Unspoken

Malfoy drew his eyes up to meet hers and then flicked them sideways to glance at either end of the corridor. He pulled Hermione closer to the wall and in an even lower voice asked, “What is this about? Did something happen?”

Hermione closed her eyes in irritation and held back a sigh. Couldn’t he just answer the question without interrogating her?

“Granger.”

She opened them back up and met a steady, unblinking gaze that made her flush.

“Maybe? Yes?”

Her arm was still looped through his elbow and she tried to take it back, feeling antsy. As her hand pulled away, Malfoy caught it. His hand was warm but hers felt damp; She hadn’t realized until now but she was a bit clammy.

“I don’t know. That is why I am asking you a question I very much need an answer to!” Hermione defensively snapped at him.

Suddenly, Malfoy was supporting her along one side. Has she stumbled? Merlin, her head hurt. Her eyes. Her whole body ached all over.

“It’s always questions with you.” he complained back, no actual annoyance in his tone. “And this isn’t the place, let’s get you home.”

“You ask me questions too, it’s only fair...” she grumbled under her breath as Malfoy half-carried her down to her office to fetch her work bag.

-------

“I swear, Granger, the only other person this paranoid I know of is Potter.”

Hermione glared at the wizard’s back from the nest of blankets and pillows on her couch. She was ensconced in not one, not two, but three blankets with a very self-satisfied kneazle curled up in her lap. Apparently bribing Crookshanks with some leftover tuna was all it took for the cat to turn traitor. He had taken the job of “keep your witch from falling down again” quite seriously. 

“I was stalked in an alley by three unknown assailants in masks and sent an anonymous threatening letter. I don’t want to overlook anything that might be related.” she protested tiredly, resting her chin on the soft outer layer of a chenille throw. 

Malfoy turned around and measured out a vial of dark magenta liquid that he poured into a glass of water that briefly boiled before settling still. She eyed it sullenly as he brought the glass over to her and held it out.

“I’m sick of potions.” she said sadly.

There was no pity in his voice as he replied, “Then take better care of yourself. Drink up.”

At least it didn’t taste as awful as it looked. She gulped it down quickly, not overly fond of the intense clove aftertaste that lingered on her tongue and made the insides of her mouth feel a little numb. Were her ears steaming?

“Thank you.” she croaked as she handed the empty glass back.

“I should reconsider that invoice for healing services,” he said with a smirk. “You’re lucky we caught that cold early. I suppose it’s to be expected with your health in such atrocious condition. I should have never let you go to that dress fitting.”

“You didn’t ‘let’ me go!”

“Weasley feels differently.” The smirk turned into a broad grin.

She tried to chuck a throw pillow at him but it sailed only halfway across the room. 

“Really, Granger?” Malfoy magicked the pillow back into a perfectly proportional square shape and settled it onto one of the armchairs, safe from her wrath. 

She threw another one.

He raised an eyebrow at her and she squinted with irritation back at him. With a roll of his eyes, the second pillow joined its fluffed friend on the chair.

“Are you finished?”

“I don’t have any more pillows.”

“Poor you.”

Settling himself between the two rescued cushions, Malfoy leaned forward from the armchair, his facing taking on a more serious expression.

“Other than this Auror not working to the ‘Golden Granger Standard,’ why did you conclude Obliviation?” he asked, resuming the conversation that they had been discussing since returning to her apartment.

Hermione nibbled on her lip. She had no tangible evidence that her own memory loss was tied to these recent events, but she suspected. Conjecture wasn’t likely to get Malfoy on board, however.

“Well, aside from the classic physical symptoms outlined by Cogitar in Obliviation Outcomes and Overcoming Obscuration-”

“- don’t quote Cogitar at me -”

“- I have to assume one or both of the possible scenarios: that whomever destroyed the Hall of Prophecies would have needed to cover their tracks, and that means either memory modifications of the people they needed to sneak around or-”

“- or compromised Unspeakables.”

Hermione and Malfoy considered each other grimly.

She wondered what he was thinking, after everything she had shared with him. Hell, she continued to wonder why he was here, and why he cared. 

“Any thoughts?”

The quiet between them continued. 

“You said I needed to learn to share the load.” Hermione reminded him, “Trust someone?”

Immediately, he stiffened and froze to the point that Hermione could not be sure if he was breathing. She tried to catch his eyes but Malfoy was staring between his legs at the carpet, brows furrowed. She hadn’t expected her words to have such an intense impact. 

“I didn’t mean to imply it should be me.” His whisper was even quieter than hers.

“Why not you?” she asked.

Hadn’t he implied that he was offering to be her confidant? Just this morning he had talked about checking in on the topic. Her heart rattled around her chest uncomfortably, suddenly unsure if she had overstepped the lines of whatever their quasi-work-companionship was. 

“Styx, Granger, you fucking know why.” he said in a gravelly voice.

“Then who-”

“Potter! Or that wild family of weasels you nest up with every holiday. Or-”

“I can’t. I don’t. I mean - that’s not what I mean. I trust them, but… this… is different.”

