Chapter Text
Dear Dr Granger,
The Ministry of Magic is hosting a charity event on Christmas Eve to help fundraise for the Janus Thickey ward. You have been invited to accept the donations on behalf of the hospital.
Yours Truly,
Dr R Macmillon
Hermione sighed and threw the missive across her office and into the fireplace. She shouldn’t have been surprised. It had been a blissful year where they had left her alone to her research and hadn’t dragged her out to a single event. It made sense that they were just biding their time. What kind of a monster holds an event like that on Christmas Eve?
Not that she had any important plans for anything other than her research. She called it her research, but if she were truly honest with herself, it had become somewhat of an obsession. You see, the mind is a fragile thing. A mushy piece of flesh that controls every aspect of our being. It is the sum total of all our experiences as well as what makes us who we are and, in her mind, the most terrifying part, is that no one really understands it. Muggles have tried. They have cut it apart. They have performed tests. They have the most basic understanding of how it works.
Wixen have none of this, and they perform magic on it, like Hermione had done, on her own parents.
It has been ten long years since the war, and whilst she had made significant strides toward understanding this important part of us, it still felt like she had only just scratched the surface. She completed her internship at St Mungo’s with high recommendations, but it wasn’t enough. They didn’t care that they didn’t know how things worked. They were too focused on the results, and not enough on the why.
She had turned her attention to the muggle world. After completing her GCSE (Graduate Certificate of Secondary Education) she attended Cambridge University and became a doctor. The muggle world was both better and worse than Wixen. They knew more about the why, but lacked the ability to fix any of it. Her residency was a frustrating exercise in futility where she watched countless people die that she could have saved. She bent the rules, saving one here and there, but not enough to trigger the attention of the Ministry, but enough to salve her aching heart.
It was only after that she began to make real strides. She combined the two branches of her medical career and created new therapies. She pioneered and completely changed the way Wixen treated the brain. Her research studies into Obliviation were groundbreaking; she created protection spells to prevent it, she performed countless studies on the after effects on individuals afflicted by the curse, and she even managed to completely restore an individual's memory, moments after the spell was cast.
It was revolutionary.
It was unheard of.
But it wasn’t enough.
The biggest problem was that no one knew exactly how Obliviation worked. One wizard theorised that all it did was move the memories into the far recesses of the mind and locked them in a box that only the wizard had a key to. Her research had proven this to be false. If only because that particular spell did, in fact, exist.
It had been created in the eighteenth century by a wizard known only as Alvicide the Heinous. He used the spell after he tortured his victims so he could force them to relive their pain whenever he liked. He would live peacefully with them, going about their day-to-day life together, before he would release the memories again. They all eventually descended into madness.
Other wizards theorised that the memories were syphoned off and stored somewhere, like another dimension. They believed the process to be similar to collecting memories used in a Pensieve. This was not the case. She had found no evidence of another dimension storing them at all. The memories appeared to just disappear into thin air.
This was, of course, supported by rigorous testing. Her successful attempts only worked when attempted immediately after an Obliviation. The longer she waited, the more decayed the memories were. Some lost sound. Some lost vision. No memories lasted longer than ten minutes. At that point they were gone. Dissolved into the ether.
She had found nothing that could help her parents.
She still tried to be a part of their lives, but she was a stranger. A lovely stranger who had Monica’s hair and Wendell's eyes. She visited every summer and spent time with them in her capacity as a friend. She became like family to them.
But it still wasn’t enough.
All her years of education and study had only got her an empty house and parents who thought she was a sweet girl from England with no relatives of her own. Her existence had become one of loneliness and work. She came home at the end of every day to her little apartment that she shared with Crookshanks and tried not to dwell on what had become of her life.
It didn’t help that the soul mark on her arm burned constantly. She did not need another reminder at just one more thing she had failed at.
She had been so excited when she received her mark. The little intertwined symbols of the rune Thurisaz and Uruz. It was an unusual combination. Soul marks usually incorporated at least Wunjo or Eihwaz but she liked that hers was different. She didn’t know which aspect of the rune her soul mate would correspond with, but she knew it had to be better than what she’d had at that point.
