January

Hermione woke to the pale light of early morning filtering through the curtains, casting long, soft shadows across the hotel room. Her body ached with exhaustion; the kind that came from a restless night filled with dreams that refused to fade. She sat up slowly, running a hand through her messy curls, and let out a shaky breath.

Her mind was a storm of worries, the echoes of her dreams clinging to her like cobwebs. The whispers, her mother's questions, Ron's doubt—they all swirled together, feeding the gnawing anxiety already taking root in her chest.Was it a warning?A reflection of fears she hadn't fully acknowledged? Or was it just her mind playing cruel tricks on her in the hours before one of the most important days of her life?

She glanced over at Severus, still asleep beside her, his face softened in the quiet vulnerability of slumber. He looked so peaceful, so certain, and yet she couldn't shake the voice from her dream—her mother's voice—asking if she was truly sure about the choices she had made. Her stomach twisted as she thought about her appointment that morning.What if the potion hadn't worked?What if her mother didn't recognize her, or worse, looked at her with confusion or distrust? Would she have the strength to try again? Or would this be the moment she finally let it all go?

The weight of it all pressed down on her, threatening to steal the air from her lungs. She slipped out of bed quietly, not wanting to disturb Severus, and padded to the window. Pulling the curtain aside, she stared out at the city below, its unrelenting energy a sharp contrast to the stillness of her own heart.

The dreams had unsettled her, not just because of their content, but because they mirrored her deepest fears: that she would always be caught between two worlds, never fully belonging to either. That she would spend her life fighting battles she couldn't win, or that she might wake up one day to find herself completely alone. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the curtain as she drew a deep breath, trying to steady herself.Get through today,Hermione. One step at a time.

She let the curtain fall back into place and turned to look at Severus again. He stirred slightly, his hand reaching out toward the empty side of the bed as though seeking her even in his sleep. The sight sent a pang through her chest, a bittersweet ache that reminded her of everything she did have—of everything she was terrified of losing.

Hermione knew she couldn't let the fear paralyze her. Whatever happened today, she had to face it. She had to trust that, no matter the outcome, she would find her way forward—whether it was with the family she had left behind or the one she was beginning to build with Severus.

For now, though, she needed to prepare. She needed to be ready for whatever awaited her in that dental office where so much of her past hung in the balance.

Hermione dressed quickly, throwing on a pair of leggings, a tank top, an oversized sweatshirt, and her trainers as quietly as she could. Severus hadn't stirred again, and she was grateful—she didn't want to explain why she was heading to the hotel's fitness center before the sun was fully up. It wasn't a conversation she felt ready to have, not yet.

The hallways of the hotel were eerily silent, the kind of stillness that only existed in the early morning hours before the world fully awoke. By the time she reached the fitness center, she was already feeling a little lighter, her thoughts beginning to shift as she stepped onto the treadmill and started the machine.

The rhythmic sound of her feet hitting the belt quickly filled the room, and Hermione welcomed the distraction. She pushed herself, increasing the speed and incline until she felt the burn in her legs and the tightness in her chest. It was physical, tangible, and so much easier to confront than the swirling mess of emotions that had plagued her since waking.

Focus on the good things, she told herself as she ran, her breath coming in steady puffs.

Severus' face came to mind first—the way he had held her the night before, the gentle strength in his words as he promised to be by her side. She thought of his rare, fleeting smiles, the ones he gave only to her, and the way his eyes softened when he looked at her as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Then there was Ginny's wedding, a day Hermione was genuinely looking forward to. She pictured Ginny's radiant smile, the excitement in her voice whenever she talked about her plans for the ceremony. It would be a joyous occasion, a moment of pure celebration with the people she loved most.

And, of course, there was today—seeing her mother. Despite her fears, she couldn't deny the flicker of hope in her heart. She imagined the moment her mother's eyes lit up with recognition, the way her father's arms would wrap around her in a warm embrace. It was what she had dreamt of for so long, and even if it didn't happen exactly as she wanted, she had to believe that it would be okay.

