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Early December sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their penthouse flat in magical Kensington, the first real frost of the season creating delicate patterns on the glass. Below, London was just beginning to stir, a mix of Muggle holiday lights and magical decorations twinkling in the pre-dawn grey. Hermione stirred first, as she always did, her internal clock more reliable than any Tempus charm. She was warm – almost too warm – trapped between Draco"s body and their thick down comforter, but after four years she"d grown accustomed to sleeping with her own personal furnace.
"You"re thinking too loud," Draco mumbled against her neck, his voice rough with sleep. "The planning committee can survive without you for another hour."
She smiled, turning in his arms to face him. His hair was adorably mussed, platinum strands catching the winter light. Even after all this time, these quiet moments still made her heart skip. "Says the man who spent all of dinner last night strategizing about the department"s Secret Santa."
"That"s different. Aurors take gift-giving very seriously." His eyes were still closed, but his lips curved into that soft smile that had become increasingly common since they"d moved in together last year. "Besides, if I get stuck with Weasley again..."
"You loved the Cannons jersey he got you."
"I burned that monstrosity and you know it."
"You wear it when you"re sick."
"Lies and slander, pet." He finally opened his eyes, grey meeting brown with the warmth of long familiarity. "I have a reputation to maintain."
"Oh yes, very fearsome," she teased, running her fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. "Especially with your nose all red from that cold last week."
His hand slid under her old Holyhead Harpies t-shirt (stolen from Ginny years ago), warm against the small of her back. "I seem to remember someone fussing over me quite dramatically."
"That was nursing, not fussing."
"You threatened to call my mother."
"You were being difficult!"
"I was being stoic," he corrected, rolling them so she was beneath him. "Very manly and—"
"You whined about your throat for three days straight."
He silenced her with a kiss, morning breath be damned. When they parted, his expression had shifted to something softer, more serious. "You know, this is our fourth Christmas together."
"Mmm." She traced patterns on his shoulder. "Though the first one barely counts. We were still sneaking around then."
"Speak for yourself. I had an elaborate seduction planned."
"Getting trapped under enchanted mistletoe wasn"t a plan, Draco."
"It worked, didn"t it?"
Before she could reply, a silver stag Patronus materialized in their bedroom.
"Early meeting," Harry"s voice emanated from the spectral deer. "New lead on that cursed artifact smuggling ring. Also, Hermione, the Nordic delegation"s arriving early. They"ll be here at nine instead of eleven."
"Potter"s timing remains impeccable," Draco muttered as the Patronus faded. "I swear he does it on purpose."
Hermione reluctantly extracted herself from his embrace. "You shower first – you take longer to get ready."
"Or," he caught her wrist, pulling her back onto the bed, "we could shower together. For efficiency."
"That has never once been efficient."
"But it"s tradition." He was doing that thing with his mouth against her pulse point that still made her knees weak. "And you"re all about preserving important traditions."
"Draco..." It came out more like a sigh than the protest she"d intended.
"Ten minutes," he murmured against her skin. "The world can wait ten minutes."
She knew they"d be late. They were always late when he used that tone, when he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered. But after three years, she"d learned that some moments were worth being late for.
Later, as they hurried through their morning routine (because ten minutes had turned into thirty, as it always did), Hermione watched him adjust his robes in the mirror, his movements precise and familiar. She couldn"t have known it would be their last peaceful morning, that in just a few hours a routine training exercise would go wrong and steal all their precious memories from him. If she had known, she might have memorized more details – the exact shade of grey in his eyes as he smiled at her reflection, the feeling of his hands braiding her hair with practiced ease, the casual intimacy of sharing space with someone who knew every part of you.
But she didn"t know, so she just straightened his already-perfect tie (a ritual he pretended to find annoying but secretly loved), kissed him goodbye in their private Apparition room, and said, "Try not to antagonize Harry too much today."
"No promises," he smirked, stealing one more kiss. "Dinner at home tonight? I"m trying that new pasta recipe."
"The one from that Italian witch"s cookbook?"
"Unless you"d prefer takeaway from that Muggle place again."
"Your cooking always wins." She smoothed his lapel one last time. "Love you."
"Love you too, Hermione," he replied, then turned to Disapparate.
It was the last time he would remember loving her for what would feel like an eternity.
"The trajectory of the curse suggests—" Hermione"s presentation to the Nordic delegation was interrupted by a sharp knock. She looked up, irritated at the disruption, only to feel her heart stop at the sight of Harry"s face through the conference room"s glass wall.
She"d known that expression since she was eleven years old. It was the same look he"d worn during countless crisis moments in their friendship, the one that meant something had gone terribly wrong.
"Excuse me," she managed, her voice surprisingly steady. "There"s an urgent matter..."
Harry was waiting in the hallway, still in his training gear, splattered with what looked like—
"Is that blood?"
"Hermione—"
"Harry James Potter, is that—"
"It"s not mine." His green eyes were pained. "There was an accident during training. A new recruit mispronounced an incantation, the spell rebounded off a shield charm and—"
"Draco?" Her voice sounded very far away.
"St. Mungo"s. They"ve got their best Healers—"
She was already moving, her usual measured stride abandoned for something closer to running. "How bad?"
"He"s stable," Harry kept pace with her easily, "but unconscious. The spell... they"re not entirely sure what it was meant to be, but something went wrong with the pronunciation and it hit him directly in the temporal lobe—"
They reached the Atrium"s Floor lobby, and Harry caught her arm. "Hermione, wait. There"s more."
She knew that tone too. It was his "brace yourself" voice.
"The initial scans show..." He swallowed hard. "They"re seeing significant magical interference with his memory centers. They won"t know the full extent until he wakes up, but—"
"Take me there," she cut him off. "Now."
The sharp scent of healing potions filled her nose as they navigated the quiet corridors, her heartbeat so loud in her ears she barely heard the Welcome Witch"s greeting. Later, she wouldn"t remember the details – just Harry"s steady presence at her side, the sound of their footsteps echoing off pristine walls, the way time seemed to stretch and compress all at once.
The private room was quiet except for the soft chiming of monitoring spells – gentle bells and whirs that mapped out Draco"s heartbeat, his magic levels, his brain activity. He lay still – too still – against white sheets that nearly matched his hair, his usual animation completely absent. A faint blue glow pulsed around his temples where the miscast spell had struck, casting eerie shadows across his too-pale face. He looked younger somehow, vulnerable in a way she"d rarely seen him, even in sleep.
"Oh, love," she whispered, dropping into the chair beside his bed. His hand was cool when she took it, and she instinctively began casting warming charms – the same ones she used on cold mornings when he complained about the drafts in their flat. "Always have to be dramatic, don"t you? Couldn"t just have a normal Tuesday training session?"
"The Healers say talking helps," Harry offered quietly from where he hovered by the door. "Even if they"re not conscious, familiar voices can... well, they say it helps."
He trailed off as Hermione began smoothing Draco"s hair back from his forehead with trembling fingers. It was a familiar gesture – one she"d done countless times over their years together, usually while he pretended to be annoyed but leaned into her touch anyway.
"Your hair"s a mess," she told him softly, trying to keep her voice steady. "You"d be horrified if you could see it. Remember last week when you spent twenty minutes fixing it before the department meeting? And then I messed it up right before you left just to watch you sputter..." Her voice caught. "You chased me around the kitchen threatening to hex my hair purple in retaliation."
A tear splashed onto their joined hands. Harry quietly conjured a handkerchief and set it beside her before stepping out to give her privacy.
"Don"t you dare forget that," she whispered fiercely, pressing her lips to his knuckles. "Don"t you dare forget us."
But the monitoring charms kept their steady rhythm, and Draco slept on.
Two days later, consciousness returned to Draco Malfoy in fragments. First came sound – the soft chiming of unfamiliar spells, quiet breathing that wasn"t his own. Then sensation – crisp sheets, the subtle numbness of long-term stasis charms, something tickling his arm...
He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the dim light that illuminated what was clearly a hospital room. St. Mungo"s, his mind supplied hazily. But why—?
