Hermione had gone quiet again, and Draco didn't know what to make of it. Every so often, when the memories grew tiresome, she would vanish, lock herself up in her flat, and keep to herself.

He knew she was okay because he hadn't heard otherwise from Healer Huxley. But she had missed their lunch plans at the Ministry the day before, and Draco hadn't been keen to bother her.

"Heard from Hermione?" Potter asked the next morning as he breezed past Draco's desk.

"No."

It wasn't as if he couldn't send her an owl, but for whatever reason, Potter typically refrained from reaching out to Hermione directly. Whether because their friendship wasn't how it had once been or something else, Draco didn't know. And he hadn't asked.

Potter had recently mentioned the idea of going to the Weasleys' again, even though, to Draco's knowledge, Potter and Weasley weren't as close as they'd been in school. He suspected it was connected to the fact that Potter was dating Theo and not the youngest female of the clan.

Draco had finally resigned himself to the idea of it. Although privately, he still hoped Hermione might have changed her mind―not only because of his personal taste for the man but because he knew Hermione and Weasley had history.

If Weasley still had some old unresolved feelings for her from before the point when she went missing, Draco didn't want to deal with it.

"Did you call her?" Potter pressed, clearly unable to discern the fact that Draco didn't want to talk about it.

Draco peered closer at the report on his desk. "You're capable of calling her yourself, or owling her, or Apparating to her flat, or―"

"I get it." Scowling at him, Potter folded his arms. "I don't like to infringe."

At that, Draco looked up with a frown. "She's your best friend. How would that be infringing?"

"I know her better than she knows me. I don't want her to think I'm bothering her with things she doesn't remember." He shifted, looking as uncomfortable with the conversation as Draco felt. "Or thinking I'm... you know. Trying anything."

Draco clicked his tongue and picked up his quill. "She wouldn't think that. She loves Theo. And Theo wouldn't think that either."

"Fine." Potter released an arduous huff. "I suppose I'm just afraid that... once she has her memories back, she's not going to want to be friends in the same ways anymore. I mean... she left England shortly after eighth year, and that was years ago already."

Obviously, he wasn't going to get any work done. Setting his quill carefully on the desk again, Draco turned towards Potter. "You don't think I'm paranoid she's not going to want anything to do with me once it's all unravelled? For all I know, my days remaining with her are numbered. You two were—have been—best friends since first year. Whatever comes back to her, she's always going to know that you were there for each other through the worst of it." Although he didn't care to admit it in front of Potter, he begrudgingly added, "You've got a better chance of staying in her life long-term than I do."

Potter's shoulders sank a little, but he didn't say anything more on the matter. He simply observed Draco's investigation wall. "Have you found more connections?"

"Two," Draco responded, grateful for the change in topic. "Honestly, at this point, there are too many connections to ignore. And get this: a string of the robberies occurred shortly before that failed sting attempt on the dragon fang smuggling ring last month."

"What?"

Waving his wand, Draco highlighted three reports. "The timing is suspicious."

"A diversion?" Potter asked, snapping his head back towards Draco. Then he grimaced. "We're officially showing this to Robards."


Draco scrolled through the messages he'd sent Hermione that day. Although she had largely integrated back into the wizarding world, he couldn't deny the ease and convenience of communicating with her via telephone.

For three days now, he'd scarcely heard from her other than brief single-line messages.

He stretched out on the sofa, eyed her number for a long moment, and dialled. After the line rang several times, he was certain she wouldn't answer. She often felt poor lately after her sessions, but he was starting to wonder whether he had done something to upset her when the line clicked on.

"Hello?"

"Hi," Draco said. "It's just me."

Her voice softened. "Hi."

"How are you feeling?"

Silence stretched on for a long moment, and Draco began to wish he hadn't bothered her. "Alright," she said, at last, the word quiet and uncertain. "Not great. Everything feels… tangled."

Sometimes, when she expressed that she didn't feel well with the treatments, Draco's mind flashed back to the day he had taken her to the manor when she had experienced a mental break so severe he'd had to rush her to the hospital. He could still remember the fear that had roared through his veins, raw and visceral. The terror that she might not pull through.

