Despite a youth covered in blood, bruises, and battle, it was a man made of pretty words and gentle hands that ultimately broke Hermione Granger down.

She thought herself above that doe-eyed, daydreaming nonsense, but she had not been any better than all those people she regarded as fanciful and silly (idiots, really) who allowed their lives to be drenched in glitter and color, as if all of that could fix or alter their actual grey and grim realities.

If Hermione looked back at it now—in her current shattered state of existing—she would say she clung onto Finn Conrad the same way he had clung onto her: like a lifeline.

He had let her gather him in her arms, this stranger in bright-colored robes who whispered reassurances in his ear that his little girl would live, that he would see her again, that he would get to hear her laughter again. In turn, she let him gather her in his strong arms when her nights were lonely and cold, this stranger with bright blue eyes who whispered reassurances in her ear that she was worth loving, that she would never be alone because she had him, because she could have a family of her own with them.

If Hermione looked back at it then—in her previous wonderstruck state of existing—she would say she looked at Finn Conrad the same way he had looked at her: like love at first (proper) sight.

The spark had not shot up like a guiding light the second she had to hold Finn back so other Healers could race little Lottie straight to surgery as he raged and shattered into pieces, punching his knuckles against anything that could break his bones as he cried himself into devastation. It was after, after a Calming Draught and hours of surgery, that Hermione had sat beside him and said, "Will you tell me about Charlotte?"

Finn did not move red, dead eyes from his cup of cold tea. "Lottie," he muttered in a voice so defeated and raw, "she likes to be called Lottie."

"Will you tell me about Lottie, please?"

It took a few more minutes of silence for Finn to find his words.

"I didn't want her at first," he mumbled, a fresh wave of tears down his blotchy, red cheeks. "Her mother and me, we knew shit about responsibility or how to stay in one place for too long, let alone how to stay with one another for too long. We tried making it work so many times, a baby wasn't going to fix it, but she wanted to keep it. I was resentful of her and the baby, but once Lottie was born, once I saw her, all pink and holding onto my thumb, it was all gone. All I felt was a love I never thought I could ever feel."

Hermione watched his fingers tremble over his cup.

"I'm not the best parent, either. I spoil her rotten. There isn't anything I won't give my baby girl. I filled up a room with dolls, books, paints, and magic just for her. People told me she'd turn out like those horrid kids screeching at the shop, the kind you wish their parents would leave locked up at home because they're a nightmare, but not my Lottie. The more I gave her, the more she had to give to others. I bought her a new doll once and she gave it her nan because it reminded her of one from her youth. I gave her stars in a jar and she gave it to a sad little muggle boy whose family couldn't afford to send him to camp that summer. I gave her a sickle for sweets in Hogsmeade and she gave it to a beggar woman outside the Hogs Head because she needed it more."

Hermione knew all about correct and approved protocols when dealing with a patient's loved ones, but in that second she did not think reused phrases of St. Mungo's survival rate or revolutionary modern remedies would be enough. So she reached over, taking the cup from his loose grip to set aside, and engulfed his shaking hands with her own. He turned to her with those broken blue eyes, and it was then that she knew she would do anything in her power to see them light up like the brightest of sapphires.

She had asked him once when he fell in love with her, once upon a daydream (treacherous nightmare) when they were wrapped up in her purple, warm sheets, her naked body resting over his as they both climbed back down from pleasurable heights.

Finn lazily traced his fingertips over her back when he said, "When you took that awful cup of tea away from me."

Hermione bit into his shoulder, earning a loud chuckle and a light swat to her bum from him. "I made that tea."

"And I still love you despite your horrid tea-making capabilities, sweetheart," he teased. "It's about time you've accepted that even the great Hermione Granger has a few flaws."

She raised her head from his chest, frowning in that scolding manner that was all hers, but her brown eyes still glittered gold.

Finn leaned forward, pressing a kiss at the tip of her nose, letting out another laugh before it faded and something solemn filled Hermione's bedroom. "I felt your compassion that very first night, Hermione. You stayed with me well into the next day. It fascinated me. You even kissed Lottie on the cheek like nothing was wrong with her, like she wasn't—"

"Nothing is wrong with her," Hermione reminded firmly.

"Her own mother couldn't bring herself to see her," Finn then said, his hand sliding up from her back to cup the side of her face, "but you were there from the first day when she didn't look like my little girl. And you're here now when she's on her way to looking like she used to."

Hermione had been too caught up in their bliss and his pretty words to realize then that Finn never really said when he had fallen in love with her.

Hermione had been too caught up in their bliss and his pretty words to realize then there were a lot of things Finn never really said.

Starting with the fact that he was married.

"I remember something today, 'Mione," little Lottie had said as she sat perfectly still at the end of her hospital bed.

Hermione waved her wand to make fade the x-ray of Lottie's chest, writing a few notes down on her slow (but sure) progress.