That"s when he registered the source of the tickling sensation. Someone was slumped in a chair beside his bed, their head resting on their folded arms near his hand. Wild curls spilled across the white sheets, and even in the low light, he would know that hair anywhere.
Granger.
But that made no sense. Why would Hermione Granger be asleep at his bedside? The last thing he remembered was revising for NEWTs in the eighth-year common room, trying to ignore her insufferable muttering as she color-coded her notes for the thousandth time. They"d only just managed civil conversations since the war ended, and even those were strained at best.
He shifted slightly, and her curls brushed his arm again. She looked... different. Not dramatically so, but enough to unsettle him. Her face had lost its post-war thinness, settled into elegant lines that spoke of a few years" maturity. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and she was wearing what appeared to be a deep green jumper over them that looked oddly familiar – but that was impossible. Granger would never—
She stirred at his movement, and years of ingrained self-preservation made him close his eyes, feigning sleep. He heard her soft inhale as she woke, felt gentle fingers smoothing his hair back from his forehead with such casual intimacy that his whole body tensed.
"Draco?" Her voice was hoarse, hesitant. Since when did she use his first name? "Love, can you hear me?"
Love?
His eyes flew open of their own accord, meeting brown ones that were far too close, full of an emotion he couldn"t – wouldn"t – name.
"What," he managed, his voice rough from disuse, "are you doing, Granger?"
She froze, her hand still in his hair. Something flickered across her face – hope, fear, devastating understanding.
"You"re awake," she whispered, and why did she sound like she was about to cry? "I should get the Healer—"
"Don"t touch me," he snapped as she moved to withdraw her hand, jerking away despite how it made his head spin. "Where am I? What"s going on? Why do you look so—" He gestured vaguely at her entire presence.
She withdrew slowly, and he tried not to notice the way her hands trembled as she clasped them in her lap. "You"re in St. Mungo"s. There was an accident during Auror training—"
"Auror training?" He laughed, but it came out harsh. "Right. And I suppose next you"ll tell me Potter"s Minister for Magic."
"Harry"s just made Deputy Head Auror, actually," she said quietly.
Something in her tone made his stomach drop. "What are you talking about? We"ve only just started preparing for NEWTs, we"re—" He stopped, really looking at her now. The subtle changes in her features, the jumper—
His blood ran cold.
"What year is it?"
Her eyes filled with tears. "2005. Early December."
"No." He shook his head, then immediately regretted it as pain lanced through his temples. "That"s impossible. It"s 1999, we"re in eighth year, and you—"
"A lot has changed," she said softly. "More than you might think."
"Six years?" His voice cracked slightly. "I"ve lost six—" He looked down at his own hands, finding them different – a thin scar across his right palm he didn"t remember getting, calluses from what must be years of training. "How? Why can"t I—"
The door opened, admitting a stern-faced witch in Healer"s robes. "Mr. Malfoy, good to see you awake. I"m Healer Canton." She glanced at Hermione. "Perhaps, Miss Granger, you could—"
"She can stay," Draco said quickly, surprising himself. Whatever was happening, Granger at least seemed to know the details, and he wasn"t about to face this with only strangers. Even if she was acting bizarrely emotional about it all.
The Healer began casting diagnostic charms, explaining as she worked. "You were struck by a mispronounced spell during training. The magical signature suggests it was meant to be a simple Stunning Spell, but the incorrect pronunciation caused it to affect your temporal lobe instead. The area that processes memory."
Draco watched the diagnostic spells shimmer around his head, their patterns telling him nothing. "Will it come back? The missing time?"
"Memory restoration in cases of magical amnesia is... unpredictable. Forcing memories can cause permanent damage. They often return naturally, but the timeline varies significantly between cases." She paused, glancing at Hermione again. "The best approach is to reintegrate slowly into your normal routine, letting memories surface organically."
"Normal routine," he repeated flatly. "As an Auror, apparently." The very idea seemed absurd. Him, working with Potter?
"Deputy Head of the Special Investigation Unit, actually," Hermione offered quietly. "You were just promoted last month."
He stared at her. "And you know this because...?"
Something flickered in her eyes – pain, maybe, or resignation. "Because we—"
"Miss Granger," Healer Canton cut in sharply. "A word outside, please?"
Hermione bit her lip but nodded, rising from her chair. She hesitated for a moment, and Draco could see her physically stop herself from reaching for him. The gesture, though aborted, sent an odd jolt through his chest.
Once they were gone, he forced himself to really look at his surroundings. Cards and flowers covered nearly every surface – get well wishes from the Auror department, a truly garish arrangement that could only be from Pansy, and... was that Molly Weasley"s handwriting? Since when did the Weasleys send him anything?
His eyes caught on a photo frame by the bed, half-hidden behind a pot of Ever-Blooming Roses. He reached for it with trembling fingers, then nearly dropped it when he saw the image.
It showed him – older but unmistakably him – with his arms wrapped around Hermione Granger from behind. They were both laughing at something off-camera, and as he watched, his photographic self pressed a kiss to her temple with such casual affection that it made his chest ache. They looked... happy. Comfortable. In love.
The door opened again, and he quickly set the photo down. Hermione re-entered alone, her eyes slightly red but her expression composed.
"The Healer says you should rest," she said, gathering her bag. "I"ll... I"ll let Harry know you"re awake. He"s been worried."
"Granger." His voice stopped her at the door. "That photo. Are we...?"
She turned back, and the look on her face would haunt him. "We live together," she said simply. "Have done for a year now. We"ve been together for four." She attempted a smile that didn"t reach her eyes. "But the Healer says not to force memories, so... I"ll give you space. Let you process."
"Wait—" But she was already gone, leaving him with six years of missing memories and the lingering scent of her perfume – which he somehow, inexplicably, recognized.
Through the window in the door, he watched her stop in the hallway, one hand pressed against the wall as if for support. Potter appeared – when had he arrived? – and pulled her into a fierce hug. Draco looked away, his head spinning with more than just spell damage.
Six years. He"d lost six years.
And apparently, somewhere in those missing years, he"d fallen in love with Hermione Granger.
The next three days in St. Mungo"s felt like stepping into an alternate reality. Blaise arrived first, lounging in the visitor"s chair as if he owned it, briefcase propped against the bed.
"The Wizengamot"s in an uproar about your accident," he said casually, as if continuing a conversation they"d been having for years. "Though I suppose you"ll have time to review the briefs while you"re on leave."
"The what?"
"Ah." Blaise"s expression shifted minutely. "Right. Well, suffice it to say, you"ve got quite the career ahead of you to rediscover, mate."
Pansy swept in later that afternoon, bearing expensive chocolates and gossip delivered with suspicious care. "Daphne"s engagement party is next week – you"ll have to skip it now. Shame, really. You always did give the best scathing commentary about her taste in party decorations."
"Since when do I attend Greengrass family functions?"
"Since—" Pansy cut herself off, something flickering behind her eyes. "Well, since things changed, obviously."
Theo"s visit was perhaps the most surreal, sweeping in with designer robes and his signature cologne, dropping a stack of charity gala invitations on the bedside table with practiced flair.
"Nothing too pressing," he assured the hovering Healer. "Just the upcoming fundraisers we"ve been planning. Thought you might want to stay current, even if you need to relearn some context."
"We work together often?" Draco asked, noting the easy way Theo navigated his hospital room.
"Partners in philanthropy. Though you"ve been focusing more on the serious meetings since taking over your family foundation." Theo grinned, adjusting his perfectly styled hair. "Still can"t believe you"re outgiving me now, you prat."
But it was the Gryffindors that truly threw him. Potter came daily, bringing departmental updates and a strange mix of professional respect and personal concern that made Draco"s head spin.
"Robards says take all the time you need," Harry said on the second day, absently reorganizing the get-well cards. "Though he"d appreciate if you could still consult on the Richardson case when you"re up for it. You"re the only one who"s managed to make sense of the financial trails."
"Since when do I help track dark wizards" money?"
