Lazarus

Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy appeared in the smallish back garden of the Catford townhouse with a satisfying pop. One of his personal best re-materialisations. That was saying something.

He took a quick look around at his surroundings. Having been there only once, everything was only vaguely familiar. A glimpse at some rather neglected rose bushes along the fence and the muggle-style shoes piled haphazardly on top of each other by the back door reassured him. They were piled next to an old nimbus broomstick (Generation 3 by the looks of it). He reasoned he was definitely in the right place. Everything had an unkempt but homey feel to it, from the wintery weeds poking up through the cracks in the pavers to the bright yellow door he was making strides towards.

Narrowly avoiding tripping over a stray shoe with what looked like spikes affixed to the bottom (some kind of brutal muggle fighting equipment he assumed) he strode up to the obnoxiously yellow door and gave a firm, polite wrap upon it with his knuckles.

There was silence. Not what he had planned for. Unsure what to do he eyed the spiky shoe and nudged it slightly further away with the toe of his brogue.

Annoyed, he knocked again. This time approaching more of a thump. He had been careful. He was more than certain she would be home. Just yesterday he had been scouring the shelves at Flourish and Blotts, on one of his regular book-finding missions, when he had overheard one of the Patil twins (he never could and never would be able to tell them apart) speaking about it loudly to another woman who looked vaguely familiar from their Hogwarts days. Probably a Hufflepuff.

"Ginny says she's barely left the house in a month. Not since it all… happened," Patil had said to her companion in a concerned tone.

Draco could tell that hiding just behind that concern was also a spoonful of satisfaction. Apparently, even Patil was not immune to the guilty joy of seeing the mighty laid low. Draco wasn't judging of course, he was self-aware enough to recognise the same human instincts in himself. Of course, he had more often been the subject of that tone of gossipy concern.

Fortunately for him, the overheard conversation had given him a bit of a brainwave. This is how he found himself staring with annoyance at a bright yellow door, trying to peer through the blue stained glass with little result. Finally, he thought he heard some movement inside but then all was silent again. He weighed his options. He could return to the Manor and come back another time. The problem was, he didn't want to. He was working to a deadline, of sorts. Merlin knew she wasn't one for correspondence these days—he'd sent half a dozen owls in the past year, and all of them had been ignored. No, this had to be done in person.

At the very least, he reasoned, he should check whether anyone was here. And he did so, pulling his wand from the pocket of his robe and casting a quickhomenum revelio. She was definitely home. He knocked again.

"Hello!" he called and then thinking to himself 'sod it!' (after all, what was the worst she would do to him? Use the muggle fighting shoes?) He tried the doorknob.

Not once had he actually thought she would have left it unlocked. It was merely a formality before casting an unlocking charm. To his alarm, under his fist, the door swung open revealing a sort of back entry room with a row of coats of varying sizes and colours hanging on a wall above a gaudy tiled floor.

"Does nobody have any common sense and basic home security in place anymore?" Draco muttered to himself, taking a step inside.

"Hello?" he tried again, moving through the back room and into a small galley kitchen, packed to the gills with muggle appliances, plants, cookbooks, and (to his horror) dirty dishes. It did not escape his notice that the neatest thing in the room was a pile of empty wine bottles stacked in a crate beside the door he had just come through.

"I know you're home," he called out again. This time he definitely did hear movement. Someone gasped from somewhere deeper in the house and then there was the sound of rapid footsteps on hardwood floors clattering towards him.

He didn't even have a moment to cast a proper shielding spell before a bleary-eyed woman pushed open the door in front of him, wand raised, already casting a loudExpelliarmusin his direction. Such was her passion that not only did his wand fly out of his hand and clatter onto the floor before her, but he also went flying and landed rather ungracefully on his backside. His head knocked back and he only narrowly avoided a braining on a large silver muggle device that was humming ominously.

"Malfoy, what the fuck?!" she bellowed.

