Hermione stared at the flowers growing on her balcony. So few of her things were here. Her possessions had been taken by the British Ministry when they'd taken steps to hide their mistakes. She sighed and ran a hand over the slight rounding of her abdomen.
There was a pleasant heaviness to the air. She looked out at the grey skies and frowned. Hiding in her father's house was easy, but it was not something she wanted to do. If she was going to be a proper Martel, it was time for her to stop avoiding her pain and start living her life as she meant to go on.
She walked over to her desk and took a seat. Her correspondence had piled up quite a lot in the last few days. She plucked the letter from Harry off the top of the pile and frowned at his familiar spiky cursive. It wasn't official paper stock. The desire to burn the missive unread was hard to resist, but she set it aside.
The updates from her former master were informative. His obvious disdain for the British Ministry was growing with each new patient. Taking a deep breath, she pushed down her own feelings. Dwelling on it served no purpose.
None of this was moving her forward. She laid her hand over her stomach and sighed. This child deserved better from her. She looked out the window and considered her options.
Lucius stared at the trunk the Ministry had returned to him. He took a deep breath and discarded the urge to burn the thing to cinders. The man he had been deserved better than that from him.
He summoned a small chair and sat beside the battered wood coffer. He stroked the top of the battered old box and felt something tingle in his fingers. There was magic infused into the wood. It wasn't his, but it achingly familiar. He closed his eyes and saw her. The swirl of her long skirt as she danced across dark wood floors, the sound of her laughter, the warmth of her breath against his neck as he settled his body on hers. He dragged in a deep breath and lowered his head to rest against the trunk.
Grief flooded him. He wasn't sure what he was grieving. Was it her? Was it the feeling of being loved for himself alone? Was it for the man he had been? Was it for the life that might have been? Was it for Narcissa and Draco? Was it for the life he nearly lost?
He forced his body up and away from the chest and all that it contained. He looked in the mirror across the room and saw a man dressed casually with short dark hair and blue eyes for a moment before the image showed him his true self once more. He yanked out his wand and pointed it at the trunk. Blasting that thing to bits seemed like the best option, but he couldn't. His magic failed him. It wouldn't rise to his call.
He dropped his wand and collapsed to the floor. He wanted to go home, but he wasn't even sure where home was anymore.
He wasn't sure who he was anymore. He crawled across the floor to the chest and leaned against it.
Draco found his father asleep, slumped against a battered remnant of a chest, in his dressing room. He took in the wand on the floor and the toppled chair on the far side of the trunk and swallowed nervously. There was something beyond disturbing in the tableau before him.
He considered backing out of the room, leaving none the wiser, but the sick fascination of it all was irresistible. He'd seen his father wandless and at the mercy of a madman, but he'd never seemed this diminished. He'd expected the same man that left them to return, but that had been a child's dream.
None of them were the same.
Draco stepped forward and touched his father's shoulder.
"Are you feeling well?" Draco asked as the older wizard blinked up at him. "Should I summon a healer?"
"No." Lucius blinked up at him for a moment. "I am fine."
Draco offered his father a hand and helped him to his feet.
"This can't be easy, Father." Draco held onto Lucius' hand. "If you want to talk about it or if you want me to deal with the chest, I am here to help."
"I should burn it." Lucius muttered as he stood. "I shouldn't want a thing in it."
Draco took a deep breath as he grabbed onto this moment.
"It's understandable if you are finding this difficult." Draco pulled his father away from the trunk and through the dressing room door into the bedroom. "After the war, I had issues with crowded spaces. I couldn't stand being in a room with more than five people. I felt damaged. I felt useless. I managed to get through it. What the Ministry did to you…."
"They made my body into a host for another magical being." Lucius looked toward the trunk in his dressing room. "I think he was a better man than I am."
"He couldn't have been." Draco managed to draw his father to the bed and sat beside him there. "He was made up from things inside you."
"I wonder if you would say the same to him if he was here." Lucius examined his hands. "I can't imagine how he would feel if I had been the one they chose to end."
"They wouldn't have." Draco shook his head. "Granger wouldn't have allowed it. She wouldn't have let them supplant you."
"She loved him." Lucius glanced toward his son. "I feel like they severed a limb from me. I feel lesser now. For so long my everyday was concerned only with survival. Yours, your mother's, my own. Then I was gone and he got to live without fear and failure. Why is my claim on this body stronger than his?"
"It's your body. You were born into it." Draco frowned as he watched his father nod slowly. Perhaps he should talk with George Weasley. It wouldn't be easy, but something needed to be done.
"So was he, after a fashion." Lucius shrugged.
