"War does not determine who is right - only who is left."
Bertrand Russell
II
For weeks, Draco had been desperately searching for a skilled healer who could aid his ailing mother. Despite reaching out to many, he found himself met with rejection or incompetence. Time was slipping away, and his mother's condition was deteriorating rapidly. A mysterious curse was draining her body and magic, leaving her weak and fading. She was everything to him, the sole remaining source of his care and concern.
After much persistence, the wizard finally convinced Penelope Clearwater, a healer specializing in magical creatures, to assess his mother. Penelope, a former Ravenclaw classmate from Hogwarts, agreed to examine Narcissa in her room, albeit for a considerable fee. Money was the least of Draco's concerns; all that mattered were the results.
Arriving with a bag full of instruments and potions, Penelope surveyed the room, taking in the sight of a pale and fragile Narcissa lying on the bed. Her eyes reflected a mixture of pity and curiosity as she turned to Draco.
"Hello, Draco," she greeted, addressing him by name. "I'm here to assist your mother. May I?" she asked, indicating the bed with a gesture.
The wizard nodded, stepping aside to give her space. He observed as Penelope approached Narcissa, delicately placing her hand on her forehead and wrist. From her pocket, she retrieved a sleek silver device resembling a watch, which she carefully positioned on his mother's chest. Her brows furrowed in concern as she studied the screen on the device.
"This is peculiar. Her heart rate is alarmingly low, while her body temperature is significantly high. She appears to be burning up, yet barely clinging to life," she remarked, her confusion evident.
Drawing out a vial containing a vibrant purple liquid, Penelope administered a few drops into Narcissa's mouth. After a brief pause, she shook her head with disappointment.
"No response. This is a basic diagnostic potion that should reveal the cause of her ailment. However, it seems to be ineffective," she expressed, her frustration mounting.
Undeterred, the healer proceeded to test several other potions. She attempted a Doloris Lenio elixir that could alleviate pain, a Magicae Roboro draught that had magic restorative properties, and lastly a Venenum Purgo, a detoxifying serum that would cleanse poisons. Regrettably, none of them yielded any positive changes. His mother remained unresponsive, her condition stubbornly unaltered.
Penelope let out a sigh, carefully storing away her assortment of potions. Her expression turned serious as she focused her attention on Draco.
"Draco, I have an important question for you. Prior to my arrival, have you attempted any spells or potions on your mother?" she inquired. Draco nodded, a tinge of guilt washing over him.
"Yes, I have. I've exhausted every possible option. I've tried various healing spells, purifying spells, strengthening spells, and even delved into the realm of dark magic. I've experimented with potions from reputable apothecaries, the illicit black market, and the vast library. But unfortunately, nothing has yielded any positive results," he confessed, his voice filled with desperation.
The healer nodded, comprehending the situation at hand.
"I understand now. This explains why my potions failed to produce any desired effects. Your mother's system is saturated with magic, yet none of it is aiding her. In fact, it may even be exacerbating her condition," she gravely revealed.
Draco's heart sank as fear and regret washed over him. His sole intention had been to assist his mother, but now he realized that his efforts might have worsened her state.
"What do you mean? How is she being harmed?" he anxiously inquired.
Taking a deep breath, Clearwater proceeded to share her findings with him. She revealed that his mother had fallen victim to a blood curse, a malevolent and potent form of magic that bound her to her partner. The witch explained that his father had been the source of this curse and that his demise had triggered its devastating effects. Penelope concluded by informing Draco that his mother's condition was terminal, and regrettably, there was nothing she could do to save her.
She delivered the devastating news to him: his mother had a mere two weeks left to live.
Draco was overcome with shock and grief. The words he heard seemed unbelievable, impossible to accept. The realization that his mother was beyond saving, that her fate was sealed, was unbearable.
"No, Mother. This can't be true. It can't be happening," he uttered, his head shaking in disbelief.
With a glimmer of hope, the wizard looked at his mother, searching for any sign of life, any indication that there was still a chance. But all he saw was a peaceful, lifeless figure. She appeared as though she had already departed from this world.
A solitary tear trickled down his cheek, and he swiftly wiped it away.
"Surely, there must be something, anything that can be done?" he pleaded, desperation evident in his voice.
Penelope sadly shook her head, expressing her regret.
"I'm sorry, Draco. My expertise lies in healing magical creatures, not magical illnesses. I lack the knowledge and skills necessary to break a blood curse. It surpasses my capabilities," she apologized.
A surge of anger and frustration surged through Draco. He wanted to scream, to curse, to assign blame. He longed to rescue his mother. Fixing his gaze upon the healer, his eyes filled with desperation, he implored, "Please, tell me. Is there anyone out there who can assist? Anyone who possesses the knowledge to break a blood curse?"