"I could say the same thing, Granger" he grumbled, rubbing his lower back as he eased himself up, "I've been knocking for ages" (It wasn't really true he supposed but time was a construct, wasn't it?)

"I might have killed you," she told him, wide-eyed.

"I think we both know that neither one of us is the killing willy-nilly type," he reasoned, putting out his hands placatingly before leaning forward to pluck his wand up off the ground.

As he did so he got a solid look at her from the ground up. Feet encased in soft-looking and well-worn slippers, some kind of tight and borderline-indecent looking muggle trousers but worst of all, as he rose and his eyes went higher he saw she was wearing a stained and very oversized Chudley Cannons jumper. The orange of it all was both offensive to his eyes and his sensibilities.

That wasn't the most concerning aspect of her appearance, however. It wasn't even her hair, although that was even wilder than usual and somehow perched on top of her head like a skewiff Fwooper nest. It was her face that had him sucking in a quick breath. He expected the fine lines around the eyes, the slightly fuller features that didn't accord with the Hermione Granger that came to mind whenever he accessed his inner memory bank (that version of her would forever be 14, slapping the stuffing out of him at Hogwarts). He had been around this present-day version of Hermione Granger enough to not be surprised that she had aged. Much like he had.

What surprised him was the hollowness of her eyes, the downturned, drooping expression that hadn't been quite blown away by her surprise at finding him (Malfoy!) in her kitchen. It was misery he was seeing and he should know.

"Merlin's tits, Granger," he said to her.

It was the wrong thing to say.

She crossed her arms protectively over her chest (he hadn't meant to say the word tits!) and sneered across at him.

"What? Have you come to gloat or something? How the hell did you even get through my wards? I wasn't expecting guests. You're lucky I didn't hex you into next week!" she spat out in a bludgeoning display of speech so fast he could barely keep up.

"First of all," he said feeling unwarrantedly offended (because he would rather appreciate a gloat if he could find good opportunity), "I did not come to gloat. Second, you added me to your wards last year when I brought Scorpius here for that party of yours during summer holidays."

He could read the annoyance that flashed across her face that she had forgotten to remove him from the list of individuals that could apparate directly in and out of her yard. That was quickly followed by something like anguish that crossed her features. (Right… the party).

"I have to say, Granger," he continued quickly, "Your concern about your wards is a little rich considering you don't even lock your back door. I just walked right in."

"Yes, well" she huffed, "I was just outside earlier and I'm used to having rather more security around the place. I tend to forget about it these days".

Of course, Draco remembered. She had a full security detail watching her home 24 hours a day just months ago. Why would she worry about something as pedestrian as locking doors?

"Why are you here, Draco?" she demanded to know.

He spied a teapot from the corner of his eye that looked to be functioning and reasonably clean and then looked pointedly at it for her benefit.

"Why are you here?" she demanded again.

"It's complicated Granger, I'd really prefer to sit and discuss it like civilised grown-ups if possible."

"It's not the kids, is it?" she asked quickly.

"No, no. They're fine. At Hogwarts as far as I know. Shall I make the tea?" he asked before she tried to kick him out without so much as a warm beverage.

She stared openly at him for a moment, clearly puzzled about why he was now in her house forcing her to make him tea. If Draco knew only one thing about Granger, it was that she enjoyed a good puzzle.

So he wasn't at all surprised when she offered him a resigned sigh and then brushed past and used her wand to fill and boil the teapot before making some space on the counter (disgraceful) and taking out two cups and some milk. She set the tea to steep and then picked up the tray the muggle way and beckoned for him to follow her deeper into the house.

He remembered he had always found it infuriating the way she blended magic with muggle in her idiosyncratic way. It wasn't that he cared that she liked to do things the muggle way, it was that it was never one or the other, and as a result, he could never quite predict what she might do next.

He followed down a hallway lined with doors and both muggle and magical pictures of her and Weasley and their two children. She led him past a staircase and into a surprisingly sun-filled sitting room for a December morning in London. The room was well-proportioned, tidy, and reasonably respectable as far as sitting rooms went. However, he also noticed she had one of those ghastly muggle contraptions for watching moving pictures (atelemisionhe thought to himself, feeling slightly smug).