"And what's that, darling?" said Healer Flint as she strolled in through the ward's doors, a grin already on her crimson lips. "That I'm actually your favorite Healer in this whole hospital, but only pretend to like Granger because she bribes you with cookies?"

Lottie giggled.

"I don't bribe her, Jenna," Hermione countered with a roll of her eyes.

"Really?" she asked with a scoff, walking over to Lottie as she pulled out a vial with a dose of her daily medicine from the pocket of her bright (and fitted) robes. "All right, darling, time to drink up. I brewed a batch that tastes like Bertie Bott's."

Lottie made a displeased face.

"She somehow remembers all her candy," Jenn pointed out with a laugh. "There has to be a scientific explanation to that, don't you think, Granger?"

"Ninety-nine percent of these children remember their sweet-tooth and the other percent are the rare exception of not liking candy," Hermione said with an all-knowing tone that caused Jenna to mimic her, making Lottie laugh again. "The accurate scientific question to pose would be—"

"Oh, Salazar, I should have known better than to rile you up," Jenna interrupted her before turning back to Lottie. "Here, drink it now before she makes me start brewing you a dose that tastes like broccoli."

The little girl did not have to be told twice.

"You making flavored medicine for the children is bribing," Hermione commented as Lottie smacked her injured lips together, trying to guess the flavor of her medicine. "They ask for Healer Flint to read to them more so than me, and I actually know how to read."

Jenna laughed at Hermione's tamed comeback, making the other smile, too. "Well, I do different voices when I read and really get into character." Then taking a step closer to her, she added in a whisper, "Besides, I'm not the one fucking her father. If you want to play stepmother, I guess you have to earn points in your favor somehow."

Hermione's eyes grew wide in outrage. "Jenna!"

Jenna snorted at her panic, both of them glancing back at Lottie still attempting to decipher her medicine. "Oh, get that look off your face, Hermione. You and Finn have been dating for ages, of course you're going to get married." She raised a perfectly manicured hand when the latter started sputtering, interrupting her with, "You love this little girl like she's your own. I've seen you love so many of these kids the same way, Hermione, the only difference now is that you can claim her as your own."

"She doesn't know about Finn and me yet," Hermione reminded. "And what if she doesn't want me in her family? She had a life before this. She has a—"

"Earwax!" Lottie exclaimed as she pulled her finger out of her undamaged, left ear.

"Tell me you didn't lick your finger, Charlotte Conrad," demanded Hermione as the other Healer snickered at the child's antics. 

Lottie grinned despite the reprimand. "That makes two things I remember today, 'Mione!"

"The second being that I'm your favorite, right?" Jenna persisted.

"No, silly," Lottie laughed, shaking her head, "I remember my mummy."

Jenna dropped her own grin as Hermione stilled beside her. "Oh. Is that so? You remember her name? How she looks?"

"Her name's Phillipa. Phillipa Vega-Conrad," Lottie told them enthusiastically before sadness clouded her happy features. Her blue eyes glittered with tears. "I remember how I got like this. I was so angry they left me. My hands started shaking and...all I wanted was to make them come home, but then there was a flame and..."

"You don't have to talk about it, Lottie," Hermione told her, walking over to her  when tears fell down her burnt cheeks. "Sometimes recalling traumatic events doesn't heal the way we want it to. Not right away at least."

Lottie let Hermione brush away her tears with a kind hand, but more still came down when she said, "Mummy and Daddy just wanted a nice evening. Abuela said they were going on a date to celebrate their anniversary, but I wanted to go. They were going into town, to a cinema, and I wanted—"

"Anniversary?" Jenna was the one to ask. All of her teasing smirks were gone when she looked over at Hermione as she grew paler the more Lottie spoke. "Darling...your parents live together?"

Lottie nodded. "We live with Abuelita, too. She takes care of me when Mummy and Daddy work or go out on dates." A seriousness fogged her blue eyes—blue eyes she turned to Hermione expectantly. "Where's my mummy, 'Mione? Why hasn't she come to visit me? Where's my mummy? I want my mummy."

A week later Mr. and Mrs. Conrad showed up to visit their child and Hermione hid in Luna's spare bedroom until there were no more tears left to cry (there was still seven seas of tears caught inside of her).

"It's not your fault—"

Hermione turned from the crystal window looking out to the small playground, finding Cho standing behind her, arms crossed over her chest and her austere expression perfectly in place.

"It's not your fault," Cho repeated, something Hermione never expected to hear from her Head Healer—a Head Healer who marvelled at the respectability St. Mungo's kept under her diligent supervision and hard work. A respectability Hermione had tainted by involving herself with a married man.

Yet the words had left Cho's mouth. There was no look of sympathy on her face, but the sentiment was there even when she continued with, "You couldn't have known then."