The miles ticked by on the treadmill's screen, and with each step, she felt the weight of her worries begin to lessen, replaced by a quiet determination. No matter what happened today, she wasn't alone. She had Severus. She had her friends. And she had herself—the same stubborn Hermione Granger who had faced down Death Eaters, destroyed Horcruxes, and rewritten spells.

When she finally slowed to a walk, sweat dripping down her temples and her legs shaking with the effort, she felt something she hadn't felt all morning: clarity. Today would come, and she would face it, just as she had faced everything else.

As she stepped off the treadmill and grabbed a towel, she allowed herself a small smile. The dreams and doubts still lingered at the edges of her mind, but they no longer felt so overwhelming. She would take it one step at a time, just as she always had, and she would keep moving forward.

Severus woke to the undeniable chill of emptiness beside him. His hand instinctively reached for Hermione, but the sheets were cool to the touch. He sat up, glancing around the room, his brow furrowing. Her trainers were missing from the spot by the door, and he quickly deduced that she had gone out. For what, he couldn't say.

He leaned back against the headboard, his arms crossed over his chest as his thoughts drifted to the conversation they had shared the night before. Her words about the future lingered in his mind, stirring something deep within him that he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge—hope. It was an emotion that had once felt foreign, almostdangerous. For years, he had walked a path defined by duty, regret, and survival, never imagining that a future filled with warmth and companionship could be his to claim.

And yet, here he was, sharing a bed—and a life—with Hermione Granger. It was an irony that would have made him laugh if it weren't so profoundly meaningful. She had given him a gift he hadn't thought possible: a second chance.

But still, doubt lingered. Last night, she had asked him why he so often framed his presence in her life as conditional, as if he were waiting for the inevitable moment when she would decide she no longer wanted him. It was a fair question, one that had unsettled him because he knew the answer too well.

He didn't believe he deserved her. Not fully. Despite her reassurances, despite her unwavering determination to remind him that he wasn't the same man he once was, Severus couldn't help but see himself through the lens of his past. He had spent decades earning the disdain of others, and he had accepted it as his lot in life. To be with Hermione was a challenge to that belief, to imagine that he could be something other than the bitter, broken man the world had long ago dismissed.

And then there was the matter of her future. He had seen the light in her eyes when she spoke of the life they could have together—a life that included marriage, perhaps children, and a home where they could build something enduring. It was a vision he had begun to allow himself to hope for, but it terrified him all the same. Could he truly give her what she deserved? What if the whispers and judgments she feared in her dreams became reality? What if, one day, she looked at him and realized that the man she had chosen was more of a liability than a partner?

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he forced himself out of bed. This line of thinking was unproductive at best and self-sabotaging at worst. He had spent enough of his life dwelling on what-ifs. Hermione had chosen him, and she had made it abundantly clear that she wasn't going anywhere. It was time he started trusting that.

As he dressed, his mind lingered on what the day ahead might bring. He knew how much this appointment with her mother meant to Hermione, how deeply she longed to bridge the chasm that had been created by her decision during the war. He could only imagine the toll it had taken on her, carrying that guilt, that uncertainty. Severus resolved to be whatever she needed today, whether the outcome was joyous or heartbreaking. He would stand beside her, just as he had promised. She deserved nothing less.

Still, the faint flicker of concern remained as he tied his cravat and reached for his jacket. Her absence this morning wasn't entirely unexpected—Hermione often sought solitude when she needed to work through her thoughts—but he couldn't ignore the protective instinct that stirred within him. She had carried so much alone, but he wish she understood that she didn't have to anymore.

With that thought, he left the room in search of her, his steps purposeful as he made his way to the fitness center. Wherever she was—on a treadmill, pacing the lobby, or sitting quietly in some corner of the hotel—he would find her. Together, they would face whatever the day held. That was what they did, after all. That was what love demanded.

Severus reached the fitness center and paused just outside the glass doors. Through them, he could see Hermione, her figure illuminated by the soft glow of the overhead lights. She was on a treadmill, walking with purpose, her face set in an expression of intense focus. Sweat dampened her curls, and her brow furrowed slightly, as if she were working not just her body but her mind as well.

