"Where is he?" Her voice was so harsh it could have cut through diamonds like they were butter.

Harry stopped pacing to stare at her, his eyes hidden from view behind a thin layer of dust that had settled on his glasses. "Hermione."

"Where is Draco?"

Her patience, which was already thin, was wearing thinner as Harry continued to study her face. His teeth visibly gnawed on the inside of his cheek and he stretched out time in an effort to remain silent as long as possible. He knew that her reaction would be unpleasant at best.

"Harry Potter, tell me right now where he is. He's through there, isn't he?" Hermione pointed to the double doors Harry was currently standing in front of as he guiltily looked over his shoulder at them.

"Well, if you weren't trying to be obvious—" Hermione started for the doors, shoving Harry aside as she went. He grabbed her wrist tightly and held her back, gritting his teeth uncomfortably.

"Hermione, let me explain what—"

Her hair whipped him across the face as she snapped to face him, wrenching her wrist free from his grasp. "No. Let me see him first. Then you can explain. I just need to know that he is okay."

"Well, the thing is that he's no—"

"Harry," Neville cut in, slowly getting to his feet as he uncomfortably glanced between his two bickering friends. "She's not going to rest until she sees him. Imagine if it were Ginny in there."

Harry turned to face Hermione with sad eyes. Everyone could see the debate raging inside his head between what he knew was right and what he knew was necessary.

"If it were Ginny," Hermione repeated Neville's words seriously, knowing that his view would soften at the repeated mention of his wife.

"You can go in," he said softly, causing a sigh of relief to escape her. "But you can't talk to him, Hermione. You can't even let him see you. Promise us that. You can go through the doors, you can see him, and you can walk back out, but you cannot linger. Then we will explain."

Harry balled his fists and fought back a cringe as Hermione nodded, eagerly pushing him out of the way so she could enter the ward beyond the set of double doors. Whatever she expected to see, it was not what lay before her.

She knew that there had been an accident and that Draco had been the one who had come out of it with injuries. She expected that he would be hurt, possibly even barely clinging to life, supported by Healing staff and lots of enchantments. She expected to see bandages and blood and maybe even acidic, pus-filled open wounds, but she did not expect to see what was actually lying in the bed near the end of the ward.

Draco was sleeping peacefully, seemingly without any injuries. He looked as he always did—no pain, no scrapes, no bruises. He was okay. He was not seemingly hurt in any way. He didn't have as much as a scrape. Harry, Ron, and Neville had obviously exaggerated the situation. Draco must have just been extremely tired and she knew better than anyone how he could get when he was tired. No wonder they'd been touchy about letting her wake him if he'd been in one of his moods.

There was no reason why she shouldn't wake him up just so that he would know she was there. There was nothing to hold her back from simply shaking him lightly and telling him it was going to be okay and letting him go back to sleep.

She began to rush toward him, a smile breaking out over her features before she was rudely yanked back by the neck of her robes and a hand promptly placed over her mouth. "Drac—umph!"

"Shh," Harry hissed, spinning her around and half-guiding, half-forcing her back through the double doors. "Do not wake him up. We don't want to deal with him again right now."

"What do you mean, 'deal with him'? His moods aren't all that bad, especially not with me. He looked fine. Maybe a little paler than usual, but that's not saying much…" She looked between Harry, Ron, and Neville in confusion, searching for an answer that she knew they had.

After a round of awkward silence, Neville let out a sigh and spun her to face the sign that hung next to the ward doors.

Janus Thickey
Permanent Spell Damage

Hermione stared at the sign for a few seconds as she thought back to their fifth year. Her photographic memory led her straight to the image she was searching for. "But-but Neville, isn't this where-?"

"My parents live, yes." Neville spoke so quietly that she had to strain to hear him.

Fear struck her so deeply that she was afraid every part of her right down to her internal organs was quivering. "Draco's not...? He isn't…? He can't be… Tell me." She was practically begging them now, unable to look away from the sign that was becoming blurry in front of her as tears threatened to fall.

Draco could not be like Neville's parents, an invalid, a vegetable. Just that morning he had been so full of life as he had danced his way around the kitchen preparing toast and coffee for the both of them, and now he was facing a fate worse than death. He would be handing their daughter Drooble's wrappers for the rest of his life without a clue as to why he was doing it. A sob caught in her throat and Neville wrapped his steady arms around her from behind, just holding her as she cried.

"Hermione, it's not exactly what you think," Harry offered. "He is probably more comparable to Lockhart than Neville's parents. They are not even sure if it's permanent. He just… forgot."