Hellhounds, Hermione was making a horrible mess of this.

“Harry and Ginny and Ron… I love them. They are… family. But with everything going on right now… I need a… a friend.”

Malfoy chuckled darkly, head still hanging down. “You have plenty of friends.”

Hermione gave a sort of strangled laugh that had him finally looking at her. She choked back a bitter sob as the laughter just kept pouring out of her mouth, making her sound quite hysterical as she told him, “Don’t you know that Hermione Granger doesn’t ‘do’ friends?”

His grey eyes wide in confusion and concern.

“Granger-”

“No, listen to me, Malfoy. Harry and Ginny are getting married and will start their own family, and Ron is still an asshole on the outside, and I can’t… remember the last time I saw anyone else. No one is looking out for me! Or for me, for that matter.”

“Calm down, your heart rate will rise again-”

He was out of his seat now, hand pressed against the side of her neck where she could feel the heat from her skin seeping into his hands. Crookshanks was similarly on edge and purring furiously in an attempt to resettle her but it was all in vain.

Spitting out the horrible truth of Granger’s life, Hermione shouted, “NO ONE NOTICED.”

The hand on her neck slid down and back to Malfoy’s side. 

“No one noticed, Malfoy. No one stopped me from working myself into the ground. Everyone just assumed that… that everything was well enough.”

… that Granger was and would always be there. And now she’s gone.

Hermione bit her lips shut and took a deep breath, a little surprised that her eyes remained dry with so much emotional upheaval twisting her chest and stomach.

“Gryffindors aren’t really known for being perceptive.” noted Malfoy, voice quiet and gentle if a little unsure.

She shrugged her shoulders as though she didn’t care one way or another. It was too late to do anything about it now. She could and would forgive Harry and the rest for their part in leaving Granger on her own but the grief would probably never go away. It would just become buried a little deeper with each day as Hermione could get a better handle on it.

“I am bloody pathetic, aren’t I?” she laughed sadly.

The couch cushion sank a little as Malfoy sat down, nudging Crookshanks fluffy posterior to claim space for himself. He tucked an errant curl behind her shoulder before considering her most seriously.

“Granger, you sound lost. Anyone can lose an idea of who they are or what they want, where they are going. Who they can trust. There is nothing more isolating than feeling lost and alone.”

Lost.

A perfect word. The meaning was almost comforting and the heaviness in her chest began to lift with each repetition of the word in her mind. Some things were lost forever but some lost things were just misplaced. 

“Thank you. That helps. Hard to admit, but I am. Lost - a little lost and alone.” An annoyed mrowl and she corrected herself, “Not completely alone.”

“Crookshanks certainly is an attentive roommate.”

“You learned his name.” 

Malfoy groaned in disgust at himself. Hermione laughed and he rolled his eyes, unable to stop the corner of his mouth from lifting into a wry smile.

“I suppose next you’re going to make me learn what SPEW stands for.” he groused.

She blinked, unable to recall the full name of Granger’s advocacy group. “Er, no.” 

“Thank Salazar.”

He grinned at her, trying to coax out a smile, and she took a great breath before smiling tentatively back at him.

“I know we weren’t and aren’t exactly friends, Malfoy…”

“Mmm.”

“Stop with that smirk already, please,” she said with a half eye roll, “I’m not… experienced in this sort of thing. Harry and Ron sort of adopted me as far as I recall. But I like spending time with you.”

“Of course you do. None of the Gryffindors other than you even broke the top ten in N.E.W.T.S. I cannot imagine the sorts of conversations you’ve had to endure over the years.”

“Malfoy -”

“This is like third-year all over again. Am I going to get a paper crane at my desk tomorrow that says, ‘Will you be my friend, circle yes or no’ ?”

The mirth in his eyes made the grey almost sparkle and Hermione felt her whole face flush down to her shoulders with embarrassment.  “I take it back.”

“Granger not finishing something? I thought lions were supposed to be brave.” Malfoy teased.

She shot him a reproachful look, hoping that she seemed pitiful enough to garner some sympathy. 

“I suppose I have room for another friend in my schedule.”

“You suppose?”

“Well, I am a very popular bachelor, Granger. But I agree to your offered olive branch on one condition.” 

Hermione attempted to find a hint of insincerity in his gaze, brown eyes narrowed and judging. This man in front of her was as Slytherin by all accounts, and she’d read enough of Hogwarts, a History over the last couple of weeks to know to be wary.

“By all means, name your ‘condition’,” invited Hermione.

“I get to continue making comments about your hair.”

“My hair?!”

“Granger,” Malfoy said, “You could hide a family of bowtruckles in that nest of yours.”

“Really?” she asked, a little disappointed.

“Certainly,” he sniffed.

“Fine, than as your friend, in exchange for as many insults as you’d like to make about my hair -”

“Between friends, it’s called a joke, Granger.”

“- I humbly ask you to assist me with this situation I have found myself in. And that you stuck your pointy nose into without permission, I might add.”

Malfoy sobered quickly from his provocative banter and sighed. 

“It feels like you are looking for danger.” he warned her.