Clearwater hesitated, her lip caught between her teeth. Her conflicted gaze fixed upon the Malfoy heir, uncertainty evident in her eyes.
"I know someone," she began, her voice measured and deliberate. "Someone who possesses extensive knowledge and formidable skills in magic. This person has dealt with blood curses before."
Draco felt a flicker of hope ignite within him, a glimmer of potential. Leaning forward, he eagerly awaited the revelation.
"Who is it? Who can offer assistance?" he inquired, his eagerness palpable.
Penelope drew in a deep breath, mustering her resolve as she uttered the name.
"Hermione Granger."
Malfoy was struck with a jolt of disbelief and horror. He stared at the healer, unable to fully comprehend her words.
"What? Hermione Granger? The mudblood? The Gryffindor? The Golden Girl?" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with incredulity.
Penelope nodded, her expression grave and resolute.
"Yes, Draco. Hermione Granger. The brightest witch of her generation. The war hero. The curse breaker and St Mungos best healer. She is the sole person capable of aiding your mother. She is also the only one who might be willing to help," she affirmed with conviction.
Malfoy felt a strong desire to resist, to reject, to deny. He couldn't accept that his mother's fate depended on his enemy. Still, he found himself unable to do so. He had no power to take action, only to reluctantly and bitterly accept his circumstances.
Desperate for a means to contact Granger, Draco turned to Penelope and requested her assistance. She provided him with an address. Then, he penned a letter to Hermione, imploring her aid. He sent the letter off with an owl, clinging to hope for a response, praying for a miracle.
All he could do was hope that this time the cost wouldn't be so exorbitant. He had already sacrificed his youth, his reputation, and his dignity. All that remained was his mother, or at least that's what he tried to convince himself. Yet, no matter how much he denied it, the yearning he felt suggested there was still more for him to uncover.
The Malfoy heir suffered the most during the night. When he closed his eyes, he was plagued by vague and terrifying nightmares. Though the specifics eluded him, a sense of dread and despair always greeted him upon waking. He felt as if he was losing his sanity, trapped in an unending nightmare.
To make things worse, he had nobody to confide in. His mother remained under the control of a blood curse, a dark and potent magic that bound her to his father. Lucius had passed away, leaving behind a legacy of suffering and animosity. He had also cursed Draco, burdening him with an unwanted fate.
Most of his time was spent in his office, buried in books and scrolls, desperately searching for a way to free Narcissa. But no matter what he tried, nothing worked, and he couldn't find any helpful information. Time was running out, and so was his hope.
Then one day, Giggles interrupted his studies to tell him he had a visitor.
"Master Draco, sir, there's someone here to see you," the house elf squeaked.
The wizard looked up, feeling annoyed. He wasn't anticipating any visitors. He had no friends, allies, or contacts. Following the war, he had been ostracized by the wizarding community, branded as a traitor, an outcast, and a lowlife. He had no desire to see anybody, particularly not his former adversaries.
Impatiently, he asked, "Who is it?"
Giggles hesitated, aware of his master's current mood. He knew Draco had been increasingly angry and bitter lately, and he didn't want to upset him further.
Nervously, the little creature replied, "It's... it's Miss Granger, sir."
A shock of disbelief and disgust washed over Malfoy. He stared at the elf, thinking he must have misheard.
Incredulously, he asked, "What? Hermione Granger?"
Giggles nodded, his ears flapping.
"Yes, sir. She's waiting for you in the drawing room, sir. The one in the east wing, sir. The only one that's still nice, sir," he quickly explained.
Draco's emotions surged with a mix of anger and curiosity. He was taken aback by Hermione Granger's unexpected arrival at his manor. A week and a half ago, the wizard had written to her with hopes of receiving a reply, yet he had heard nothing back. No letter, no owl, no sign of acknowledgment.
And now, here she was. With a cold and hardened expression, Draco rose from his desk and swiftly exited his office. His steps were purposeful and quick, his mind consumed by a whirlwind of thoughts and intense emotions.
After a long journey to Australia, Hermione had successfully restored her parents' memories and was overjoyed to be reunited with them. She cherished every moment they spent together, taking the time to bond with their adopted son, Eustace. As fellow muggleborns, they shared a special connection, and Hermione adored her little brother just as much as he adored her.
Upon returning to London, the witch had a demanding workload at St Mungo's, where she worked as a head healer in the Janus Thickey Ward. This particular ward specialized in treating permanent spell damage and was situated on the hospital's fourth floor. Most of her patients were victims of the long-lasting effects of the Cruciatus Curse, with many of them trapped in an enduring coma. Hermione felt deep sympathy for them and worked tirelessly to alleviate their suffering and enhance their condition.
