A/N: Thank you again to my amazing Alpha reader: LaDeeDaa, and Beta Reader: astrangefan. I literally couldn't do this without you guys. Also, thanks for everyone who is reading the story and especially for such nice comments. Here's Chapter Two!

Granger Manor

Padma pursed her lips and nodded. Hermione watched as she summoned the three files sent over from Azkaban. "Let's make intake quick. I don't like leaving them in there alone," she said - inclining her head toward the door leading to where Hermione assumed the subjects were. "It's already been far too long - arguing with the huns."

Hermione nodded, waiting for Padma to proceed. "I'm not sure what they are here for, exactly. The guards were not forthcoming, but Nott was unconscious when he arrived. I was able to get a Sleeping Draught into Mrs. Malfoy before I was pushed out. She was hysterical at the state of her son. This is Malfoy's chart." She handed it over to Hermione. "We only just got vitals and a few slips of notes from the guards. It doesn't look like they've been keeping a regular eye…" Padma trailed off, but her tone indicated annoyance at the lack of information.

"His heart rate was nearly 160 beats per minute and he was screaming when he arrived," Padma explained. Hermione saw the other women's hands tremble. "I see a lot of things here, Hermione. But those screams…it always takes me back to Hogwarts." Hermione nodded.

You and me both, Pads.

Hermione looked over all the files for a moment - not that there was much to read. Padma had been the only Healer to lay hands on the patients, and she was pushed out after less than five minutes. "Okay, I'm going to need time alone with them to do my assessment but would you mind knocking Malfoy out and being on stand-by if I need you to sedate Narcissa or Nott again?"

"Absolutely," Padma nodded. "Just as long as you make sure I don't get fired." The last bit was said with a quirk of the lips, but Hermione absolutely intended to ensure that very thing did not occur.

Padma led the way through the thick double doors at the end of the hall. The minute the wards were breached, Hermione heard the blood-curdling sound of screams. "I can't believe he hasn't worn himself out," Padma said to herself, but Hermione heard her.

The screams were deep, from the soul, gut wrenching half-sobs of someone in excruciating pain. Hermione's breath caught in her own chest as she willed herself not to be transported back to the last time she heard urgent screams like that.

Greyback stood over Lavender, his razor-sharp nails had already cut into the flesh on her side as his mouth watered over her, saliva trickling down his foul chin. Her screams were inhuman, full body wails.

Keep looking forward, Hermione. Keep moving.

She saw Padma making quick work of unstoppering a vial of what appeared to be a concentrated dose of Sleeping Draught. With expert finesse, the witch placed a firm hand under Malfoy's clenched jaw and with some pressure his mouth flew open - his cries even louder than before. Her hand slid down to his neck as she poured the potion into his mouth and massaged the muscles of his throat, intricately moving her wand to force him to swallow. It took only about 30 seconds for his cries to stop and his features to go slack. It felt like an hour.

Hermione watched the scene with intense emotions swelling inside her - emotions she couldn't place and didn't want to try.

Not now. You have a job to do.

Pain like this she'd only witnessed in the middle of crisis which meant she couldn't fully process it. But here, in the After Times, seeing a boy she remembered from Potions Class writhe and scream in pain like that - it was a lot to take in and she needed a second to get her bearings.

Padma patted her arm on the way out, "I'm on call in the main section of Janus Thickey today. It's why I was the one to do intake. If you need me, use the intrahospital memo system. It's fastest." Hermione took a deep breath, looked at her friend, nodded, and tried to give her a look of confidence.

Fake it until you make it.

"Thank you, Pads," she finally said, finding her voice. Padma left and she was alone with the three subjects in a silence that made her skin prickle. She could still hear Malfoy's screams echoing off the pure white, sterile walls.

Fake it until you make it.

After a calming breath, she got to work. None of the three charts were of much help. Nott had been in the infirmary of Azkaban for over a week but he'd been unconscious the entire time. They had used minimal sustenance spells to keep him hydrated and fed, a simple Scourgify when he soiled himself, but other than that, it was as if no one bothered to further investigate why a 21-year-old man might have just slipped into a coma one day.

