Hermione finished her glass of water. She knew time was of the essence but her nerves were completely frayed. She felt as though a small fissure, which had been forming inside of her for months, suddenly burst open and she was free-falling. It was disorienting. Hermione had known for some time that the end was near, but her ever-processing brain could never have imagined the shambles in which everything would end. The suddenness of it all was jarring. And to have an audience for the vast majority of the unraveling was unexpected and miserable. First Malfoy, now Theo. Mustn't forget Pansy. Which Slytherin would pull up a chair to the dissolution of her engagement next? Salazar himself?

She had been pacing, but stopped to set aside her glass of water and assess her reflection in the mirror. She looked a mess. Her hair was falling from the bun she'd hastily tied when she had begun packing what seemed like forever ago. And her cheeks were paper white, freckles stark against the unnatural hue of her skin. Even her lips were pale. Hermione dragged a hand down her face and barely stifled a groan.

With her wand, she summoned her bags to follow her down the stairs. All she had to do was make it to Britain and then she could have herself a little breakdown in private for once.

Paul and Theo were standing together in her kitchen and Hermione could tell right away that something was amiss. Theo looked over his shoulder at Hermione and turned to her, face grave, but there was the ghost of an impish smile in his eyes that belied his seriousness.

"Granger, there you are," he began, moving to stand next to her. Hermione's bags thumped lightly against the kitchen floor near her feet. "Paul here seems to have been sidelined by some latent side effects of a rather nasty curse he fell victim to in the field last night."

Hermione looked from Theo to Paul who, as if on cue, dry-heaved into the sink. She couldn't see his face, only the bunching of his shoulders as he hunched over her sink which would never again feel clean enough for food-related use. Theo raised a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat.

"What happened?" She asked incredulously. Minutes earlier, Paul had been the picture of health—a bit jittery with nerves, but certainly not unwell enough to be heaving up his dinner.

Theo unfurled his fingers to swipe them thoughtfully against the sharp line of his jaw as he watched Paul moan in agony. "Who can say. One minute he was regaling me with the details of his most recent trip to the French countryside and the next he was assaulting your sink with what I detected might have been bits of cabbage and rice," said Theo. Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"That's…that's, thank you for the imagery, Theo," she said, fighting against the ball of sickness that rose in her throat at the thought.

"You're welcome," he said with exaggerated cheer.

"I suppose we'll just go on without him tonight and tomorrow the Ministry can send someone else," Hermione said with a shrug.

"Afraid not, Hermione," Theo replied and slid his hands into his pockets, turning to face her.

"Well, then we lose a night and part of tomorrow morning," she challenged.

"Or," Theo said, drawing out the two letter word like it was a full ten syllables. "Or we switch out Paul for someone with a stronger constitution." He looked rather pleased with himself. Paul, on the other hand, vomited.

For the third time that evening, a knock sounded at the door to Hermione's flat. And Theo, apparently having made himself at home enough to adopt the task of receiving guests announced, "Come in!"

The door creaked open, then closed with a quiet snick. Hermione listened as heavy but unhurried footsteps approached the kitchen. Theo's eyes remained on her, an unmitigated twinkle in their springy depths. A broad presence filled the doorway, nothing but a black blot in the very peripheral of Hermione's vision. She gritted her teeth and dredged up the blackest, most ire-filled glare she could manage and hurled it at Theo silently. Theo grinned back at her with a smile that would bring Aphrodite herself to her knees.

"Am I interrupting something important?" Came the smooth and newly familiar voice of none other than Draco Malfoy.

Theo was quick to action and turned from Hermione with a wink.

"Yes, it appears the escort you sent won't be able to join us on our journey back to the homeland tonight, Dray," he said with a feigned pout. Theo walked over to Paul and gingerly put his hand on the man's bowed shoulder. Paul retched anew, jolting Theo back a step. "Paul is feeling unwell."

"I can see that," Malfoy said and took his first step into the kitchen. Hermione finally jostled herself from her shocked stasis to glance over at him. He was dressed much the same as the night before and she simply couldn't believe that after over five years of never even hearing his name mentioned in passing, she had now spent two consecutive evenings and one morning in his close proximity. "Granger," he said by way of greeting, nodding his perfectly coiffed blonde head at her as he drew closer. He carried a small takeaway cup in one of his hands and the other he had stuffed into the pocket of his black trousers. In contrast to her rumpled state, Malfoy seemed to be radiating poise. And the sight of his elegant form in her very ordinary kitchen was unsettling, like he was an apparition she had conjured up from the depths of her mind.

