A/N: Long chapter ahead, with un peu violence.

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The owl arrived at his clinic early in the afternoon. He didn't open it until well into the evening, when the last of the patients had gone, and finally had a moment to breathe. He leaned back against his desk, still standing, and tore open the seal, all while simultaneously stealing a bite of a crisp, green apple. He hadn't eaten lunch. He began to read the professional, type-written text:

Dear Healer Malfoy,

Re: Hermione Granger

He stopped chewing and scanned the letter much more quickly.

After reviewing Ms. Granger's medical history and presenting symptoms, I have recommended her to consider admission to Ward Four for observation and treatment. She expressed to me that she wishes to avoid inpatient admission if possible.

I also advised her that while I am happy to take her case, she is likely to receive more expedient and comprehensive care at your outpatient clinic. After some discussion, she was agreeable to me requesting another referral on her behalf.

Given her symptoms I recommend that she be seen on an urgent basis.

Yours sincerely,

Rosalie Ingridsson

(for Healer Sadie Shaw)

Below that, in nearly incomprehensible printing, which he instantly recognized as Shaw's:

And try working on your bloody bedside manner, you oaf

Malfoy couldn't help but give a self-satisfied smirk. He could practically hear Sadie's irritated voice - he had heard it millions of times during her residency - complaining about his attitude, his teaching style, the way he breathed. But never, not once , did she criticise his actual healing methods. She respected his professional opinion, and he had to admit, it still felt gratifying.

He strode towards his secretary's desk.

"Please book Hermione Granger in to see me during clinic hours on Friday, Isabella," he instructed. "Or, if she can't come in then, see about tomorrow. I'm only on call at St. Mungos."

"You're already fully booked on Friday," she replied without looking up. "And you know we haven't any spare clinic rooms for you to take over tomorrow."

"Then you need to make it work on Friday," he countered, "push someone else back. I'll close up the clinic myself."

The secretary gave Malfoy a look.

"I wouldn't be asking if it could wait," he pressed, annoyed. "It's urgent."

"Fine," she said, sighing and Accio 'ing Hermione's chart. "I'll book her before your first on Friday. Is that to your satisfaction , Healer Malfoy?" At his replying scowl, she continued with a prim smile. "Only joking. As if you're ever satisfied." With that, she slid the dividing glass between the reception desk and the rest of the waiting room closed. "Have a good evening, Draco," she said loudly from behind the glass, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Well, she didn't need to be so bloody dramatic , he thought, but he didn't really care. He was glad that Sadie had owled him, and he was excited to see Granger on Friday to get this sorted.

Wait.

No, not excited. What the fuck, Malfoy? Relieved, maybe, certainly not excited.

Yes. He was relieved that he knew it was being handled properly, and fine, he was interested in getting to the bottom of Granger's illness.

He sincerely hoped that he was called into Ward Four tomorrow. He was not looking forward to the prospect of idly sitting on his hands at his flat, anticipating Friday's appointment.

Hermione found herself shocked at the speed of things. She'd had more interaction with the health system in the span of a month than she'd had in the previous decade - despite repeated attempts to have her family Healer take her concerns a little more seriously. But she had scarcely arrived home from Shaw's office when she received an owl, informing her that she had an appointment at 7:00 AM on Friday and emphasising that she was expected to be punctual for it.

Fine, she thought tiredly, even though she knew that meant she'd need to be out the door by 6:15. As long as we get this bloody over with.

Despite Healer Shaw's supportive words, Hermione was still uneasy. The anxiety was making her nauseous, and she couldn't bear to have anything other than tea and toast that night.

So, the next morning, she did what she always had in order to bring herself some assurance and comfort. She headed to the Ministry's Library and Historical Archives.

As she was striding through the Ministry, the click of her heels sharp against the marble floors, she again had the feeling that she was going to look up to find Malfoy watching her.

Strange.

Late into the evening, Ron and Harry remained sequestered in the Auror's department.

"I hate this part of the job," Ron moaned. He threw the transcript he had been combing through onto the stack of papers back strewed along his desk. He tugged at his hair, plainly irritated. "No one told me that being an Auror meant being locked in an office with all of this bloody reading!"