Narcissa's chart indicated she was on a daily anti-anxiety potion. Hermione frowned. This particular potion was highly addictive and not intended for long-term use. She'd been on it for four years now. She tutted to herself. It was clear Narcissa's state was fragile, mentally. The episodes recorded by guards indicated what Hermione would guess was some type of literal nervous system breakdown - though, she was not qualified to diagnose.

Probably just trying to keep her quiet instead of bothering with the therapy she needs.

Malfoy's medical record included: 'evidence of pain detected'.

You don't say.

She flipped through the scant pages and found an old entry from August of 1998 - would have been just after sentencing - where he'd been taken to the infirmary beaten within an inch of his life. Her brain prickled with curiosity but as it didn't pertain to the case, she swept it aside.

There was annoyingly little to go on. Everything in the file - save the curious beating Malfoy endured not long after incarceration - was information she already knew.

Absently, she pulled an elastic from her wrist and pulled her hair into a messy knot at the base of her neck. She pulled her wand from its sheath and cast a sterilisation charm on her hands. She still preferred the muggle latex as a barrier just for her own personal squeamishness, but she didn't imagine she'd need them for this.

Starting with Narcissa, she arranged her more comfortably on the hospital bed, pulled the stark white, overly starched blankets over her and checked her vitals. Mostly fine. She had a low-grade fever, but it was nothing to be concerned about. She looked every bit the Mistress of a large estate who had fallen ill with consumption from those old BBC Sunday Movies Hermione used to watch with her father.

No. Stop.

She moved over to Theo Nott. He didn't look peaceful - not like she'd remembered her great-grandpapa when he'd been in a coma just weeks before he passed the summer after her 4th Year at Hogwarts. His once beautiful head of black curls was matted and limp. His eyes - usually black and brooding and looking out from a well-defined, angular face - were sunken. Dark circles ringed them as if he was healing from two, identical black eyes.

He was unnaturally thin. She remembered Theo from school, always quieter than Draco - seeming to follow him but not want to bask in the light that surrounded the more popular Slytherin. He was pensive. His inarguably pretty features always set into worried or anxious expressions. That pensiveness didn't seem to leave even as he lay there, unconscious.

She jotted down a few notes about his appearance, his vitals - his heart was beating dangerously slowly - and finally set her notebook aside to begin her examination. Just as she did with Narcissa, Hermione positioned Nott in his bed more comfortably and tucked him under the same thick blankets, only she kept his left arm out so she could observe his Mark.

He was wearing black moth-eaten robes - also filthy - that stopped about mid-forearm. She could see the tail end of The Mark peeking out, but what dragged the gasp from her mouth was the thick, black veining shooting out from it in all directions.

She pushed his sleeve up his thin, pale arm and saw the skull-snake icon staring back at her. It gave off a presence of deep, Dark Magic that made her fingers tremble and she reached out to touch it.

It felt forbidden to do such a thing. She knew that the Mark was used by Death Eaters to call Voldemort to them on rare occasions, but mostly it was used by Voldemort to call his followers to him. Voldemort moved around so much and there could hardly be widespread announcements of his whereabouts. In great need, or when they were called to him, touching the Dark Mark could transport the possessor to an audience with his or her Master. She'd never heard of anyone touching someone else's Mark.

She bit her lip and eyed Theo closely, lifting his arm to check for range of motion. His body jerked but he didn't wake. She took measurements of the black webbing growing from the mark. She'd have to cross-reference with a medical text, but she was sure those were his actual veins. Her working hypothesis was that whatever Dark Magic was used in making the mark was seeping into his bloodstream.

Finally, Hermione took a deep breath and willed herself to do her last task in the initial assessment. Shutting her eyes, she counted to ten.

You can do this.

She pushed all the air out of her lungs and nodded to herself. Starting from the top of the skull's head she ran her fingers down the length of The Mark. Nott twitched again. There was a moan this time. Through clenched teeth she could hear him protest. She dropped her hand immediately. She couldn't. She didn't want to hurt him, not until she knew a lot more about The Mark.