Harry spoke as though having a husband who could barely remember his own name and spent the whole day coloring was more favorable to a husband who could not remember his own name and spent the whole day lying about. She did not see the difference.

Hermione twisted back around to face them, her expression stern. "Forgot what, Harry?"

"Everything," Ron offered lightly, still holding the small girl who was drifting off to sleep in his arms, unable to follow the conversation amidst the confusion.

"He thinks he's sixteen again. He can't remember anything that has happened in the past ten years. He knows who he is, but he does not know much beyond that even though he thinks he does." Hermione heard Harry's words, but she did not understand them.

"So, you mean he can't remember me? Not as I am, at any rate. And he can't remember our daughter? He can't even remember the war?"

"The only thing he's really said so far has been to shout for his father and some tea. He thinks that the Ministry kidnapped him while he was working on his mission for Voldemort and brought him here to keep him out of the way."

"Did he see you?"

"Yes. That's what brought that idea on. He thought I was in cahoots with Scrimgeour. He told me that my disguise wasn't adequate enough for him to not recognize me. In his words, 'Potter, I would recognize that hideous scar and those bloody ridiculous glasses anywhere, so don't act like you had nothing to do with this.'"

"Disguise?"

"Hermione, I'm twenty-five. The last time he remembers seeing me I was sixteen. I'm certain I look a bit different now."

"I'll say," Ron mumbled, prodding Harry's slightly more prominent waistline with his elbow. One stern look from Hermione quieted the smirk on his face instantly.

"You said they don't know if it's permanent? Then why is he here?"

"They don't know much of anything right now, except that he refuses to listen to anyone until his father gets here, which we both know is never going to happen."

Neville answered her second question, feeling responsible to answer any questions pertaining directly to his parent's long-term home. "He's here, Hermione, because it might be permanent. These Healers here are the best at memory recovery, so if he has any chance whatsoever, it'll be with them. He is going to be here for more than a few days, so they figured it would be reasonable to give him a decent bed. He is being taken care of as a personal friend to the Minister."

"Remind me to thank Kingsley later," Hermione mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of her scarf. She did not want to think about what would become of their family right now. She did not want to think at all. In fact, thinking was the one thing she was going to work her hardest to avoid doing. However, there were some questions that could not be avoided, which was led her to ask, "What exactly happened on the raid?"

"Lucius. He—he wiped Draco's memory. But we don't think he knew what he was doing exactly, so he didn't pick a specific length of time to wipe out. You know better than any of us how memory charms work. He's just like Lockhart. He was attacked with no specific memories in mind."

"So it was a blind removal… That was incredibly stupid and dangerous and—"

"Hermione, Lucius isn't in his right mind. All of the rumors are true. You should have seen him. To say he looked awful would be being generous. Luckily, we think his wand has been turning on him due to his random bouts of insanity, so it likely picked a span of time that it felt was appropriate. Draco shares Lucius' blood, and that's probably the only factor that kept him from being wiped back to infancy."

Just as Harry finished his brief explanation, a very sweet old woman in Healer's robes came out from the ward. She glanced around at the group of them and her eyes focused on Hermione. "We're finished running tests now. Am I correct in assuming that you are Mrs. Malfoy?"

Hermione nodded and the witch continued.

"I'm Healer Malone. It's a pleasure to meet you. We have determined that Mr. Malfoy likely does not have permanent brain damage, but rather that his more recent thoughts have all been clouded by the spell performed on him. It is possibly to revive obliviated memories, but it is a very difficult feat. It might even be impossible. However, because the spell was not targeted at a specific set of memories, it did a shoddy job of removing them entirely. More or less, the spell simply put a coat of paint over them that needs to be wiped away before they can be viewed properly again."

"He can still remember?" Hermione affirmed.

The witch nodded. "It is possible. He will need to want it for it to happen, however. You cannot force him to remember. And by the sounds of it, he has not the will or the patience for the task right now. He is torn between wanting to see his father and living in fear that his father will come to punish him for messing up on some sort of mission. It is all he keeps repeating. We think if one of you went in to explain things to him, perhaps a friendly familiar face might jog a few memories."

Hermione instantly volunteered, stepping forward before Healer Malone's sentence was even completed, but Neville held her back. "Let Harry do it. I know from experience that spell damage isn't easy to handle right away, Hermione."

Harry nodded and went to step toward Healer Malone, but Hermione challenged his position. "It should be me, Harry," she argued. "If any of us is going to be able to jog a memory, it will be me."