"Agreed," Harry sighed, not taking his eyes from the masses of text in front of him. "But we can't - "

" - take any chances," Ron finished lifelessly, now softly hitting his forehead against the papers, scattering them further.

"One sighting of Dolohov could have been a coincidence. Two sightings means he meant for us to find out," Harry said distractedly. He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. He was exhausted. They had all been working overtime since the report a few weeks ago that several onlookers had seen him at King's Cross Station. He looked back at Ron. "D'you think he's toying with us?"

"Absolutely," Ron replied. He began to count on his fingers. "First it was the notes to the Minister of Magic, then it was the attacks in Bulgaria, now he's been sighted in London. I think he relishes the fact he's the last of the inner circle to be brought to trial. He's afraid of becoming irrelevant and being forgotten. He's gloating."

"I don't understand why we're not warning the public," Harry said darkly. "I can't see Kingsley's reasoning for it. And using Veritaserum on innocent people - "

"It's certainly not ideal," Ron agreed, but he shrugged indifferently. "I don't know. Maybe he has more information than we do, and they're trying not to jeopardise any coordinated strategies."

Harry tapped his finger against the desk, then shook his head. "I don't like it."

"Fun being at the bottom of the pecking order, mate," Ron sighed. "Twelve years, and we've barely moved a bloody inch."

Hermione spread the Prophet articles chronologically across her kitchen table. Strictly speaking, you weren't supposed to take clippings from the archives, but really, she was just borrowing them for the night - and she didn't exactly want to be caught obsessing over the relics of Malfoy's public image at her workplace.

She arranged the articles carefully, procrastinating the actual act of reading them. Dread had lodged its hooked fingers into her stomach, and she was hesitant to begin.

Information is your best weapon, Hermione.

Having more data evens the playing field.

She took a deep breath.

"Malfoy Family Sentenced"

The article was published two months after the War. It was a short follow-up to an exposé that had dropped directly after the War, when the Prophet had seized back journalistic control.

Narcissa was sentenced to ten years' probation, Draco to lifetime probation with five years' community service, and Lucius to two years' house arrest followed by ten years' community service and lifetime probation.

Hermione felt her temper flare when she read Lucius Malfoy's sentence. She could only forgive it because of Narcissa. Without her, Harry would be dead. She had to remember that. Narcissa's role was more important than Lucius', so the sentence ought to reflect that, logically.

She shook her head and scanned the rest of the article, the only thing of any significance being that the family assets had been frozen by the court. It hadn't escaped her notice that Malfoy had not only ended up as a Healer, but a specialist Healer, which she knew to be a highly lucrative profession.

"Youngest Malfoy Embraces Community Service"

It seems that Draco Malfoy is intent on creating a fresh start. A year into his mandated community service at St. Mungo's hospital, the youngster is turning heads in a positive way.

"He's definitely excelled so far," Niklas Friedmann, a senior Healer on Mungo's emergency ward, said of Malfoy. "Draco has a lot of potential. He's really impressed me with his work ethic and his intelligence."

So much so, apparently, that Friedmann has decided that Malfoy is capable of more responsibility and has hired him to train as an apprentice Healer. In order to fulfil his sentence following the Second Wizarding War, this work must be in addition to the volunteering Draco already does at the hospital, meaning that the young wizard is logging between seventy to eighty hours a week on the ward.

When asked how he was dealing with the time commitment, Malfoy stated that he was "happy to be of service" and that he "enjoyed the work."

The positive attention will likely be a welcome change for Draco, whose family has been grappling with their ties with the most notorious group in recent history, the Death Eaters…

Hermione didn't bother finishing what was written and she cast it into her growing 'read' pile. The next few were similar praises of Draco, with small additions of the work he was doing. In the early clippings, Malfoy was surprisingly shy of the cameras as well as the reporters. He usually declined to comment. The photos of him were often a quick wave with a polite but uncomfortable smile before he stepped out of view from the camera or looked away.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes at how the papers seemed to fawn over Malfoy's apparent 'reformation.' He had, as Harry had said, kept his nose clean - but this was just ridiculous . Clichéd phrases like "rising above his licentious upbringing" and "a beacon of hope for the youth of the Second Wizarding War" were strewn about generously.

