Chapter Text
She closed the door right waiting until she could hear the click on the latch before pressing her back against it and wiping the single tear she had let escape. She brushed it away and allowed the sadness that had consumed her inside her parents’ living room to disappear. Today was the start of a new chapter in her life and she would not dwell on the sadness. There was so much else in life to celebrate and she was eager to return to her office at the Ministry.
As she stepped away from the door, she looked back at the door to her parents’ home in London. She was so grateful that she had them back- that they had welcomed her back with open arms and were helping her get her life settled in her new normal. She walked a couple blocks down the road to treat herself to a cup of coffee before heading to work. She set her bag down on the cafe table looking for her Muggle wallet to find it missing. She checked the pockets of her jeans and realized in the chaos to leave she must have left it behind.
Tomorrow, she thought to herself. She could grab something near the Ministry later. She glanced into the cafe wishing she hadn’t been so careless. She probably left her wallet on her dresser or at her parents’ home, but she didn’t want to waste time to search. She would find it this evening.
She took one last glance through the window, when she noticed a speeding car in the reflection. She turned, the car barreling toward the cafe and jumped to safety. The cafe table flew up on impact careening into her slamming her into the shattering window. Fragments of wood, glass and concrete flew in the air. She knew her head was about to slam into the tile floor of the cafe and she whispered several spells hoping her wandless magic would protect her.
There was a flash of white, then black.
She opened her eyes to find herself on the floor of her favorite Muggle cafe, but when she looked at her feet they were outside. She closed her eyes again.
She opened her eyes to find herself in the back of a Muggle ambulance, paramedics treating her with urgent but trained precision. She closed her eyes again.
She opened her eyes to find herself in a Muggle hospital, an IV in her arm and a dryness in her throat. She was alive, but so tired. She closed her eyes again.
“Hermione, Hermione” a familiar voice whispered “Can you hear me?”
She opened her eyes to find herself looking at her best friend, Harry. Relief in his eyes.
“Hermione, we’re having you transferred to St. Mungo’s. Everything is going to be okay.”
She closed her eyes again.
She did not open them again for two weeks.
Hermione woke up in a hospital bed at St. Mungo’s alone. The chair next to her bed was vacant, but based on the collections of items on the table between the bed and the chair suggested that the room was regularly occupied. Chocolate frog wrappers, quidditch magazines and a half full glass of water lay scattered on one half of the table, while the other half was laden with perfectly stacked books. She could hear the bustle of healers and patients alike in the halls, a cacophony of hushed conversations, footsteps and spells.
She tried to sit further upright, but while her mind felt equal to the task, her limbs felt heavy and stiff. When she tried to call out for help, the words died before reaching her tongue. Her throat was dry and she was keenly aware of how thirsty she was. She was a statue of marble flat in the bed, only flexing her fingers as she tried to regain some sensation. She could tell by the stiffness in her body that she had probably been here for a while.
I hope Ron and Harry are safe.
Her friends. Where were her friends in a moment like this? Had they come often to see her? Were they lying in rooms adjacent to hers?
How did I even get here?
She had no memory of an accident, or a battle. Voldemort was defeated, Harry was alive and the Death Eaters were due to stand trial.
Everything was over. We won. So what happened to me?
The more she tried to think, the more her head started to spin. A fogginess descended over her like a looming storm cloud preventing her from stringing together a coherent thought. An image of shattered glass flying slowly over her head and the cold tile of the cafe flashed, and then black. Hermione knew it would probably be best to give her brain time to refocus. She would not allow herself to have a panic attack.
Just focus on waking up. You’re safe. The rest will come later.
She continued to flex her fingers and tried to stretch her neck. It felt good to move. She noticed the yellowing of old bruises on her arms that lay by her side, comforted by the fact that whatever caused her to be hospitalized was not so long as for the bruises to completely heal, though it was possible the lack of circulation made it take longer to fade. She was not a healer, so she could be wrong. It would be nice to have a book on the subject.
Harry backed into the room finishing a conversation with someone in the hallway, his eyes focused away from where Hermione lay. It was clear he did not expect her to be awake. When he finally turned around, juggling a few pastries, sweets and a sandwich, he dropped them all on the floor in shock.
“Mione, you’re awake. Are you feeling okay?” Harry stammered.