"Since you turned out to be surprisingly good at it." Harry"s grin was fond in a way that felt impossible. "Something about growing up with "proper pureblood accounting practices" apparently translated well to catching financial fraud."
Ron and Ginny stopped by together, bearing what appeared to be homemade biscuits and talk of weekly pub nights that supposedly included him.
"Remember that time you challenged Charlie to a drinking contest?" Ron asked, then winced. "Well, no, I suppose you don"t. But trust me, it was hilarious. Never seen anyone match him shot for shot before."
"I drink with Weasleys now?"
"Mate, you do a lot more than drink with us," Ron said, then quickly stuffed a biscuit in his mouth when Ginny elbowed him sharply.
Even Neville made an appearance between his Herbology classes, discussing some rare plant specimens he"d been consulting on for their department.
"The Devil"s Snare variant is finally mature enough for testing," he said, showing Draco photographs of what appeared to be a particularly vicious-looking plant. "Though I suppose we"ll have to delay the extraction experiments until you"re cleared for field work again."
"We collaborate?" Draco asked, noting the way Neville had automatically taken the chair nearest the bed, completely at ease in his presence.
"Whenever magical plants are involved in cases. Though usually Her—" Neville stopped abruptly, cheeks reddening. "Usually we have a larger team involved."
None of them mentioned Granger. But Draco caught the careful way they avoided her name, saw the worried glances when certain topics arose. Potter was the worst at hiding it – his eyes would flick to the empty chair beside Draco"s bed whenever someone nearly slipped up.
"Ready to go home?" Potter asked on the third morning, after Healer Canton had finished her final checks. "The wards should still recognize you."
"Worried I"ll splinch myself, Potter?" But the sneer felt forced, especially when Harry just rolled his eyes with the ease of long practice.
"More worried about the mountain of paperwork if anything happens to you on my watch. Robards would have my head." He paused, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Besides, you"re technically still my best investigator, even if you don"t remember it. Can"t have you damaging that big brain of yours further."
The journey to his flat was disorienting. The building was upscale magical Kensington – far posher than he"d have expected his future self to choose – and the wards hummed with familiar magic as they entered.
Something felt off about the space, though he couldn"t immediately place why. The furnishings were a blend of traditional magical artifacts and subtle Muggle touches. Elegant bookcases lined the walls, but they looked... sparse somehow. A silver tea service sat beside a Muggle coffee machine. Everything was pristine, yet the flat had an echo to it, like sound traveling through empty spaces that should have been full.
"Kreacher"s been keeping things tidy," Harry offered, watching him take in the room. "And your mother"s been sending him instructions about your favorite meals. There"s cottage pie in stasis for dinner."
"Where..." Draco paused, the question sticking in his throat. "Granger said we lived together."
Harry"s expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "She moved out. While you were in hospital. Thought it would be... easier. For now."
Easier. Right. Because apparently they"d been sharing this space, sharing a life, and now—
"Her things?"
"Mostly gone. She left anything she thought might trigger memories naturally. Healer"s orders." Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Listen, mate, I know this is weird, but if you need anything..."
"I"m fine." The words came automatically. "Just tired."
"Right. Well, floo if you..." Harry trailed off, clearly remembering they weren"t actually friends. Not in Draco"s memory. "Just... floo if you need to. Hermione"s staying with Ginny and me, if there"s an emergency—"
"I said I"m fine, Potter."
After Harry left, Draco wandered the flat, cataloging the strange mix of familiar and foreign. His mother"s paintings hung beside Muggle photographs. A bookshelf held texts on magical law enforcement alongside what appeared to be Muggle fiction. The kitchen was stocked with his favorite teas, but there were two sets of everything – mugs, plates, utensils – though one set looked recently unused.
It wasn"t until he entered the bedroom that the sense of wrongness crystallized. The space felt... half-empty. One side of the bed was pristinely made, while the other showed signs of recent use. The wardrobe door hung slightly open, revealing gaps between his clothes where others had clearly hung. The en-suite bathroom held single items where pairs had obviously lived – one toothbrush, one robe, one set of products.
Exhausted and overwhelmed, Draco collapsed onto the bed. His bed, though the sheets still held a faint trace of unfamiliar perfume that made his chest tight. As he shifted to pull up the duvet, something soft brushed his hand – a worn t-shirt tucked under the pillow on what must have been her side of the bed. A Holyhead Harpies logo was barely visible on the faded fabric.
He meant to move it. To call Kreacher to take it away with whatever else she"d left behind. Instead, he found himself bringing it closer, the scent of her shampoo still lingering in the fabric. His body recognized it even if his mind didn"t – jasmine and vanilla and something uniquely her. Draco fell asleep with the shirt clutched in his hand, dreaming of wild curls and laughing brown eyes, of moments he couldn"t remember living but his heart couldn"t seem to forget.
Muscle memory, Draco discovered, was a peculiar thing. His mind might not remember six years of training, but his body did. His wand moved in complex defensive patterns without conscious thought. His feet carried him through the Ministry"s maze of corridors like he"d walked them a thousand times – which, he supposed, he had. The training room was decked for the holidays already, enchanted tinsel winding around the practice dummies and fairy lights twinkling in corners. It should have been distracting, but somehow his spellwork remained precise.
"Impressive," Harry commented after their first training session back, vanishing a practice dummy that Draco had hexed perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "Your form"s exactly the same."
"Apparently my body"s smarter than my brain," Draco muttered, but couldn"t help feeling satisfied when a particularly tricky shield charm came naturally. "Though I still can"t believe I willingly work with you lot."
"Believe it or not, you"re actually the one who suggested implementing Muggle tactical training into the Auror program." Harry grinned at his horrified expression. "Your exact words were "Just because they don"t have magic doesn"t mean they"re stupid about strategy, Potter.""
The paperwork, too, felt oddly familiar. His hands knew which forms needed signing, which cases needed review. He found himself making notations about financial discrepancies before consciously processing the numbers.
"Told you you were good at this," Harry said, dropping another stack of files on his desk. "Even with amnesia, you"re still our best forensic analyst. Speaking of which..." He hesitated. "Hermione asked if you could review these when you have time. Said you were working on them before..."
The mention of her name made something twist in his chest. "She could ask me herself."
Harry"s expression softened. "She"s trying to give you space. It"s... not easy for her either, mate."
"She"s the one who moved out," Draco said before he could stop himself. "To your place."
"Because she—" Harry stopped, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Just... the trade documents? When you can?"
What wasn"t familiar – what his body apparently couldn"t remember – was how to handle running into her despite knowing exactly where she was staying. The first time was in the lift on his second day back. She stepped in, nose buried in a scroll of parchment, and his heart did something complicated before his brain could catch up. She looked... tired. The shadows under her eyes were poorly concealed, her usually pristine robes slightly rumpled. A sparkly Christmas bauble was stuck in her hair, probably from the over-enthusiastic decorating charm someone had cast in the Atrium.
"Morning," she said quietly, not meeting his eyes.
His "Morning, Granger" came automatically, and something in her posture tightened at the use of her surname. He found himself reaching up to remove the bauble before he could think better of it.
"You"ve got a..." he gestured vaguely, holding out the ornament.
"Oh." Her cheeks flushed slightly. "Thank you. The Atrium decorations are a bit aggressive this year."
The lift ride lasted approximately three eternities.
After that, it seemed like she was everywhere. In the cafeteria, picking at a sandwich while reviewing case files. In the archives, surrounded by towering stacks of books. In interdepartmental meetings where she delivered reports with professional detachment while he tried not to stare at the way she twisted her quill between her fingers – a nervous habit he somehow knew meant she was holding something back. Each time, she wore clothes that were clearly borrowed – oversized jumpers he recognized as Potter"s, making something possessive and ridiculous curl in his stomach. He felt foolish for even noticing, knowing Potter was happily married to Ginny, but something about seeing Hermione swimming in clothes that weren"t his...
"You"re both handling it well," Pansy observed over drinks at the Leaky that evening. "Very mature."
"Nothing to handle," he replied, but his eyes tracked Hermione as she passed their table, heading for where Potter and the Weasleys sat in their usual corner.