For a moment, he stood there watching her, his chest tightening with a peculiar mix of pride and concern. Pride, because Hermione was always relentless, never one to shy away from a challenge, even when it came to confronting her own fears. Concern, because he knew this drive of hers—to push herself past every limit—could sometimes lead to exhaustion, both physical and emotional.

He entered quietly, his boots barely making a sound against the polished floor. Hermione didn't notice him at first, her focus so fixed on the steady rhythm of her steps that she was oblivious to everything else. He waited patiently, leaning against a nearby column until she finally slowed the treadmill to a stop and stepped off, grabbing a towel from the bench.

"Pushing yourself hard this morning, aren't you?" he said, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the machines.

Hermione jumped slightly, spinning around to face him. "Severus! I didn't hear you come in." She wiped her face with the towel, her expression a mix of surprise and guilt.

"I suspected as much," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "I woke to find you gone and thought I might discover you here, running yourself into the ground."

"I just needed to clear my head," she admitted, her voice softer now. She slung the towel around her neck and looked away, her eyes fixed on some indeterminate point in the distance.

Severus stepped closer, his gaze steady and unreadable. "About last night?"

Hermione hesitated, then nodded. "And about today. It's all... a lot."

"You don't have to do it alone," he reminded her gently.

"I know." Her voice trembled just slightly, and she forced herself to meet his eyes. "I know you're here for me, Severus. But sometimes, I just-I don't know how to explain it. I need to work through things in my own way."

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I would expect no less of you. Still, you needn't carry all of this on your shoulders. You have a habit of taking the weight of the world upon yourself, Hermione. But the world is a lighter place when it's shared."

Hermione's lips curved into a faint smile at his words. "I'm trying, you know. To share it."

"And you're doing well," he said, surprising her with the sincerity in his tone. He reached out, brushing a damp curl from her forehead. "But give yourself permission to lean on me a little more. It's what I'm here for."

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I'll try."

They stood in silence for a moment, the faint hum of the fitness center machines the only sound between them. Finally, Hermione broke the quiet. "I had dreams last night. About the future. About us. About seeing my parents."

He raised an eyebrow, prompting her to continue. "They were...unsettling," she admitted. "Some of the things people said in them—it made me question everything, question myself. And now, I can't help but wonder if they were my subconscious trying to tell me something."

"Dreams are often nothing more than our fears taking shape," Severus said, his voice low and steady. "They do not dictate your reality. Nor do the whispers of others."

Hermione searched his face for a moment, taking in the quiet intensity of his expression. "I want to believe that," she said finally. "And I think I'm starting to. I just-I hope today doesn't undo everything I've worked so hard to rebuild."

"It won't," he said with quiet conviction. "No matter the outcome, you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. And we will face it together."

Hermione exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Together," she echoed, as if trying to draw strength from the word itself.

Severus offered her a small, rare smile and held out his hand. "Come. Let's go back to the room. You'll want to be ready for whatever today holds."

Back in the hotel room, Hermione stood before the wardrobe, her hands on her hips, staring at the neatly hung row of clothes as if they were the most perplexing puzzle she had ever faced. A pair of dark jeans? Too casual. A simple dress? Maybe too formal. She pulled out a blouse and held it against herself, scrutinizing it in the mirror, only to toss it onto the growing pile on the bed.

Severus, sitting in an armchair by the window with a book open in his lap, watched her with an expression that was equal parts patience and mild amusement. He didn't say anything at first, letting her wrestle with her indecision. But as the pile grew larger and her frustration more visible, he finally cleared his throat.

"Hermione," he said gently, closing the book and setting it aside. "It's a dental appointment, not the Wizengamot. I don't think your choice of attire will weigh heavily on the outcome."

"I know that," she snapped, then immediately sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "I know it doesn't matter, but I just... I can't decide."

Severus rose from his chair and crossed the room to her, his long fingers brushing lightly against her shoulder as he leaned in to survey the chaos on the bed. "You're overthinking this."

