspondence, the surprise of actually receiving it was startling. His stomach curdled when he read it.
Hi. If you have some time this evening, can we talk?
It was vague and ambiguous enough that his nerves tossed through him as he read it several times. He might have hoped for some sort of reassurance―but if she meant to break up with him, that wouldn't be a reasonable expectation.
Not that he thought Hermione was going to break up with him. Or so he hoped, anyway.
He feared he might pour his heart into the stupid device if he allowed himself to, so he sent a short response instead.
I have time. When?
Thinking back to what Healer Huxley told him―that Hermione didn't know how to process what had happened, but she recognised the discrepancy between her old memories and the new ones they had formed together―gave him enough hope that he thought he could make it through the day.
Hermione responded a few minutes later. Eight?
Sure. See you then.
He jammed the phone back into his pocket before Potter could notice; the three of them had stayed at the Leaky far too late the night before, and Draco had slugged too many drinks, but he had been grateful that neither Potter nor Theo had pried into his pathetic mental state. He hadn't been keen to rehash his conversation with Huxley.
Even so, he didn't care to mope around all week, and they had work to do. He and Potter had stopped at a cafe on Diagon for lunch before returning to their patrol of Knockturn Alley. Finishing the last of his lunch, Draco offered a grimace. "Shall we?"
Potter flashed him a grin; Draco wondered how much he appreciated that he wasn't relegated to a training room running simulations anymore. "Let's go."
Despite his best efforts, Draco couldn't get Hermione out of his head all afternoon and into the evening. He arrived home shortly before six, and the next two hours dragged something painful when he so desperately longed to find out what she wanted to speak about.
His mind had presented a wide variety of increasingly obscure results that might come of the evening, but most prevalent was the thought that she might simply need some time away from him while she dealt with the emotional fallout from her treatment.
And Draco would have no way to argue the point when he had known all along this could happen.
Not that he had anticipated it to come down this way―her mind mentally recoiling from him based on something vague and implicit. He would have preferred she have the memories to go with it. Still, the self-loathing within him had only grown since his meeting with Huxley―he was responsible for the way she had once felt about him. And if her past self couldn't stomach the idea of him based on how he had made her feel, he had no one but himself to blame.
He forced back a bland and uninteresting meal, unable to concentrate long enough to prepare something of better substance, and finally, it was ten minutes to eight. Dread sat in his stomach, hard and unforgiving, and he Apparated to the nearest alley by her building.
He couldn't imagine the familiarity of Apparating directly into her space after she had spent the last few days ignoring him.
Pressing the buzzer to her suite, he forced himself to draw in a long breath. He blew it out.
"Hello?"
Her voice through the speaker sent a flicker of nerves through him. "It's me."
The door buzzed open without a response, and Draco forced himself to walk. He stared at her door for a long moment before rapping on the wood. During the long moments wherein he waited for her to open the door, he leaned on the frame, counting the erratic thumps of his heart in his chest.
At last, the door swung open and Hermione's wide, startled eyes locked on him as though he had shown up unexpectedly. "Hi." The word fell from her lips like a puff of breath.
"Hello," Draco drawled, keeping his face as blank as he could manage.
He watched as colour crawled into her cheeks before she hastily moved out of the way. "Come in."
Pressing his lips into a hard line, Draco nodded and followed her into the flat. "Thank you."
The air already felt tenser than he would have liked, and he couldn't keep the worst of his imaginings from darting through his brain. Hermione folded her hands as she walked at his side, her body stiff and movements awkward.
"I made tea," she blurted, waving a hand towards her kitchen table where a pot of tea already sat on a trivet, a thin trickle of steam breaking from the spout. Draco hesitated while she bustled forward, pouring two cups. "It's raspberry herbal. Because you... enjoy it..." she trailed off.
"I do," Draco returned, slipping into a seat. "Thank you."
He couldn't wrap his head around how she was behaving, but he had to take it as a good sign if she had bothered with tea. If she had only invited him there to end things, he didn't know why she would have made an effort. Hermione perched on the front of her seat, eyed him for a second, then leapt to her feet again. "I've got you this, also."
Draco blinked at her.
She set a small card stock box on the table beside his tea before retaking her seat. She gnawed on her lower lip, and he surmised he was meant to open it. He opened the lid, peered down, and offered a thin smile. Inside the box sat a large slice of apple pie.
"Thank you," he said again, the words feeling a little too delicate from his lips. "Did you make this?"
Taking a sip of her tea as though it were finally safe to do so, Hermione shook her head. "It's from the cafe." Her gaze darted towards him. "I quit my job." Draco's brows lifted in surprise, and she blustered on before he could say anything. "I was there to pick up some things, and it was apple pie day, and―"
"I see," Draco murmured. "I appreciate it."
"At first I thought, maybe it was a rash decision, but I counted out the contents of my vault at Gringotts to determine how long I could afford rent, and I'd really rather find work in the wizarding world and―" She cut off, heaving in a breath before a frown pulled at her lips. "Sorry, I shouldn't go on like this."
"I don't mind. I think it's a good idea." He closed the lid on the pie, unable to stomach the idea of eating anything.
"And I visited some of the shops in Diagon. Just to see if anyone was hiring."
Draco didn't know what any of this had to do with the fact that she had ignored him for days when he knew of the tumultuous turn her therapy had taken, but he was keen enough to hear her voice that he didn't particularly care what she wanted to talk about. He would have listened to her drone on about laundry if she really wanted to.