Draco didn't think he had it in him to lose anyone else.

As everything came apart within her mind, he lived in perpetual fear that the same might happen again―or worse, that it could all cause irreversible damage. That she might not only never fully recover her memory, but that all of it could cause her to regress.

He sighed, staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry it's been a rough week."

"It's okay." From the soft, defeated tone of her voice, Draco surmised it was anything but. He knew she preferred to deal with it on her own, but sometimes he wished she was more willing to open up to him. He knew how much of a load it was for her to carry alone. "How was your day?"

Draco clicked his tongue but opted not to press. "It was fine. Potter and I might have found some key information in our investigation."

"Oh," she exclaimed, "that's good news, isn't it?"

"Possibly. We don't know for sure yet." He fell silent; he didn't want to talk about work when she sounded so desolate. "Theo and Potter are coming over tomorrow night for drinks if you want to join."

"That sounds fun." From the tension that stretched on, Draco sensed something further. Her voice softened, and she added, "I'll probably have to see how I'm feeling. I have a session with Healer Huxley tomorrow morning."

Draco tracked the lines in the ceiling with his gaze, releasing a shallow breath. "Right. Of course. Let me know."

"I will. Draco?"

His eyes stung. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry... that I've not been around much. It's been..." She drifted off, and Draco remained as still as possible as he waited. "I'm scared."

A hairline fracture began its slow creep through his heart, manifesting as a tightness in his chest. "I know," he breathed into the phone. "I wish I could tell you it's all going to be okay. But I'm here―promise."

"I know you are," she whispered. He heard a sniffle on the other end of the line.

"Do you want me to come over?"

Although Draco suspected he already knew what her response would be, he still clenched his jaw when she said, "Not tonight. Thank you, though."

"Of course."

The line fell silent again, and he desperately longed for something, anything, he could say to lift her spirits. But he knew anything he could offer would only be empty platitudes, and that wasn't fair to her. He dragged a hand through his hair, releasing a breath.

"I should get some sleep," she said at last.

"Yeah," Draco murmured, "same."

Never mind the fact that he was wide awake.

"I love you," her voice came across the line, soft and worn.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. "I love you, too. More than I can say. You're going to get through this."

"Okay." She sounded unconvinced, though her voice didn't waver. "Good night."

The line clicked off, and Draco jammed the button to end the call without looking at the phone. For a long moment, he only stared blankly, feeling turmoil build and twist within his chest, nausea growing in his stomach. For as much as he wanted to hope they would make it through what came next, he was so absolutely depleted.

Between everything with his father, his mother, and his career, Hermione had been by his side. And now he didn't know how to help her.

Or whether she would still want his help at the end of the day.

Everything that had transpired over the last number of months left him spent of energy and low on hope. He didn't know what he would do if he lost Hermione, too―but it wasn't about him. Because they didn't even know how everything would play out with her memories.

And she had her friends and her family, and maybe if she had all of that back, she wouldn't need him around anymore. Desperately, he sought to cling to the way he felt when they were together, and he could only hope she felt it too.


The world had a slight amber-tinted blur around the edges as Draco swigged the last of his drink. Theo and Potter were engaged in a rousing tournament of Exploding Snap, each one sloppier than the other. An orderly match of Wizard's chess had devolved into a series of modified drinking games, and Draco had bowed out after the kitchen wound up a disaster from Gobstones.

After a brief recess to clean themselves up, they'd moved on to cards.

Draco couldn't remember the last time he'd had quite so much Firewhisky, and he tried to pretend it wasn't anything to do with Hermione or the sad state of affairs in which he found himself. He knew he was moping―and he knew it wasn't his place.

He would have cancelled his plans with Theo and Potter if she'd asked, but she hadn't been keen on company after her session that morning. And he couldn't blame her for any of it, not when avoidance had been a lifelong tactic of his own.

He poured himself another glass, already slumped in his seat, slowly blinking as he watched Theo win the third match in a row.