"Of course, I'm overthinking it," she replied, exasperated. "I'm about to see my mother for the first time since... since everything. It feels wrong to just—just throw on the first thing I grab!"

"You could wear a burlap sack, and she would still recognize you," Severus said calmly, though his voice softened as he saw the tension in her eyes. "If the potion worked, that is."

Hermione winced, and he immediately regretted his bluntness. He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, turning her to face him.

"Forgive me," he said quietly. "I only mean that you're putting unnecessary pressure on yourself. She's your mother, Hermione. If the memories have returned, she will see you for who you are, no matter what you wear."

Hermione nodded, but her expression remained uncertain. She turned back to the wardrobe, biting her lip as she rifled through the hangers. Finally, she pulled out a soft blue blouse and a pair of neatly pressed trousers. "This?" she asked, holding them up for his approval.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "That looks perfectly suitable."

Hermione frowned, then glanced down at the outfit in her hands. "But is it too... formal? Maybe I should wear something more casual? Or—"

"Hermione." Severus's voice was firm but kind, and it stopped her mid-ramble. She looked up at him, and he reached out to take the clothes from her hands, setting them carefully on the bed. "This isn't about what you wear. It's about what you say, and what you feel, and what you've fought so hard to repair. Focus on that. Not the color of your blouse."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, her shoulders finally sagging as the fight drained out of her. "You're right. I know you're right. I'm just..."

"Nervous," he finished for her. "Which is entirely understandable."

She nodded, letting out a shaky breath. "Okay. Blue it is."

"An excellent choice," he said dryly, earning a small, grateful smile from her.

As Hermione stepped into the bathroom to change, Severus sat back down, picking up his book again. But he didn't read it. Instead, he stared out the window, his thoughts on her. He wished he could ease her worry, take it from her entirely, but he knew this was something she had to face on her own. All he could do was wait and hope to the gods that the potion worked.

Hermione and Severus made their way to the appointment on foot; the steady rhythm of their steps filled the space between them, though Hermione couldn't stop fiddling with the strap of her bag.

She had been silent for most of the walk, lost in her thoughts about what awaited her, but as they turned a corner and the familiar street loomed closer, she found herself desperate for a distraction. She glanced up at Severus, who walked beside her with his usual air of composed detachment.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, breaking the quiet.

His dark eyes flicked toward her briefly. "You can ask me anything."

"Draco," she began, hesitating as she tried to find the right words. "How did you know you could trust him again? After everything?"

Severus slowed slightly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his long coat. He looked ahead, as though weighing his response. "It isn't a matter of knowing," he said finally. "Trust is rarely built on certainty. It's often a gamble. After our few interactions here, and seeing your comfort with the situation, I carefully calculated that his interactions were genuine. I had to make sure there was nothing nefarious happening under the surface. Nothing that would harm you."

Hermione nodded, her curiosity piqued. "But what made you think he deserved that chance? You've said it before—he was arrogant, entitled...hardly a saint."

Severus smirked faintly, though there was no malice in it. "Arrogant, entitled, andterrified," he corrected. "You may not have seen it, but I did. Every time I looked at him, I saw a boy who was drowning, too proud to call for help and too scared to save himself. He never wanted to be Voldemort's pawn, Hermione. He wanted to be his father's heir, to inherit power, status, and privilege without the cost of bloodshed or cruelty."

Hermione frowned, thinking back to their school days, to the sneering, cocky boy she had so often clashed with. "You truly don't think he cared about all that blood status nonsense?"

"Oh, he cared," Severus said, his voice tinged with irony. "But not in the way others did. For Draco, it was a matter of pride, not ideology. He cared because it was what he had been taught to care about. But when it came time to act on those so-called beliefs, when the Dark Lord demanded more than just words...Draco faltered. He hesitated."

Hermione glanced up at him, watching the faint flicker of emotion in his usually guarded expression.

