A/N I wrote you guys a one-shot as a way of apologizing for my update delays (haha). Check it out! It's called Malfoy and the Mirror. I'll be writing a few song-inspired one shots in between updates of my fics, just because there are so many songs that remind me of Dramione. I have a whole playlist of them in my iPod.

Was I that obvious in the last chapter? HAHA. I was hoping to keep it in at least some suspense… but you guys got it anyway. Oh well. Your guesses as to why she's insane, though, aren't all too correct. But someone came really close!

Enjoy the next update! It's a fairly long one because I got into a writing mood.

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The next morning, Harry hadn't owled or called to tell him they'd be venturing into the Pensieve that day, so Draco took the opportunity to visit Hermione at St. Mungo's. He'd received a message, after Blaise had left the other night, that she was acting up again, demanding the reason behind her hospitalization, looking for people long dead. The Healer who'd sent the message said he wished to discuss some matters of sensitive nature with Draco (whatever that bollocks could mean), so Draco decided to call as soon as possible.

The lobby of St. Mungo's was filled with the usual pre-holiday crowd, vying for spell reversals and potion cures. Draco neatly sidestepped a particularly deranged looking woman who was convinced he was her father (the man gripping her arm gave him an exasperated but apologetic look as he tried to drag her away) and made his way up the stairs, which were less crowded than the elevators but still bustling nonetheless. The Janus Thickey ward was, as always, much quieter than any of the others, though Draco noted the presence of a new patient who seemed to have changed his legs for tentacles and was now lounging in the middle of a water tan, staring murder at the world.

"Says he woke up that way a few days ago, poor bloke," a Healer commented from where she'd come in, her brow furrowing in worry. "Took him a while to get here because his mum was in Amsterdam and the other people in his apartment were passed out cold. In the end he had to call his next-door neighbors. Thank goodness they were wizards. Apparated him straight here, though he Splinched a tentacle on the way."

"I'm, er, here to see Healer Carnegie?" Draco put forth, deciding it was better not to comment on the story of Mr. Half-man, Half-octopus, given how he was sending death glares their way.

"Oh, you must be Mr. Malfoy!" she exclaimed, one hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, my apologies, I hadn't recognized you. It's my first time on this floor." She flushed slightly and backed up toward the door. "Please, have a seat. I'll fetch Healer Carnegie now."

"I will wait in my wife's room, thank you," Draco replied quietly, a tight smile tugging at his lips.

"Of course, sir." The Trainee Healer flashed him an embarrassed smile as she fumbled with the doorknob and left. Draco made his way across the room, careful to steer clear of the water tank, and entered Hermione's private room.

She was awake, reading the book Harry had sent her, two weeks early for Christmas. As he stepped inside she looked up, and Draco was careful not to close the door right away. If she did not recognize him –

"I was wondering when you'd get here. Healer Carnegie said he was expecting you." Her face broke out into a smile and she settled the book on her lap, one finger left between the pages to mark where she'd stopped reading. Draco noticed the familiar gesture and remembered all the times she'd wandered his apartment, book in hand, one finger between the pages. She'd curse vehemently every time she'd drop a book because it meant losing her place. He'd asked her once why she didn't use bookmarks; she said she lost them too many times. The pages of her favorite books were filled with flattened KitKat wrappers and faded receipts and sticky notes from when a finger just wouldn't do.

"I didn't receive his memo until late last night, so I wasn't able to come until now." He shrugged off his coat, tossed it on the bed by her blanketed feet, and sat down next to her. Immediately she moved closer to him, almost imperceptibly, and his hand came up to twirl a lock of her hair around his fingers. (What is it Muggles say – tied with apron strings? he'd once asked her. I don't wear aprons, she'd stated, and he'd laughingly replied, they wouldn't suit you, anyway.) "How are you feeling?"

"A little light-headed, but otherwise all right." She settled her head into the crook of his shoulder, her arms coming around his waist, the book dropping to her side. Her face was buried into his shirt. When she spoke, her voice was muffled by the cloth and the hair pinned between. "They won't tell me why I'm here, Draco. Did – did something happen in Grimmauld Place?"