It had appeared on the 5th of June, a little more than a month after the war. The timing had felt right. Her relationship with Ron had been shaky and all her attempts to fix it had just resulted in more tension.
He was broken.
She had tried to help. Tried to say all the right things and simply be there to listen, but you can’t speed up the grieving process. It wasn’t like she was exactly trying to push him. He was her best friend and, at that point, the most important person in her life, but his grief made her grief feel less somehow. His pain was greater. His tragedy more dire. At least her parents were alive, and she had a chance to rekindle some sort of a relationship. Fred was dead and nothing was bringing him back.
It may have helped if he had been at least a little sympathetic toward how she was feeling, but he was so mired in his pain that nothing seemed to reach him.
So, when she had received her soul mark, a soul mark that he did not share, she took it as a sign to end things.
What followed was years and years of searching. She attended soul mark meeting events. She trawled through singles’ bars and matchmaking services. She appeared at countless galas and charity events, all searching for the one who was bound to her. The one who was supposed to be her everything.
He was nowhere to be found. He must be either a hermit or recluse because otherwise magic was playing an elaborate trick on her. It didn’t stop her hoping though. There was still a chance that someday he would appear. She knelt back down over her desk and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and a quill.
Dear Dr Macmillon,
I would be delighted to represent the hospital at the Christmas Eve gala. I look forward to another year of your generous patronage.
Yours Truly,
Dr H Granger
When Hermione apparated on the path outside her mystery patient's front gate, she was struck by how picturesque it was. It creaked loudly as she pushed through and found herself on a simple cobblestone path surrounded by wildflowers and the rolling countryside so typical of Gloucestershire. The manse in front of her was a simple two-storey with a quaint old world feel to it, with its thatch roof and casement windows
It was not the sort of house she would have expected Theodore Nott to live in, but when she knocked on the door she was met with irrefutable proof. She hadn’t seen him in years. He had practically disappeared from the magical community. He wasn’t talked about in any of the papers, and he certainly hadn’t been working. She had become acquainted with many of the Slytherins over the years and had heard hide nor hair of him. She certainly hadn’t expected this quaint estate, tucked away in the back end of Gloucestershire, to belong to him.
They stared at each other in silence. He had barely changed. The ten years since she saw him last had served only to make his features finer and more pronounced. His dark hair curled artfully around his ears, brushing the tops of his shoulders. He was wearing a simple pair of khaki slacks and an oversized dark green jumper. He looked casual and easy and utterly mouth-watering. The only flaw in his otherwise perfect appearance was the dark circles under his bright blue eyes.
Her teenage self had always thought him to be handsome, bright, and completely unsuitable just because of the colour of the tie he wore. It has been stupid, rank prejudice and now ten years had proved to her what a foolish notion that had been. She now felt an instant sense of connection, their gaze met and his eyebrows lifted lightly in surprise. She felt like she could fall into the depths of those blue orbs and stay there forever. He possessed a warmth that caught her completely by surprise, but left her wondering if maybe he was the one, the one she had been looking for.
He was obviously surprised to see her. She had recently taken over the books of Dr Stephen Frawley, a high-end mind healer she had worked with in the past. He trusted her to take over and care for his patients in his retirement which, whilst a great privilege, was one she wasn’t sure she deserved. Today she was supposed to be seeing patient D19800605. He was her age, and from the notes on his file, in a completely catatonic state. Only one of these facts matched the handsome young man in front of her.
She cleared her throat. “Good morning Mr Nott. I have an appointment. I’m here to see a patient. I apologise but the only reference I have in the file is D19800605.” She was babbling. She knew she was babbling but she couldn’t stop herself as he stood stock still and stared at her.
He shook his head as though to clear it. “Good morning, Dr Granger. My apologies. I wasn’t expecting you.”