Hermione stared back at him this time, spine straight and shoulder back, determined. “The danger came to me. I’m already in it, I wasn’t given a choice.”

Another sigh from the wizard, another pass through his hair with his fingers until he finally said, “Legilimency is the only way to properly diagnose Obliviation unless there tend to be witnesses to the assault. Specifically because there are non-magical reasons for memory loss as well and it is vital to know what the Healers are working with. And diagnosis is only performed in the hospital with other Healers on standby.”

Although she knew some of this already from one of Granger’s letters, Hermione listened with attention about how diagnosis is done and how results determined treatment. She wondered what sort of treatment would have been recommended for her condition. The thought of a strange Healer mucking about her mind didn’t feel very good.

“... and if it is a recent enough incident, only affecting a smaller portion of memory, it can potentially be reversed. But typically results are permanent because the memory loss is not discovered for years, if ever.”

“But is there a way to do it without the patient knowing?” she asked, grimacing inwardly at the coarseness of her question.

Malfoy frowned, “Do you really need to confirm it yourself?”

“Asking Jefferies outright to submit to a diagnosis is not possible. Not without others hearing about it.”

Especially Harry, she thought grimly.

Malfoy stood up next to her and moved away, stretching his legs as he walked around the small space of the living area, lost in thought. 

“Why aren’t you sharing this again?” he questioned. His grey eyes were hard and his eyebrows were so tight that it gave him an expression of severe coldness. Hermione was beginning to recognize this for what it was - assessment of a problem rather than scrutiny of a person.

Hermione jostled her cocoon of blankets loose before answering. “If someone is covering tracks within the Ministry, within DOM and MLE, it is only logical to assume this group has support higher up the administrative chain.”

He stopped behind one of the arm back chairs and rested his elbows on it. “I hate to even consider this, but under some instances, when the patient is in extreme distress, we typically administer a Calming Drought and the smallest dose of Forgetfulness Potion.”

“Really?” The thought of using a Forgetfulness Potion on an Oblivation patient was startling.

“As I said, when the patient is in extreme distress, Granger. Generally because, depending on the memory that was hidden, recovering it can be painful physically, emotionally, let alone mentally.” Malfoy’s frown was back, his jaw hard. 

“But… it sounds like it may be an option we could use.”

“We?”

Hermione gripped the blankets hard in her fists. “We, Malfoy. If we kick up a fuss about it to the Aurors, whoever these potential Deatheaters are, they may go underground. Or start eliminating loose ends.”

The bleak look on his face meant that he knew that was exactly what would happen.

“So,” she gulped, “How do we do this? Slip something into his drink?”

“Merlin, what have you gotten me into, Granger-”

“Then maybe don’t go reading other people’s mail!”

“Then stop trying to kill yourself with overwork!” 

Crookshanks weaved his gaze back and forth between the two people shouting at each other. 

“We can’t give Jefferies anything at the Ministry. The whole of MLE is covered in dark magic detectors. Getting in unseen is out of the question, and even if we went in as ourselves, the likelihood of a secrecy sensor going off is high.”

Hermione bit her lip, aggravated. “Would it be suspicious if I called him to my office? I could tell him I have more questions about the Hall of Prophecies, spike the tea.”

“And then what, Granger? Are you a secret Legilimens?” The look in his eye was keen, as though he wouldn’t take it for granted if she was. 

“No, but Mind Healers are. You’ve already shown you can sneak into my office with no one the wiser.” She blinked unconcernedly at the shocked expression on her companion’s face.

Malfoy’s lips moved silently for a few moments, lost for words. 

“I cannot believe you are suggesting this,” he finally got out.

“The ends justify the means. Jefferies will be none the wiser if we do this right, but we could potentially have information to move forward with. Maybe even to bring to the Aurors.”

“How very Slytherin of you.”

His tone was not complimentary.

“Please? Malfoy. I need someone. I think I need you.” 

He stared at her in disbelief before burying his face in his large hands, muttering to himself. She caught the words, “soft-hearted” and “devious shrew” before Malfoy straightened himself to his full height and stared down at his patient.

“Your insanity is catching. Give it a few more weeks and we could have an epidemic on our hands.”

Hermione’s heart rate slowly returned to its normal rhythm and the tension of the day began to melt away at last.

“Thank you.”

“You owe me dinner, Granger, I missed lunch.”

“Of course,” she said with a smile, getting up from the couch, feeling perkier after the magenta potion. “Did you like the Salted Duck last time?”

The look Malfoy shot her was scathing as he donned his jacket next to her door and began slipping his shoes back on. “The same restaurant twice in one week? How gauche."

“I suppose fish and chips is too plebeian for your pureblood tastes.”

Hermione quietly thanked Malfoy as he held out her coat for her and went back to the end table to gather her purse.

“I haven’t been to a chippy in awhile, lead the way. We can get something for furball here, too.”

“How do you know so much about the muggle world?” she asked wonderingly as she set the wards on her flat and they headed towards the stairs.

“Get me my chips and I’ll tell you about my year at Oxford.”