"His inability to kill Albus," Severus continued, "was not because he lacked the skill. It was because, deep down, he didn't want to be a murderer. Despite his upbringing, despite the weight of his family's expectations, Draco wasn't cut from the same cloth as Lucius. I knew this when his mother came to me and asked me to help him. I knew the night I made the Unbreakable Vow that I would be the one to kill Albus." His voice was stoic.

Hermione let his words sink in, feeling an unexpected pang of sympathy for Draco, and feeling worse for Severus that she brought the topic up. She tried to change the subject, "Do you think he'll ever go back to England?"

Severus arched a brow. "Draco Malfoy? Return to England?" He shook his head slightly. "I doubt it. Not for a long while, at least. His name carries too much weight there—too many memories, too many judgments. And Draco has never been one to endure ridicule or whispers. New York suits him better."

"But Natalie," Hermione pressed. "She'd move if he asked her to. She doesn't have ties here anymore. Don't you think he'll want to go back someday, for her sake?"

"Perhaps," Severus conceded. "But Draco has always valued his comfort above all else. He's found a life here where his past doesn't haunt him, where he can reinvent himself. Asking him to give that up..." He trailed off, then added, "It's not a question of whether Natalie would follow him. It's a question of whether Draco could face himself if he returned."

Hermione nodded slowly, digesting his words. She thought of Draco's restaurant, his easy demeanor with Natalie, and the way he had seemed almost at peace when they dined together. It was a side of him she had never imagined, and it made her wonder how much of his old self had been nothing more than a mask.

"Do you think he's happy?" she asked softly.

Severus paused, considering the question. "As happy as someone like Draco can be, perhaps. He has found stability, love, and a life that isn't defined by the expectations of his bloodline. That's more than many from our world can say."

They walked in silence for a few moments before Hermione broke it again. "Do you think he regrets it? Everything that happened?"

Severus glanced at her, his expression inscrutable. "Regret is a complicated thing, Hermione. For Draco, I imagine it's less about what he did and more about what he became. Whether he admits it or not, he knows the price of his choices. And he knows he will always carry those scars."

Hermione nodded, her thoughts drifting back to the dinner and the easy way Draco had smiled at Natalie. Despite everything, he had managed to find a life for himself—a life outside of the shadows of the war. She couldn't help but feel a sliver of hope.

They turned another corner, the dental practice now just ahead. Hermione's stomach tightened, the weight of the moment settling heavily on her shoulders again. But Severus was still beside her, his steady presence grounding her.

She let out a slow breath. "I hope I'm strong enough to face this."

"You are," Severus said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. "And if you feel otherwise, I will remind you every step of the way."

Hermione looked up at him, offering a small, grateful smile. She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag and grabbed his hand. She instantly felt comforted. It was something that only his touch could provide. Hermione hadn't known true comfort and safety for a long time. She thought about the true moments of terror that she had endured over the past year and shuddered. Now, she couldn't imagine living without the feeling or security that Severus brought to her life.

As the pair walked closer to the entrance, the voice in Hermione's head grew louder.You always have Severus. He will never abandon you.Difficult as it may be, Hermione knew that if she failed today, she would somehow have to learn to live without her parents. She stole a quick glance up at Severus. Whether or not he believed it himself, Severuswasher life now and if she wasn't able to have her parents in her life, then she needed forward with her life. And that was a life with Severus.

As they reached the front doors of the dental office, Hermione's feet slowed, her body resisting the final step inside. Her pulse pounded in her ears, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation making her breath come shallow. This was it. Everything she had been working toward, everything she had hoped for—it all came down to this moment.

Severus stopped beside her, his gaze steady as he took in her hesitation. He didn't push her, didn't tell her she had nothing to fear. Instead, he simply reached out, brushing a loose curl behind her ear before resting a hand at the small of her back. The warmth of his touch seeped into her, grounding her in a way that words never could.

"You don't have to do this alone," he murmured, his voice low but firm.

Hermione swallowed hard and forced a small smile. "I do, though."