He stepped back, leaving a space for her to walk into the house. Once she was through, he closed the door behind her and motioned for her to follow him. The house was pleasant, almost quaint. A far cry from the decor she normally associated with wealthy purebloods. It kind of suited him, in the same way that his casual attire suited him. It was covered in shades of pastel greens and warm wooden panelling. The surfaces were covered in picture frames and antiques, nothing that screamed ridiculously wealthy. She was beginning to wonder if every notion she had ever had about the man had been wrong.
He led her out to the back porch, which looked out over a small pond and more stunning British countryside. Whilst the season had just changed to autumn, the green was still hanging on despite the cooler breeze. There was a white metal table with matching chairs, and a comfortable looking wicker sofa. Next to the couch, facing away from the door was a wheelchair, the man who occupied it looking out onto the grounds. All she could see from this position was the back of his head, covered in white-blond hair.
With a grave face, Nott gestured toward the man and Hermione walked around the couch to get a better look.
She froze. She wasn’t sure exactly who she had been expecting but it hadn’t been this. She hadn’t seen Draco Malfoy in years. She hadn’t even thought about him in years. The dark circles under Nott’s eyes suddenly made a lot of sense.
Malfoy had always been bigger than life. His presence used to fill up a room, impossible to ignore, as he sauntered around, flinging grand statements and gestures about. She had hated how attracted she was to him, and how he had taunted her with it in fifth year. Those silver eyes looking at her with both hatred and a look of hunger that she couldn’t quite reconcile. He had been rough with her the few times he had caught her, under the guise of the Inquisitorial Squad, and she couldn’t help but think that his hands had lingered longer than completely necessary. An act that had filled her with a complicated mix of arousal and hatred.
She had told herself that she hadn’t wanted him. She wanted Ron, who was nice and sweet and had no intentions ever of working for someone as foul as Umbridge. It didn’t matter how many lies she told herself, she wanted him all the same. She continued to flout Umbridge's ridiculous rules, partially in order to buck the system, but also because, in a way, she wanted to be caught, so that she could have his hands on her again.
Then everything had fallen apart. The war had become all too real, and their teenage rivalry became something dangerous and more sinister. It didn’t matter that he had become a mere shadow of himself. It didn’t matter that he had barely had a choice. He was the enemy.
The year after, he became a spectre, a barely there creature that was more shadow than human.
Now he wasn’t here at all.
His silver eyes stared blankly out into the green beyond the porch. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. It was like he hadn’t even recognised that she was there, even though she was standing right in front of him. His face, though vacant, was older but just as handsome as it had always been. It was what was inside that had changed and she found the juxtaposition jarring.
“Malfoy.”
The words escaped with her breath, fluttering hesitantly out with the breeze. She turned to Nott. “What happened?”
He grimaced, his eyes scrunching in the corners.
“I…” He gulped before continuing. “I’m told it was gradual.” His face scrunched up further. “I wasn’t there for that part.”
He ran his hands through his hair pulling on the ends, before dragging out one of the chairs and sitting down heavily. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees as he nervously twined his hands together.
“We’re soul mates.” He looked up at her nervously, watching to see how the words sank in.
She tried not to let the disappointment show on her face. The dark haired wizard was not her soul mate. Whilst it was less common for soul mates to be gay, they still existed, no matter how much the wizarding community had tried to make out that they didn’t. Hermione couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for two scions from old pureblood families to come to terms with that bigotry. She had heard many horror stories over the years, from people cutting or burning off their marks, to couples being deliberately kept apart. Needless to say, none of those stories ended well.
“Your parents kept you apart because of it?”
Nott grimaced again. “My parents are both dead. That time after the war was complicated. We were all on trial for crimes,both real and fabricated. I had never participated in anything but because of the sins of my father, they tried me as an accomplice. Draco’s situation was even worse.”
He looked over at Malfoy with a look of such love and longing that it tugged at her heartstrings just to see it.
“They tried to put him in Azkaban, even though he had only been a child. We were navigating all that on top of this amazing thing that had happened. I had no idea how he would take it. I didn’t have any idea that he might feel like that about me.”