Putting the tray down on a small table, she gestured for him to sit on a comfortable-looking settee that had a thick, woolen blanket strewn across it. He surmised that this is where she had been when he was knocking on the back door. Quite possibly having a nap, if her bleary-eyed stare was anything to go by.

"I did not expect to have Draco Malfoy over for tea today," she muttered, picking up her tea cup and taking a long sip.

"Surprise," he replied dryly.

She frowned. He couldn't blame her. They were not friends or even approximately friends.

"I've had enough surprises to last me a lifetime lately," she told him curtly, "so I'd prefer it if you would just tell me why you're here, Draco".

The way she said his name wasn't like the way she used to say it in Hogwarts. Back then it had been all clipped vowels and venom. Now she said his name as if he were an actual person, albeit one she found very annoying.

"I need a favour, Granger," he said directly.

An odd expression crossed her face. He almost thought it was relief. It was odd to him that she hadn't been expecting it. Why else would he be in her home? During her tenure as Minister for Magic, he had owled her at least 6 times asking for varying favours or expressing his disapproval of specific Ministry policies. Haranguing peoples in positions of authority for favours was a time-honoured Mafloy tradition, after all.

She was looking at him now as if a moment ago the world had been jolted off its axis and he had just righted it for her.

"Oh?" she said cautiously, "what could I possibly do for you these days?"

There was an odd emphasis on the 'these days'. She was referring, he supposed, to the fact that she had just lost the election. The supposedly 'unlosable election' and she was no longer the Minister for Magic.

"Come now, Granger. Surely you recognise that you still have some clout."

She snorted derisively. "I'm a joke, Malfoy," she said viciously. He could tell that the venom was aimed internally and not at him, "Whatever you want, you'd be better off going to Harry."

He looked at the person in front of him and almost couldn't see Granger. She looked small and tired and… weak. Where was the woman whose face had been on the front page of hundreds of newspapers? He had seen her looking confident, he had seen her looking eager, he had seen her patronise people, he had seen her furious (on many occasions). For fucks sake, he had even seen her muster the grit to completely fabricate a story under the cruciatus curse. Where had Granger gone?

It made his skin crawl.

"Don't worry about what the rags say, Granger," he replied after a moment, trying to be nice because he needed something from picked up his teacup and added a little milk from a pitcher she had placed on the tray, "You know what it's like, social pariah one day, beloved war hero again the next."

"I'm not quite sure this is all going to just disappear that quickly," she told him firmly. And then, to his abject horror, she started to well up.

He hardly knew where to look or what to do as her nose scrunched up and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment before opening again with a decidedly wet sheen.

"Oh no Granger, don't…" he started to say, horrified. But it was too late. There was a sad little sob and then her shoulders began to shake. He quickly leaned forward and took the teacup out of her hands before the situation could become even wetter.

"I'm not qualified to deal with crying Gryffindors," he muttered under his breath and then half reached out a hand to console her before thinking better of it and pulling it back to his side.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed through tears, "It's just that, I used to be so busy doing important work! And now I'm so bored and alone that I'm sat here having tea with you!"

Well, that certainly made him feel a bit better about setting her off.

"Oh yes, don't worry about my feelings," he told her crisply.

She moaned again and began to cry anew.

"Granger, Granger… come on now. Stop crying. I don't know what to say to you when you're crying," he fumbled, "Should I floo-call Potter? Would that help?"

"Sorry Malfoy," she sobbed, "I'm so embarrassed. Don't call Harry, he only makes it worse lately."