He stiffened at her words, his heart jumping to a hundred beats a minute and then some. Her arms immediately loosened around him, her face pulling away ever so slightly as she waited for his response. But what could he say? When did she think it even was? How could he even begin to explain–?

"Mr. Malfoy?" A knock sounded at the door, and it opened to reveal a thin, bespectacled young man clutching a clipboard. "My name is Healer Carnegie. I'm a specialist studying your wife's case. I believe you received my message yesterday?"

Draco felt Hermione's fists clench and unclench around his shirt, something she sometimes did when irritated, and sighed – partly out of annoyance, but mostly out of relief. He gently pried her hands from his button-down and leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Later," he whispered against her skin, and made to draw away.

She caught him by the collar and pulled him down for a deeper kiss on the lips. "I'll hold you to that," she murmured against his lips, before picking up her book, a small growl escaping her as she noticed she'd lost her place. Draco chuckled and followed the Healer out.

"This way, please. We can use the conference hall across the ward," the Healer said, opening the door and gesturing to another one opposite. Draco entered, apprehensive. There were two more people in the room; he recognized Healer Hornby, the Healer currently in charge of the Janus Thickey ward. The other man he had never seen before. He was portly and rather serious-faced, and his dark suit did not speak of good things.

"Please have a seat, Mr. Malfoy." Healer Carnegie nodded at an available chair before moving to one across the small table. He turned to the other two in the room. "Healer Hornby? Mr. Jeevas?" The female Healer smiled and took the seat next to Healer Carnegie; the other man – Jeevas, was it? – simply shook his head. Draco gracefully fell into the offered chair. "Well. All right then." Healer Carnegie cleared his throat, shuffled his papers, adjusted his spectacles and clasped his hands. A series of gestures that Draco knew by now did not bode well in hospitals.

"Mr. Malfoy, your wife has been in the Janus Thickey ward under the care of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for almost a year now, since her mysterious appearance in our lobby last February. It has since then been determined that some spell of unknown form and origin has caused her to become clinically insane. She suffers periodic memory loss, the extent of which fluctuates with no noticeable pattern, as well as occasional seizures, fits and lapses in consciousness. During her lucid periods we have determined she can clearly remember events up until the day of her disappearance, of which you have informed us. But she shows no knowledge of what has transpired during the two years since then."

There was a pregnant pause as the Healer thumbed through his papers, during which Draco's fists were clenched and teeth grit as he attempted to control his temper. He'd heard this enough times before; was this all they wanted to tell him?

"A score of Healers have attempted to trace the source of this madness, from tried-and-tested spells and potions to some more radical methods. There has been little to no progress, though some of Healer Akihiko Koizumi's research suggests the cause of her madness may be linked to a particular person, and that were this bond severed, her sanity might return. I have been attempting to do some research and testing myself, but have not managed to produce significant result." Healer Carnegie cleared his throat again and Draco's irritation peaked higher. He did not like hearing his wife put in terms of medical research and testing. She was a brilliant human being, not a hypothetical test case. "Some of your wife's other doctors and I have met with other specialists in this, er, field, to discuss the remaining options for her. This was done last week. I have asked you here today that I may present these options to you now, if you wish." Here he paused again and looked pointedly at Draco, who briefly contemplated walking out without hearing of these "options." But there was trepidation behind his irritation now. He simply nodded for the Healer to continue.

"The first option is to have her brought to Japan, that Healer Koizumi might continue his research with her actually present. He is among the few Healers who have actually come up with concrete suggestions to explain your wife's malady, and the only one who may hypothesize a solution. He has a few tests which he would like to perform on your wife, Mrs. Hermione Malfoy, as well as a few questions for yourself. She will, of course, have access to the best facilities and treatments available in the Tokyo region, where Healer Koizumi is based." The Healer paused yet again to clear his throat. He was fiddling with his spectacles and his papers, a clear sign of nervousness, which set Draco even more uneasy.