She pushed Nott's sleeve back down quickly and tucked his blanket back under the covers before picking up her notebook and taking more notes.

"Subject, Nott, has increased sensitivity to the entire left forearm when being manipulated. Black branching from Mark appears to follow the pattern of veins and arteries in the arm. Will follow up," she said aloud as she wrote.

She moved over to where Malfoy was lying. Unlike his mother and Nott, he wasn't in a remotely comfortable position when he finally succumbed to his potion-induced sleep. He was slumped over on his side, both fists still clinched, jaw only just relaxed. His legs were kicking awkwardly in either direction and he looked precariously perched on the bed.

Hermione put the notebook down again. Pulling out her wand, she levitated him utilising cushioning charms to ensure that his slack body was supported. She made quick and efficient work of pulling his shirt down over his stomach where it had ridden up, rolling his body onto his back and laying him down in the centre of the hospital bed.

He looked like the other two subjects, but his hands were still clenched so tight Hermione wondered how…

Crucio.

Her heart stuttered in her chest as she realised that victims of the Cruciatus curse could suffer from temporary rigour mortis in the appendages. She hadn't had an episode in years, but…

She moved quickly, taking first his right hand into hers and feeling where the rigour had set in. Starting from the wrist she used both hands, thumbs pressing into the skin of his palm with as much force as she could manage. She massaged in a downward motion, circling her thumbs out to sweep over the whole palm. Down, out, back up. Down, out, back up. His hand started to unclench until - slack.

Finally.

She made quick work of the left hand next, careful to avoid contact with his left forearm as she implemented the massaging tactic she'd learned to use on herself five years ago. The entire episode was an uncomfortable reminder of things she thought she'd left long in the past - things she thought she'd already healed.

Shaking her head, she tucked Malfoy into his own bed, looking over his Mark. It looked nearly exactly like Nott's. She wondered why Nott had become comatose while Malfoy seemed mercilessly awake for every bit of pain that grotesque aberration seemed to want to bestow upon him.

When she was done inspecting, she tucked his arm back in the blankets and grabbed her notebook, taking it over to the Healer's desk, plopping down on the chair and scribbling all her initial thoughts and assessments.

First thing she'd need to do would be to talk to Unspeakable Draguar about how uncooperative St. Mungo's was being. She couldn't leave the three of them there - not even for a few hours. Padma would protect them, but that wasn't Padma's job. Besides, she really didn't want to drop that headache into her friend's lap.

"Tempus," she muttered tapping her wand on the desktop. It was already eleven-thirty in the morning. She'd been working much longer than she realised. She'd have to get someone to send in her lunch. She wasn't going to leave that room without an Auror dragging her out. Rilla would be sure they would pay for that if they tried.

She wrote out a note for her superior explaining the problem with St. Mungo's and sent it off to Padma to send by way of the Hospital Owlery. When Padma returned, she brought her a tray of food.

"Bless you," she said, eyeing the fish and chips hungrily.

"It's really the least I could do," Padma said. "I'm very much considering proposing marriage to your boss."

Hermione snorted. "Oh yeah? What did Rilla do now?"

"She dressed down the whole staff of Janus Thickey - save me. I assume that was your doing," Padma said with a knowing smirk.

"Guilty." Hermione replied. "So, have they gotten it worked out? Is Rilla on her way in?"

Padma shook her head. "No, the staff is threatening a walk-out if they," she indicated the three current patients lying motionless in the room, "aren't removed immediately. I think Unspeakable Druguar is planning to bring the Minister himself back with her."

"Kings will love that," Hermione snorted. She was trying to remain calm, but this had actually become a much bigger problem than she'd anticipated. A few Healers who were squeamish about treating Death Eaters was one thing, but a full-scale walk out?

The Department of Mysteries was meant to operate seamlessly, quietly, and in - well - mystery. This could become a very big, very public story very quickly if the two Malfoys and Nott's presence there was going to become a matter of public health panic. She bit her lip.

