Hermione anxiously bit her tongue as she waited for the owl that would decide her fate.

Oh, I just know it is supposed to come today!

Anyone who knew Hermione even in passing knew that patience was not a virtue she possessed. Sitting at her kitchen table, she tried to distract herself by baking—or rather, by burning—a cake. Hermione had always been good at potions and she was much too stubborn to believe that a simple ratio of flour, milk, butter and the like could be so testing. Alas, when the oven began to buzz like an electrocuted robin, the concoction wasn’t so much done as well-done, and Hermione was forced to start over again.

By the third attempt, Hermione began to show signs of delusion (perhaps it was all the icing sugar she inhaled) and could no longer remember if she had begun the project as a mode of relaxation or as a twisted alternative to Chinese water torture. Although, all the baking did help her forget she was waiting…almost.

It had been seven years since the final battle; Hermione had just celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday with her friends and family the night before and was going to great lengths to bake a treat for her therapist.

After dropping out of school to save the magical world from crumbling, Hermione had gone through a slight identity crisis. Ironically, following the war, she knew much more about herself than she had previously, but missing that final year at Hogwarts had had a huge effect on her. She felt incomplete. Not only that, but also there was so much she wanted to do! She wanted to teach; she wanted to fight for elfish welfare; she wanted to have a family of her own.

That last thought was really heart-crushing. Hermione had even thought that she had found the man with which she could live her dreams. He had come from a large family and seemed to want as big a one himself. Hermione had never had siblings of her own to confide in. She had vowed to herself many years ago that such would not be the case with her children. They would have, at the very least, four—nay five!—blood-bound brothers and sisters as confidants.

Ron, however, had other ideas. The rush of adrenaline he got from helping to defeat Voldemort didn’t seem to wear off and try as they might to make the relationship work, the two realized that they were better off simply cherishing their friendship. Ron was much too much like his brother Charlie to stay in one place for very long.

So here she was, seven years later, baking in her kitchen as she waited for a letter from her therapist, Healer Gross. To be fair, it wasn’t Ron’s fault she was seeing a therapist—Harry, Ron and Hermione had all been required by the Ministry to seek some mental evaluations after the war. She couldn’t deny that he was part of the reason she was the only one of the three still going through the treatments, however.

As Hermione kneeled down to stuff her final pan of cake batter into the oven, a rather well-kept owl flew swiftly into the room. She could tell immediately that the majestic bird was from St. Mungo’s by the soft gauze-like material her letter was attached with—gauze was much healthier for the owl’s foot than common Witch Wire (“Which wire is the right wire? Witch Wire!�). That isn’t to say that Hermione didn’t do her fair share of damage to the poor creature as she eagerly yanked off the letter. The owl screeched a warning.

“I am so sorry, you poor thing! Here, have some water.�

The bird began to peck at the bowl Hermione had just presented to him.

Miss Granger,

I am pleased to inform you that your evaluation of Friday last has led me to believe that our sessions together are drawing towards a conclusion. We have made great progress, and I believe that you are capable of functioning at normal levels henceforth. However, there is a final phase of treatment that I would like you to complete. This is a necessary step before I feel able to sign the certificates of completion required by the Ministry.

My final task for you is rather complex and will not be at all easy. Together with my associates, I have set up an excellent opportunity for you to demonstrate your progress. Mr. Draco Malfoy is another patient of mine, and he too is now at a similar phase of success as you. This fortuitous timing means that your final treatment will be completed together, and while the main purpose is to settle yourself and Mr. Malfoy back onto your feet, with your permission, I would like to include my observations as a case study in my academic research.

For the next month, I have arranged for you to board at Malfoy Manor. This will be your challenge, to cohabitate with Mr. Malfoy and demonstrate how very far you have come. As a part of your treatment, it will be necessary for each of you to stay in constant contact with me, and to write to me daily. I will also be available through the Floo system.

As always, you have a choice in your treatments and you are perfectly within your rights to refuse. Should this be the case, I will have no other option but to continue your treatments as usual until I can formulate alternative curricula for you individually.

Please take your time to consider, and return your consent or declination with this owl. I feel it necessary to let you know that Mr. Malfoy has already provided his approval. I hope you will consider this thoroughly and appreciate just how much this would help you to move forward with your health.

If you have any questions, comments or problems, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Yours Sincerely,
Hanalie E. Gross

Hermione read the letter over and over and over until staring at the piece of parchment began to strain her eyes. “Draco has already consented…� If it wasn’t for the fact that Healer Gross was the author of this letter, Hermione wouldn’t have believed it to be true.

If Draco is willing enough to allow me into his home…if he is as desperate to move on as I… I must consent.

Hermione fetched a quill and parchment and quickly scribbled her agreement to the treatment. After all, seven years is a long time. Surely they could put the past behind them for health’s sake. Right?

***

The official invitation to Draco’s home came within hours and, before she could even tell anyone where she was off to, Hermione was whisked away. The journey was long, and Healer Gross could only take her so far before she was required to walk.

“This is where I must leave you, Hermione,� Healer Gross said as they stood at the large iron gates in front of the manor.

“Couldn’t you come in for a minute and help me settle in?�

“That isn’t what an independent, successful witch would say. At any rate, we have been over the protocol: I am no longer here to guide you but to observe you. You can do this. I would not have asked you to come here were I not confident in your abilities. Now, please, go.�

Hermione took a deep breath and pushed the gate open.

As she made her way up the long cobble-stone path to the front door of Malfoy Manor, Hermione couldn’t help but gaze in awe at the sheer grandeur of the place. It reeked of luxury, first and foremost, but it also mirrored the darkness the Malfoys possessed. The mansion was definitely not pretty by Muggle standards, nor charming by Hermione’s own. It was frightening. The entire edifice was composed of cool grey stones and blackish-blue ivy clung to it as though for dear life. The roses that grew in front of the house were well kept, but a dark purple rather than the beautiful pinks, reds, and yellows that she was used to. Even the grass, though green, seemed darker than usual.

Reaching the front steps, Hermione couldn’t help but gasp in shock. The two large front doors were stained a deep navy and richly carved. Grotesque gargoyles and frightening magical creatures were intertwined in the wood and seemed to be trying very hard (and in Hermione’s opinion, succeeding) to dissuade guests from entering.

Hermione took a deep breath before reaching for the knocker. Just before she could take hold of it, the door flew open. Hermione jumped back in shock. An extremely short, stocky woman stood before her. She was pale, though Hermione doubted she was related to any of the Malfoys. Her brown eyes and mousey brown hair made that quite clear. No, Hermione was sure that much too much time spent indoors caused her pale skin. The woman did not smile. She did not speak. The two stood there, surveying each other, until Hermione gathered up enough courage to utter a meek, “Oh, hello.�

As though those anticlimactic words had sprung her into life, the woman swiftly turned around and began to walk doggedly down the front hall. Hermione followed suit, though she almost had to run to keep up. She wondered silently how someone so short could walk so fast.

They passed gilded suits of armor and large oil portraits of Malfoy ancestors until finally stopping in front of a large oak door. The woman stared at Hermione. Hermione stared at the woman.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,� Hermione cried in frustration. She reached for the doorknob herself only to be slapped squarely on the wrist by the woman. Was this really happening?

“For Merlin’s sake, what could you possibly want me to do?�

The woman said nothing.

Hermione decided to knock instead and was relieved to find that the woman approved of this act. They waited in silence for someone to answer. I don’t think I have been so uncomfortable in my entire life!

At last, the door slowly opened.