"Be that as it may, Hermione… What if we can't make him remember anything today? What if he only starts yelling and cursing at us like he once did? It will only upset you."

"Then let it upset me." Hermione's voice was practically a growl.

"Mum?" a small voice asked from Ron's arms, a pair of large gray eyes staring around her at the small circle of people.

"Oh, is this your child?" the Healer exclaimed with a joyous squeal. "I never see my own grandchildren very often anymore due to distance. My children both moved out of the country, you see. I've got one in Ireland and another in the States." She placed a finger on the girl's nose who crinkled it with a giggle. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Lacey," the girl chirped. "Lacetonia Andromeda Malfoy."

"What a pretty name!"

"Who are you?"

"Lacey, that's rude," Hermione scolded, but Healer Malone brushed it aside, scoffing at Hermione's harsh tone with a string of tongue clicking that could have rivaled even Mrs. Weasley's no-nonsense tutting.

"I am your father's Healer."

"Daddy sick?"

"Yes he is, but it is a very strange sort of sick. Tell me Lacey, do you love your father?"

Lacey nodded enthusiastically, rubbing the tired from her eyes.

"Well, Miss Lacey, I will do my very best to make your father better. How does that sound?"

"Good," Lacey mumbled, sleepily burying her face in Ron's shoulder.

Hermione looked between the Healer and her daughter with a fierce expression. "Can I please see Draco now?"

"Perhaps it would be best if Mr. Potter accompanied me for the moment. We will send for you if he asks, Mrs. Malfoy. There is a waiting room down the hall on the left if you would care to stay for awhile."

Hermione glared as Harry followed the woman back into the ward and shut the door in her face.

Hermione glanced over at Ron's watch and saw that it was just past eight. Harry had been in the ward for over two hours now and they had not heard anything about what was going on, neither from him or Healer Malone.

Lacey was curled up in Ron's lap, one of her hands clinging to the front of his shirt because she needed something to act as her teddy bear. He was watching her with a strange expression, looking very much like he wanted to nod off and join her in the land of dreams.

"Thank you for watching her," Hermione whispered to break the silence. "I often expect so much of you, Ginny, and Harry, yet you never question…"

"Hermione, you know that we-" Ron started, but he cut himself off as the small person in his arms stirred restlessly at his voice.

"I know, but it still means a lot." Hermione pieced together his thought for him as she found herself so often doing.

Ron met her gaze for a long while before letting his head lean back to rest against the wall behind his chair, allowing his eyes to drift shut.

Hermione picked up a newspaper from the table next to her chair and began to skim through, reading only articles that seemed to have no basis in actual fact. A distraction was all she needed.

She had made it to her third article, a short clipping about a woman named Virginia Hunts who was convinced that she was a reincarnation of Merlin himself, when she heard a tiny voice talking to her.

"Mum?" She glanced over to Ron who was sound asleep with his mouth slightly open, soft snores resounding from somewhere in his throat. Her daughter was still in the same snuggled position on his lap, except now her eyes were open and staring unblinkingly at their mother's.

"Mom, where's Daddy? Why we in a hospital?"

"Your father is sick," Hermione said honestly, trying her best to sound cheerful. "Uncle Harry is with him and he is going to tell us how Daddy is doing very soon."

"Why can't we see him?"

"Do you know how when you get sick it sometimes makes me or daddy sick, too? Well daddy doesn't want to make you sick."

The girl's face screwed up in concentration. "But I don't go to the hospital when I get sick. Daddy must be real sick."

"Very sick," Hermione agreed.

"Uncle Harry will not get sick?"

"No, darling. Uncle Harry won't get sick. No need to worry."

"Where did Mr. Neville go?"

"He went home to Miss Hannah. Do you remember Miss Hannah?"

The small blonde nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing. "Yes! She is the nice lady with the cocoa, right?"

"Right. She runs The Three Broomsticks. You've been there once. Miss Hannah made you her special hot chocolate even though it was hot outside. I am sure it would taste much better now that the weather is colder."

"Mr. Neville went home?"

"Yes."

"To get special hot choc-o-late?" She pronounced chocolate with every syllable separately, making sure she could not be corrected for any mistakes.

"I'm sure he did, love."

Just as Lacey was about to ask something more about Neville and the hot chocolate, the door to the waiting room opened and Harry slipped inside.

"Uncle Harry!" the girl screamed, sliding off of Ron's lap and rushing to the other man.