"We have a problem, Sir." Robards met the Minister's gaze easily. "Dolohov is missing. The others have all been accounted for and are being treated in Japan. He is the only one we can not locate."
"When did we last have eyes on him?" Shacklebolt frowned. "He can't have gotten too far."
"His cabin was spelled to make it look as if he was there. It was oddly done. The magic was not precise." Robards grimaced. "He'd killed a dog to fuel the spell."
"Can the signature used in creating that spell be traced?" The former auror frowned. "What are our options?"
"We've been tracing odd bits of magic around the area." Robards handed over the file. "The magical signatures are all similar, some stronger and some weaker, but very similar. The first victims were all animals, but the last three were muggles"
"He's killing muggles? Are you sure?" Shacklebolt turned the page and paled. "Goddess, how can you tell that was human?"
"The muggles were able to identify her. We should have copies of their full files in the next few days." Robards took the file back. "He's still in Russia, but that may not last. He's managing some odd form apparition. We need to get him into custody quickly. The Russians are very unhappy with what we have done."
"Leave that to International Cooperation." Shacklebolt frowned. "They've been dealing with all of our missteps there."
Robards nodded. He looked at the former auror turned minister and tried to see the wizard that he'd respected. Instead, a politician looked back at him.
"Is there anything else?" The Minister was already looking down at the papers on his desk.
"No, sir." Robards bowed slightly and took his leave.
"The progression has eased." The healer met Narcissa gaze easily. "Having the strain on your bonds lessened may buy you some time, but you need to start taking the potion regimen we discussed as soon as possible."
"I thought stabilizing my bonds was supposed to fix this." Narcissa looked at the healer and frowned.
"If all things were ideal, it might have done so, but your bonds are damaged. Without more information about what Voldemort did to you and your husband, we can't accurately predict how your body and your magic will react to treatment." The healer tucked some hair behind her ear and met the blonde witch's gaze evenly. "There are corrections that can be made, but we need to examine the bonds. Is your husband able to come here with you? It might help to examine the interaction of your ties in a controlled environment."
"He's healthy, but he is still adjusting after returning to society." Narcissa frowned. "Could this be hampering his adjustment?"
"I have no idea." The healer sighed. "Experts in bonded magic are rare. Our government recently alienated the only one in Europe."
"Hermione Granger." Narcissa closed her eyes and felt the world spin around her. Fate was never kind. "We are acquainted."
"She might be able to help you." The healer smiled gently. "Contact her. I've heard she's quite something."
"She is." Narcissa nodded. "I will have to beg her indulgence."
George Weasley laughed as Draco Malfoy stepped into his shop. Fred would have loved this. He smirked as the wizard moved through the crowd, wide eyed and uncomfortable. WWW was not a posh store for the pampered elite. He was quite certain the blond wizard didn't know what to make of his surroundings. Taking pity on the ferret, he slid through the crowds and met Malfoy halfway.
"He needs help?" George raised one eyebrow.
Malfoy swallowed and nodded.
"He's struggling." Malfoy looked immensely uncomfortable.
"Then why isn't he here?" George gestured for Malfoy to follow him and led the younger wizard to the workroom behind the shop.
"He won't ask." Malfoy rubbed his face with his right hand. "He feels ashamed of his past. Whatever the Ministry did, he isn't the same wizard. I mean he mostly looks the same, but there is something under it. Something different. I could have sworn his eyes were blue for a moment yesterday. I know it makes no sense at all."
"I can see Fred in the mirror at times." George spoke quickly. "It makes no sense, but there he is with his ear and his smirk. Everyone says it's wishful thinking on my part."
"Did Granger say that?" Draco frowned and sat on a bench.
"No." George sighed. "She said souls have a magic all their own. We don't know what is possible."
"Your brother had a soul. The thing my father was housing…." Draco waved his hand dismissively.
"Are you sure?" George leaned against a long table and crossed his arms over his chest.
"He had a different magical signature, but they were both in my father's body. How could a body have two souls?" Draco frowned and rubbed his forehead. "How could a soul just come into being like that?"
"How does any soul come into being?" George shrugged. "It's all a kind of magic. Maybe it's your father's soul still. I don't know, but I do know that talking to you honestly might help him if you try to keep any bias you have out of it."
"Bias?" Draco frowned.
"You need to listen and just take it in." George pushed a hand through his hair. "He needs support. You want him to be okay. You want him to be your father."
"He is my father." Draco looked down at his own hands. "He is still the same man."
"I know you want that to be true." George sighed. "I also know it isn't. If it were you wouldn't be here."