Author's Note: As much as I struggled to write the last two chapters, this chapter absolutely flew out of my fingertips. It's a nice long one and I'm very excited about it. Thank you guys for your support, always, and your patience.

Chapter 41: Sick

Hermione read her latest letter from Ginny with a smile and set it aside to reply to after work. Ginny was more than anxious to get out of Hogwarts, though slightly less eager at the thought of living at home with her mother. She'd hedged around the question of whether Hermione would want to get a flat with her or whether Hermione had other plans. Tryouts for the minor league Quidditch teams would be coming up in the fall though, and Ginny planned to train hard all summer. The one benefit to the Burrow was there was that good paddock out back for practicing.

Sorting through the rest of her mail as she drank her coffee, she found a note from Arthur, asking her if she could stop by his office this afternoon. She jotted down a quick response that said she would come in after her lesson and sent it back out with Athena.

Levitating her empty coffee cup to the sink, she gathered up her handbag, notes, and book and left for her lesson with Belby.

Arthur Weasley folded his hands on top of his desk, looking at the young witch who had answered his invitation. "I've done my best to follow up on what happened to the werewolves after the battle last year. Unfortunately, there's not much to tell. After the battle, plenty of people got away before we could round them up. With Death Eaters and suspected Death Eaters and the Snatchers…we had names. Addresses. The Ministry was able to try and track them down later and go after a lot of them. We got a handful of the werewolves right after the battle, but the rest of them…they went to ground."

"Nothing? Surely that many people can't just disappear…"

"No new bites have been reported at St. Mungo's. No clear signs as to where they might be hiding out." His voice was gentle. "These people have been living outside the system for a long time, Hermione. If they don't want to be found, we may not be able to find them."

Hermione frowned, sitting up in her chair, catching the subtle stress in the last sentence. "Are any of the people with lycanthropy who were taken into Azkaban still alive?" Her whole body was tense as she asked the question. Even with the Dementors gone, Azkaban was a harsh place to call home. She could only imagine the particular torture of the closed in walls for someone who'd likely lived much of their life outside and off-grid. Her own short visit to Lucius Malfoy had not made endeared her to the place; it was somewhere she'd hoped never to go back to.

"A couple of them are. I can't guarantee for how much longer. Not all that many got taken in but they haven't fared very well. The transformations are rough on the body of any witch or wizard. Obviously there hasn't been any extensive recent studies on it, but werewolves generally don't live as long as other witches and wizards. The transformations…" He shook his head.

Rummaging in her bag, Hermione extricated an Everlasting quill and a notebook. "So, I need to visit soon. Do you have the names?"

The Weasley patriarch looked worried. "Are you sure you want to get into this, Hermione?"

"Yes. They deserve a chance."

"Even if you find them…most of these people probably fought against us at the last battle. You know that, right?" She gave him a level look, and he knew that the Ministry shared some degree culpability for why these people were on the fringes of life. They'd had the discussion before. He fumbled with the drawer of his desk, pulling out a sheet of parchment, but still hesitated before giving it to her. "I know you're brilliant, but…I'd like you to promise me you're not going to put yourself in danger."

The room was quiet, the sounds of the offices on the other side of the door faint. Hermione contemplated her answer. She didn't consider a trip to Azkaban to talk to the surviving lycanthropes dangerous—uncomfortable yes, probably futile—but not dangerous. However, if she got the information she was looking for…the next logical step would be to go out to wherever the rest of them were. It probably would be considered dangerous. But what else was she to do?

"Hermione?"

"I don't think there's anything to fear when I interview them in Azkaban. There are wards and guards," she said carefully.

Arthur pushed back his thinning hair from his forehead, and Hermione wondered if Ron's hair would have thinned out in the same way. They had the same nose. She blinked against a sting in her eyes. It had been a long time since she'd let thoughts of who Ron might have become intrude on her; it was easier to keep herself together if she didn't think of him at all. "Hermione, I know where you're going with this. Promise me that you're not going to try and find the whole pack on your own. Leave that to someone else…or at the very least, have back up with you. Lots of it. Promise me, or I'm not giving you the list."

Hermione made her promise and left the office a few minutes later with the list in her purse. Arthur watched her go with a heavy heart, praying to whatever entity might be listening that he hadn't just handed the girl something that would lead to her own destruction. Even with Ronald gone…Hermione was still like a daughter to him.

May was rapidly disappearing, and the weather was warm. Draco was cooking dinner in his shirtsleeves. He normally tried to keep his arm covered. He didn't like to be reminded of the Mark, didn't like to remind Hermione it was there.