"Right," Blaise drawled. "That"s why you"re stabbing that olive like it personally offended you."
Their usual corner. When had he started thinking of it that way?
Everything felt like that lately – caught between what he consciously knew and what felt inexplicably familiar. He found himself falling into easy banter with Potter during stake-outs ("Remember, if anyone asks, I still think you"re an insufferable git." "Noted, Potter."), trading case theories with Weasley over lunch ("Your chess strategies actually translate well to suspect tracking." "Don"t sound so surprised, Malfoy."), joining Theo and Blaise for weekly quidditch matches that apparently had a years-long scoring system.
Other things felt like glaring omissions. He kept making two cups of tea before remembering he lived alone. His feet tried to turn down the corridor to Magical Creatures instead of Law Enforcement at least once a day. He found himself reaching for someone who wasn"t there whenever he solved a particularly challenging case.
"Mate," Ron said carefully one afternoon, after Draco had automatically turned to share a breakthrough with an empty chair, "maybe you should talk to her. She"s miserable at Harry"s, even if she won"t admit it."
"Don"t." The word came out sharper than intended. "Just... don"t."
The first week of December brought with it an increasing flutter of excitement about the upcoming Ministry Gala. Apparently it was the social event of the season – another thing his memory had misplaced.
"You"ll need dress robes," Pansy announced, appearing at his desk with determined expression. "The ones from last year won"t do."
"I have perfectly good—"
"The blue ones?" Her voice was carefully neutral. "Better not. Ginny mentioned Her— better not."
He thought of Hermione at Harry"s, probably wearing another borrowed jumper, and understood.
Shopping with Pansy was oddly soothing – her running commentary on everyone else"s poor fashion choices hadn"t changed since school. But as she held up various options, he caught her watching his reactions with unusual attention.
"The green"s nice," she said, almost tentatively. "Different from your usual."
His usual. Right. Another thing he couldn"t remember.
"Green"s fine." Anything but blue.
Back home, he found himself standing in front of his wardrobe, staring at the garment bag like it might bite. The Gala was tomorrow. Hermione would be there – he"d overheard her discussing final arrangements with Potter, seen her name on the planning committee lists that everyone carefully didn"t mention around him.
He turned to the bed, where he"d left her Holyhead Harpies shirt that morning after yet another night of sleeping with it nearby. Walking over, he picked it up, the worn fabric soft between his fingers. He"d meant to return it. Had even started to write a note to send to Harry"s place several times. But somehow he couldn"t bring himself to part with it, this tangible piece of the life he couldn"t remember.
"This is ridiculous," he told his reflection, still clutching the shirt. "You barely know her."
But his reflection looked unconvinced, and his heart... well, his heart seemed to remember something his mind couldn"t grasp.
The Ministry"s atrium had been transformed into a winter wonderland, with enchanted snow falling from the darkened ceiling and crystalline ice sculptures that danced between guests. Draco stood at the edge of the crowd, unconsciously adjusting his deep green dress robes for the hundredth time while scanning the room. The champagne in his glass had gone warm, forgotten as he watched the entrance.
"If you twist that cuff any more, you"ll ruin the fabric," Pansy commented, appearing at his elbow. "Though I suppose that would give you an excuse to leave early."
"I"m not planning to—"
His protest died as the crowd near the entrance shifted, and he saw her.
Hermione wore dress robes in that impossible shade of midnight blue that had haunted his dreams since the hospital. The fabric seemed to capture starlight, creating patterns that reminded him of something just beyond the reach of memory. Her hair was partially tamed into an elegant twist, a few wild curls framing her face in a way that made his fingers itch to brush them back.
"Careful," Pansy murmured. "You"re staring."
"I"m not—" But he was. He couldn"t seem to help it.
"You know," Blaise said, joining them with fresh drinks, "normal people generally talk to the person they can"t stop looking at."
"I"m not looking at anyone." Draco accepted the firewhisky perhaps too quickly. "I"m simply observing the absolutely garish decorations. Since when do we have fairy lights in the ice sculptures?"
"Since you suggested it last year," Pansy said dryly. "Said it would remind someone of Hogwarts."
The evening became an elaborate dance of avoidance. He stayed by the bar when she was on the dance floor, pretending to be deeply engaged in conversation with the Head of Magical Transportation about floo regulations. He circulated through the crowd when she stopped to chat with colleagues, suddenly fascinated by the Minister"s views on cauldron bottom thickness. He timed his trips to the refreshment table for moments when she was thoroughly engaged elsewhere.
But his eyes kept finding her.
He watched as she danced with Potter, her laugh carrying across the room as Harry obviously stepped on her toes. "Sorry!" Harry"s voice rang out. "I"m rubbish at this, you know that."
"Some things never change," she replied, loud enough for Draco to hear. "Though you"re better than you were at the Yule Ball."
"Low bar, Hermione. Very low bar."
Something about their easy friendship made his chest tight. Had he been part of that? There were photos in his flat that suggested as much, but he couldn"t quite imagine it.
He observed her diplomatic smile as she partnered with the Norwegian Trade Minister, discussing tariffs even as they waltzed. Felt something uncomfortable twist in his stomach when Theo claimed the next dance, spinning her across the floor with practiced ease.
"You"re looking particularly lovely tonight, Granger," Theo said, just within Draco"s earshot.
"Thank you, Theo." Her voice was carefully neutral. "How"s the children"s hospital fundraiser coming along?"
"Ah ah, no charity talk. This is a party." Theo grinned, hand traveling along her back. "Though if you"re interested in discussing donation strategies, I know a lovely little restaurant in Diagon—"
"I need air," Draco announced to no one in particular.
"You could just ask her to dance," Blaise suggested, materializing with two more glasses of firewhisky. "Instead of glowering at Nott like you"re planning his murder."
"I don"t dance," Draco said automatically, then frowned.
"Right." Blaise"s tone could have dried the Black Lake. "Just like you didn"t help organize this entire event last year. Or suggest the enchanted snow because she mentioned missing Hogwarts winters. Or spend three hours arguing with the caterers about having both magical and Muggle champagne options. Or—"
"I"m getting some air."
The balcony was mercifully empty, the December night crisp and clear. Draco leaned against the stone railing, trying to ignore the way the entire scene felt familiar – the fairy lights reflecting off fresh snow, the muffled sound of music from inside, the specific spot where his hands gripped the—
The door opened behind him.
"Oh." Hermione"s voice was soft, slightly unfocused. "Sorry, I didn"t realize... I"ll just..."
"It"s fine." The words came out rougher than intended. He glanced over his shoulder to see her wavering slightly, an empty champagne glass dangling from her fingers. "Bit much in there?"
She laughed, but it wasn"t her usual laugh. This one was bitter, almost sad. "You could say that." She moved to the railing, keeping careful distance between them. "Turns out watching the man you love look straight through you while your friends try to pretend everything"s normal is rather exhausting. Though the champagne helps. Sort of. Not really."
His breath caught. She"d never said it so directly before.
"Granger..."
"Don"t." She was looking out at the snow, but he could see tears threatening. "I know you don"t remember. I know you"re not... him. Not my Draco. Even though you still do that thing with your sleeve cuffs when you"re uncomfortable, and you still take your tea the exact same way, and you still get that little crease between your eyebrows when you"re reading complicated case files, and you still—" She cut herself off, wiping angrily at her eyes. "Merlin, I"m drunk. I should go. This was a terrible idea. The whole evening was a terrible idea. I told Harry I shouldn"t come, but he insisted it would be good to keep up appearances, and—"
She turned to leave, stumbling slightly in her heels. Without thinking, he reached out to steady her.
The moment his hand touched her waist, something electric shot through him. Her skin was warm through the silk of her dress robes, and his fingers seemed to know exactly where to settle, like they"d done this a thousand times before.
"You"re wearing the blue ones," he said quietly, not letting go. "The ones that match..."
"The robes you can"t remember buying?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Yes. Stupid, really. I shouldn"t have... but they were already altered, and I couldn"t bring myself to buy new ones when these..." She swallowed hard. "These were perfect."
