A/N: Thank you so much for the love! You're all amazing =)

Disclaimer: I did not write the Harry Potter series.

The sight before her was not what Hermione expected. When she first heard Malissa Greenhawk's history, she had to admit that she was picturing an old lady with wrinkled face, sharp eyes, crooked nose, dark lips, and wild fraying hair—well the stereotypical evil witch in Muggle fiction. The tiny detail that the witch had been in Azkaban prison since before she was born made her anticipate the worst possible behavior from the prisoner. She mentally prepared herself to see an older version of Bellatrix Lestrange, who happened to be her companion's late Aunt. She turned her eyes to Draco to see if he was as stunned as she was, but his face showed no clue.

If it weren't for the bars and rough stone walls, Greenhawk's cell would look very much like Professor McGonagall's office in Hogwarts. At the center of the cell was a long rectangular wooden table, illuminated by an antique desk lamp. Piled on its left half were neatly stacked issues of The Daily Prophet, books, journals, and parchments. At the right side was a layer of different quills, dipped in ink bottles of varying shades. At the center of the table sat the prisoner whose long blond hair was braided into a bun. She was scribbling halfway through an old parchment, her fingers stained with ink. Sensing their presence, she looked up and recognized them in an instant.

"Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy," she addressed them with calculating eyes. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Hermione didn't have to ask how the woman knew their names. The pile of Prophets on the table was enough proof that she'd been keeping track of the wizarding world outside Azkaban, and Hermione was certain that her name did not appear in the paper just once. "We need to know how to revert the effects of Valieris Memoria on a victim's mind," she replied, not beating around the bush.

She did not miss the split-second spark Greenhawk's eyes. "I should have known," she told them, putting the quill she was holding back to its bottle. "Indulge me, Ms. Granger. Who conjured the spell? Who was the victim, and what became of it?"

Hermione absently tightened her grip on the wand that's hiding in her robe. If she needed honest answers from this woman, she had to give her truthful information as well."I did it," she confessed, "to my parents, to protect them from Voldemort and his death eaters." She felt Draco shift uncomfortably at her side."I altered their memories to think that they didn't have a child. That I don't exist." Her eyes burned at her confession, but she knew better than to cry.

Greenhawk's eyes bore into hers before nodding slowly, as if formulating something in her mind. "I'll give you the answer you seek, Ms. Granger, only if you promise to grant me what I've been wanting all these years."

"What can I possibly offer you?" she asked, her heart drumming wildly in her chest.

"My freedom," the prisoner replied without blinking.

"What makes you think you deserve freedom after what you did?" Draco accused, speaking for the first time. Conviction, however, was absent from his voice. Somehow Hermione knew that his question was directed more to himself, than the prisoner in front of them.

"I am innocent."

There were certain rooms in the Malfoy Manor that Scorpius had never dared to trespass, and there were also dungeons, which his father had long declared to be 'off limits'. He'd learned about his family's association with the dark arts at an early age, as well as the consequences and terror that such power had brought upon their world. Guided by his father's counsel, Scorpius knew better than to dwell on that dark past.

This room with the word POTIONS engraved on its door was one of those that were foreign to him. It's not that he wasn't curious enough. It was just that though he wanted to, he could not figure out a way to open the door. He tried everything—from Alohomora to Reducto—all to no avail.

"Crookshanks," he whispered the password that Professor Weasley had written for him, and the door slid open in an instant. Who would have thought that the key was the name of a ginger cat that he'd never even met. He stepped forward and entered the room.

The chamber smelt of an old apothecary, very much like their potions classroom in Hogwarts. Suspended on the room's four marble walls were glass shelves filled with bottles and vials of different ingredients, labeled accordingly. Most of them though were already emptied out. Below the shelves were glass drawers that housed the different potion-making tools and equipment, sorted according to use. At the center was a huge round table, also made of glass, on which five cauldrons of different sizes were positioned. If he only knew that that such a place existed in this house, he would have been better than Albus in Potions.

As Scorpius scanned the room in awe, he reminded himself of his purpose. The professor—whom he had not forgiven just yet—told him of this potion that she had to brew that would help his father's condition. It was something that he should have kept drinking even—especially, she stressed—after his accident. She asked him to help set this room up and scribbled instructions in pre-heating the cauldrons before going out with Rose to gather the needed ingredients. He asked Plompy to watch over his sleeping father after they left.

He walked around the table to look for the right cauldron when he spotted something on the marble floor. It was a photograph. He picked it up to take a closer look, and saw his father and Professor Weasley in this same room, beside a simmering cauldron.

Draco was smiling as he watched her squeeze the juice out of a black fruit into a glass vessel. Playfully, Draco dipped a finger into the vessel and quickly drew a wet black line from the bridge of Hermione's nose to its tip. Hermione smiled at the interruption and looked up at him, pulling his face closer to hers for a kiss.

A/N: I know this chapter is a bit uneventful, but please be patient! I already have the entire story in my head :)