He blushed bright red and pressed two fingers to his lips. “Then he kissed me for the first time, and I realised that this is what I had been missing all along. Don’t get me wrong, I had kissed other girls, and boys, before, but nothing has ever been like him.”
Hermione sat down and schooled her face into an expression of care and concern. “Then, Malfoy's parents kept you apart?”
Nott sighed and leaned forward clasping his hands together. “Not for the reasons you might think. I mean yes, I thought that it was because we were two men and he was having second thoughts.” His breath hitched. “I had no idea it was because his entire life was falling to pieces around him and he didn’t want me to see it. He’s so proud. He didn’t tell me anything, even when they took his magic away.”
Hermione looked sharply back at Malfoy who hadn’t moved the whole time. They took his magic away. For most wizards that was a fate worse than death. She couldn’t imagine how Malfoy would have taken it.
“I didn’t find out until Narcissa was on her death bed. At that point he was still holding on. He was lucid sometimes, and when I saw him again after all those years, he looked at me like I was the sun, and it broke something inside me. I should have been there by his side while his mind slipped away from him like sand. I can’t help but think maybe the soul mate magic would have helped.”
Hermione leaned forward to place her hand on top of his hands. “There is no evidence to suggest that soul mate magic helps at all with afflictions of the brain. It does generally contribute to the wellbeing of both partners, but it certainly wouldn’t have helped change trauma of this capacity.”
Nott nodded. “We were married in a small ceremony at the foot of Narcissa’s hospital bed. She did not last long after.” He got up and walked over to Malfoy. He ran his hands along Malfoy’s face and into his hair, a loving gesture that Hermione often recommended patients perform on their loved ones. It was a way for patients to ground themselves in the now, but in this particular instance it had no effect at all.
Nott continued to talk over his shoulder as he worked his hands over his husband. “It was hard on both of us. We had to get used to being a couple as well as me learning how to care for him whilst he was dealing with the death of his mother. He deteriorated in that time. I’m sure you must be aware of what stress does to a condition like this.”
Hermione stood up and retrieved
stethoscope from her bag, slinging it around her neck. She moved up next to Nott and gestured toward Malfoy.
“May I examine him?”
He nodded and moved back. She cast lumos and shined the light in his eyes, neither giving any indication they were responding to the stimulus. She put the wand back in her pocket and pressed the cold end of the stethoscope to his chest, listening to the slow steady beat of his heart. It was strong, at least, which was a good sign.
“How long has he been like this?”
Nott breathed out heavily. “A couple of years. The episodes just became longer and longer until now he chews if you put food in his mouth, and he walks if you lead or guide him, but that’s it.”
Hermione turned to him sharply. “He’s been like this for a couple of years!? What therapies have you tried?”
Nott looked at her with sad eyes. “I’ve tried everything I can but I’m not a doctor and I don’t know what I should and should not be doing. Most of the doctors we’ve contacted have been very unwilling to help.”
“But Dr Frawley - "
Nott interrupted her with a strained growl, through clenched teeth. “Dr Frawley was the only doctor I could find who would check on him. He wouldn’t do much more than that.”
Hermione looked at him in horror, then let her gaze wander back over to Malfoy.
“Oh my God.” She breathed out. “He’s been trapped in there for that long?”
“Yes.”
Hermione stuffed the stethoscope back in her bag and took out her wand again.
“Are you proficient in Legilimency?”
He shook his head, his expression grave. “No. That was always more of Draco’s sort of thing. He could do both. Legilimency and Occlumency.” He looked away. “I have never been great with that side of magic.”
“He’s had no contact with anyone for years?” Hermione let all her breath out in one giant puff of air. There was no telling what she would find in there. “I need to go inside his mind. Do you consent to that procedure?”
Notts eyes were glassy when she turned back to him, and his voice was strained as he replied, “Yes, I consent to the procedure and Hermione–” he paused and she nodded at him to continue “--can you tell him I love him–and that I miss him?”
Hermione reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Of course, I will.”