He should step back. Should put space between them. Should...
A snowflake landed in her hair, and suddenly he was somewhere else – this same balcony, last Christmas, her back against the railing as snow melted in her curls, his hands on her waist just like this, her lips tasting of champagne and midnight and home, her whispered "I love you" against his mouth —
"Draco?" Her voice brought him back to the present, and he realized he"d swayed closer, drawn by memory or instinct or both.
"I..." He shook his head, trying to clear it. "For a moment, I thought..."
She was looking up at him now, hope and heartbreak warring in her expression. She smelled of jasmine and vanilla and something that made his chest ache with recognition.
Inside, the band had started playing something slow and familiar.
"Dance with me?" The words hung in the frosty air between them.
Hermione"s eyes widened slightly, but she didn"t pull away from his steadying grip on her waist. The silk of her dress robes was cool under his fingers, but her skin beneath burned like a brand. "Are you sure that"s wise? Given everything..."
"Probably not," he admitted, surprised by his own honesty. Maybe it was the firewhisky, or the way she looked in that blue silk, or how the fairy lights caught the gold threads in her curls.
"You"ve been avoiding me all evening," she said softly, her words slightly blurred at the edges from champagne. "Rather successfully, I might add."
"You noticed that, did you?"
"I always notice you, Draco." The admission seemed to slip out before she could catch it. She flushed, looking away. "Sorry. The champagne makes me..."
"Honest?"
"Reckless." She laughed, but it wasn"t a happy sound. "Though I suppose that"s not new. I"ve always been a bit reckless when it comes to you."
He should let go of her waist. Should step back. Should maintain the careful distance they"d kept all evening. Instead, he found himself asking, "How did it happen? Us?"
She looked up at him then, surprise clear in her eyes. "You really want to know?"
"I wouldn"t ask if I didn"t."
She bit her lip, considering. "It was in the archives, actually. Late one night. We were both researching the same obscure magical law precedent. You were..." A small smile tugged at her mouth. "You were absolutely furious that I"d gotten to the last copy of "Magical Maritime Law of the 18th Century" before you."
"I wasn"t."
"You absolutely were. You called me an "insufferable swot" and threatened to report me to the archival board for hogging resources."
"That does sound like me," he admitted, and was rewarded with a real laugh this time.
"Yes, well, I told you that you were welcome to share my table, but only if you admitted that my organization system was superior to yours."
"And I agreed to that?"
"Eventually. After about an hour of arguing. And then..." She trailed off, that same bittersweet smile playing at her lips. "And then you fell asleep on my notes at three in the morning, and I thought... I thought you looked so different when you weren"t trying to maintain that perfect facade. Just... peaceful. Human."
The way she looked at him now – like she was seeing both that memory and their current reality – made his chest tight. He found himself swaying slightly closer, drawn by something he couldn"t name.
"And now?" he asked, voice low. "What do you see now?"
"Now I see..." Her hand came up to rest against his chest, right over his thundering heart. "I see the man I fell in love with, looking at me like I"m a stranger, and I—"
A soft chiming interrupted her words, followed by a familiar magical hum that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. They both looked up to find a sprig of mistletoe materializing above them, its leaves gently glowing with magic that cast strange shadows across their faces.
"Of course," Hermione whispered, something between a laugh and a sob catching in her throat. "It would be mistletoe."
"Bloody magical plants," Draco muttered, the words feeling like an echo of something he should remember. "We have to—"
"Kiss," Hermione finished softly. "Yes, I know." Her eyes met his, slightly unfocused from the champagne but still sharp with intelligence. "We can just... it doesn"t have to be..." But her gaze dropped to his mouth, and he saw her tongue dart out to wet her lips.
"Right," he agreed quickly, his voice rougher than intended. His hand was still on her waist, and he could feel her trembling slightly. "Just to break the spell."
They both knew he was lying.
He meant to make it quick. Clinical. Just enough to satisfy the enchantment. But the moment his lips touched hers, something electric sparked between them. Her mouth was soft, tasting of champagne and something achingly familiar that made his heart stutter. His body responded before his mind could catch up, muscle memory taking over where conscious thought failed. Her small gasp of surprise melted into a whimper that he felt in his bones. His hands tightened on her waist, drawing her closer as if they"d done this a thousand times before. Maybe they had. Her fingers slid into his hair – gentle at first, then gripping harder when he deepened the kiss – and suddenly he was drowning in fragments of memory:
Lazy Sunday mornings in their kitchen, stealing kisses over tea and case files, her wearing his Quidditch jersey and complaining about his cold feet—
The first time she stayed over, wearing his Slytherin jumper and nothing else, curls wild from sleep, making coffee in his kitchen like she belonged there—
"Draco," she breathed against his mouth, and he felt her whole body shudder against his. Her hands were everywhere – in his hair, gripping his robes, sliding under his collar to touch skin. She kissed him like she was starving for it, like she could pour four years of memories back into him through the press of her lips.
More memories crashed over him:
Finding her asleep in their bed, surrounded by legal texts and wearing his reading glasses—
Her laugh as she tried to teach him to use the Muggle coffee machine—
The way she bit her lip when she was trying not to smile at his dramatics—
Hermione made a broken sound against his mouth, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and he tasted salt. She was crying, he realized distantly, but she didn"t stop kissing him. If anything, she pressed closer, like she could somehow merge their bodies.
"I"ve missed you," she whispered between desperate kisses. "God, I"ve missed you so much. Please, please remember—"
The raw need in her voice sent another wave crashing through him:
"I think I"m falling for you, Granger, and it"s terrifying—"
Dancing in their kitchen to Muggle music she"d insisted he"d learn to love—
The ring hidden in his sock drawer, waiting for Christmas Eve—
Too much. It was too much.
He jerked back with a gasp, chest heaving. Hermione swayed forward like she was being pulled by a magnetic force, her eyes slowly fluttering open. She looked utterly wrecked – lips swollen and red from his kisses, cheeks flushed, tears tracking down her face. The elegant twist of her hair had come completely undone, curls tumbling around her shoulders the way he somehow knew she"d worn it on lazy Sunday mornings. Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, and something about her expression – hope and fear and love all mixed together – sent his mind reeling.
"Draco?" Her voice was rough, uncertain. One hand slid down to curve around his neck while the other pressed against his chest like she could somehow hold his fractured memories together through sheer force of will. "Your eyes... you remembered something, didn"t you? Please, we can—"
"I can"t." He stumbled backward, away from her touch, away from the memories threatening to drown him. His head was spinning, too full of moments he couldn"t quite hold onto. The loss of contact was physically painful. "I can"t—this isn"t—"
"Wait!" She reached for him, fresh tears spilling over. "Please don"t run. We can work through this. Whatever you remembered, we can—"
But he was already moving, nearly running from the balcony, from her, from everything he suddenly half-remembered but couldn"t process. He heard her call his name again, her voice breaking on the syllables, but didn"t stop, couldn"t stop, his mind fracturing between what he knew and what he remembered and what he felt. He made it to the Ministry"s Apparition point before emptying his stomach, his mind spinning with fragments of a life he couldn"t quite remember but suddenly couldn"t deny. His hands shook as he gripped the wall for support, the taste of her still on his lips.
He"d loved her. Merlin help him, he"d loved her completely.
And now he didn"t even know who he was anymore – the man who"d woken up thinking she was nothing more than a former schoolmate, or the man who"d apparently planned to spend the rest of his life with her.
Behind him, the party continued, music and laughter spilling out into the night. Somewhere in that crowd, Hermione was probably still standing on that balcony, snowflakes settling in her hair just like they last Christmas. Just like—
He Apparated before the memories could drown him completely, leaving only empty air where he"d stood and the echo of a sob carried away by the winter wind.
Hermione didn"t move from the balcony for a long time. The snow was falling harder now, catching in her ruined hair, melting on her heated cheeks. Her lips still burned from his kiss. She touched them gently, remembering the moment he"d remembered – the way his hands had shifted on her waist, familiar and sure, before panic had overtaken him.