Draco could admit that a large part of him was reveling in the schadenfreude of it all. Hadn't he owled her and told her that her idea to install muggle technology throughout the Ministry was horrifically stupid? Hadn't he warned her that the Wizarding world was not ready for a formal review of the Statute of Secrecy? It was like she had lost her mind in those last few months before the election. Everything had been going fine and she was a clear frontrunner until that horrendous press conference where she announced what the papers had since referred to as the 'Granger Reforms". It almost seemed to Draco at the time that she was having a fever dream.

Of course, what did he care? He wasn't going to vote for her anyway.

Perhaps, it did make more sense now that the other news had broken.

"I got your owls by the way," she told him, as if reading his thoughts. "Thanks for the warning. What was it you said? Oh right, yes it turns out that I actually am, after all, the 'dimmest witch of our age' and 'incapable of reading the room."

Had he said that? A bit harsh given everything he now knew. Was she going to cry more?

"Sorry" he said and he supposed he meant it, "None of that matters now. Does it?"

"Of course it matters!" she replied furiously, swiping a palm across her cheek to collect the fresh tears, "my life's work is in ruins! I have failed everything."

"You haven't failed at anything, Granger," he retorted quickly, "at least, not in any way that actually matters."

She flinched at his words. Was he being insensitive? (and if he was, did he care?)

Honestly, had he known what he would be walking into he never would have visited her. Who was this Granger? He had never known her to be so emotional, so volatile and so vulnerable. He supposed a younger version of himself would have been delighted to witness it but his current self mostly just felt awkward.

"Malfoy, my life is in shambles. I am failing against every metric I can think of. I may as well be candid about it with you, my former sworn enemy," she said with a wet laugh, "Can't make it any worse."

He chucked at that, even though she was beginning to irritate him deeply. Which he had expected of course (because Granger).

"You could interpret having a former sworn enemy as a mark of distinction," he told her.

She sighed and replied flatly, "It doesn't count because you were always incompetent at being evil. I don't think your heart was ever properly in it, to be honest."

She sounded almost mournful. He felt strangely insulted.

"Sorry?" he tried. She waved him off.

He narrowed his eyes at her and fought a familiar internal battle between amusement and irritation (because Granger).

"You have two children who love you," he said finally.

"They blame me for the divorce," she corrected.

"They might blame you but they also love you," he informed her.

He also knew that to be true having spent considerably more time around her progeny than he had around her in the past year or so.

"Also," he continued," as far as I know you haven't hitched your wagon to a dark wizard, have you?"He was trying to lighten the mood. He thought she could have been polite enough to at least crack a smile. She did not.

"Look," he finished, "Weasley is a moron. That has never been in question. But he's not dead. Your children still have a father."

Perhaps it was unfair, to throw that in her face but he had never been the type to mince words. In fact, he positively relished any opportunity to fight dirty. He happened to be in the privileged position to see clearly that she had her priorities completely out of order and that was exactly why she had found herself in this predicament. The sooner she realised it, the sooner she would be able to put her life back in order and move on to whatever annoyingly impressive accomplishment she had in store next.

"How did you do it?" she asked him suddenly.

"What?" he asked, genuinely unsure of her meaning.

"How did you pick yourself up and go on living your life after Astoria?"

He felt himself pause at first, quite taken aback. Something in her face though made him see that she did recognise that her situation was not the same as his. No dead wife for her. Choosing to be magnanimous (because he still wanted something), he took a sip of tea as he mulled over what to say to her.

"Granger, I can't give you a quick solution. The only thing to do is to take it one day at a time," he finally settled on. She nodded slowly. He could tell she didn't like his answer.

"You need some kind of project, I think," he told her, "I'm not talking about the next big career move. Something small to keep you occupied. That's what I did. It helped".

"Is that what you're doing now?" she asked, finally (finally) getting back to him.

"Of sorts," he supplied, "I'm on a quest for something rather important," he said diving straight into it, "and to get this… object…" he was choosing his words carefully, "I need to travel to Australia."

"Australia?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes," he said, eyeing her to see if he had her on the line.

"Say more," she said, head tilting to the side.

