Author's Note: I own no person, no place, no thing – just the plot. If you recognize it, it probably belongs to Ms. Rowling or some other awesome super-human.

Chapter 02 Damages

Hermione sat in the uncomfortable chair in Ms. Hopkirk's secondary office under the Wizengamot courtroom. She'd elected to meet with Ms. Hopkirk here because of the privacy, since she would be able to exit the Ministry building and the entire Wizarding Community without being seen by anyone in the public. As far as anyone would know, she would be in Australia with her parents. No one but she, Ms. Hopkirk, and two Healers at St. Mungo's knew that her parents were now in a long term nursing facility in Sussex.

It was really quite nice, at the nursing home. Her share of Harry's estate made it possible for Hermione to pay upfront for ten years for a nice spacious suite for her parents, with a view of the ocean. Very peaceful. A better place for them, really. And not too far from her new flat in Surrey. She could pop down on visit them on the weekends and holidays.

Not that they would care. Her parents didn't even know who she was.

Ms. Hopkirk was talking. "Now Ms. Granger, I understand that while you have been through a lot during the war, and that you want to be close to your parents to assist in their long term care, I want to make sure you understand that having your magic Suppressed means that you will be leaving your wand and your magic here. At the Ministry. You won't be able to get it back without coming back here, which means you will have to contact us via Muggle post and request a meeting to retrieve your wand. And while that is one of the faster Ministry beaurocratic processes," here Ms. Hopkirk stopped and smiled slyly at Hermione, "it could still take up to a week or longer to retrieve your wand. Are you sure you don't want to just take it with you and just store it in a vault or bank safety box somewhere close to your new home?"

"Oh, no, thank you Ms. Hopkirk. I think that it would be safe to say that I have had enough magic for my lifetime, and the best thing that I can do for myself and my family at this point is to walk away before I have to witness or experience anything else." Hermione tried to stay as calm and level as possible, but it was possibly the saddest statement she'd ever made in her life.

For so many years, she had loved her magic, and this world around her had piqued her curiosity and thirst for knowledge like nothing else she'd ever known. But there had been too much suffering, too much loss.

And now, well.

Now Hermione Granger was going to pull up her big girl pants and get on with her originally scheduled life. Maybe go to University or get a job with a book dealer.

Ms. Hopkirk nodded sadly. 'The poor girl, it really has been too much,' she thought to herself. Then she pulled out a map of Southern England and poked Surrey with her wand until it expanded to show the small community of Little Whinging. Hermione looked down to see the trees surrounding the great park gently swaying in the wind. Their dark green leaves were tinted in blushing reds and oranges and yellows, signifying the upcoming season change.

'It's a good time of year to make a change and get settled before the cold sets in.' Hermione thought. She would have enough time to get her flat furnished and get all of the security in place before the first leaves fell off the trees. Then, she could… Relax? Read? Maybe she'd pick up her old violin again…

"Now, I'm sure you're aware of the late Mr. Potter's former residence here on Privet Drive. Just down from his home there's a nice woman, Ms. Figg. Did you ever meet her? No? Well a lovely woman, really, good company. She's a squib you know, helped him with that dreadful dementor attack on him and his cousin a few years back… Anyway, dear, the point being there are actually several squibs and other like-minded former witches and wizards in Little Whinging and the surrounding areas. So if you do ever run into any trouble, or need a quicker contact route to the Ministry than muggle-post, you can always call on their assistance. What with your acts of bravery in the War, I don't think you'll have a hard time getting the help you may need. Order of Merlin, First Class; that really is quite an accomplishment, Ms. Granger! Now, where was that list?"

Ms. Hopkirk prattled on about the names and addresses of different squibs living around Hermione's new home as she looked for the name and address listing she had made up to give Hermione. It was around here somewhere, maybe in one of her desk drawers?

"Oh dear I must have left it in my office upstairs. Would you mind waiting a moment while I pop up and get it?" Ms. Hopkirk stood to exit the room.

Hermione jumped up, startling the older woman. "No! Sorry, no, thank you. I'd appreciate it if you just mail it to me, it's nothing I need right now anyways. Ms. Hopkirk, I'd really just like to get this over with and get going, if you please."

Ron was expecting to meet up with her later on this afternoon to pick his things up from the flat she'd rented above Madam Malkin's dress shop a couple months ago. Not that she had any intention of meeting him, but she wanted to be long gone from the Wizarding World before he descended on Diagon Alley. That gave her - she looked down at her wristwatch - four hours. Now that Harry's estate was settled and all the major trials that she'd had to attend and bear witness to had come to an end, she couldn't get out of here fast enough.