He"d remembered. She"d seen it in his eyes, felt it in the way his body had known hers. For one brilliant moment, she"d had him back.
And then she"d lost him again.
"Hermione?" Harry"s voice was gentle. Of course he"d come looking for her. He always did. "Oh, love."
She turned, and whatever he saw in her face made him cross the balcony in three quick strides, wrapping her in a fierce hug. She broke against his shoulder, silent sobs shaking her frame.
"He remembered," she managed between gasping breaths. "Harry, he remembered us, and it scared him so badly he ran."
"Let"s get you home," he said softly, and wasn"t that just another knife to the heart? Because "home" now meant Harry and Ginny"s flat, not the place she"d built with Draco. Not their shared space where she"d left pieces of herself everywhere – her books, her clothes, her heart.
"I don"t want to ruin another of your evenings," she protested weakly. "You and Ginny should enjoy the ball."
"Gin"s already getting our cloaks. And you know you"re not ruining anything. You"re family."
Draco"s flat – their flat, his mind corrected traitorously – was too quiet. Too empty. Too full of memories he couldn"t quite grasp.
He stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. His reflection looked wild-eyed, lips still swollen from her kisses. From their kisses. Because they"d done this before, hadn"t they? A thousand times. Right here in this bathroom.
Her perched on the counter while he shaved, stealing kisses between strokes of the razor—
"Stop," he growled at his reflection. But the memories wouldn"t stop coming.
Her toothbrush used to sit right there, next to his—
That dent in the wall from when they"d gotten carried away after one of his mother"s functions—
The matching towels she"d insisted on buying, calling him ridiculous for having only green ones—
He fled the bathroom, only to find himself in their bedroom. No, his bedroom. But everywhere he looked were signs of her absence – the half-empty wardrobe, the vacant side of the bed, the reading chair by the window where he somehow knew she used to curl up with case files.
The Holyhead Harpies shirt was still on his pillow, mocking him.
"You can"t stay in our guest room forever," Ginny said gently, watching Hermione pick at her breakfast the next morning. They were all still in their pajamas, Harry nursing his coffee while Ginny made toast. It was domestic and comfortable and completely wrong, because this wasn"t where Hermione was supposed to be having breakfast. "Maybe you should consider—"
"I"m fine here." Hermione didn"t look up from her tea, wearing one of Harry"s old shirts she"d stolen from the clean laundry. "It"s only five more days until Christmas. Then..."
Then what? She"d hoped to have him back by Christmas. Had planned to exchange gifts in their flat, to finally give him the vintage potions book she"d found months ago. Instead, she was sleeping in the Potters" guest room, trying not to think about the ring she"d found hidden in Draco"s sock drawer two weeks before the accident.
"I feel awful," Harry said suddenly. "He"s my partner. I should have been watching more carefully during training—"
"Don"t," Hermione cut him off. "The Healers said forcing memories could be dangerous. But he remembered on his own. He remembered us."
"And then he ran," Ginny pointed out carefully, sliding more toast toward Hermione. "You need to eat, by the way."
"Because it overwhelmed him. You didn"t see his face, Gin. He was remembering so much at once..." She pushed the toast away. "I should get ready for work."
"It"s Saturday," Harry reminded her gently.
"Right. Well, the Nordic agreement won"t review itself."
"Hermione—"
"I can"t just sit here," she burst out. "I can"t just... he"s alone in our flat, probably confused and scared, and I can"t help him because my presence might make it worse. Do you know what that"s like? To know that the person you love is hurting and you can"t..."
Ginny rounded the table to hug her. "We know, love. We know."
His office was impossible. Everywhere he looked, there were traces of her – not because she worked there, but because apparently, she"d been such a constant presence in his life that she"d left impressions everywhere. Her handwriting in the margins of his case files where she"d obviously helped him research, neat annotations about magical creature laws and precedents that had helped crack cases. A spare quill in his desk drawer that he somehow knew was hers – eagle feather, medium nib, the kind she used for official documents. The coffee mug on his desk that... had that been a gift from her? It had tiny snitches that flew around the rim when it was full of hot liquid.
"You look like hell," Harry said, dropping into the chair beside Draco"s desk. His partner – and wasn"t that still bizarre to think about – looked concerned. The tinsel someone had draped across their shared workspace sparkled annoyingly behind his head. "Rough night?"
Draco just grunted, trying to focus on the arrest report in front of him. But the words kept swimming, replaced by flashes of midnight blue silk and tear-filled brown eyes. His signature on the form looked unsteady.
"That"s the third time you"ve read the same paragraph," Harry observed. "And you haven"t touched the coffee I brought you an hour ago. You never waste coffee." He paused. "Unless you"re planning to go get different coffee. From that Muggle shop around the corner. The one that makes her favorite—"
Draco"s grip tightened on his quill until he heard it crack. "Just... don"t, Potter."
"Right. Well." Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair – the one Hermione had insisted they get after Draco complained about his back during stakeouts. Another memory he wasn"t sure was his. "The Thompson case needs review before the holiday break. Robards is breathing down my neck about the cursed artifacts angle. But I can handle it if—"
"I kissed her." The words burst out before he could stop them. "Last night. At the ball. Under bloody mistletoe of all things."
Harry was quiet for a long moment, absently fiddling with the wedding ring Draco had apparently helped him pick out. "I know. Gin and I took her home. She was... well."
Something in Draco"s chest twisted at that. Home. To their flat. No – to Potter"s flat, where she"d been staying since... since he"d forgotten her. Where she was probably wearing Potter"s old clothes and trying to pretend everything was fine.
"I remembered things," he admitted, voice low. A junior Auror walked past, and he waited until they were alone again. "When we kissed. Moments. Fragments. But they don"t feel real. They feel like someone else"s memories. Like watching a Pensieve of a stranger"s life."
"But they"re yours," Harry said quietly. "All of them. I should know – I"ve had to watch you two dance around each other for years before you finally got together. Been subjected to far too many details about your relationship, if I"m honest. Do you know how many times I had to listen to you practice how you were going to ask her out properly?"
"Potter—"
"You used to bring her coffee every morning," Harry continued, ignoring Draco"s warning tone. "Always knew exactly how she took it – that ridiculous sweet concoction from that Muggle place. You"d drop it off at her office before our morning briefing. Even when you were fighting – which was often, because you"re both stubborn gits – you never missed a day. Said something about how your arguments shouldn"t interfere with her caffeine addiction."
"That doesn"t sound like me."
"No?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Then why did you charm her office door to alert you when she arrives every morning? The spell"s still active, by the way. I saw you jump when it went off an hour ago."
Before Draco could respond, Theo appeared at his desk. Harry took the hint and stood.
"Just... think about what I said," he offered, then headed toward his office, tinsel catching in his eternally messy hair.
"So," Theo said, settling into the newly vacated chair and eyeing Draco"s wrinkled robes. "Want to talk about why you look like you"ve been wrestling a Hippogriff? Again?"
"Not particularly."
"Shame. Because watching you brood is getting old." Theo leaned back, studying him. "You know, when you first told me you were dating Granger, I thought you"d lost your mind. We were having drinks at the Leaky, and you just came out with it. "I"m in love with Granger, and if you have a problem with that, you can get stuffed.""
"Nott—"
"But then I saw you together. Really saw you. And it made sense." He smiled slightly. "You balance each other. Always have, even when you were at each other"s throats in school. Though I suppose the sexual tension was there even then—"
"Is there a point to this?"
"The point is," Theo said seriously, "that some things run deeper than memory. Like the fact that you"ve been staring at her office door every time it opens for the past hour. Or how you still organize your files the way she taught you. Or why you"re wearing the watch she gave you for your last birthday even though you don"t remember getting it."
Draco glanced guiltily at the Department of Magical Creatures corridor, then down at his wrist. He hadn"t even noticed the watch.
"I don"t know who I am anymore," he admitted finally. "The person who woke up thinking she was nothing more than a school rival, or the person who apparently..." He swallowed hard. "Who apparently loved her enough to..."
