1
Hermione set down the last of her moving boxes with a satisfying thud, the sound echoing faintly through the quiet of her new apartment. She paused, hands on her hips, and took a moment to soak it all in. It wasn’t much—just two bedrooms, one bath—but it was hers. The compact space was tucked in a peaceful corner of a Muggle neighborhood, away from the chaos of Diagon Alley. Best of all, it was right next to a charming little bookstore that she had already decided to frequent.
The living room, though currently an obstacle course of boxes, felt full of potential. A fireplace with an intricate stone mantle stood proudly along one wall, its soot-blackened edges hinting at decades of cozy evenings past. Hermione could already picture herself curled up on a second-hand couch—Crookshanks perched smugly on the armrest—with a cup of tea warming her hands and the fire crackling away as the pages of a novel transported her to another world. A smile tugged at her lips as she twirled in place, taking in the high ceilings and large windows that promised plenty of natural light.
“Merlin’s beard, Hermione!” Ginny’s voice cut through her reverie, followed by the unmistakable thud of heavy footsteps on the staircase just outside. “Did you have to move to the top floor of a building with no lift?” Ginny appeared in the doorway, red-faced and slightly out of breath, carrying a paper bag of Indian takeaway in one hand while balancing two boxes in the other.
“I figured I’d get my daily cardio in,” Hermione replied with a smirk, crossing the room to take the boxes from Ginny. “Besides, the view from up here is worth it.”
Ginny snorted, dumping the bag of food onto the nearest box before flopping onto the floor in an exaggerated sprawl. “A view of rooftops and pigeons? You’ve truly outdone yourself, Granger.”
Ignoring her friend’s theatrics, Hermione rummaged through the bag, the aroma of curry and spices instantly making her mouth water. Ginny motioned for her to sit, patting the floor beside her. The nearest box was quickly commandeered as a makeshift table since Hermione had yet to acquire any furniture.
“I wouldn’t have had to move at all if you and Harry hadn’t gotten engaged,” Hermione teased as she lowered herself down, the wood floor cool against her legs.
Ginny shot her a mock glare, spooning some tikka masala onto a plate. “Yes, because clearly, our love story is the great tragedy here.”
They both laughed, falling into an easy rhythm as they unpacked the food and began to eat. Hermione glanced around the room, a mixture of nostalgia and excitement stirring in her chest. She and Ginny had shared a flat for years, ever since Ginny finished her seventh year and Hermione had returned to complete her eighth. Those four years had been a whirlwind of late-night chats, takeout dinners, and shared triumphs. Moving out had been inevitable, but that didn’t make the goodbye any easier.
Still, Harry and Ginny deserved their happiness, and Hermione was genuinely thrilled for them. She’d been there through their ups and downs, seen how deeply they cared for one another. It was time for her to carve out her own space, and this new apartment—quiet, unassuming, and full of promise—felt like a good start.
“Anyway, I’m proud of you,” Ginny said after a moment, breaking the comfortable silence. “Moving out, starting your career as a Healer. You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?”
Hermione shrugged, a small, self-deprecating smile on her lips. “We’ll see. But for now? I think I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
Hermione popped a piece of naan into her mouth, the warm, buttery bread melting against her tongue as she reached into a nearby box labeled Fragile. She pulled out a frame wrapped in tissue paper and carefully unwrapped it, revealing a photo. It was of her, Harry, and Ron crammed together on the Weasleys’ well-worn couch a few Christmases ago. Harry had his arm slung around her shoulder, Ron was making a ridiculous face, and all three of them were laughing at something off-camera. The memory tugged at her heart, but her smile faltered.
“Ron says congrats on your Healer license, by the way,” Ginny said suddenly, her tone oddly casual. Hermione glanced up to find Ginny focusing intently on her plate, poking at her food like it was a delicate puzzle.
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “He couldn’t come tell me himself?” Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she didn’t bother to soften it.
Ginny winced, finally looking up. “Come on, Mione, you know Ron’s almost incapable of being the bigger person.”
“Precisely why our relationship ended,” Hermione muttered, jabbing her fork into her curry with more force than necessary.
The room grew quiet for a moment, save for the clink of cutlery and the muffled hum of the city outside. Hermione's thoughts drifted unbidden to that night—the night everything had come undone. She and Ron had been having dinner together while Ginny was out with friends. The evening had started well enough, but a minor disagreement spiraled into a full-blown argument. Neither of them remembered how it had begun, but Hermione vividly recalled the heat of it, the way words flew like daggers, each one landing deeper than the last.