Then again, he knew she covered the word his aunt had carved on her arm.

He was fairly certain that even after all this time, there was probably some sort of healing charm that could rid her of the scars, unless his aunt had used a cursed knife (which he wouldn't put past her), but his Mark wasn't just some tattoo. There was magic in it, and he'd never heard of anyone successfully removing the Mark without giving up the entire arm.

It was of course on that warm afternoon, while he slaved over a boiling pot of water and the oven was on that Burke returned for the visit Caffrey had promised. Draco did his best to bite back the caustic remark on the tip of his tongue at seeing the man unannounced at his door. He just had to manage a few more months, and then…well, he'd have his magic back. Salazar knew what state his life would be in beyond that, but he'd have Hermione, and he'd have his magic back. Everything else could be dealt with when it became pressing. He had plenty of time to formulate his plans. He smiled as he opened the front door, every inch the gracious host. "Good evening. Dinner isn't quite ready yet, but as you can tell, it's in the process."

Burke's face was stone, unreadable. "I don't have much of an appetite. I came to talk." He walked past Draco and set a book down with a thud.

Without looking, Draco knew which one it was. This was going to be a long talk. "Well, while you're here, I may have a few things to chime in as well," he said drily. "Do you need a drink?" He went back into the kitchen to turn off the pot of boiling water. It would heat again later. The things in the oven would be fine for a while yet. He poured himself and Burke each a glass of juice and looked around, hoping for a jumper or something in the kitchen to put on to cover his arm. But there was nothing. He'd do his best to keep that arm under the table. Setting out the glasses and casually dropping his arm into his lap, he looked at Burke. "What exactly would you care to discuss?"

"This. What is this supposed to mean?"

"It's exactly what it says. Those are my thoughts from this year—I didn't start writing it until Christmas, but I did try to cover…everything. Adjusting to Muggle life was not easy, but I've survived, and I've done it well," he said tersely.

"Is this supposed to make me sympathetic?" Burke waved a hand at the book. A little vein on the side of his face throbbed. "Make me feel sorry for the Pureblood having to cope without magic for a whole year? I'm a Muggle-born. I know exactly how hard the transition between worlds is. You won't get any sympathy from me."

Draco inhaled deeply through his nose to try to help maintain his composure. He would not lose his temper. "I was not looking for sympathy, although I will say, you certainly have mine. Making the transition from the Wizarding world into the Muggle world was something I was wholly unprepared for. I can only assume that at the tender age of eleven, you and all the other Muggle-borns are even more unprepared coming into the Wizarding world. After all…even if I had never bothered to learn about it, I knew the Muggle world existed, and came into it as an adult. To make the transition at 11 into a world you never knew existed…" He shrugged, one arm on the table, the other carefully casual in his lap, forearm resting on his leg to hide the Mark.

Burke stared at him as though trying to determine whether the young man in front of him was being sincere or not. The words sounded pretty enough, and they fit with what he'd written, even if here they sounded more politic than the passages of the book where he wondered how Muggle-borns possibly managed the adjustment. "If this wasn't a play to gain my sympathy, why did you write it?"

He was not quite able to suppress the frown that tugged at his lips. "I wrote it for myself. To try to make sense of everything." He sipped the drink in front of him. "You're only the second person to have seen that. I acknowledge that I have made mistakes. I acknowledge that my understanding of the world was…or is…less complete than I had once thought. I don't intend to make those same mistakes again."

"And you have a plan, do you? To avoid falling back into the old traps of easy money and easy power?" The expression on his face clearly said This ought to be good.

Draco gave a dry chuckle. "Not much of one I'm afraid. I don't intend to go back to my mother's influence at the Manor. I very seriously doubt that the Ministry would choose to hire me for anything. It's entirely possible that my mother may disown me for choosing to date a Muggle-born. I'm prepared for the likelihood that I'll be making my own way in the world when my sentence is done. How I'll do that…I don't know yet. Not being allowed to send owls, and without any of my previous associations willing to communicate with me on Muggle terms, I haven't exactly been able to make plans for the future—assuming the Wizengamot gives me back my magic." He kept his face composed. He had to find the right way to introduce this—to make it sound as though he hadn't been hiding it to begin with. Take the bait, Burke.

"A resourceful fellow like you? No offers? No plans?" He didn't make resourceful sound like a compliment.

"I suppose if my mother does not disown me, I can live off the family vaults and do charity work to try to atone for my sins, if no one will hire me for paying work. While not one of my former associates, George Weasley has suggested that he might be willing to hire me on as a consultant for his shop."