She nodded in response, still unable to force a word.
Her eyes remained transfixed on him, like she couldn’t place who he was. She knew it was Harry, but he looked different. His face looked the same and his voice sounded the same. Were his shoulders a little broader? She definitely did not remember him being filled out that much. Maybe she had failed to notice it before. They had just been fighting a war, and Harry’s physique wasn’t her top priority in making observations. Now that she had not much else to do, she looked him over. He didn’t look like the teenage boy that just defeated Voldemort, he was a man.
Harry met her gaze with his own perplexed one. She knew he could tell she was thinking, and confused.
“I am going to get a healer. Please try not to move. Your husband is going to kill me that I left you to wake up alone.” he lamented.
Before Hermione could react, Harry was out of the room.
Husband?
She did not know what Harry meant. Maybe a joke? She and Ron had finally had their first kiss. She had a few other fleeting memories of holding hands at a family dinner at the Burrow. She knew Molly had made a remark in passing a time or two about Ron making her officially her daughter, but that she was family nonetheless. Regardless, she was too young to get married and planned on finishing her education at Hogwarts next year. There was still much she wanted to learn before making any decisions about marriage and careers.
She brushed it off and thought about how nice it would be to have a year at Hogwarts without the threat of Voldemort. Being a witch meant that the opportunities of being a “normal” teenager were scarce, but his presence looming over her school career had caused her to grow up faster. She was looking forward to drunken parties in the common room and Hogsmeade weekends almost as much as she was finishing her classes. The threat of expulsion had always kept her from acting rashly without good reason, which meant she had saved her rash behavior by breaking the rules for the greater good. Now, she could be a little more free with her indiscretions and who was going to expel the Golden Girl? It was absolutely ridiculous to believe that she would not have some extra grace from her part in the war. She wanted to be reckless for her own selfish reasons for a change.
“Mr. Potter, wait outside for a moment. And do me a favor, when he gets here, please tell him to wait outside until I retrieve you both. I will not hesitate to throw him out of this hospital if last month's behavior is repeated.” a voice said curtly.
Harry’s voice came quieter. “Of course, I will see to it myself. I told him to stay home but he would not hear of it. He’s desperate to see her.”
The other voice started again as a healer moved into her room. It was clear the voice she had heard before belonged to the healer in the doorway. “I understand that Mr. Potter, but her health is of utmost importance. I will send for you both after we assess her condition.”
The healer closed the door and took her wand out, warding the room. She seemed more interested in securing the space than immediately checking over Hermione, which caused a knot to form in her stomach. What unseen threat was the healer preparing for?
Maybe I should go to sleep again…
“Hello dear,” the healer began, “Glad to see you have joined us again. You have given a lot of people quite the scare, but we got you through the worst of it.”
Hermione wanted to speak to the healer, but the word still did not come. Upon observation of this, the healer quickly pulled out a potion. She supported Hermione’s head and asked to give her “a little something to clear the fog away”. Hermione accepted it and winced at the bitter taste. She felt a warmth spreading over her entire body and her throat felt less constricted.
“Better” she whispered, still struggling with the words, as if she was speaking a new language.
“Wonderful” the healer replied “I know there are two gentlemen that are eager to speak with you, but I want to make sure you are well before you are inundated with visitors. Do you understand?”
Hermione nodded, saving her breath for another question. She could feel the effects of the potion easing her muscles.The healer fussed over her vitals and ran a few diagnostic charms. Once she was satisfied with Hermione's general state of health, she asked her for permission to ask questions that would better inform the medical team how to treat Hermione going forward. Hermione agreed, now being able to sit upright a bit and take some water.
The healer asked her some questions about the accident, which Hermione was unable to answer. The healer, which she now knew as Healer Richards, explained it had happened in Muggle London. It was nothing more than a freak accident. An elderly driver had a stroke and lost control of his vehicle, plowing straight into the cafe Hermione had been patronizing. Little was known about how she was impacted because she was taken to a Muggle hospital without any form of identification. It was over a day before she was located and transferred to St. Mungo’s where it was established that she must have used some form of magic to protect herself, and the damage was minimal. No one was sure exactly what she had done, but the Aurors did investigate and witnesses that had seen Hermione did not notice anything unusual, other than a young woman thrown from outside the cafe to the inside. Given witness accounts and some grainy security footage, it was surprising that Hermione had minimal damage to her brain based on Muggle scans. The diagnostic charms at St. Mungo’s also proved that she had been very lucky not to have sustained serious trauma to her head.