His lips twitched as if he wanted to argue, but he merely exhaled softly. Then, without a word, he bent down and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her forehead. It was such a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes—more than any reassurance, any comforting words could. It was steady, unwavering, filled with quiet devotion. The weight of it settled deep in her chest, steadying her in a way she hadn't realized she needed.

When he pulled back, she found his dark eyes watching her carefully. "I'll be right here," he said.

She nodded, gripping the strap of her bag one last time as if it were a tether before finally turning toward the door. With one last deep breath, she stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind her.

The air inside the office was sterile and familiar—the faint scent of antiseptic and mint lingering in the air. A receptionist sat behind the desk, tapping away at the computer, barely glancing up as Hermione approached.

Her heart pounded as she took a step forward. This was it.

"Hello," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I have an appointment with Dr. Granger."

The receptionist finally looked up, offering a polite but distracted smile. "Name?"

Hermione's throat tightened. She had rehearsed this a dozen times, but now that the moment was here, the words felt impossibly heavy.

"Hermione," she said, pausing just long enough to steady herself before finishing, "Hermione Granger."

The receptionist cocked her head slightly. "I didn't realize the doctor had family here! I'll get you checked in. You can have a seat there," the receptionist gestured to a small cluster of chairs in an open waiting room by a large window. "It'll just be a few minutes."

Hermione smiled nervously and made her way to one of the plush looking chairs. She looked around at the space that wasmuchtoo luxurious for the waiting room of a dental office. Everything in New York was so much more luxurious to her that what she was used to. This was the first moment that she stopped to think about everything she had seen and experienced while she was in New York.

As she took a slow, deep breath, her mind wandered—away from the anxiety of what was about to happen and back to everything that had led her here. The past several days had been so much more than just this appointment.

She thought of the luxuries she had experienced in New York—the stunning hotel suite with its skyline views, the rich meals in some of the city's finest restaurants, the private dining experience at Draco's restaurant. Even the simple pleasure of walking through the streets, feeling the city's pulse beneath her feet, had been something different, something memorable.

But beyond all the extravagance, beyond the novelty of it all, was the quiet, unshakable presence of Severus at her side.

She had been so caught up in her emotions, in the weight of what she was trying to fix, that she hadn't truly stopped to appreciate just how special it had been to be here with him. Not just in a physical sense, but in a way that meant something deeper. This trip hadn't been about indulgence—it had been about them. The way he had been there for her, every step of the way. The way he had let her lean on him without hesitation, offering her not just support but understanding.

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, feeling a surge of gratitude well up in her chest.

Severus Snape, of all people, had been the one constant through this whole journey. He had stayed when she was unsure, comforted her when she was overwhelmed, and never once made her feel like she had to carry any of it alone. Even this morning, when she had been trapped in indecision, he had known exactly what to say. And that kiss on her forehead—it had been such a small thing, yet it had meant everything.

She exhaled softly, opening her eyes. She had spent so much time fighting for the past, for what had been lost, but maybe it was time she fully embraced what was in front of her. What she had now. With Severus. The thought settled in her heart, warm and certain. No matter what happened next, she wasn't alone. And that was worth more than all the luxury in the world.

Before she could dwell on it any longer, the receptionist called her name. She stood, smoothing her blouse and straightening her posture. This was it. One last deep breath. Then she stepped forward.

The receptionist led her down a short hallway and into an average looking examination room. She sat down in the exam chair and willed herself not to be anxious. She tried one of those grounding techniques she had read about once and started to name everything she saw in the room.

Floss. Mouth mirror. Sickle probe. Curette. Cotton forceps.

Her thoughts were immediately interrupted by her mother's voice.

"I'm so glad to see you!"

Hermione's began to well with tears.She remembers!

"As soon as I recognized you at the convention, I remembered that you were way overdue for a cleaning. And how could I forgot- what a small world, the same last name." Dr. Granger made her way over to the sick and washed her hands.

Hermione's heart sunk the lowest it had in months. Her mother had no idea who she was. Hermione was just another patient. Acoincidence.

Hermione swallowed hard. "I know it's been some time, but I've been away at school. At…Hogwarts."