What the fuck do I do?

"Pads," she said, "Can you get Rilla to come back here and speak to me in person? We've got to work this out and I obviously can't leave."

"Sure thing," Padma said. "I'm sorry, by the way. No matter what they did," she said pointing at the three subjects again, 'everyone is entitled to care.'

"I know, Padma," Hermione said. "Don't worry about it. I'll deal with St. Mungo's later. Don't you worry."

Padma grinned, "Again, just don't get me fired." Hermione chuckled.

"Narcissa can be returned to Azkaban," Druguar decided. "She bears no Mark, and while I agree with you that she makes a good candidate to compare to the other inmates, she needs to actually be in the prison for that to work." Hermione nodded, jotting down notes.

"Nott and Malfoy, though…" Rilla thought, tapping her wand against her robes and oscillating back and forth on her feet like a woman who had rocked a baby through the night more than once. "I just don't see how we can do the amount of research and observation you'll need to do if they go back. It will take one hell of an act of trust by the Minister - and his good will to the Wizengamot - but the only possible solution I can find is to move them to…What was it you called those the places where you hid people during the war?"

"Safe houses," Hermione said, swallowing hard. "We didn't have many, and they've all been converted to regular houses now."

"But I like the idea of a warded, unplottable safe house where the subjects can't leave and only someone working on the case could have access. I wouldn't even know where to start with it, though." The Head Unspeakable was talking more to herself than Hermione but Hermione was listening to every word. It was a good idea.

But where could they take them? Even with the Minister's okay, there weren't random houses lying around that they could just appropriate - not without a lot of people asking questions. Even if they never answered the questions, it would make work more difficult having them hanging in the air, regardless.

A thought struck her, but she pushed it aside.

No. Not there. I can't go back there, yet.

Rilla had asked her something, but she missed it, "Huh?" she asked, inelegantly.

"Don't know anyone with an extra house they aren't using do you?"

She did, actually.

"Hermione!" Harry pulled Hermione into his house nearly the second she came through the floo in a state of near panic at two in the afternoon.

"Hermione!" he cried again, pushing her face back from his chest where she was clinging to him to look into her eyes. 'Hermione, what's happened?'

She didn't know where to even start or how to explain to him what she'd come to ask him for. Forgetting the fact that the details of her work were confidential, there was also the added stress of the emotional weight of the task she'd volunteered for.

"Oh, Harry," was all she could manage as she let him lead her to the couch. She could feel the panic setting in. He untangled their fingers long enough to rush to the kitchen for a Calming Draught before he seemed to remember Kreacher still resided at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He summoned the elf and asked that he make a pot of tea for them both.

By that time, the sound of Harry's voice, the smell of Grimmauld Place, the deep breaths - she was able to calm herself enough to regain her composure. "I'm sorry," she said weakly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"What's happened?" Harry asked, his pitch still very concerned. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Hermione said, smiling slightly. "I'm fine, Harry. I came to ask a favour, not to scare you."

Harry eyed her quizzically but didn't say anything.

"I've got a new case I'm working on and Rilla - the Head Unspeakable," she clarified, "has requested the use of my-my parents' house due to lack of other options," Hermione summed up.

"They can't do that, Hermione," Harry said, indignantly.

Hermione put her hand up in a placating manner. "She didn't know what she was asking," she assured him. "And, to be fair, I offered. We are in a bit of a time crunch with no other obvious options. I have a house. They need a house. Being in a Muggle house in Surry only makes it more perfect."

The fact was utilising her parents' currently unoccupied home as a base for her work for as long as it took her to investigate this case made perfect sense. But she didn't like the facts. She hated the facts in this instance. She'd held onto the property because she couldn't bear to lose the last attachment she had to her parents. But she never could bring herself to actually go in it.