"To buy a ring?" Theo supplied gently. When Draco"s head snapped up, he added, "You asked my opinion on settings back in November. Said you wanted something that wouldn"t catch when she was handling creatures but would still be worthy of her. You were going to propose on Christmas Eve – said something disgustingly romantic about how she always loved holiday magic."
Christmas Eve. Five days away.
The calendar on his desk seemed to mock him with its cheerful holiday decorations, complete with tiny animated reindeer that pranced between the dates. December 20th. He had five days to figure out who he was – who they were – before Christmas arrived and changed everything.
"I found the ring," he said quietly. "In my sock drawer. I didn"t know what it was at first, but now..." He pulled the small velvet box from his pocket. "I"ve been carrying it around since the ball. Since I remembered..."
Theo"s eyes widened slightly. "Does she know about it?"
"According to Potter, she found it two weeks before the accident. But she pretended not to, wanted to let me surprise her." His laugh was hollow. "Suppose I managed that, just not the way I planned."
Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor of the Potters" guest room, surrounded by neatly wrapped presents. Most were done in tasteful gold paper with burgundy ribbons – gifts for Harry, Ginny, the Weasleys, her colleagues. But one package sat apart from the others, wrapped in elegant silver paper with emerald trim, the corners crisp and perfect after three attempts to get it just right.
The vintage potions book she"d found for Draco months ago in a tiny shop in wizarding Paris.
"That"s beautiful wrapping," Ginny said from the doorway, two mugs of tea floating beside her. "Though I assume the Slytherin colors aren"t for any of my family. Unless Ron"s made a dramatic house loyalty switch I don"t know about."
Hermione"s hands stilled on the ribbon she"d been smoothing. "I should return it. He doesn"t... it wouldn"t mean the same thing now."
"Why not?" Ginny settled beside her, passing over one of the mugs. "Peppermint tea. And don"t say you"re not hungry – I heard your stomach growling during that floo call with McGonagall."
"Because I bought it after we visited Paris in September." Hermione accepted the tea but didn"t drink. "He saw it in the window of this ancient little shop off Place Cachée but wouldn"t let me buy it – said it was too expensive. So I went back the next day while he was meeting with the French Auror department. He was trying to teach me French that whole trip but kept getting distracted kissing me instead of correcting my pronunciation. Said he preferred how I said "je t"aime" anyway."
"Maybe it"s time to make new memories instead of mourning the old ones." At Hermione"s skeptical look, Ginny added, "I mean it. The book is still beautiful. He"s still Draco. Different context, maybe, but..."
"Says the witch who still has her husband."
"Says the witch who"s watched you mope in my guest room for two weeks, wearing Harry"s old clothes and pretending you"re fine." Ginny"s voice was gentle but firm. "He remembered something at the ball, didn"t he? Harry said—"
"He ran away." Hermione"s fingers found the ribbon again, twisting it. "And now Christmas is in five days, and instead of being in our flat decorating our tree and planning his surprise proposal that I wasn"t supposed to know about, I"m here, wrapping a present he probably doesn"t even want anymore. Do you know what we were supposed to be doing right now? Arguing about fairy lights. He always tangles them, and I always pretend to be cross about it, and he always..." She broke off, wiping angrily at her eyes.
"Hermione—"
"I found the ring two weeks before the accident," she whispered. "In his sock drawer. I was putting away laundry and there it was, this beautiful vintage piece that looked exactly like something he"d choose. And I was so happy I cried all over his perfectly arranged socks."
Draco stood in their – his – living room, staring at the box of Christmas decorations he"d found in the hall closet. The label was in her handwriting: "Christmas - DO NOT LET DRACO NEAR THE FAIRY LIGHTS AGAIN! (Yes, love, I mean it this time. Last year was a disaster and you know it.)"
He smiled despite himself, wondering what catastrophe had prompted that warning. Something about the fond exasperation in the note made his chest ache.
The ring box felt heavy in his pocket as he opened the carton. Inside, ornaments were carefully wrapped in tissue paper, each one apparently with a story he couldn"t remember. A miniature golden snitch with the year engraved on it. A crystal snowflake that caught the light. A small silver dragon that seemed to match the one he"d noticed on her desk at work – had that been a set? A gift exchanged between them?
At the bottom of the box was a photo album labeled "Christmas 2004" in that same neat handwriting. His hands shook slightly as he opened it.
There they were, decorating this same room. Him attempting to untangle fairy lights while she laughed, her curls wild and touched with tinsel. Her on his shoulders trying to place the star on top of the tree, both of them looking terrified but delighted. Both of them curled on the sofa with mugs of something that steamed, her feet in his lap, her head on his shoulder, looking disgustingly happy.
"Quite the cozy scene."
He jumped at Pansy"s voice, nearly dropping the album. She stood in his fireplace, brushing soot from her elegant robes.
"Most people floo-call before coming through," he muttered.
"Yes, well, most people don"t spend the day after a significant breakthrough hiding in their flat." She eyed the decorations. "Though at least you"re doing something besides staring at that ring I know you"ve been carrying around."
His hand went automatically to his pocket. "Theo told you?"
"Darling, everyone knew about the ring. You"re many things, but subtle isn"t one of them." She picked up an ornament – a delicate glass orb filled with what looked like snow. "Ah, your mother"s contribution. She was so pleased when you told her your plans. Said it was about time you made an honest woman of your "brilliant Hermione.""
"Mother knows?"
"Knows? She helped you plan it. The whole Christmas Eve scenario – dinner at the Manor, walking through the gardens she had specially decorated, proposing under the enchanted stars..." Pansy"s voice softened at his stricken expression. "She adores Hermione, you know. They have tea every Wednesday. Talk about ancient runes and magical theory until Narcissa"s eyes glaze over, but she sits through it because it makes you both happy. Though I suppose you don"t remember that either."
He sat heavily on the sofa, the photo album still open in his lap. "Everything"s wrong," he said quietly. "It"s all... it should be different. She should be here, helping with the decorations, probably telling me I"m doing it wrong. We should be planning Christmas dinner with my mother, who apparently loves her. We should..."
"Should, should, should." Pansy sat beside him, peering at the photos. "You know what I think? I think you"re so caught up in who you should be that you"re not letting yourself be who you are."
"And who"s that?"
"A man who"s still in love with Hermione Granger, memories or not." She pointed to his pocket. "You"re carrying that ring around for a reason, darling. And it"s not just because you remembered buying it."
Ginny was quiet for a moment, watching Hermione"s fingers worry at the silver ribbon. "You know what Harry told me last night? That when he found Draco in the archives this morning, he was sitting in your old spot. The window seat you always claimed. Didn"t even realize he"d gone there automatically."
"That doesn"t mean anything." But Hermione"s voice wavered. "Instinct isn"t the same as—"
"As what? Memory? Feelings?" Ginny reached over and stilled Hermione"s fidgeting hands. "You told me once that Draco fell in love with you twice. First in eighth year, when he was too proud to admit it, and then again after you ran into each other in the archives. Maybe..." She squeezed Hermione"s fingers. "Maybe he just needs to fall in love with you a third time."
"I can"t..." Hermione pulled her hands away, wrapping her arms around herself. "I can"t go through that again, Gin. Do you know how hard it was? Those first months of dating, keeping it secret, watching him struggle with his feelings, with what his family would think—"
"Except his family already loves you now. Narcissa floo"d this morning to check on you, did you know that? She"s worried sick about both of you."
"Which only makes it worse! Everything we built, everything we worked for..." Hermione gestured at the wrapped gift. "This book – he spent an hour in that shop window, talking about how the binding techniques were revolutionary for their time, how the marginalia showed the evolution of brewing theory. And now he wouldn"t even understand why I bought it."
"Then help him understand." Ginny"s voice was firm. "Tell him the story. Make new memories. But Hermione..." She waited until her friend looked up. "You have to stop hiding in our guest room first."
"Don"t look at me like that," Pansy said, examining her nails with forced casualness.