"Oh! Well that's fine dear. I'll pop those addresses into the post later this afternoon or sometime in the morning. Now, if you'll just take out your wand, you understand that this spell must be self-inflicted. No one can take your magic from you, only by your wand and your hand will it leave your body. All right, just place the tip against the center of your chest, yes, right at the base of your sternum. There you go, there's no need to be afraid."

Hermione's blood was boiling and her knees were knocking, there was no denying that she was frightened. But not for the reasons Ms. Hopkirk must be thinking. She wasn't worried she'd regret her decision, not by any means. She was worried it would hurt, and she was scared of what would be left once the magic was gone. Hermione had read that Magical Suppression changed a person, because an inherent part of their physical and psychological makeup wasn't actually suppressed – it was removed. While Magic Stripping or Magic Removal was the more accurate term, Magical Suppression seemed to be a PC compromise to make it sound less invasive. This procedure was done involuntarily to criminals for the most part, but every so often a member of the community, whether out of grief or love, fear or hope, willingly surrendered their magic in order to make a new life for themselves in the Muggle world. It was mostly Muggle-borns or members of the Wizarding Community that had fallen in love with Muggles, but every so often there were people like Hermione that just wanted to leave out of grief and to protect their privacy.

She had no desire to use her wand ever again.

She'd done enough damage.

"Now, dear, the incantation is Magus Eripe."

/…../

"Let's see now, Mr. Malfoy, is it? What seems to be the problem?" The Physician set Draco's chart down and pulled out his ophthalmoscope to examine Draco's eyes.

"Headaches." Draco said sullenly.

"All right, can you tell me about these headaches? Have you noticed a trigger? Where are they centered? How would you rate their intensity on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the most severe pain, and one being mildy bothersome?" The Physician wrote some notes down on Draco's chart, then picked up another light and looked in Draco's ears, and then had him open his mouth and looked into Draco's throat.

"I didn't really have this problem until I started working at the Library a couple weeks ago, but I get one pretty much every day now. My vision has gotten quite blurry, and most of the pain is centered above my eyes and across the front of my head, I guess. Intensity of pain, maybe a five or six most days. Sometimes worse, sometimes not so bad." Draco shrugged. He was now a gainfully employed MUGGLE, for Salazar's Sake, and all it had gotten him was a dull achy skull, and dull achy eyeballs.

It was fucking miserable.

"My supervisor mentioned that I might need to see about getting my eyes checked. But they've always been perfectly fine until I started working at the Library." Draco wanted to make sure the Doctor understood that his body was in perfect working order, it must be something about working in the stacks that had made these headaches come on.

Maybe he was allergic to work. That would be brilliant.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, considering the symptoms you've described, I think the simplest thing we could do is eliminate the possibility of a need for reading glasses. Now, have you ever had an eye exam?"

Draco shook his head.

"No? And you're nineteen now, yes?"

Draco nodded his head.

"Well, all right, Mr. Malfoy what I'd like you to do is look at this chart on the wall, and start reading the letters on the top row out loud. Continue down each row until you can't make out the letters anymore."

The Doctor motioned towards a poster on the wall across from the stool Draco was perched on, which had rows and rows of random letters that descended in size as his eyes ventured down the page.

Draco was able to read until the third from last row, before all the writing went blocky and black.

The Doctor wrote on Draco's chart, and then opened a cabinet and handed Draco a large notecard that had another series of rows of letters in decending sizes.

"OK, Mr. Malfoy, just repeat that exercise with this notecard."

Draco's eyes started swimming on the fourth row down, so he brought the card closer to his face to focus on the smaller text. He ended up, with much squinting and blinking, to get through three more rows before the Doctor stopped him.

"I think that's enough Mr. Malfoy. You are obviously far-sighted. I can imagine your headaches did start in earnest, working in a Library of all places. You need reading glasses, Mr. Malfoy." The Doctor smiled distractedly as he gathered a couple pamphlets and then popped his head out the door to ask an attending nurse to join him. The Doctor had his back turned, and didn't see Draco's look of utter disgust and horror.

Fucking HELL! He needed bloody GLASSES? To fucking READ?

Merlin's shaggy balls, he was going to look like the Late Saint Potty, the Muggle-Bred Wizard Wonder Boy himself.

Fucking Muggle-tastic, that was how he was going to look. Bloody Hell.

Draco disgruntedly accepted the paperwork from the nurse, who was directing him to another physician that would help determine an accurate measure of Draco's far-sightedness, and help him select a pair of glasses that would suit his needs.

Salazar Himself must be turning over in his grave, as Draco felt the weight of this… this… disability… settle on his shoulders. What kind of pureblood wizard has a vision disability?

Oh, right. Draco wasn't a wizard anymore. He was a bloody DISABLED fucking MUGGLE.

"You're headaches should clear up right away, Mr. Malfoy, but if they do persist please come back and see me at once. We need to make sure you're seeing clearly before we can continue any further diagnosis." The Doctor held his hand out to shake Draco's, and then bade him good-afternoon.