"Did anything come of it?" he inquired, taking a sip of his tea.
Hermione deflated a little, her eyes wide and frightened as they locked on his. "Not yet."
He resisted the urge to fidget. "It sounds like you've been busy."
Anguish flickered across her face, and she simply stared at him, lost for words. Draco wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms, to soothe the sting of everything she'd had to deal with, but he still had no idea where all of it left the two of them.
At last, she spoke again, the words little more than a hoarse whisper. "I've kept myself busy."
"Healer Huxley sent me an owl." Draco supposed maybe they were through with pretence, and he didn't want to keep from her the fact that he already knew some of what had happened in her session on Monday.
Hermione glanced away, drumming her fingertips on the table. "I haven't known what to make of this feeling." When he looked at her, her eyes were glassy as if she were trying to hold back tears. "Realistically, I know you, Draco. I know what we have, and I know who you are now. I just—I think it would be easier to deal with it if I had any of the memories. I might be able to understand where the feeling comes from and seek closure."
"I understand," he mused.
"Do you?" Her large eyes landed on him again, a furrow knitting her brows. "I can't imagine it's... easy."
Draco glanced away, taking a sip of tea. But his hand trembled just enough that he feared she might notice, and he set the cup carefully back on its saucer. "I'm trying."
A quake crept into her voice, and it might have been unnoticeable if not for the fact that he had come to know her so well. "I was afraid, and I couldn't force any of this to make sense because now it feels like there's this disconnect between how I knew you and how I know you." She stared hard at the table. "And I was scared to talk to you because I felt so ashamed."
Draco leaned forward in his seat, releasing a long breath. "You don't have to feel ashamed."
"I do," she pressed, her cheeks flushed, "because just for a minute, I allowed myself to give in to the doubts."
His heart skittered in his chest at the admission, and then he felt like a frisson of ice had swept through his entire body; his head spun. He took another sip of his tea as he attempted to gather his thoughts, though the tartness of the raspberry felt bitter on his tongue.
"I don't blame you," he said, at last, the truth slipping from his tongue. "And I'm not surprised."
The same swelling of shame and vulnerability he had felt the evening before in Huxley's office built within him once more, only this time it was infinitely worse because it was Hermione. He had known this might be an issue all along, and still, he had clung to the hope that they might be able to leave the past behind.
"Draco," she said, sadness flickering across her face. "I don't want to question this. Ever."
But she had. Even if the hesitation was brief. And he could only blame himself.
"If you need some time," he found himself saying against the cold feeling splitting his chest in two, "or you want some space apart while you're in your treatment, that's fine."
Hermione froze, staring at him. "I never said I wanted that."
He dragged a hand down his face, scrubbing at his eyes; he couldn't look at her. "I'm giving you an out."
She remained silent, and in his periphery, he could see she sat very still. "Is that what you want?" she asked, her voice quiet and feeble.
Pain slammed through him at the thought, harder and more absolute than he could have imagined. "Of course, that isn't what I want." He gritted his teeth. "I love you."
"Please don't push me away over this," she whispered, and when he forced himself to look up, he saw a tear break from the corner of one eye; she swiped it away impatiently. "We haven't come this far for the first sign of something to get in the way."
"I'm not trying to push you away," Draco said, releasing a long breath. Everything was going so, so wrong, and his self-sabotage had shown up at the worst time. "I just don't want you to feel obligated to see this through with me."
"I have not once felt obligated to do anything with you," she said, the words a little sharp and stiff. "And I certainly don't intend to start now."
She grappled for his hand across the table, and though Draco fixated hard on the corner of the wall, he allowed his fingers to lace with hers.
Truly, he had no idea what she was going through. And the fact that she had even invited him over—despite how she felt about the matter—spoke volumes that he felt in some deep part of himself. But he couldn't let go of the way he had caused those feelings in the first place.
"I need you to do this with me," she breathed, and he met her eyes, at last, hardening his jaw. "And I don't know if that's unfair to ask given what I've just admitted."
"That isn't unfair," Draco responded, averting his gaze once more. "The only unfair part of the situation is that you have to deal with this at all. I'm sorry you've got so many bad memories of me buried somewhere in that brilliant mind of yours." He gave her hand a squeeze. "But of course, Hermione. I'm here with you. Whatever it takes, for however long it takes. I'm here."
"Okay." She blew out a breath, taking a sip of tea. Then she scoffed. "I don't want an out, you prat. I got you pie."
At the sudden, unexpected break in the tension, a bark of laughter fell from his lips. "Apple pie at that."
A sad smile pulled at her lips. "I still think the blackberry was better."
Draco brought their clasped hands to his mouth, brushing his lips against her knuckles. "I do believe you won't like the memories you find as this all proceeds. Aside from the time you hit me―you might like that one. But..." He trailed off, drawing a fortifying breath. "I need you to know that this is what's real. I care about you, and despite how all of this has gone, I can only appreciate the fact that it's brought me to you."
Her eyes were glossy with tears again; lips parted as she stared at him.
But he pressed on before he could lose his nerve. "And for whatever it's worth, I can't regret for a second the fact that I've been given another chance to make things right."
Hermione nodded, her face drawn with anguish, but he felt a distinct flicker of something that felt like this was okay.
Author's Note: Thank you, as always, for reading. I hope you're enjoying the story xo
Alpha and beta hugs to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.