They’d both said things they didn’t mean—or maybe they did, and that was the problem. Ron had stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the dishes in the cupboard. She hadn’t heard from him for three days, and by the time she finally dropped a box of his things off at his apartment, the decision had been made. Quietly. Finally.
It hadn’t surprised her, not really. Their relationship had always been something of a balancing act, and the scales had tipped too far, too many times. Still, the end of it left a bittersweet ache, one she hadn’t fully shaken off.
Hermione shook her head, as if physically dispelling the memory. She was in her new apartment now, her own space, her own life. There was no use dwelling on the past. She placed the photo frame face-down on the box and reached for another piece of naan.
“I’m not in the mood to think about him,” she said finally, her tone lighter, but with an edge of finality. “This is supposed to be a new chapter, right?”
Ginny nodded, offering a small smile. “Right. And honestly, I think it’s going to be a brilliant one.”
Hermione nodded in agreement and leaned back against the box, savoring the moment of peace. It didn’t last long. A sudden, sharp warmth burned against her wrist, and she groaned as she glanced down at the slim silver bracelet engraved with the St. Mungo’s insignia.
“Of course,” she muttered. “I’m being summoned.”
Ginny looked up from her plate. “Now? You just moved in!”
Hermione shrugged, standing and stretching before rifling through the box labeled Clothes. “Duty calls. Looks like I’ll have to finish unpacking tomorrow.”
Ginny rose as well, brushing crumbs from her jeans. “I’ll start unpacking for you. It’ll give me something to do other than listen to Mum ramble about wedding flowers.”
Hermione shot her an appreciative smile as she pulled her Healer robes free and slipped them on. “Thanks, Gin. You’re a lifesaver.”
Without further delay, Hermione tightened her grip on her wand and Apparated directly to St. Mungo’s. She landed with an unceremonious thud in the designated arrival area, stumbling slightly as the familiar wave of nausea hit her. No matter how often she Apparated, the sensation never became pleasant. Taking a moment to steady herself, she straightened her robes and glanced around.
“Ah, Healer Granger!” came a cheerful voice. Head Healer Foster approached briskly, his salt-and-pepper beard twitching as he offered her a warm smile. Despite his small stature, his presence always commanded respect.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” he continued, motioning for her to follow as he turned on his heel. “I apologize if I interrupted any plans, but we need a young Healer for this particular case. Your expertise will be invaluable.”
Hermione adjusted her pace to keep up, her curiosity piqued. “Of course. What’s the situation?”
Foster didn’t answer immediately, leading her down a series of corridors until they stopped in front of a familiar figure. Harry stood there, looking decidedly awkward, his jet-black hair as untamed as ever. His Auror robes were slightly rumpled, and his green eyes softened as they met hers.
“Hey, Mione,” he greeted, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Hermione frowned, glancing between Harry and the Head Healer. “Harry?”
“If you wouldn’t mind accompanying Auror Potter for a wellness check,” Foster explained, his tone carefully neutral.
Hermione blinked in surprise. Wellness checks were usually routine tasks, nothing that required her expertise—or someone as high-ranking as Harry. Still, she nodded, offering Foster a polite smile. “Of course, I’d be glad to.”
“Excellent,” Foster said, already retreating down the hallway. “Thank you, Healer Granger!”
Hermione watched him leave before turning back to Harry, raising an eyebrow. “Alright, Harry, what’s going on? Where are we off to?”
Harry winced, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s probably best if you don’t know.”
Hermione’s curiosity sharpened at his vague response. She wasn’t naïve—if this were a standard wellness check, they would have sent a junior Auror, not Harry. Still, she refrained from pressing him, at least for now.
Instead, she sighed, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from her robes. “Well, let’s get on with it, then. I’ve got boxes to unpack.”
Harry chuckled softly and extended his arm. Hermione hesitated for only a moment before taking it, the familiar pull of Apparition engulfing her as they vanished together.
They landed with a soft pop on a patch of dead grass, and it took Hermione a moment to adjust to her surroundings in the dim light. Shadows loomed around them, cast by the tall, skeletal trees encircling the area. The cold air bit at her nose, sending a shiver down her spine as she hugged her robes closer.