He strode past her on a breeze of sage and citrus and the all-too-familiar aroma of fresh coffee. When he got to Paul, he paused and put a hand on his shoulder the same way Theo had. "You all right, mate?"

Paul sniffled. The two exchanged a quick back and forth in French, Malfoy's eyebrows drawing together as Paul spoke in a warbled voice. He nodded and gave Paul's shoulder a couple sympathetic pats. They both turned back toward Hermione and Theo, who had sidled up next to her and away from Paul's area of contamination.

"Paul will be returning home," Malfoy announced, walking him slowly toward the door. As they drew closer, Hermione could see Paul begin to gag and swallow, a new layer of sweat breaking out across his brow. Without thinking, she grabbed for the first thing within reach, which just so happened to be Malfoy's coffee cup, transfigured it into a bucket and shoved it into Paul's chest.

Everyone paused as Paul retched into the transfigured bucket. Theo watched Paul with a look of pity, disgusted pity, but pity nonetheless. Malfoy stared at Hermione with a look of mild indignation, paying no mind to Paul's chorus of ejection at his side.

"I hadn't even tried that yet," Malfoy said.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said in a rush, ushering Paul forward. He lurched toward her and followed her direction back the way he had entered not an hour earlier.

"My deepest apologies, Miss Granger," he slurred at the door. "I must go now," he said and all but threw himself out the door and out of view, clutching the bucket against his chest like a life preserver.

She walked back into the kitchen in a hurry. "Is he going to be alright by himself?" She asked Malfoy.

Malfoy turned from Theo at her question to give her his attention. "Don't worry. I left an Auror downstairs to accompany him back to the healer," he said.

"And what about the Auror accompanying us to London?" She asked, though she was almost certain at this point she knew the answer.

"There's no one else this evening that I can assign to this case. In order to keep you on schedule, I'll be accompanying you and Theo myself," he answered smoothly.

"And we're thrilled to have you," Theo cut in before Hermione could say anything in protest. "Now, shall we get going? I believe you two are scheduled to meet with Parvati tonight at shift change in," Theo glanced down at his watch, "one hour."

"What do you mean, you two," Hermione asked, cutting a glare at Theo at the same time Malfoy's platinum head turned to look at him.

"Exactly as I said, mon trésor," Theo replied with a smile. "You and your French escort are scheduled to meet with Healer Patil at St. Mungo's this evening. Draco will accompany you until a more succinct procedure regarding your French counterpart can be devised," he finished.

Hermione looked from Theo's smiling face to Malfoy's more neutral expression with narrowed eyes. "I'm sure he has more important things to do than babysit me, for Merlin's sake, Theo. I don't need an escort!" Hermione felt the absurd urge to stamp her foot in assertion of her point, but felt that such a display would only work against her.

"Yes, and I didn't need to knock Pierre out a second time but we are all sometimes obliged to submit to what must be done, Granger," Theo said and turned to Malfoy in the next breath. "Draco, that reminds me, I must file some paperwork with your office before returning to Britain tonight."

Malfoy stared between Hermione and Theo in quiet shock for a moment. There was no doubt that he was puzzling through what he had just heard. Theo's declaration coupled with the violent ruby flush that exploded across Hermione's chest and face had him pursing his lips in confusion.

"Theo," Hermione hissed. He ignored her with a pleasant smile.

"I'll chuck off over there now," Theo said as he straightened the lapels on his jacket with a practiced ease. "I assume you two can get to St. Mungo's without me?"

"Yes, I think we can manage," said Malfoy with a level of calm that Hermione could only now dream of.

"Then I'll leave you to it."

Theo reached into the little vase of floo powder Hermione kept on her mantle, tossed it into the floo while calling for the French Ministry, and disappeared in a roar of emerald fire.