Hemione had debated bringing up anything magic related at the appointment, but whether her mother remembered her or not, she technically knew all about the wizarding world.

"Hogwarts…Hogwarts. Hmmm," Dr. Granger was clearly thinking hard, "that's in Europe, right?"

"Yes, in England." It wasn't much, but it wassomething.

"Ahh yes. You might recall, my husband and I are from England. We moved to Australia a few months ago. Dreadful place, really. I can't even begin to tell you where we got that idea from. We all but jumped at the chance to come here." Dr. Granger sat in the chair just behind Hermione's head. "My husband, theotherDr. Granger, is currently a visiting professor at NYU. I wish the post was longer than a year because I really don't like Australia. It's not home."

Everything started to fall into place for Hermione. Her parents didn't have a dental practice here because they don'tlivehere. They had been difficult to track because they had left Australia and Hermione would have never thought to find them in New York, much less in America.

"Perhaps," Hermione squeaked, "you could just return to England?"

"Open up."

Hermione obliged.

"We have certainly talked about it, and truthfully, I think we will. I always felt a strange pull back to England. It's hard to explain."

Hermione laid there, unable to speak, while her mother cleaned her teeth, staring up at the bright examination light above her. Dr. Granger moved efficiently, just as Hermione had always remembered. But there was no warmth of recognition in her mother's eyes, no flicker of familiarity, jut polite professionalism, the same she would offer any patient who walked through her doors.

Hermione wanted to scream. Instead, she clenched her hands together in her lap, trying to focus on the cool leather of the armrests instead of the crushing weight in her chest.

"This won't take long," Dr. Granger said. "You have lovely teeth—good alignment, strong enamel."

Hermione swallowed hard. She had heard those words before, years ago, when her mother inspected her teeth with the care only a parent could. Back then, there had been a teasing lilt in her voice, a gentle hand on her shoulder afterward, a soft kiss on her forehead when she was done.

But today, she was just another patient.

Dr. Granger worked efficiently, tilting Hermione's head slightly to get a better angle. "Any sensitivity? Pain when you chew?"

Hermione forced herself to shake her head. "No," she mumbled around the instruments in her mouth.

The cleaning continued in silence, interrupted only by the occasional instruction to rinse or tilt her chin. Hermione's heart pounded with every passing second, hope fading with each scrape of the scaler against her teeth.

The potion hadn't worked.

She should have known from the moment she stepped into the exam room and there was no joyous embrace, no words of disbelief. But still, she had clung to hope, willing herself to believe that something—some spark, some tiny shred of memory—would surface. But there was nothing.

Her mother didn't recognize her.

Hermione's throat tightened, and she forced herself to keep breathing steadily through her nose. She had prepared for this possibility, hadn't she? She had told herself over and over that this might not work, that an Obliviate wasn't something easily reversed. She had sworn she would be ready for this outcome.

But sitting here now, feeling the impersonal efficiency of her mother's hands instead of the familiarity of a mother's touch, she realized she had never truly believed it would fail. She blinked up at the ceiling, willing back the sting of tears.

Waste of time, she thought bitterly.I've wasted so much time trying to fix something that may never be.

A deep sense of finality settled over her as Dr. Granger finished the cleaning, setting her tools aside. "Everything looks great," she said pleasantly. "I'd recommend your usual flossing and a follow-up in six months. Any questions?"

Yes.Do you really not know me? Not even a little?

But Hermione only shook her head.

"Wonderful," Dr. Granger said with a polite smile, standing to remove her gloves. "It was lovely seeing you. And if we do pop back to England, we'd love to have you as a patient."

The words hit like a knife. Miss Granger.Patient.

Not Hermione. Not my daughter. Just a patient.

Hermione sat frozen in the chair for a long moment before nodding numbly and standing. "Thank you," she murmured, voice hollow. And then, before the cracks in her composure could fully break her apart, she turned and walked out of the room. But not before an involuntary thought made its way from Hermione's heart to her brain.

I wish she knew who I was.