In front of them stood a pair of wrought iron gates, massive and foreboding, with intricate dragons carved into the center. Beyond the gates, a sprawling manor sat in the distance, its dark silhouette outlined faintly against the night sky. The sight was imposing, to say the least.
Hermione dropped Harry’s arm and turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Where are we?”
Harry adjusted his glasses, his breath visible in the frosty air. “An old wizarding family manor.”
She gave him a withering look. “Well, obviously. But whose is it?”
There was a pause as Harry mumbled something incoherent under his breath, avoiding her gaze.
“Harry,” she said, placing her hands on her hips, her voice firm. “Whose manor is this?”
He winced, finally meeting her eyes. “Malfoy’s.”
Hermione’s frown deepened. “But this isn’t Malfoy Manor.” She knew Malfoy Manor had been confiscated by the Ministry shortly after the war. It had been thoroughly cleared of dark artifacts and was now being used for official government purposes.
“They have multiple properties, apparently,” Harry explained, already moving toward the gates. “And you know Malfoy was put on house arrest after his trial.”
Hermione followed, her boots crunching on the brittle grass. She did know. She’d been there when Harry testified on Malfoy’s behalf, arguing for leniency due to the coercion he’d faced during the war. Hermione herself hadn’t testified. She couldn’t bring herself to do it, not after everything she’d endured at the hands of the Malfoys.
“They locked him up here since they couldn’t use the other manor,” Harry continued, his tone neutral. “And, well… he never moved out, even after his house arrest ended last year.”
Hermione let out a puff of air, her breath swirling in the cold as she fell into step beside Harry. The thought of Draco Malfoy living alone in a gloomy, isolated manor felt strange, almost surreal. And now, they were here to check on him. Lovely.
“It’s Ministry-mandated,” Harry added, as if reading her thoughts. “We’re required to check up on former Death Eaters regularly now, considering what happened a few months ago.”
Hermione’s frown deepened. She didn’t need Harry to elaborate. Everyone in the wizarding world knew about Pansy Parkinson’s death. Found lifeless on her bathroom floor, the official report ruled it a suicide, though whispers of foul play circulated in certain circles.
The incident had sent shockwaves through the Ministry, spurring them to tighten regulations on monitoring former Death Eaters and their allies. The wellness checks were part of that initiative, though Hermione wasn’t entirely sure how effective they were.
“Great,” she muttered under her breath as they approached the gates. “A wellness check on Draco Malfoy. Just how I wanted to spend my evening.”
Harry chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. “It’s not exactly my idea of a good time either.”
With a flick of his wand, the gates creaked open, groaning as if in protest. Together, they stepped onto the stone pathway leading toward the manor, its looming presence growing larger with every step.
The pathway was lined with an array of exotic plants, their vivid hues and unnatural vitality striking against the crisp, barren chill of mid-October. Hermione’s eyes lingered on a flower with petals so white they appeared to glow faintly in the dim light, swaying gently as if the wind carried a rhythm only it could hear. The plants were mesmerizing yet unsettling, thriving in defiance of the season.
As they reached the manor’s grand steps, the air seemed heavier, colder. Harry took the lead, stepping in front of her with his wand loosely at his side. “Stay behind me. I’ll open the door.”
Hermione nodded, watching as Harry reached for the large brass handle on the towering door. Before his fingers could touch it, the door swung open with a low creak, as though the house itself had been waiting for them.
The dark entryway yawned before them like the mouth of a cave. Neither of them moved immediately, the oppressive silence stretching between them. Then—
“S’cuse me.”
The sudden voice made both of them jump back, wands snapping up in unison. Hermione glanced down to see a small house-elf staring up at them, its enormous green eyes luminous in the dim light. The elf’s ears twitched, and it tugged nervously at the hem of its tea towel toga.
“Master’s wanting to knows what you is doing here,” the elf said, its voice high-pitched and wary.
Hermione exchanged a glance with Harry, who shrugged, his wand still at his side. “We’re here on Ministry business,” he said evenly. “A wellness check.”
The elf narrowed its eyes suspiciously, its nose scrunching. “Is assures you Master is well,” it replied curtly, as if that should have been the end of the discussion.
Hermione stepped forward, lowering her wand. “Yes, but we need to confirm that for ourselves,” she said firmly, her tone leaving little room for argument.