The older man leaned back at the table and laughed. Did the former Death Eater in front of him really expect him to believe this? "Weasley? As in the Weasleys fighting for the Light during the war? And George Weasley would be willing to do you a favor because…?"

Draco gave a modest shrug. "I spent Christmas with his family, as I had no family of my own to go home to. The Head Auror approved my travel plans, via the Knight Bus—arranged by Hermione Granger. She's been working closely with George this year, and he sometimes comes over for dinner. We were discussing magical theory one evening, and the functional problems with a spell he had in development. I made a few suggestions, which he implemented. Without those suggestions, he wouldn't have been able to launch his latest product. I assume you've seen the handheld calling mirrors? I believe—if you check the registration paperwork on the product development—George has listed me as a contributor."

The vein on the side of Burke's head throbbed a little more persistently. "The Wizengamot took away your magic and you thought it would be just dandy to contribute to a new magical product?"

Trying to decide whether to keep his face neutral or to attempt to look surprised, Draco tried for a combination of modesty and a little surprise. He wasn't sure whether he managed to pull it off; his lower lip was out a little, and there was a tilt to his shoulders that hinted at a shrug without any movement. "It was simply a discussion on the implementation of magical theory. I performed no magic and have not received one of these communication devices. To be entirely honest, I hadn't expected to be listed as having anything to do with it, given that the discussion was entirely informal. Still, when the product was such a success—I've heard the line at the store has been going around the building—he felt it was only right to reward my share of the contribution. George and Hermione had been struggling with the issue for months. Apparently, helping others does pay off occasionally." He let a ghost of a smile flit over his lips. "I didn't ask for it, though I believe he is setting aside some portion of the profit on the his particular item for me. Given that I am not to buy anything from the Wizarding world for the next several months, he's holding onto the Galleons until the Wizengamot sees fit to allow me to return to Wizarding society. With my job at the library and the allowance the Ministry has given me to survive on during my sentence—and careful budgeting—I don't need those Galleons at the moment anyway. I've learned to adapt to a less luxurious life than I was previously accustomed to." He sipped his drink, knowing otherwise, he'd find himself holding his breath until Burke responded. Show no fear. He'd more or less been entirely honest.

"You are walking a very thin line, Malfoy. The edge of a knife."

"Auror Burke, I have not been in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade at all since my sentencing. I have bought no wizarding products whatsoever, nor has anyone else bought any for me. My owl has carried no letters. I'm developing relationships with people whom I think our esteemed Wizengamot would find to be good influences on me: Hermione Granger, George Weasley, Harry Potter. I've even gotten to know my cousin, and estranged aunt. She and my mother had a falling out before I was born, regarding a difference of opinion on the importance of blood purity." He tapped his fingers against the table. He was trying to be polite, but his patience was beginning to wear thin. He hoped he wasn't overdoing it.

"The very model parolee aren't you?"

"Well, I'm trying to be. It's why your insistence that I must be hiding something set me so on edge at our last visit. I thought, perhaps, sharing my innermost thoughts with you in the form of that book there might ease your suspicions." He brushed his hair back from his face.

Burke was silent for quite a while and it took all of Draco's self-control to sit there quietly and not to say something that was going to aggravate the man more. He wanted his magic back. The hole inside him he'd felt when he'd been closed off from it had never gone away, though it was less noticeable now than when it first happened. "And do you have anything else you haven't told me? Other than your…possible consulting position with George Weasley?"

Draco gave a casual shrug. "Headmistress McGonagall expressed an interest in having me come to Hogwarts to speak to the students about my experience. She believes it would be…educational for them. I thought perhaps…I might write something useful to them instead. I intend to spend more time with my family: my aunt Andromeda, my cousin Teddy, Harry Potter."

At the last name, Burke snorted.

"While he is not a blood relation of mine, his godfather was cousins with my mother, and he is the godfather of my cousin's son. And he's like a brother to the woman I love. Potter is part of my family now whether or I like it or not. Fortunately, I find him…tolerable these days." So much honesty with a man he didn't even like was exhausting. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it up. Burke either needed to tell him he wasn't buying any of it, or accept his story. The problem with adjusting the truth to suit you through most of your life was that when you did decide to be honest, there was a good chance no one would believe it. Keeping the annoyance from his face and trying to play all the right expressions—even when telling the truth—was pushing the limits of his upbringing.

"I showed this to one of my coworkers," Burke said at last. "Someone who specializes in reading the criminal mind. "He reckons that this is either genuine, or you're an exceptional liar. Having read this cover to cover…I have a hard time believing anyone could lie that well. It's possible but…I don't think you're that good."

The hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood up. "You showed it to someone else?"

Without knocking, Hermione used her key to let herself into Draco's flat. "Is dinner almost—" The words died on her lips as she noticed Draco's visitor. "Good evening, Auror Burke. This is a surprise. Are you joining us for dinner?"

"No, I was coming by to return a book I borrowed from Malfoy."

Her voice was calm, polite. "I recognize that book. Did you find it educational?"

"Quite."

The oven timer went off and Draco excused himself to go take the meat out of the oven.

"Miss Granger, there isn't anything you'd like to say to me while Malfoy is out of the room?"

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from saying a few of the choice things that came to mind, and then attempted a pleasant smile. Anyone who knew her well would know that the cat had just caught the canary. "No. I really don't have anything to say to you that I wouldn't say in front of Draco. However, I would dearly love the opportunity to share my impressions of Draco's rehabilitation with the Wizengamot, and the individuals responsible for organizing his sentence. After all, I believe his rehabilitation has gone extremely well. He's the model case."

The Auror felt a little uncomfortable under her gaze, but he couldn't quite pinpoint why. "I'm sure the Wizengamot would love to hear from the war heroine. Harry Potter's testimony played a considerable role in the leniency Malfoy was shown at his sentencing."

As Draco came back into the living room, he heard Hermione say, "Draco has done an admirable job this year in navigating this new world. As someone who has had to do the same in other circumstances, he has my greatest respect." She turned to him and smiled.

He caught sight of the expression on Hermione's face, which said someone was in trouble and didn't know it yet. He was fairly positive it wasn't him, and did his best to suppress a smirk under the smile of a gracious host. "The chicken is done, and I've just put the water back on to boil again for the pasta. Are you sure you don't want to stay, Auror Burke?"

The Auror made his excuses and left, leaving Draco's book on the table. Hermione and Draco waited until they heard the faint pop of the man Disapperating on the other side of the door before they let themselves laugh with relief, resting their foreheads against one another.

Despite knowing it was sunny outside, walking through the hals of Azkaban had Hermione wishing she had a cloak. The guard indicated which cell held the prisoner she wanted to talk to and gave her a look of distrust as he took his place at the end of the corridor. She looked at the cell. There was dried blood on the floor and walls. The bed frame was bent, the thin mattress mostly in shreds. A man sat curled up in a corner of the cell, in as rough shape as his quarters, hugging his knees.

"Guard," she called out. As she saw him approaching, wand drawn, as if expecting that the cell's occupant had done something to her, she hurriedly added, "This man needs medical attention. What do you mean leaving him here like this? There's blood everywhere."

The guard was still a few feet away and he scoffed, holstering his wand. "Of course there is. Full moon the night before last. The wolves tear themselves to pieces, like animals. No sense in giving them new bedding or whatnot. They'll just destroy it again."

Unnoticed by the visitor or guard, the man in the corner raised his head slightly, eyes sparkling.

"He's a person, not an animal. I can't believe this. Why aren't you giving them the Wolfsbane potion? It's a medical necessity. And a Healer should have been in to see this man, and any other lycanthropes. That cut on his shoulder looks infected. Go and get a Healer now." Was this what was happening to the lycanthropes? Bollocks to Arthur Weasley's assumption that they were dying because of the transformations and bleak spirits from being shut in a tiny room. This was negligence. Medical neglect. As good as if the guards had killed them outright.

"I can't leave you here with the prisoners. Who knows what might happen?" He shifted uncomfortable. "Besides, the Healer isn't in today." Hermione gritted her teeth. "The Minister will be getting a full report from me on these conditions. This man needs a Healer, a new bed, and next month, the Wolfsbane potion. Not giving them the potion when they're in your custody is inhumane." "He's not human."

Hermione glared at the guard. "He is human." She rifled through her mind to remember which of the two lycanthropes this was that she was seeing first. Arnold. Arnold was his name. She might not get a chance to see the other one at this point. She squatted down close to the bars, nearer than the recommended distance for safety. She had a feeling she might not get a chance to make her other visit today. "Arnold. I'm not here to hurt you. I'd like to talk to you. I'm going to make sure they bring a Healer in. And I'm going to see to it that you get Wolfsbane potion for the next full moon. You won't have to hurt yourself like this again. I'd just like to talk to you." She couldn't be sure, but she thought his head might have cocked very slightly to the side, as if listening.

"Miss, you are going to have to leave now. Clearly the prisoner is distraught."