That is, up until she found the article that she had really been looking for, what Healer Shaw had alluded to.

"Draco Malfoy Facing Wizengamot for Supremacist Slur"

Reports are surfacing that despite Draco Malfoy has been suspended without pay from his duties at St. Mungos, pending investigation and an appearance before the Wizengamot. While servicing a patient, the prolific Healer reportedly lost control and shouted a slur at the patient, referring to his muggle-born status. Richard Diggory, one of two acting supervisors at the St. Mungo's emergency department, was present during the incident.

"A terrible shame, but rest assured at St. Mungos we have a zero-tolerance policy for such behaviour," Diggory told the Prophet . "The boy's actions speak for themselves. This transgression cannot be tolerated, particularly from someone who already possesses such dark history."

No one asked your opinion, you filthy little mudblood.

Hermione swallowed heavily and suddenly realised that her mouth had gotten quite dry. She took a sip from her teacup, which was now decidedly cold, and then marched back to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She closed her eyes and breathed, Malfoy's decades-old words bouncing around in her head.

New mug of steaming hot lemon tea in hand, she returned to her task. She set the clipping aside, but away from the others. She was tempted to stop there, but she couldn't understand how Malfoy could have not only recovered from that little slip up, but then had somehow risen to be one of the most respected Healers in Europe just five years later.

A few articles after (detailing how he'd gotten a slap on the wrist for his outburst and how he was generally staying out of trouble), she seemed to get her answer.

"Draco Malfoy's 'Obliviation Therapy' considered a Medical Breakthrough"

Draco Malfoy is being hailed as a hero in the Healing world for his creation of what he calls 'Obliviation Therapy.' The treatment restores the memory of obliviated witches and wizards, a feat that was previously thought to be unachievable through humane methods.

The breakthrough has been 'game-changing,' according to other specialists in dark magic and curse reversal. According to the mastermind behind the procedure, the inspiration for Obliviation Therapy came about through something Malfoy has steadfastly avoided during his career - his past, as a Death Eater during the Second Wizarding War.

"One of our patients in ward four had her memory completely erased," Malfoy said when the new treatment was announced. "She was eleven years old and she knew nothing. The charm had been so extensive that she couldn't even retain any new memories. It was horrific. I started thinking of how it could be reversed. I was taken back to somewhere I didn't want to go—back to when my life was immersed in dark magic."

Sound cryptic? As much as he wanted to forget, Malfoy had learned much from his experiences as a Death Eater's son. During that time, he found out that the only known way memory charms could be reversed was with the Cruciatus curse. Of course, patients could never be subjected to torture just to retrieve memory. The Healer had his work cut out for him. So, how did he do it?

"It seemed like the Cruciatus was an unavoidable piece," Malfoy explained, "so I needed to find a way to work around it. I figured that if the patient was in a state of altered consciousness, the pain might not register. Through a lot of trial and error—not on patients, mind you, through research funded by St. Mungo's—I was able to develop a drought that put the user into a controlled coma. While under the influence of the potion, they are not consciously aware of the pain caused by any curse, including the Cruciatus. We administer very brief, controlled bouts of the curse until the memories are recovered, which can take anywhere from one to over a dozen sessions."

Due to the potential for harm and misuse, only a handful of Healers with specialised training will be permitted to administer Obliviation Therapy, and approval must be sought from the patient, their next of kin, and the Ministry of Magic. When asked if the procedure caused discomfort to the patients upon waking, Malfoy refused to assuage fantasies of a pain-free, quick fix. "There is nothing that can fully mitigate the suffering that comes with the Cruciatus curse. Patients who undergo therapy wake up with considerable soreness and general discomfort, which I've heard described as feeling like you've taken a very potent dose of Skele-Gro. However, our patients are given pain-relieving potions if they wish, and are closely monitored for a period of time after therapy."

Hermione's pulse was pounding in her ears.

Malfoy was trying to pass off the Cruciatus curse as a cure for something.

It struck her as totally barbaric. How could something that horrific, that destructive , how could that possibly—

Shaw's voice, with its American and then affected-British accent, came to mind.