The elf frowned, one spindly hand reaching up to twirl its oversized ear. “Master is not liking uninvited visitors,” it said with a huff, “but you is of the Ministry.”
“Yes,” Hermione said, folding her arms. “Just let us see him, and we’ll be on our way.”
The elf rocked back on its heels, muttering something under its breath before finally nodding. “Alrights. Comes in. Miffy will gets Master.”
The elf stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter. Harry and Hermione exchanged another look before cautiously stepping into the manor. The air inside was colder than outside, and the dimly lit space smelled faintly of aged wood and damp stone.
As they moved past the threshold, the door slammed shut behind them with a resounding thud, causing Hermione to jump slightly.
“Stays here,” Miffy said, pointing at them with a long, bony finger. Then, with a pop, the elf vanished, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the eerie silence of the entryway.
Hermione rubbed her arms against the chill, her eyes adjusting to the dimness. “Cheery place,” she muttered, her voice echoing softly off the high ceilings.
Harry chuckled quietly, though it sounded forced. “Let’s just hope Malfoy’s in the mood to cooperate.”
Hermione snorted softly, her lips quirking in a wry smile. “Since when has that ever been the case?”
"A wellness check? Almost makes me believe the Ministry actually cares," a familiar voice drawled from the shadows, the sound carrying an edge of mocking disdain.
Hermione turned toward the source as Draco Malfoy emerged from a dimly lit hallway. He was taller than she remembered, his lanky frame from school filled out with a broader, more confident stance. His hair, no longer slicked back in the pristine style he’d favored during their Hogwarts years, fell loosely across his forehead, giving him an almost casual air. Time had softened the sharpness of his features, though his piercing gaze still carried that familiar intensity.
“How lucky am I that they sent not only Chosen Potter but also Know-It-All Granger,” he sneered, his pale eyes flicking over them both.
Harry ignored the jab, his tone clipped. “Just let us do our job, Malfoy, and we’ll be out of your hair.”
Malfoy’s smirk didn’t falter as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Go ahead, cast your little diagnostic spell, and then run along. Merlin forbid I keep you from whatever heroic errands you have waiting.” His voice was devoid of warmth, the words laced with practiced indifference.
Hermione stepped forward, ignoring his tone as she raised her wand. A soft light glowed from its tip, swirling briefly in the air before settling into a faint shimmer around Malfoy. The diagnostic spell cast a faint aura over him, displaying its results in front of her.
She scanned the glowing runes. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a bit of magical exhaustion, but that’s common.”
Malfoy pushed off the wall, his sneer deepening. “Fascinating. Then I suppose the door will see you out.” He turned sharply, his robes sweeping behind him as he strode back toward the hallway. Just before he disappeared into the shadows, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, and Granger, I’d suggest not touching the white flowers on your way out. They’ve a way of enticing people to… linger.”
Hermione frowned as he vanished, his cryptic comment sticking in her mind. The white flowers she’d noticed earlier glimmered faintly in her memory, their glow unnaturally captivating.
The door swung open with a low groan, and Hermione and Harry stepped out into the brisk night air.
“Well, that took less than ten minutes,” Harry remarked, checking his watch as they started down the stone pathway.
“Nothing better than a quick trip,” Hermione agreed, pulling her robes tighter against the chill. “Now I can get back to unpacking.”
The stars sparkled overhead, their faint light illuminating the pathway. Hermione let her gaze wander, admiring the way the property shimmered under the moonlight. Despite its eerie atmosphere, she imagined the grounds might be beautiful in the spring, lush and vibrant instead of cold and ominous.
Her attention was drawn back to the white flowers lining the path. Their glow seemed stronger now, almost pulsing softly in the dark. She remembered Malfoy’s warning but found her curiosity piqued. Enticing people to linger?
The closer she walked, the more the flowers seemed to shimmer, their glow almost hypnotic. She found herself slowing, her footsteps quieter as she neared them. They seemed to call to her, their light warm and inviting under the cold moonlit sky.
Before she realized what she was doing, her hand had reached out. Her fingers brushed the velvety softness of a petal, and the glow intensified, engulfing her in a flash of light.
Her breath caught as the world tilted. For a moment, it felt as though she were floating, weightless and suspended. Then, the light vanished, leaving her in sudden, suffocating darkness.
“Hermione!” she heard Harry shout faintly, but his voice sounded distant, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel.
And then there was nothing.