Which was a feat, as Theo was hardly coherent.

Potter wasn't any better.

Idly, Draco wondered whether he ever could have imagined Potter sloshed in his flat. He didn't think so, realistically, and wondered briefly how his life had gone down this path. He supposed he could blame Theo for that particular detail.

He took a long swig of whisky, feeling the smooth burn down his throat and into his chest.

Theo grappled for the bottle, nearly knocking it over in the process, and Draco snorted. "You're fucked, mate."

"No more than you are."

Potter guffawed. "You're both gone."

Draco heard a faint buzzing, to which he had become instinctively attuned, and he leapt from his seat, stumbling over the legs of his chair. While Theo and Potter snickered, he recovered his mobile phone from the sitting room table, blinking several times through bleary vision as he made his way back to the kitchen.

Fumbling with the buttons, he navigated to the message Hermione had sent.

His heart dropped through his stomach, settling somewhere within his feet, and he felt as though he had no control over his balance any longer.

"Shit," he hissed.

Sobering, Potter lifted a brow. "What is it?"

Draco blew out a breath, scarcely able to hear over the throbbing of his pulse in his ears. Adrenaline rushed through him. "Hermione," he breathed, forcing a swallow. "Needs me to take her to the hospital."

"Fuck," Theo bit out. "You'll splinch yourself."

"I know," Draco huffed. He swept a hand through his hair. "Sober-up potions. Cupboard."

Jumping over the back of his seat, Theo crashed to the floor with a thud, and moments later, he rose with a string of curses. But he rummaged through the cupboard while Draco grabbed his wand, panic rioting within every fibre of his being. He caught the vial Theo tossed him with surprising dexterity for the way everything appeared doubled, and he instantly slammed the potion.

Potter and Theo followed suit, identical looks of concern on their faces while Draco attempted to send a message in response. After what felt like forever, the potion began to take effect.

"Don't ruin my flat while I'm gone," he bit out, wrenching a hand through his hair.

Potter scoffed. "We'll meet you at the hospital."

Before he could give the matter any more thought, Draco spun on the spot into Apparition. He landed directly in Hermione's flat and found her on the sofa, face pale and eyes glassy as she cradled a cup of tea in shaking hands.

Her brow pulled into a furrow as she breathed, "Hi. I'm sorry to ruin your night."

"Hi." It occurred to Draco that he hadn't seen her all week, but in the moment, it didn't matter. "Can you stand? Will you be alright to Apparate?"

Her eyelids fluttered. "Yes, I think so. I sent an owl to Healer Huxley, but I don't think I can get myself there."

Draco crouched down to meet her eyes. She looked lost and forlorn in a way he had never seen, and as if it were all too much, she winced briefly. He took the teacup from her hands and set it down, then helped her to her feet. Her body felt small and frail as if she possessed only half of her strength.

Fear and panic danced as one through his system as he drew her into his arms.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, tears spiking at the corners of her eyes. "I know you had plans."

"Forget it," Draco muttered. "You're so much more important. Hang on." Cradling her close and as stable as he could manage, he Apparated the pair of them to St Mungo's emergency access, his stomach sick at the number of times he'd rushed to the hospital within a matter of months.

When they landed, he helped her into a seat and immediately spoke to the receptionist. But within only minutes, two junior healers Draco recognised from Huxley's wing arrived and took her onto a gurney. Draco was prepared to follow her—hospital protocol be damned—when Huxley appeared, his face sombre.

"Thank you for bringing her here, Auror Malfoy," the man said, ducking his chin. "Unfortunately, I feared this might happen with the rate her mind is unravelling. We're going to have to initiate a procedure to stabilise her mind, and she won't be able to have any visitors for a day or two depending on how it goes."

Draco wanted to fight and argue, and a part of him wanted to scream and simply break down.

Instead, he ground his jaw, blew out a breath, and said, "Okay." As the man stepped away, he added, "Please take care of her."

Huxley nodded. "I'll do my best."