Then he was gone and the looming presence of Draco Malfoy seemed to expand in the quiet of her kitchen. The sun had completely set and the deep blue dark that had crept in only managed to fluster Hermione further. Sunset had come and gone, quiet as a mouse, and the onset of another night had begun unnoticed. Time seemed to be slipping through her grasp, fragmented into enormous events that were shaping the trajectory of her near future. She wished she could get some distance from it all—to find the space apart and allow the more reasonable parts of her brain to kick back into gear. Usually, it wasn't difficult for her to set aside her emotions and focus solely on the facts in order to find the right path forward. But she found that in the past handful of hours she was struggling with detaching herself.

With a wave of his wand, Malfoy illuminated the lights around the kitchen and Hermione realized they had been standing in the dark. Now awash in the warm glow of the lights, Malfoy looked around the room.

His silvery gaze traced her unexceptional kitchen, from the butcher's block countertops to the white appliances that had seen better days. His face remained a mask of casual indifference as he took in the stack of dog-eared cookbooks shoved into a corner and a sauce splattered tea towel hanging from the door of the oven—a casualty of a new arrabbiata sauce she had attempted four evenings back. It had been good she thought, sounding defensive even in her own mind. Of course, Pierre hadn't been there to try it as he was supposed to, choosing to spend his evening at a seedy brasserie in the eighteenth instead.

While she had been lost in the memory, she hadn't noticed Malfoy's gaze catch and lock in on something. It was only when he began to move forward that she jolted out of her haze and tracked him as he slowly crossed the kitchen. He tugged at the fabric of his dark trousers before sinking into a crouch in order to collect something from the ground near the small wooden dining table. When he stood, he held Hermione's discarded engagement ring pinched between his thumb and forefinger. For a long moment, his eyes remained fixed on the sparkling diamond set in six prongs on a thin gold band. He turned it from side to side and studied it with a singular focus. Then he turned his head away from the ring and locked his eyes on Hermione's flushing face.

"Missing something?" Came the smooth tenor of his sophisticated lilt. He had a gravitas to him that Hermione did not remember him possessing at school. Perhaps it was how broad he'd become, muscled and tall. Perhaps it was the mature, hard angles of his face, or the steadiness behind his eyes. She couldn't put her finger on it.

"Erm, yes, thanks," Hermione muttered and sheepishly walked toward him to retrieve the ring she no longer had cause to wear. At her approach, Malfoy lowered his hand so she could easily reach the ring. She plucked it from his waiting fingers, careful not to let their hands touch.

He watched with a wrinkle between his brow as she pocketed it instead of slipping it back on her finger.

"Shall we go?" She said, her voice a tad too high-pitched.

Malfoy didn't immediately respond, choosing instead to let his gaze press into her like a lead blanket. She had the feeling that his discovery of her ring on the ground had only aided in deepening his curiosity surrounding her fractured relationship with Pierre. While he had no idea that Pierre had been laying unconscious in the very spot he was now standing, Hermione found herself wondering how long it would take him to put everything together. He was, to Hermione's long-standing irritation, a brilliant wizard and had always rivaled her in intellect. It was only a matter of time. She could only hope to distract him for now.

So, she walked to the floo, summoning her bags to follow and reached for the powder. "No bags?" She asked over her shoulder.

Malfoy came to stand behind her. "No," he said without expanding any further. Hermione rolled her eyes.

She stepped into the hearth and called, "St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries." Then, she dropped the powder and let herself be swept away.

—

Hermione landed in one of the many floos lining the back wall of the lobby in St. Mungo's . She stepped to the side to make room for Malfoy, who appeared moments later. He bent to retrieve her bags as he appeared, and strode into the lobby.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Hermione said as she broke into a little jog after him. Him and his damn long legs. She felt like she'd spent half the day jogging around after him. Malfoy did not respond to her protests regarding her bags. He gripped the handles of both her leather duffle and smaller tote in one hand easily and walked on as if he hadn't heard her.

Together, they crossed over the large, gilded seal of St. Mungo's, inlaid into the center of the lobby floor. Hermione thought it strange to feel both nostalgia and trepidation at seeing the wand crossed bone emblem of the hospital beneath her feet. It had been a long time since she'd been in these halls. She tried hard not to focus on the soon-to-be patients moaning in their waiting room chairs or the nurses hurrying around in their stark green robes. There were too many painful memories from the war that ended or began at St. Mungo's, and Hermione wanted to stay focused on the task at hand and not lose herself to the ghosts of long ago.