Without a wizard or a witch present at the time, no one could explain the discrepancy between the severity of the accident and her wounds. Hermione’s coma made sense given the nature of the accident, but was puzzling with the lack of evidence showing sustained brain damage. She had a multitude of surface wounds, but did not have any detectable internal bleeding. The lingering magic that clung to her upon her admittance seemed unknown, and her wand had been securely hidden in her bag at the time of the incident, providing no answers. Whatever she had done, it had been wandless.
It was a lot of information to digest at once, but Hermione was enjoying the puzzle of it. Healer Richards and Hermione theorized potential scenarios and talked through the situation for at least ten minutes when there was an impatient knock at the door. Healer Richards sighed but shot Hermione a kind smile.
“It seems like the gentlemen outside are eager to see you, and I am sure you are eager to see them as well, Mrs. Malfoy.”
Mrs. Malfoy? What poor soul would want to be Mrs. Malfoy? Wait, did she just call me Mrs. Malfoy?
The shock must have been evident in her eyes and Healer Richards was perceptive enough to pick up on the shift.
“Mrs. Malfoy…Hermione, do you need a moment before I admit Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter?”
What is she playing at? Surely this Mrs. Malfoy bit is a cruel prank.
“Hermione,” Healer Richards interrupted her thoughts "I know we discussed that your brain sustained minimal damage, but you have been in a coma for quite a while. Could you tell me what you remember about recent events? I know you don’t remember the accident, but I need you to think about the last memories you have before waking up here.”
Hermione recounted the final battle at Hogwarts, the decision to return to Hogwarts and her plans to spend the summer at the Burrow. Healer Richards face fell, and she quickly went to work with another diagnostic spell. She frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, trying to conceal the panic in her voice.
“Mrs…Hermione, it appears like you have a gap in your memory, but I don’t detect any traces of an obliviation and we already established there doesn’t seem to be any physical damage to your brain. I am honestly surprised that given what we know that you have any loss of memory to begin with. We didn’t exactly plan for this.”
“Gaps..what do you mean about gaps? Memory loss?” Hermione challenged.
“Hermione, I cannot speak to everything, and this is not my area of expertise. I am not sure about everything that is missing, but you are a public figure…” Healer Richards' voice trailed off.
Another knock sounded at the door and panic filled Hermione’s chest, her eyes welling with tears. She made a quiet plea to Healer Richards to send her guests away, unable to name them. She had never been one to run from a fight, but she felt so vulnerable that she didn’t feel prepared to stand her ground. She needed time to think it through logically.
“I can’t see them, not now anyway. Could you please explain?”
Healer Richards gave Hermione a sad smile, which was laced with unwanted pity and stepped outside the door, closing it and locking it behind her.
Almost immediately, she could hear shouting. The voice was unmistakably that of Draco Malfoy’s. She could hear Harry’s voice too, both calming and firm. They were speaking loud enough that Hermione should have been able to understand what they were saying, but her head was spinning and everything sounded strange. After about five minutes, Hermione’s stomach dropped when she heard Malfoy’s voice yell, “You cannot keep me from my wife!”.
There was no denying it now. In whatever reality she found herself in, the world believed she was married to Draco Malfoy.
Hermione Granger would never marry Draco Malfoy.
She vomited, but since she had practically nothing in her stomach, it was mostly dry heaving, only a little of the potion and bile leaving her lips. It was too much.
I will escape this. I don’t have to live this way.
She would not see Draco Malfoy. He would not cross the threshold into her room, and if he did, he would find her asleep. Maybe it was childish, but if he chose to force her hand before she had the time to validate the details and strategize her next move, she would do it. Hermione noticed her wand on a table on the other side of the bed and reached for it to cast a Scourgify on her sick.
The shouting continued and Hermione settled herself down into the bed again, forcing her eyes shut. After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only about two minutes in reality, the door flung open followed by heavy footsteps. Hermione expected Harry and Draco to approach her bed, but she could almost feel them standing just inside the room, almost hesitant to come closer. She could feel Healer Richards come closer to her, looking over her and then she spoke.