With the chaos of the past twenty minutes, Draco felt the energy seep from him like grains of sand, and he sank into the nearest seat. He didn't want to go home, but he didn't want to stay in the hospital.

Theo and Potter appeared at his side, peering down at him.

"Where is she?" Potter asked, urgency written on his brow.

Draco waved a hand towards the corridor down which she had gone. "Huxley says they have to do a procedure, and we can't see her at least until tomorrow."

"Fuck," Potter huffed, collapsing into the seat at Draco's side.

Theo perched on the front of the chair on Draco's other side, folding his arms and pursing his lips. "So," he said after a moment, glancing at each of them in turn. "This feels awfully familiar."

Despite himself, a wry laugh fell from his lips. It felt like so much time had passed since the first time the three of them had found themselves in a waiting room at St Mungo's. The first time Draco had attended Hermione's yoga class. The night Theo and Potter had properly met.

He could never have foreseen everything that had happened since.

"How the fuck," he said, hoarse and defeated, "has everything become such a fucking mess?"

Theo clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't know, mate. But the wind's got to change eventually, yeah?"

Releasing a great sigh, Potter tugged at his hair. "It's got to." He slowly shook his head. "Do you figure we'll sit here all night?"

Although Draco wanted to stay close by in case anything happened, he also believed that he wouldn't be able to see Hermione until tomorrow, and he trusted Huxley to keep him updated. "Don't feel much like drinking anymore," he muttered.

"Pizza," Potter offered. "We should get pizza."

Theo grunted. "Pizza's good."

Draco thought back to another time spent with Hermione; his eyes stung. At once, he wished he was alone, but simultaneously, he was grateful to have friends by his side. He scrubbed at his eyes, attempting to dispel the melancholy that had carried him all night. There was nothing he could do for Hermione right now.

He rose from his seat with a grimace. "Come on," he bit out, "I know a good place."


"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

Draco jolted, startled, and looked up from the report he'd been perusing. He blinked several times as Robards dragged a chair around his desk and took a seat. "Working, sir."

Robards fixed him with a look over his glasses. "You had today off." Before Draco could come up with an excuse, Robards lowered his voice as he went on. "I heard about Miss Granger; not much misses the Prophet these days. Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No." Draco blew out a breath. "I apologise, sir; I needed something to keep my mind occupied."

Folding his arms and leaning back in his seat, Robards shook his head. "You've really had a lot of shit piled on you the last while, haven't you?"

Draco grimaced but didn't have an immediate answer. When he thought of it like that, it was difficult to keep the cold from seeping in. "I suppose so, sir. I just want Hermione to be alright, and we knew it would be a complex process from the start."

"You shouldn't be here." Robards clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "You aren't going to do anyone any good if you work yourself into the ground."

Releasing a long breath, Draco stared hard at the reports on his desk. He didn't know how to tell his superior that he was hardly keeping it together, and if he were left alone with his thoughts for much longer, he suspected he might break entirely. He shifted through a few reports, but when he realised his hands were shaking, he clasped them together instead.

"I'm aware of that," he said at last.

He could feel Robards' stare on the side of his head, but he couldn't quite force himself to meet the man's eye. "Nevertheless," Robards said at last, "I get it. I remember when I was still in Auror training, and I finally felt like I would do some good for the world. I was a lot like you, to be honest. Not a great family, not a great upbringing. But within this department"―he glanced around the sparsely occupied offices―"I felt like I could make a difference."

"I didn't know that, sir."

Robards chuckled. "Not many do. I was young and idealistic, of course―I hadn't seen half as much as you have at this age. But working as an Auror was my first love."

Draco tried to think of the man at his own age, just beginning his career as an Auror and going through all the same steps to earn his position in the department. He snickered, suddenly grateful for the company. "I can't imagine you were such a wreck in your training as I've been."

"You'd be surprised." A wry smile tugged at the man's lips. "The Head Auror at the time was a man named Osborne, hard-arsed son of a bitch. Threatened my badge at every turn―but he made me better."