In the end, she settled on locking her attention between Malfoy's broad shoulders as she slowed to let him lead the way to the reception desk.

When they approached the desk, Hermione watched as the witch on duty straightened and covertly smoothed her hair at the sight of Malfoy. She was young, fresh-faced and pretty with rosy cheeks and bright eyes that glistened as they beheld the marvel of Malfoy's aristocratic features. Hermione reached his side and snuck a peek up at him. It wasn't like he was smiling, or that he looked even remotely interested. He maintained the same air of detachment she'd come to expect from him, but he wasn't dim, and she wagered he must know the effect he had on women—this one being no different.

"Good evening. We're here to see Healer Patil," he said politely.

"Ah, of course. I'll just need your names, Mister…?" She responded in a saccharine tone, batting her eyelashes one too many times for it to appear natural.

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Had she gasped? Hermione narrowed her eyes at the witch, feeling slightly miffed.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy. And your…?" She flicked her eyes briefly over to Hermione then back again.

"Hermione Granger," he supplied, without playing into her very obvious trap.

"Miss Granger, very well. I'll get you both checked in. Healer Patil's office is on the fourth floor in the Janus Thickey Ward."

"Thank you," said Malfoy. He turned his head and lowered his gaze to give Hermione's still-furrowed expression a once over. Even in her heels he loomed over her. Under his amused scrutiny, she unwrinkled her face with some difficulty. "All right, Granger?" He asked under his breath. She was close enough that she could hear him clearly, but he kept his voice low to give their public conversation the illusion of privacy. Just so, because Hermione felt his undiluted attention keenly in the amorphous din of the lobby. She managed a tight nod, ignoring his answering smirk. As he turned back to the desk, she realized up until moments ago, she'd never heard him use her first name. The thought struck her as if she'd put her finger to a live wire.

"Here are your visitor badges," said the witch behind the desk, drawing Hermione's attention from her own inner thoughts. When she looked up, the witch was handing them exclusively to Malfoy, a sultry smile on her shimmering lips. "And my name is Clara, should you need anything during your visit." Her eyes were locked on Malfoy, glittering with an earnestness that nearly reddened Hermione's cheeks in its brashness.

Malfoy plucked the badges from her hands with a tight-lipped smile. "Cheers," he said, then looked back to Hermione and cocked his head toward the lifts. "Shall we?"

He didn't wait for her to respond and instead walked into her space in order to prompt her into motion. They walked toward the lifts in silence. Malfoy held Hermione's bags in one hand and their visitor badges in the other, and to her irritation he didn't move to hand her any of the items he ferried.

Ensconced within the relative silence of the lift, Hermione muttered, "You look like my butler, you know. Carrying all my things."

To her surprise, Malfoy released a two-note laugh that sounded as genuine as they come. She stared at him, open-mouthed. He watched her with a touch of mirth in his grey-blue eyes.

"You forget I was raised to be a gentleman, Granger," he said in answer.

Hermione snorted in a very unladylike fashion in return. "Even toward mudbloods?"

The word was out before she could even think twice, and it hung between them like a corpse on a rope. Their eyes caught and something in his darkened, eradicating the youthful spark of mirth they held seconds ago. The silence in the lift grew teeth and sank into Hermione's conscience. They stared at each other for a long moment and Hermione, stubborn as she was brilliant, rolled her lips together to keep from recalling the word. As the seconds ticked on and the lift shot upwards, the look of surprise on Malfoy's face slowly gave way to…was that regret? She couldn't be sure. Though she was forced to spend more and more time with him, she had yet to really learn much about him at all. She couldn't tell if the slight feathering of his jaw and the way he drew in a slow breath through his nose meant that he was hurt or that he was gearing up for the dressing down of the century.

Before he could open his mouth and reveal himself either way, the lift dinged and the doors slid open with a soft hiss. The mask of his cool indifference she had come to know slipped back into place like a stone dropping beneath still water.

Malfoy rolled his shoulders and stepped forward, situating himself between the open doors and raising an arm to usher her into the florescent glow of the fourth floor.

"I understood myself only after I destroyed myself. And only in the process of fixing myself did I know who I really was."

- Sade Andria Zabala