“Poor dear has had quite the ordeal today.” Hermione felt the skilled hands of the healer touching her brow “She’s just resting now, Mr. Malfoy. It doesn’t appear she is in danger of slipping again. She has asked that both yourself and Mr. Potter are not admitted right now.”
“Healer Richards,” Malfoy boomed. “You cannot prevent me from seeing my wife. It is my responsibility to ensure her care. I will see her.”
“Malfoy, relax, this isn’t helping.”
“Shut up, Potter. You overstep.” Malfoy bit back.
Hermione slowed her breathing, hoping to convey a peaceful sleep and wondering if she would ever sleep again if this was her life now. She could feel her heart pounding against her chest, betraying her. She hoped the slow breaths would slow the frantic beating. Malfoy was there, waiting for her to open her eyes, and that was enough to keep it thrumming.
It won’t be my life. I won’t let it. I will not be Draco Malfoy’s wife.
“You said there are gaps?” Malfoy’s voice came softer, almost childlike.
Healer Richards recounted the conversation between her and Hermione from earlier. Although Hermione had her eyes closed, she could feel the shift in the room. There was no more noise, no more movement, no more oxygen- as if time truly stood still.
The silence was finally broken by Harry. “What are you saying, Healer Richards?”
“It appears Mrs. Malfoy has few memories of her adult life. It’s almost as if she is eighteen again. She mentioned she was excited to return to Hogwarts.”
The room was silent. Hermione knew Harry, Malfoy and Healer Richards were still in the room because she never heard them leave. She hoped she would soon hear the sound of retreating footsteps and the door latching, but instead, a voice broke the silence after a few moments.
“Hermione, I know you’re awake, love. Please look at me.”
The voice had to be Malfoy’s. It sounded like Malfoy’s voice, but more tender than she was used to hearing. She felt the bile rising in her throat again, repulsed by his words. She kept her eyes closed, but she knew now he was unconvinced by her performance. Of course, he hardly needed to be a genius to figure it out. If she had been out for two weeks, it was flimsy on her part to pretend she needed more rest, especially since Harry had been with her as she woke up less than an hour ago.
She could feel his eyes on her and she hated it. She felt trapped.
Why won’t he leave? Please go away. Someone make him go away.
She heard his footsteps traveling closer to her and she fought the urge to take in a deep breath.
“Hermione, it's okay. I won’t let anything happen to you. Just talk to me, love.”
She refused to budge. She would not give him the satisfaction. He was Malfoy after all. He was a Death Eater, and Hermione Granger would never marry a Death Eater.
“Mr. Malfoy, she clearly desires rest” Healer Richards' firm voice broke the softness in Malfoy’s demeanor as Hermione heard what sounded like a snarl coming from him.
She could hear Malfoy step closer, followed by Harry’s feet quickly meeting him.
“You're not doing yourself any favors, mate. You’ve seen her and she looks well. Go home and we’ll come back when Mione is ready to see us. You’re already on thin ice with the healers after last week.” Harry warned.
“They were restraining her, Potter. She cannot be restrained and I made sure of it. I did what I had to do to keep my wife safe.” Malfoy retorted.
Then, after a long pause, “Fine, but I expect to be notified as soon as she wishes to see me, day or night. I’ll be here within five minutes.”
She heard the swishing of their robes and then the door closing and latching behind them. She kept her eyes closed even longer, but as time seemed to stand still, she wasn’t sure how long. When she opened them, she was surprised to see Healer Richards sitting in the chair at her bedside.
“Why did you tell Malfoy everything I confided in you? I thought you would just explain that I could not see them.” Hermione said with a glare.
“You have given both Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter permission to act on health matters on your behalf. There is a signed statement in your record allowing information to be shared freely.”
“I’d like that statement removed.” Hermione ordered “I am more than capable of making my own health decisions.”
“Hermione, you have a gap in your memory spanning nearly nine years. It is dangerous to proceed without knowing your own medical history, and from what I understand it is a complicated one”
“I’ll take that chance, Healer Richards. I don’t trust Malfoy. He will always act in his own best interests. I will not allow him to be present in my room while I stay here. Could you have that added to my file?”
Healer Richards reluctantly agreed to comply with Hermione’s wishes, although it seemed ill advised. There was no reason that Hermione Malfoy could not make her own decisions.