Harry had been with her the last time she did. It was just after she'd returned from Australia, having discovered that her parents' memories could not be repaired. Too much time had passed. Too much had happened. Trying to give them all their memories back would have mentally broken them. Seeing how happy they were - as if on holiday at all times - she let them be, closing the door on that chapter of her life. The panic attack she'd had as she stood in the foyer of her beautiful, sprawling Tudor home had scared Harry so much he called in Molly to help him sedate and transport her to St. Mungo's.

She shook her head.

That was in the past.

"They aren't making me do it. It just makes logical sense. But I wondered if you wanted to do a favour for your best friend, the girl who saved your life, the…"

Harry rolled his eyes at her then, "You don't have to guilt me, you nag. I'll always do you favours."

"That's why I keep you around," she said with a smile. "I need you to come with me. I'm going to have to make quick work of setting the house up for my needs and I was hoping that the best Auror in the entire Department of Law Enforcement would help me put up the wards I'd need. I can do a good lot of them, but I need a secret keeper as well as any of the new-fangled spells you've learned since we were hopping around England in tents."

"Of course, Hermione," Harry said, his smile warm but his eyes concerned. "If you really think…"

Hermione raised her fingers to his lips and shook her head. "I'd have to go in there again eventually," she said, her voice sounding stronger than she actually felt.

"Want me to get Ron? He's not working today either," Harry offered.

Hermione shook her head. "No. I only barely got permission to call you in, and only because I vouched for you that you wouldn't demand to know what the Department is working on. Godric bless Ron, but he is far too nosey for a job like this."

Harry laughed out loud at that. "Right? Fancies himself a private investigator the minute he's left out of something."

"An absolute gumshoe," Hermione smirked.

"When do you think we should start?" Harry finally asked, scratching the back of his neck nervously. She could tell he was worried about how she was going to handle the task. It wasn't as if he didn't have reasons. Thoughts of her parents…

No. It will be fine.

"Today," she said. "Now, actually, if you can," she looked up at him, conveying an apology for the quick notice. "My boss is filling in for me while I get this figured out. It's pretty urgent."

"Okay, let's go," Harry said.

"Uhhh, Harry,' Hermione said with a chuckle. "You sure you don't want to change out of your jim-jams?" Her chuckle turned to a full body laugh when Harry looked down and realised he was still in his boxer shorts and a tee-shirt.

Hermione tinkered with Harry's Floo while he got dressed. Apparating into Muggle neighborhoods was usually okay, especially with a Notice-Me-Not charm, but having a more discrete, alternative option would always come in handy. She pulled out her notebook and jotted down a note to remind herself to connect her parents' living room fireplace to only one stop in Wizarding Floo Network: Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

After that, she took a few deep breaths and the second half of the Calming Draught Harry had summoned for her earlier.

You can do this.

Steeling herself for the task ahead of her, she shook her head as if she could rid the insecurity and panic from her mind entirely and pulled herself to her full height. "Oh, I see we are in battle mode," Harry quipped with a sage nod of the head.

Hermione knew he was making light in an effort to ease her through what they were about to do and she appreciated it. "Let's get it over with," she said, offering her hand to her best friend. With a 'pop' she Apparated them both to the backyard of her expansive home.

Not many of her schoolmates realised exactly how wealthy Hermione's family was in Muggle terms. Harry and the Weasleys were well aware of her parent's wealth and status, but the fact was that many Wizards and Witches still assumed 'Muggle' was associated with poverty and simple-mindedness. It was a stereotype that grated on her last nerve. She wasn't just impressively good at magic - for a Muggle-born. Hermione was constantly regarded as uniquely intelligent - for a Muggle-born.

If they only knew.

The reality was, people like the Malfoys had been obscenely wealthy. But they also existed in a small community where the wealth was more limited. If thrust into the Muggle-world - at the same exchange rate - The Malfoys would have still been rich, but much less exceptionally rich.

Hermione's family had a great deal of money even before her parents had become well-respected dentists in the Surrey neighbourhood in which she'd grown up. Her father's father was from old money and her mother's father had been a physician. They'd met at Oxford, married, and bought the four-thousand square foot Tudor with lush gardens in which she currently stood. She'd never wanted for anything as a child.