"I remember... pieces." Draco ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Fragments. Moments that don"t make sense. Like... like I know she takes her tea with honey instead of sugar, but I don"t remember learning that. I know she hums when she"s reading something particularly interesting, but I can"t remember when I first noticed it. I know that watching her cry makes my chest hurt, but I don"t..."
"You don"t what?"
"I don"t know who I am with her." He looked down at the photos again, at his own face smiling at Hermione with naked adoration. "That man... he looks happy. Content. Like he knows exactly who he is and what he wants."
"That man is you, darling." Pansy"s voice softened. "And do you want to know how I know that? Because you still get this particular crease between your eyebrows when you"re worried about her – yes, exactly like that one you"re sporting now. Because you still orient yourself toward the Department of Magical Creatures every time you"re in the Ministry atrium, like a compass finding north. Because you spent twenty minutes this morning trying to fix your hair before work, even though you claimed you didn"t care if you saw her."
"I did not—"
"Draco." She waited until he met her eyes. "Do you know what you said to me when you first told me you were dating her? You said, "Pans, I think I"ve found the person I want to argue with for the rest of my life." And when I asked what you meant, you said that she challenges you, pushes you to be better, never lets you get away with anything – but she does it all with love."
Something in his chest tightened. "That sounds..."
"Like you? Because it was. Just like it was you who spent three months researching Muggle Christmas traditions because you wanted her parents to feel welcome at the Manor last year. Just like it was you who learned to use that ridiculous coffee machine because she loves the smell of coffee in the morning even though she prefers tea. Just like it was you who picked out that ring because it reminded you of the stars you spent a month teaching her to navigate when she decided Astronomy was a practical skill a Malfoy"s partner should have."
"I don"t..." But he did. He remembered lying on a blanket on their balcony, pointing out constellations while she drew star charts and asked endless questions. Remembered how the moonlight had caught in her hair, how she"d turned to him with that brilliant smile...
"There." Pansy"s voice was triumphant. "You just remembered something, didn"t you?"
He nodded slowly. "The stars. Teaching her about..." He pulled out the ring box, opening it. The vintage constellation design suddenly made more sense. "I chose this because..."
"Because she learned the stars for you." Pansy smiled. "Now, what are you going to do about it?"
It was nearly midnight when Hermione finally gathered her courage. Harry and Ginny had long since gone to their bedroom, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the silver-wrapped potions book that seemed to mock her from the guest room desk. The sound of their quiet domesticity drifted up through the floorboards – murmured conversations, the clink of a tea mug being set down, the soft creak of their bedroom door.
She couldn"t spend another night wondering, another night in this borrowed space that wasn"t home.
Her hands shook as she pulled on her coat – his coat, actually, the one she"d been wearing the day of the accident. It still smelled faintly of his cologne.
"Going somewhere?"
She jumped at Harry"s voice. He stood in the hallway in his pajamas, hair even messier than usual.
"I... I need to..."
"Go," he said softly. "Go home, Hermione."
The flat was dark when she Apparated to their designated spot in the entrance hall, but warm light spilled from beneath the living room door. Her heart stuttered – he was still awake. Of course he was. He"d always been a night owl, especially when something was troubling him. How many nights had she fallen asleep against his shoulder on the sofa while he read just one more chapter?
She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. This was mad. She should go. She should—
The sound of breaking glass from inside made the decision for her.
She pushed open the door to find Draco kneeling among the shattered remains of what looked like a Christmas ornament – the crystal snowflake his mother had given them last year, she realized with a pang. His normally pristine shirt sleeves were rolled up, hair disheveled like he"d been running his hands through it repeatedly. Photos and decorations were scattered across every surface, and in the corner stood a half-decorated tree, fairy lights hopelessly tangled around its middle like a glowing straight jacket.
"I can"t get them right," he said without looking up, his voice rough. "The fairy lights. The note said not to touch them, but I thought... I thought maybe if I could just..." He gestured helplessly at the mess around him. "Nothing looks the way it should. Nothing feels right."
"Draco—"
"I keep finding things," he continued, still not meeting her eyes. "Little notes you left in books – "remember to eat lunch, love" and "this passage made me think of you." Photos I don"t remember taking but that make my chest hurt. That hideous Cannons jumper you always steal even though you have three of your own. And I can"t... I can"t remember everything, but I remember how you take your tea – honey not sugar, just a splash of milk. I remember that you hum when you read something particularly interesting, this little tune that I used to find annoying but now I can"t stop hearing it in my head. And I remember..."
He finally looked up, and her breath caught at the raw emotion in his eyes.
"I remember how it feels to love you," he whispered. "Even if I can"t remember all the moments that led to it."
Her eyes fell on the coffee table, where the velvet ring box sat open beside their photo album. The constellation design caught the lamplight, tiny diamonds arranged in a pattern she recognized – Draco"s stars, the ones she"d spent weeks learning to navigate.
"I wasn"t supposed to know about that," she said softly. "I found it when I was putting away your socks. You"re usually so careful with your hiding places, but you were excited about Christmas Eve, and..."
"Christmas Eve." He stood slowly, the broken ornament forgotten. "Mother helped me plan it. The gardens, the stars..." He ran a hand through his hair, confirming her theory about its dishevelment. "I remember pieces. More every day. But the most important thing..."
"What?" Her voice trembled on the single syllable.
"I remember that I don"t want to spend Christmas without you. Memory loss or not, this flat feels wrong when you"re not in it. I feel wrong when you"re not here." He took a hesitant step toward her. "I know I ran at the ball. The memories... they overwhelmed me. Every kiss was another flood of moments I couldn"t quite grasp. But I"ve had time to think, to let them surface more gradually, and..."
She didn"t realize she was moving until she was right in front of him, close enough to see the shadows under his eyes, to smell the familiar cedar and sage of his cologne, to notice that he"d missed a button on his shirt.
"And?" she breathed.
His hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear she hadn"t felt fall. "And I think I"m falling in love with you all over again. Different memories, same heart. Because even when I couldn"t remember you, I still reached for you every morning. Still made your tea without thinking. Still found myself in the archives at lunch, waiting for someone who wasn"t there."
Later, she wouldn"t remember who moved first. Only that one moment they were standing in a sea of Christmas decorations and memories, and the next his lips were on hers, soft and sure and tasting of firewhisky and hope.
"Stay," he murmured against her mouth. "Help me remember. Help me make new memories. Tell me..." He kissed her again, like he couldn"t help himself. "Tell me everything. Why do we have a photograph of Potter wearing antlers? Why is there a trophy for "Most Dramatic Auror" on my desk? Why does Mother keep asking about something called Movie Night?"
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, finding in them the man she"d fallen in love with – not just the one from her memories, but this new version too, who was choosing her all over again.
"The fairy lights are actually supposed to be tangled," she said with a watery laugh. "It"s tradition. You mess them up, I pretend to be cross about it, and then we spend hours fixing them together. Usually with wine. Usually ending up more tangled than the lights."
His smile was achingly familiar, even if the memories behind it were still hazy. "Show me?" He reached for her hand. "Show me everything."
"Everything might take a while."
"Good thing we have Christmas holidays coming up then." His other hand was still on her cheek, thumb tracing her cheekbone like he was memorizing it all over again. "Stay. Come home. Even if... even if I never remember everything exactly as it was, we can make new memories. Better ones, maybe."
She leaned into his touch, relief making her knees weak. "Better than the time you tried to teach me to fly?"
"I think I just remembered something about that actually," he said, pulling her closer. "Didn"t you almost crash into the Manor"s peacocks?"
"You remember the peacocks but not Movie Night?"
"Tell me about Movie Night?" His lips found her temple, then the spot behind her ear that he somehow knew made her shiver.
"How about I show you instead?" She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "We still have that Muggle television set up in the bedroom."
His smile turned wicked. "Lead the way, Granger."
She took his hand, and as she led him toward their bedroom, leaving the tangled fairy lights and scattered memories behind, she realized something: sometimes love wasn"t about remembering every moment.
Sometimes it was about choosing to make new ones.