As the words sank in, Draco frowned. "I've always tried to be better. Most of the time, I wonder if it just isn't in me. At Hogwarts, I was among the top of my peers, but here… I don't know. I feel like I'm constantly running behind, and it's all I can do to drag along behind the rest of my training class."

"It's in you," Robards said softly. "I've seen it from the start, in the same ways I've seen a lot of myself in you. It's why I've pushed you―just like Osborne did to me. Because I know what the world will do to someone like you, especially in a role like this. I want you to succeed, Malfoy. Your performance in training isn't a reflection of your heart, just your doubts. You have moments of greatness, and that's what I'm looking for."

To his combined shame and horror, Draco felt his eyes sting. Fatigue washed over him like a wave.

As though sensing he didn't know what to say, Robards went on. "I was hoping to bring that out of you by putting you on patrols with Potter. And I'm proud of the progress you've made." His gaze flickered to the wall by Draco's desk, where he'd arranged all of the connections between theft reports.

"Thank you, sir," Draco managed, at last, his voice weaker than he'd intended. "That means a lot to me."

He couldn't deny any of what the man had said. He had wanted to make a difference when he enrolled in Auror training, especially after all the wrongdoing he'd put out into the world during his first seventeen years. And most of the time… he felt like nothing he did made any difference.

Feeling a flicker of embarrassment creep into his cheeks, Draco waved a hand at the wall. "I know this isn't likely going to turn up anything. I just thought I would try and see what I could find."

Robards' eyebrows lifted as though in surprise. "On the contrary, Auror Malfoy. Didn't Potter tell you?"

Briefly, Draco thought of Potter the night before, slurring his way through a bottle of Firewhisky and making a wreck of Draco's kitchen. "He didn't tell me anything new, no."

A slow grin spread across Robards' face, and he shook his head. "Your connections hit a lead. I had a team take a look at it; that smuggling ring we've been tracking? Your intel into these thefts provided a pattern of decoys that we were able to track―we nailed a major cell of theirs yesterday."

At once, Draco's jaw fell open, and his heart began to race. His pulse hammered in his ears. "You what?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

His head spun at the thought, and he half expected Robards to tell him it was a joke. But his superior's eyes shone with something that might have been pride. "Good work, Auror Malfoy. You've contributed to solving your first major case. And the information we gained yesterday is going to lead us deeper in."

Draco could scarcely believe what he was hearing. He couldn't even count the number of times Potter had given him shite for all the time he'd spent sorting through files, meticulously combing through for any meaningful connections. He shook his head slowly―and then a laugh burst forth.

"That," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, "is the news I needed today."

Eyeing him for a moment longer, Robards rose to his feet. He clapped a hand to Draco's shoulders. "Chin up, Malfoy. I'm not one to believe much in the intangibles in life when concrete facts are around―but something tells me your situation is going to take a turn."

He turned to go but halted, rummaged in his pocket, and drew his wand. "Let me see your badge."

For a halting, terrifying moment, Draco's brows flew up. The last time Robards had asked for his badge, he'd been suspended.

But his heart clamoured an anxious rhythm in his chest as he handed the badge over, and he gulped as Robards inspected it. Then Robards tapped it with a series of spells, flashed a grin, and tossed it back onto Draco's desk. Frozen in disbelief, Draco observed the face of it. His training modification was gone, replaced by a simple 'Auror'.

Gaping, he spun towards Robards. "Sir, what did you―"

"Congratulations, Malfoy." Robards chuckled and offered a grin. "You've earned it."

A sudden swelling of emotion threatened to render him speechless, but he managed a swallow. "Thank you, sir."

"Now," Robards went on, "go home. Get some bloody rest, yeah?"

As the man strode away, Draco stared blankly at his badge. A full Aurorship. He'd worked so hard for so long that now to actually achieve it felt almost surreal. Emotion threatened to stifle him entirely, wave after humbling wave. He blew out a breath, collected his things, and went home.


Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I so appreciate those of you who continue to stick by this story as we approach the last five chapters. I hope you enjoyed this one!

Alpha and beta hearts to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.