She looked around and noted that the yard was in need of some maintenance. In the beginning she'd paid to have a landscaper see to the property but even thinking about the house hurt so much she stopped. She'd have to reseed the lawn. The flower garden her mother had spent so much time cultivating, ruined. There was a tightening in her chest. She pressed on toward the back door.

Harry reached down and grasped her hand. "I'm here," he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Thank you," she smiled through a sea of unshed tears. "I'm going to go inside, can you start on the wards?"

He nodded. "Call me if you need me," he said. "I mean it. Don't be a hero, Hermione."

"No, we save that for you," Hermione said with a smile and a sniff.

She trudged up the stone steps of the back deck toward the back door which she knew led directly into the large kitchen. Taking a deep breath, she tapped her wand on the handle, felt the click of it unlock, then let herself inside.

Push through, Hermione.

The acrid smell of a house that had sat uninhabited for too long immediately hit her. She coughed on dust that had been disturbed as she opened the door and lifted her shirt over her face as she cast the strongest Scourgify she could muster. With a 'whoosh' the surfaces of the kitchen and expansive breakfast nook were spotless.

Hermione never really liked that spell for cleaning. Sure, it did get rid of the dust and dirt, but she never felt her dwelling was clean if she couldn't smell 'clean'. She remembered the Rosemary and Lemon scented cleaners her mother used in the kitchen and how safe she felt sitting at the island as she watched her mom start dinner. Maybe she should get a candle.

She left the room as quickly as she could moving into the sunken living room, through the den, along the hall to the downstairs bathroom, scourgifying every room on the first floor until she was satisfied, and it no longer smelled of dust particles and neglect.

She was doing fine. It hurt - the memories, the pain of the future lost - but it was manageable. She was managing it. She moved upstairs and tended to the five bedrooms and three bathrooms up there - including her childhood room - but stopped outside of the closed double doors of her parents' suite.

No. This is too much.

Hermione cast a few wards to keep anyone else out of that particular room and left it alone. She couldn't go in there. Not yet. They didn't need her parents' room, there was more than enough space without it.

Next, she summoned the supplies she'd need on hand for her new 'house guests'. She decided to keep Malfoy and Nott in the same room - at least for the moment. It allowed her to observe them together and it might make Malfoy feel less alone, even if Nott was comatose.

Merlin, she couldn't believe Draco Malfoy was about to be in her childhood home. She'd been so wrapped up in getting the house ready - making sure she could even set foot in the house without becoming a sobbing mess - that she hadn't devoted much time to what she was preparing the house for.

So far, she'd done an excellent job of keeping this assignment impersonal. Malfoy was a subject. He was a patient. He was someone she needed to study, understand, and fix. But the truth was, he was also Draco Malfoy. He was the person who first called her a Mudblood. He'd been the first person on the Hogwarts Express to make it clear to her she didn't belong in that world. He'd let Death Eaters into her precious school. He'd almost killed Dumbledore. He was the youngest Death Eater in history. And, also, he was her peer. They took potions together. He'd only been sixteen…

No. I was sixteen too.

She was not going to waste her time trying to understand him or rationalise his life choices. He was a case. She was going to figure out what was wrong with him, fix it, and get him right back out of her life.

After she finished setting up her old bedroom for the two men, she decided to set up her own stuff in the guestroom right next door. Better to be close just in case. She pulled out all her notes, several sets of clothes, and personal items from her beaded handbag and then tossed it on the bed before plopping down next to it.

The sheets were stiff from lack of use and the strong spells she used to clean them. New ones were definitely in order.

"Hermione!" she heard Harry call from somewhere downstairs.

"Up here!" she called back. It was a big house, but not that big. He'd find her. Sure enough, he popped his head into the room moments after she heard him trudge up the stairs.

"Finished?" she asked.

"Yeah, but you'll want to key in the last of the wards," Harry said, wiping sweat from his brow. She knew he must have applied the most magically taxing spells he knew. "That way you'll be the master of them."

Hermione nodded. "Alright, let's do it. I've got to get back to St. Mungo's."