"You don't care about him. I am going to take this up the chain. See if I won't." She looked at the far corner of the cell and promised, resting her fingers on the bars, "I'll be back." She rose to her feet and moved her hand only just in time to keep Arnold from grabbing it. She hadn't even seen him move except out of the corner of her eye. His teeth were bared, and there was food between them. She was out of his reach now, but she looked him in the eye while she had his attention. "I will be back." She said it as much for Arnold as for the guard. She allowed herself to be escorted back to the main entrance, holding herself together with an icy calm over her rage. She had memorized the name of the guard who had escorted her, and she made a point of telling the guard at the entrance that the prisoner she'd come to see what in need of medical attention when she was getting her wand back.

He seemed unsurprised and unimpressed. Maybe they could get someone in tomorrow. Or the next day. He didn't think it sounded like an emergency.

Hermione waited out the rest of the time until her Portkey triggered in silence. She debated trying to find the right office for whoever was running Azkaban, but to be honest…she wasn't sure if that was the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or if Azkaban was controlled by a department on it's own. She had mostly resisted using her influence after the war, partly because she believed in fair play, and partly because of her total withdrawal from Wizarding society. Today, the gloves were off. This was going straight to the Minister, and she wasn't leaving the Ministry until she'd been heard.

It took more doing than she expected, and she had to wait for nearly an hour, but she got in. Kingsley's secretary was nervous the whole time Hermione Granger was waiting in the outer office. The girl was fiercely determined for one so young. When she remembered that this girl had been one of the handful of children to take down Voldemort…she shivered. She was glad the Minister had seen fit to give her her own way and see her.

By the time Hermione left Shacklebolt's office, she was smoldering. He assured her that Healers would be sent to Azkaban at once. He didn't seem at all surprised that the werewolves weren't being given Wolfsbane potion—it was expensive, hard to find, and not medically necessary. It was medically necessary, and she'd provide it herself if need be. While he'd jotted down the name of the guard Hermione had been unhappy with, Hermione doubted the man would suffer any serious repercussions of his actions that day. She made a point of telling him that she would be making more visits to Azkaban. She stopped just short of deliberately accusing the guards of having murdered the other lycanthropes through negligence, but she implied it.

Draco was just home from work and starting to contemplate what he and Hermione might do for dinner when Hermione entered the flat. He smiled. "I was just thinking of you. What do you want to do for dinner?"

"Can we order in? I've had a hellish afternoon. I rather need to vent, and I can't do it around Muggle ears I'm afraid. Is there any wine?"

The blonde arched an eyebrow. "Interested in wine before even stopping to give me a kiss? It must have been a bad day. Tell me about it." With a bit of a cheeky smile, he crossed the room to kiss her before turning back to the kitchen for wine, glasses, and the pile of delivery menus they'd accumulated. "So, who has inspired your wrath today? Is it Belby? You haven't had a good rage at him in a while." He filled her glass and handed it to her with an amused smile.

"Not Belby," she said, taking a sip. "Today was the day I was going to Azkaban to meet with the the lycanthropes. I wanted to see if I could convince either of them to give me any information on getting in touch with the rest of them."

Draco listened attentively, rubbing circles in Hermione's hand with his thumb as she spoke, until she got to the part about stewing in the Minister's office. As she described the things Shacklebolt hadn't batted an eyelash at, she got up off the couch, pacing around the room. "Breathe, love. Things will go better for them next month. I take it, you're planing to brew the potion yourself?"

"Absolutely. Though I've course I intend to go back before then. I want to make sure the Healers actually took care of them both, and that their beds have been replaced. I imagine Doug's cell is as badly trashed as Arnold's, even though I didn't see it. I don't know if there's a law against it in the Wizarding world, but in the Muggle world…someone would be held accountable for the conditions those men and women died in. They as good as killed them." Her throat seized up a little, her breathing shallow with anger.

Draco got very still. "Hermione? It's a lot to ask, but…when you go back to check on them…will you check in on my father? Just to make sure…?" The anger drained out of Hermione, and she suddenly felt exhausted, letting herself drop onto the couch beside Draco and put her arms around him. "Of course I will." The pair of them sat on the couch together in silence, taking comfort in being near one another. Finally, Hermione said, "I'll be going tomorrow and every day until I see improvement. I'll make myself a nuisance at the Ministry."

He kissed her temple. "Excellent. Now, let's make ourselves a nuisance at one of these fine eating establishments," he said, lightening the mood.

Hermione chuckled, looking through the menus: Chinese, Indian, fish and chips…they'd find something to eat.