"I believe what I'm looking for can be found there. The only problem is, and here is where you come in Granger, their Ministry has the most mind-boggling, bureaucratic nightmare of a system imaginable. I've looked into applying for a 6-week visitors pass and they told me that it might take up to a year to have it approved."

Hermione nodded in understanding, "It's because of Covid-19" she told him, "the muggle restrictions have significantly affected travel to and from the country."

He sighed, exasperated "That's what they told me but wizards can't even catch the blasted thing!"

"Even though it doesn't make us sick, we can still transmit it to muggles" she lectured, "Australia is an island. It has been uniquely positioned to keep Covid out for longer than most other countries. The restrictions are easing up now that vaccinations are more readily available but they are dealing with a huge backlog. That's why it might take some time".

She said it like it was all so reasonable which, Draco could assure,it was not.

"Look Granger, I know you know the right people to make the process a little quicker for me."

He hadn't been the best father—not like Astoria had been a mother. But this? This was something he could fix. Something he had to fix.

Her mouth fell open. "I can't believe the audacity" she whispered to herself, "well" she corrected, "it's Draco Malfoy. I really shouldn't be shocked."

"Granger, it's important! I don't know if I have a year to wait."

"What's so important that you want me to risk my reputation by trying to circumvent international process?"

"Well… it's… you see…" before he decided to pay her a visit he had been vaguely aware that she would never let him out of her clutches without all of the details. Which is why he was slightly shocked to find himself stumbling over his words.

"I'm waiting."

"I've discovered, or rather, potentially discovered how to brew an elixir that would have cured Astoria of her blood malediction," he said bluntly.

"I see," Hermione replied, although plainly she didn't and he could understand her confusion.

"Obviously," he continued, and he could even hear how serious his tone had become and what a contrast it was to how he had just been speaking with her, "It's too late for Astoria but I have… I am… there are concerns," he said quietly, finding it difficult to spit out the words, "I'm worried for Scorpius."

Shock flooded her features and he could see her thinking about the implications, possibly picturing the beloved face of his only son. He watched as she contemplated the meaning, sadness washing over her features anew. Merlin's tits, he hoped she wasn't about to cry again.

"Oh no, Malfoy," she said softly.

"I don't know for sure," he told her defiantly, "from my research, it doesn't usually become obvious until a little later in life but… I'd prefer not to take any risks. I was too late to find a cure for her, but I won't let him down".

"Of course," she replied simply, "I understand. But you have to consider Draco, I might not have the sway I used to with my counterparts overseas."

Draco shrugged, "worth a try, right? Besides, Potter mentioned once that you spent quite a bit of time down there after school. He didn't go into detail but I know you have connections."

Hermione frowned, perhaps displeased by Potter's loose lips.

"I'll see what I can do, Malfoy. But I'm not making any promises. I'll need more details about what exactly it is you intend to do in Australia before I ask for anything. Their Government will want to know where you will be going, and how long you intend to stay. Those kinds of details."

He nodded once, then drained his tea. Eager to escape before she either changed her mind or started crying again.

"I'll owl you then, shall I?"

"Fine," she said nodding, "If I'm satisfied with the details, I'll contact a friend who works for in the Department of International Wizarding Relations in Canberra" she said.

Sensing the dismissal in her tone (which rankled a little even as he found his instinct was to follow her command) and realising that this was the best possible outcome he could have hoped for from this conversation, Draco took that as his cue to stand up, nod politely, and leave with a muttered but polite: "I won't take up any more of your time, Granger".

"Malfoy" she interrupted," Couldn't you have just sent an owl?"

He gave her a hard look, "I might have if you hadn't ignored every owl I ever sent you" (He added the words "you bint" mentally at the end and thought them furiously in her direction).

She smirked, almost as if she had heard He found himself oddly proud that he had provoked her out of her misery, even if only momentarily.

"Oh and Malfoy," he heard her call as he was making his way back through the house, "You know you'll owe me one if I do this for you, don't you?"

She almost sounded like her old self again.

(Annoying).