"The next option is more drastic, and involves delving into your wife's memories and thoughts to try and draw out the cause of her madness. There are many possible methods: Legilimency, the use of a Pensieve, certain potions and draughts. I can, of course, present to you the advantages and disadvantages of each." Healer Carnegie tugged a paper out of his sheaf and placed it on the table before Draco. "This option has actually been put forth by a few Healers in the past, but the risks involved – chief among them that her memories might be tampered and therefore useless, or that the process of extraction might damage her further – the risks involved might outweigh the possible outcome. However, in last week's conference, it was decided that the option be presented to you, if only for you to know if its existence."

Draco pulled the paper closer by only the very tips of his fingers, his mouth thin, his eyes looking down without seeing. That was, of course, what he and Harry had set out to do, though it had never occurred to either of them that extracting her memories might further damage her. But judging by her appearance today, it didn't seem to have done any lasting harm. Though it was just another thing for him to agonize over. He nodded at the Healer, gesturing for him to continue.

"The, er, final option," Healer Carnegie continued, his fidgeting becoming more pronounced by the second, "is the reason for Mr. Jeevas's presence. Mr. Jeevas is the in-house lawyer for St. Mungo's, specializing in patient welfare. Should you choose to pursue this option, he will, er, be assisting you with the repercussions."

Mr. Jeevas inclined his head slightly in Draco's direction, who returned the gesture. The anxiety was knotting at Draco's stomach now. What could they possibly suggest that required a lawyer?

"Mr. Malfoy, your wife has been hospitalized for almost a year now, without showing signs of improvement. If anything, her sanity is slowly starting to decline; she is insane more often than lucid, and her memory regressions are fluctuating worse and worse. During these lapses she has become more and more violent, twice severely injuring hospital personnel as they attempted to restrain her. She has shown signs of self-harm, which you have, er, previously witnessed. There is a danger she may become wholly detrimental to her health and to the health of those around her, you in particular." The Healer's fingers were drumming on the table, adjusting his spectacles, shuffling his papers, twining and untwining. "A few Healers have broached the subject of Gattsworth's Treatise on the Draught of Living Death and its proposed uses in the medical field, which include, er… Which include…" The Healer trailed off at the look on Draco's face. He didn't remember standing, but standing he was, fists clenched at his side, expression livid. Were they suggesting – how dare they even think – what they were asking him to consider –

"Which include inducing comatose in a patient, a coma from which they will never awaken," Healer Hornby finished quietly. "Mr. Malfoy, we realize this is an incredibly painful choice, and we would never think of suggesting it if it were not a viable optio-"

"An incredibly painful choice?" Somehow Draco had found his voice. "You're asking me to k- to ind- to fucking put my wife to sleep like some family dog who's gotten too sick to move? She's a person, in case you haven't noticed – she's my wife. It won't just be 'incredibly painful' to let her go – how could you even – how dare you-!"

"Mr. Malfoy, please calm down – it is simply a suggestion-"

"It is not an option!" Draco roared, his wand coming out of his pocket, jet of yellow light blasting a hole in the wall right behind Mr. Jeevas. Immediately a handful of Trainee Healers burst into the room, wands at the ready, but Healer Hornby waved them aside.

"We understand your reluctance to see it as such, but-"

"Bloody hell you don't!" And he was shaking now, shaking so hard, because what they'd just asked him to do – the Draught of Living Death – her body, still warm, forever unwaking – he'd already lost her once – "How the bloody hell could you – could any of you understand this? How could you even suggest – impossible – I would never!" He whipped around, trained his wand on Healer Carnegie. "And you! You can tell your precious fucking Healers and specialists that from now on I want none of them trying to poke and pry at my wife. You can take your precious bloody research and shove it up your arses."

"Mr. Malfoy, please-"

"No." Draco's voice was steel and fury and the Healers actually blanched as the word shot from his lips. "This is my wife you are speaking of. I will not – I would never even think about doing that to her. I lost her once already. I will never lose her again." He turned, wand up, and glared bloody murder at the Trainees in his way. "Move."