Ron awoke with a start, coughing and sputtering. "I'm awake, I'm awake," he grunted, trying to hide a yawn by gruffly rubbing at his goatee.

Hermione was on her feet in an instant, wanting answers more quickly than Harry was capable of speaking.

Harry had scooped Lacey up and was currently in a discussion about Miss Hannah and the hot cocoa.

"Have you ever met Miss Hannah, Uncle Harry?"

"I went to school with Hannah."

"Did she make hot choc-o-late in school, too?"

"I'm not sure if she—"

Hermione cleared her throat with her hands on her hips, staring at the two gossipers. "Can this wait until later?" she asked sternly.

Harry nodded and sat down in the chair next to where Hermione had been sitting, placing the young girl on his knee. Hermione resumed her own seat and Harry started talking without being prompted.

"He's being difficult. You knew he would be. He realized right away that I actually am older and this isn't a costume, and he saw himself in a mirror, so he knows he's older, too. Yet he's convinced that we somehow pulled him through time to stop him from completing his mission. He doesn't comprehend that time has already passed and his mission failed nearly ten years ago. He would not even attempt to listen when I brought you into the conversation. He called you a—Again, he just referred to you as—"

"I'm just 'the mudblood' to him again, aren't I?" Her voice was void of all emotion, her eyes dull.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione… But—but they said that there's hope. He just needs time to remember and to re-adjust. He's been through a lot today. His head might just need a night of sleep."

"He promised," Hermione said quietly, wringing her hands. "He promised that he would never go back. Not to that. He swore to me no matter what that he wouldn't and—"

"It wasn't his choice. He was given the option of staying behind today, but he didn't. He knew we needed him to successfully get to his father. He was brave. You know how brave he is better than anyone. He knew the risks. It's still your Draco in there somewhere, Hermione. You just have to find him."

Hermione breathed in through her teeth, allowing the ice cold of the air to distract her from everything else. Draco could not be back to the man he had fought so hard to run from. It was not possible that the sweet, caring person who had so recently emerged was suddenly back inside his shell of rage and denial.

"Daddy still sick?" Lacey asked, grabbing Harry's face between both of her hands so that he would be forced to pay attention to her.

"Yes, Daddy's still sick," Hermione answered dryly.

"They said that the best thing for him would be rest, familiar faces, and maybe pictures—things to prove that we're not lying to him."

"Familiar faces?"

"Hermione don't. Not today."

"Harry, don't you tell me that you get to go have a jolly two-hour chat with my husband and then expect me to just go home and come back tomorrow like a new day is going to make any difference! If Draco needs familiar faces, then he needs his family. He needs us."

"That chat was far from jolly, and he's not going to—"

"Then he won't remember we're his family! So what? That's fine because I remember we're his family. Family doesn't quit. They don't give up. Not even for a minute. You should know that better than anyone, Harry Potter."

With that, Hermione grabbed her daughter's hand and strode from the waiting room. She continued walking until she had reached the double doors to the Janus Thickey ward. She took a deep breath and pushed through them, ignoring greetings from the three Healers standing at a desk against the wall.

She kept walking until she was standing by Draco's bedside, her hand still firmly clasping that of her daughter's. He was sleeping by the looks of it, his eyebrows drawn together slightly in the middle as though he were entering into a nightmare. Hermione did not care how much he needed sleep because right now she just needed him.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, you look at me this instant."

His eyes didn't open, but her words clearly woke him as he gave a slight jolt. "God Granger, I know you have a big mouth, but must it come around to disturb my nap?" His eyes finally slid open, meeting hers instantly.

Her heart dropped into her feet. With a sharp intake of breath that pulled cold air painfully into her lungs all too quickly, Hermione looked away from his gaze as though she had been burned by his eyes. There was no trace of the man she married lingering in his frosty gray pupils. This man was hard, cold, and absent from everything that had transpired since the war. Her heartbreak was interrupted by an ecstatic squeal.

"Daddy!" Lacey cried, throwing herself onto Draco's bed and across his stomach with a bout of giggles, wrapping him in an enthusiastic hug.

A/N: I know it's been awhile, and for that I apologize. I have a hard time finding motivation sometimes and for some reason I found some today so I wrote a couple of chapters and I hope that I find motivation again soon. I'm always open if you find a grammatical error and even more so if you want to submit theories or suggestions for what you think should happen! It sometimes gives me little ideas. So basically I hope you liked it, and there's going to be a lot of flashbacks starting in the next chapter which I'm really excited about, and I hope everyone else is too!

xo Ashley