/…../

Dear Mafalda,

In response to your letter from earlier this week, I am writing to report that yes, my headaches have gone away since I started wearing the glasses. Honestly, it has made working a lot easier, as I had been wondering why those damned Dewey Decimal numbers had to be written so small they were almost impossible to read – well, they're not that small anymore.

My Supervisor, Wanda, has been very pleased with how much more quickly I've been able to get through the book returns, and yesterday she taught me how to use the computer to assist patrons in searching for obscure texts that might be at different libraries. She said that since I had the most flexible schedule (because I have no social or family life, apparently) that she'd like to train me up to be her assistant. So, within the next couple weeks I'll be promoted to Assistant Head Librarian.

So there you go, my Muggle employment record is looking better every day. Huzzah.

I still haven't figured out how to use the vacuum-machine, so I've taken to sweeping the carpets. Stupid ridiculous broom, might as well sweep the sodding floors with it, as it sure as Hell isn't good for anything else.

The burns on my fingers are almost completely healed, but I'm worried about the scars. There's some kind of potion-lotion stuff the emergency doctor recommended to minimize scarring, but what would be really fantastic is if you could owl – or Muggle-post – me a jar of Scar-None. I don't really care to have disfigured hands, especially when there is such an easy cure….

I'm enclosing two fifty-pound notes, one for the purchase of the Scar-None and one for your time and effort to purchase and ship this to me, here at my illustrious flat in Muggle-opolis, better known to yours truly as Hell.

In Purgatorium Veritas….

DAM

/…../

Draco thanked the hospital pharmacist for her assistance as she handed him a handled plastic bag of creams, bandages, anti-inflammatories and pain relievers. His entire right hand was snugly wrapped in a white cotton mitten, a healthy glob of numbing cream and several layers of gauze. The fingertips on his left hand were also covered in goo and bandaged, but at least they were free to move around, or he'd have a devil of a time unlocking his flat. Or opening the door.

Or taking a piss, or making coffee, or…

Well, the list was pretty endless.

It had been two months since he'd last burnt the shite out of his hands taking his stupid dinner out of his stupid oven. He'd done it two times back in his first month on his own; and just like then, he'd had to go to the Hospital to get today's burns treated. Stupid oven mittens had been the last thing on his mind this evening though, when he'd been laying on his couch reading that new book he'd brought home from the Library. The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, by some bloke named Lewis. He'd seen several Muggles close to his own age checking and returning books from the series, so he figured it must be relevant to his new life.

Uh, no. It was set during World War II, which in itself had totally blown Draco's mind. The Muggles had not just one but two WARS that encompassed the entire WORLD in the last century. How did he not know about this? He'd lived in England his entire life, for Salazar's sake, how had he never known about enemy aeroplanes dropping bombs on London?

How was something so brutal, so, destructive, and so important not in wizarding history books? How –

And then he'd smelled the familiar smell of burning frozen food and dashed to the oven before it started smoking up his entire flat, and for the third time in his miserable life grabbed a 425 degree pan with his bare hands.

There was a bloody mess in his kitchen to clean up. Draco looked at his mittened hand. He supposed he could just shove his oven mitten over his burn mitten and swipe it all up with that. Brilliant, his hand was useful again.

/…./

Draco groaned and opened his eyes to a, sadly, familiar fluorescent tube-style light.

Too bright!

He squeezed his eyes back shut and felt his stomach heave as his head throbbed to the beat of his heart. Ugh, bloody Muggle alcohol was the bloody DEVIL. He hadn't even drank that much, and his head was absolutely killing him. Never, ever, ever again would he drink Muggle liquor, this hangover was bloody murder.

Draco frowned as his stomach calmed its heaving. That light had been awfully familiar. He knew he wasn't in his own bed in his flat, and he certainly wasn't back at the Manor.

"Hello?" he croaked. Merlin's balls, his head hurt. He reached up to rub his aching skull and felt… Stubble.

What the fuck?

He shot upwards, and promptly vomited and blacked out.

/…/

Dear Ronald,

By the time you get a chance to read this, I will have already left.

Sorry about that, I just couldn't bear any more awkwardness, and I had an opportunity for an earlier flight. Now that I've gotten enrolled at the local University by Mum and Dad's, I'll be focusing on school for the next few years. I intend to remain in Australia until I finish school, at least four or five years. I imagine you aren't very happy with me for my decision, but please understand that I need to be away from England for a while, and I need to be close to my parents right now.

I don't expect to hear from you, but if you feel like writing, please do. I'll keep in touch, of course.

Please give everyone my love and fond farewell, and please don't think too badly of me for not being able to face everyone.

Your,

Hermione.

To Be Continued...