"Mr. Malfoy-"

"I said, move!" The force of his non-verbal spell was enough to send three of the Trainee Healers skittering backward, one flying full force into the wall behind her. Draco strode out of the room, flinging the door of the Janus Thickey ward open without a second thought. He made his way toward the door, the thin wooden door with its mocking brass plate, threw it open and-

Bloody fucking shit.

How could he have forgotten – he'd put it in his coat but not taken it out – left it there without a thought – so stupid.

Hermione was sitting up on her bed, face pale, sheets in a disarray, fingers shaking, diary open on her lap.

Not for the first time in his life, but probably the most desperate of all times, Draco wished the war had killed him.

"We-" She started to speak, but her voice faltered. She clutched at the pages tighter; her thin shoulders shivered. "You and I-" she tried again. "We're… married?"

And oh, if she had broken his heart before with her forgetfulness and her insanity, it was nothing compared to now. Because there was shock and disgust and wonder and disbelief in her voice, emotions so different from the last time he'd heard those two words from her mouth. And for a second Draco was certain he would faint away, right there in her doorway, the day's events too much for his already broken mind, but instead he dug his voice up from the dust of his heart and said – "yes."

She was silent, too silent, and Draco feared she might – might scream or curse him or simply order him to go away. Instead, she idly flipped a page, then back, and asked, so lost, so frightened, "Why can't I remember?"

Why can't you? he wanted to ask, but instead he says, low and saddened, "That's why you're here." He moved quietly into the room, closing the door softly behind him. "Because you can't remember."

"I-" Her voice caught in a sob but he couldn't, couldn't go to her and hold her like his mind was screaming at him to. Instead he only moved and sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the small book that carried so much hope and caused so much sadness. "What w – ar – were we like?"

Draco's heart caught his throat as he murmured, almost too quiet for her to hear, "We were good."

She reached out and her fingers brushed his hand, barely stayed on the wedding ring on his finger. "Tell me," she begged. "Tell me things. Anything."

"You can't cook." He couldn't look at her, couldn't, because if he did he'd be able to say nothing. If he did he might die. "Or, well, you can, but barely. You've gotten a bit better over the years. But since I'm the one with the paperwork job, six nights out of seven it's usually me in the kitchen." The words come marching out of his mouth, though he doesn't know how they can. "Whenever you leave for a trip you take something of mine with you. It's usually the shirt I slept in so it smells the most like me. You think I don't notice, you tell me I've already thrown in into the laundry pile, but six times I've checked your suitcase before you unpacked and it's there, rumpled and smelling of you instead."

Her touch on his hand hurt, it burned his skin, but he soldiered on, remembering for her. "You taught me how to watch the telly and how to cook and actually like spam and you filled my tiny apartment with too many books, until it got to the point where we had to rent a storage room in the basement so you could put your library there. You had to leave your damned cat with Potter because the landlord didn't allow pets, though one night you tried to sneak him in and he clawed up my second-best dress robes. You accidentally turned my apartment pink once, Merlin knows how, and it took you three days nonstop research to figure out how to undo it. You-" his voice catches, chokes and her hand's gripping his now, so tightly it's embedding the ring into his skin. "You drove me crazy with all your elf-rights movements and your strange sympathy for goblin rights and you always burnt the toast and once in the middle of sex you remembered you hadn't owled Shacklebot about a meeting and you'd been gone an hour before you realized what situation you'd left me in. You…" He couldn't. He couldn't keep going, not when none of this meant anything to her. He could tell her every one of their stories in the past years but they would only ever be stories to her. "You were the reason I was even alive then."

"I want to remember." She says it like she doesn't realize she's saying it. And they're both crying now, she because she has none of the memories and he because he has them all. "I want – I want-" She broke off, sobbing, both hands around his holding tight, the only touch between them but it was more than any kiss, any embrace could do for them both. "Draco I want to go home."

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A/N Recommended listenings: Runaway by The National, The Trapeze Swinger by Iron and Wine, and Konstantine by Something Corporate. Because those are the songs I was listening to on loop while I wrote the last part of this chapter.

If you're bawling your eyes out like I am, feel free to review. If you're not, well, review anyway.