"London's Premier Healer." That was how she had described him.

Hermione had the sinking feeling that confirming her appointment had been a mistake.

"I'm very glad that you chose to come," Malfoy said as he entered the clinic room, chart in hand. He closed the door behind him and all of the noises from the outside world were cut off. He rifled through his notes peacefully, seeming to enjoy the stillness of the room.

She laughed, but she sounded clearly tense. "I didn't think I would," she said. She met his stormy eyes and they seemed a bit softer than usual - perhaps a conscious effort on his part to put her at ease? "Honestly, I was a bit nervous."

What are you doing? Why are you telling him that?

"No need to be frightened," he assured gently, giving her an encouraging smile. He placed a hand on the examining bench. "Please, sit."

She nodded and slid onto the bench, adjusting herself uncomfortably, not knowing where to put her hands. She was starting to get flustered.

This was a terrible idea.

She jolted when she felt Malfoy's hand on her leg.

"Relax, Hermione," he murmured, his eyes meeting hers again. His gaze was steady and reassuring, and she allowed her head to rest back down on the bench.

His touch was colder than she'd expected. He brought his wand to follow his hand.

Goosebumps erupted where his palms and fingers moved.

This was different than it had been with the first Healer—Malfoy was not just touching her, he was feeling her. The pads of his fingers were reading her flesh while his wand elicited small shivers from her at the lightness of its touch.

Touch turned to grip and soon his hands were clamping over her hard, too hard , grabbing, taking . He spoke.

"I'll need you to undress, Hermione."

What?

"Um, I'm not sure that I'm—"

His eyes darkened and his tone was cold. "Don't you trust me?"

"Yes, it's just that I—"

"Good," he whispered. "I'm relieved to hear that you trust me."

Straps of tightly bound cord materialised from the bench and snapped themselves over her wrists and ankles. She instantly began to panic and she thrashed uselessly. "What are you doing ?"

He tutted at her. "Now, now - what happened to trust?" he admonished mockingly, circling her with predatory—no longer soft—eyes. His voice sounded strange.

"Let me go," she ground out, tugging against the restraints.

"So what ails you, Mudblood?" Draco sneered, leaning over her aggressively with his nose barely an inch from hers. "Is it the filth that poisons your veins?"

She spat into his eyes and she saw a flash of— what was that?

Why couldn't she see properly? Malfoy was in duplicate, triplicate, and suddenly she was on the floor, but it wasn't the tiles that had been at the clinic, it was -

" You will pay for that, you muggle scum," he hissed, but it wasn't his voice, it was distorted, but…

Whose? Whose voice?

Suddenly, all of the hurt that she had ever known flooded into her, blinding her and making her writhe there on the ground. Then, as quickly as it had started, it ceased. He looked down at her panting body with a concerned and confused look on his face. When he spoke, his voice sounded the same as it always had.

"I honestly don't understand what your aversion is. Healers are there to help you and it's quite obvious that you're suffering."

Tears were fogging her vision. "Wh- what ?"

He knelt down beside her and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. He hooked his hand under her arm and pulled her roughly onto her feet. He held her there, his grip an iron anchor keeping her still.

" Now, what I am I to do with a Mudblood?" h e asked sweetly. That voice—

Who is that? WHO IS THAT?

"Who are you?" she sobbed.

" A Death Eater," a thousand voices laughed. He grabbed her chin savagely and forced her head upwards. His grey eyes peered into hers, and when he spoke, it was him again, his voice clear and calm. "Or have you forgotten?"

He pushed her off of him and she fell for miles until she was back on the examining bench and everything was as it should be, with the sterile equipment and the quiet tick tick of the clock and Malfoy with his chart.

"It seems you're in need of my Healing, mudblood," he stated matter-of-factly, raising his wand to her throat. " Crucio. "

Hermione awoke in a tangle of bedsheets and her own screams. Somehow, she had ended up on the floor.

She didn't hesitate. She ran to her study, tore out a piece of parchment from her notebook, and scrawled an apology note stating that she would not be able to make her appointment in the morning. She shakily fastened it to the leg of her tawny owl and practically threw the owl out of her window, gasping the address of Malfoy's clinic to the poor, bewildered bird.