That morning, Clarence Allen, one of her interns, entered her cozy and inviting office, bearing a letter. Her workspace was adorned with photographs of loved ones, books, magazines, and a few plants. With a desk, chair, couch, and fireplace, it was a space that she found comforting and familiar.
"Good morning, Hermione. You have a letter," Clarence said, extending the envelope to her.
Hermione graciously accepted the letter from the intern, her curiosity piqued as she noticed the unmistakable Malfoy insignia on the envelope. It was unexpected and left her wondering why a member of the Malfoy family would want to reach out to her.
Curiosity getting the better of him, Allen asked, "Who is it from?"
With a mixture of surprise and disbelief, the head healer opened the envelope and read the name inscribed on the letter. "Draco Malfoy," she uttered incredulously.
Clarence's eyebrows shot up in astonishment. "Draco Malfoy? The former Death Eater?" he taunted.
Nodding, Hermione felt a surge of conflicting emotions. Draco Malfoy was no stranger to her; he had been her enemy, her rival, and her tormentor. The witch vividly remembered the insults, the bullying, and the hexes she endured at his hands. She also recalled his alliance with Voldemort, his involvement with the Death Eaters, and his participation in the war.
Granger had no inkling of what he wanted from her or what he expected. The idea of engaging with him, seeing him, or offering assistance held no appeal to her. Yet, a nagging feeling persisted that he required her help, and it likely involved his mother.
Dismissing Allen, she provided him with clear instructions to check on Thalia Carrow, one of her patients.
"Clarence, I need you to go to room 49-B and check on Thalia. She's the one who's been afflicted by the Tenebrius Curse, remember?" she said.
Allen nodded, recalling the patient. Thalia was the older sister of the Carrow twins, Flora and Hestia, who had been in the ward since the end of the war. She had fallen victim to the Tenebrius Curse, a dark and powerful magic that trapped her in her worst nightmares. Hermione felt a deep sympathy for her and was determined to find a way to break the curse.
"Yes, I remember. She's the one who screams and thrashes in her sleep, right?" he asked.
The witch nodded, a tinge of sadness in her expression.
"Yes, that's her. She's been suffering like that for over a year, and nothing seems to bring her relief. I've tried various potions, spells, and charms, but none of them have had any effect," she said.
Clarence shuddered, feeling a profound empathy for the patient.
"That's truly terrible. Is there anything I can do to help her?" he asked.
Hermione sighed, shaking her head.
"Not much, I'm afraid. Just administer a dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion to help her find some rest, and ensure she's comfortable. Perhaps read her a story or play some soothing music. Anything that might alleviate her feelings of loneliness and fear," she said.
The intern nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.
"Okay, I'll do that. I'll be back soon," he said.
With that, he left the office, making his way to Thalia's room.
Reluctantly, Hermione donned her healer's robes and grasped her wand before apparating outside the dilapidated Malfoy Manor. The once grand estate was now a desolate sight, overgrown with ivy and strewn with shattered glass. The eerie silence and dimness of the surroundings failed to surprise her.
Upon arrival, the witch was greeted by a small house elf, who introduced himself with a bow and a wide smile, his floppy ears flapping.
"Welcome, Miss Hermione. Giggles is delighted to see you. Giggles serves Master Draco," he squeaked in a high-pitched voice.
Acknowledging the elf with a polite nod, Hermione calmly stated her purpose.
"Hello, Giggles. I am here to see Mr. Malfoy. He requested my assistance."
The diminutive creature nodded eagerly, his voice tinged with sadness.
"Yes, yes. Master Draco needs your help urgently. Mistress Narcissa is gravely ill," he said, his tone filled with sorrow.
A mix of sympathy and curiosity washed over her. She wondered what ailment afflicted Narcissa and why Draco Malfoy had reached out to her.
"Could you please guide me to him?" she asked gently.
"Of course, Miss Hermione," he said cheerfully. "Giggles can lead you to him. Simply hold Giggles' hand, and Giggles will guide you there."
Taking her hand, he swiftly transported her to a spacious and bright room. Sunlight poured in through the large windows, illuminating the space. However, despite the brightness, the room exuded a cold and unwelcoming atmosphere. Dark furniture and menacing paintings seemed to glare at her, as if remnants of the dark magic once practiced there still lingered.
As she moved to settle into one of the cozy armchairs by the fire, Draco Malfoy entered the room. His appearance was disheveled, his pale figure accentuated by unkempt hair and hollow eyes. Clad in a black suit, his signature sneer adorned his face as he locked eyes with her, his expression icy and unyielding.
He proceeded to make a cruel joke, his voice dripping with bitterness and sarcasm.
"Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence. The brightest witch of her age. What took you so long, Granger? Were you busy finishing your homework?"