"It still didn't make it right. It still doesn't," Hermione returned in an murmur. "I could've ruined Lottie's family. After everything that poor girl has gone through, I had no right to—"

"For a year I watched you love that girl like she was your own flesh and blood," Cho cut across her constant lament, sharply looking toward the window that showed the Conrad family sat on the grass, entertaining the girl as she served tea in bright pink, plastic cups. "Charlotte came here with eighty-three percent of her body burned, suffering severe respiratory problems and memory loss as consequences of her accident, and with a thirty-one percent chance of survival. You saw her father destroyed, dying alongside her, and you made a promise to keep both alive. And you did, Hermione. You took that eighty-three percent and reduced it to seventy-six—and counting. At your care, she recovered her memories. At your care, she is slowly but surely breathing without problems. You turned that thirty-one percent chance of survival into a bright and long future. Do not allow these achievements to be clouded by a lie her father fed you."

Hermione wiped new (but always the same) tears from her cheeks with a harsh hand. "It was love, Cho. I fell in love," she said with an anger that was a little louder than her heartbreak. "They tell us not to invest more than our medical expertise in our patients because they are not ours to keep, but I forgot that. I wanted them to be mine. I wanted to be theirs. He made me believe I was. And the horrible thing is, even after all this time, I still wish I could be."

Cho let her hands fall to her sides, her shoulders straightening out after she did, making her look regal and whole. "Did Padma ever tell you I almost married Zacharias Smith?" She did not wait for Hermione to answer the rhetorical question (Padma told everyone almost anything). "At the beginning of our relationship, he showed me a love alike Cedric's. It was insane to compare the two, I know, but I believed he was my second chance at that fairytale ending we all want to have. Eventually, his love turned to poison. His compliments and 'I love you's turned to emotional abuse. His threats turned to actual violence. I stayed with him for three years because I believed when he said no one else was ever going to love me. But that was a lie, too."

For a flicker of time Hermione saw Cho's composure crack, but when another round of tears pushed their way out of her tired eyes, the glint was gone.

Padma had never revealed what her wife had suffered at the hands of Zacharias Smith, not even when others had made snide remarks about Cho even before they started dating.

Now Hermione knew why she had hardened herself like steel.

"Our heartache and disappointments make us believe we are never going to find happiness alike the one we lost, but I promise you, Hermione, we do. Life goes on. Your broken heart mends and love comes back in looking for another chance. Finn Conrad was not your last chance at a great love, just like Zacharias was not mine."

Hermione dared herself to look back over her shoulder and into that glass. She could see Lottie on her mother's lap now, grinning wide as her growing, blonde hair was being carefully braided behind her unblemished ear. She could hear the echo of Finn's baritone, but the words muffled together.

"What if I never forgive myself for what I've done?"

The question had been meant for herself, but Cho still answered: "Then you are not the clever woman this world believes you to be."

"She's right," Ginny had said with an exasperated sigh, her and Pansy sat across from her desk as Hermione continued to pour herself over paperwork in hopes to distract her mind from the tsunami of self-loathing that was always threatening to drown her.

Pansy scoffed loud enough for the sound to echo around the office littered with overstock bookcases. "Mind you, Gin never thinks Chang—"

"Patil-Chang," Hermione corrected.

"—is right about anything. On account that she hates her and all."

"I don't hate her," Ginny defended with an eye roll. "We're not in school anymore. We're strong, healthy women that don't need to be pitted against each other seeing as society already does that enough for us. Even if she did snog Harry twice last year."

Hermione looked up from her paperwork, her frown already forming. "Cho was already married to Padma then, Ginny. Besides, it was mistletoe. If you want to be angry at anyone for that, be angry at Blaise. He hung it up in hopes he would catch Luna under it."

"He only caught Daphne Greengrass," Pansy said with a dark smirk pulling at her red lips. "And a little STI from it, too."

"The point is," Ginny added as she slapped Pansy on the shoulder for the indiscretion, "you have to stop tormenting yourself, 'Mione. It's been almost a year. You can't let that dickhead continue to make you feel like a horrible person when he's the one who took advantage of your kindness. For fuck sakes, his daughter was dying from first-degree burns, but he still managed to lie about his marital status when he saw the beautiful Healer that would be taking care of her."

"I know you don't approve of dark magic, but I've got a family spellbook with the most stunning genital-rearranging hexes you've ever seen," Pansy supplied helpfully. "My offer to cast it still stands."

"As well as my arse-kicking," Ginny said with a grin.

Hermione let out the same exasperated sigh Ginny had done previously, setting her quill down. "All right," she said in a defeated tone, "I'll go to lunch with you two, but please drop the threats of violence. It's starting to make me question our friendship."

Before her friends could laugh in triumph from cornering her into agreeing to leave her little crook of isolation, the three of them were startled when the door of Hermione's office was slammed open.

Hermione blinked wildly at the abrupt intrusion. "For goodness sake, what happened to you?"

There, in a tattered, wrinkled gold dress, black heels in one hand, wand in the other, black hair knotted and coming undone at the top of her head, blotched red lipstick, smeared eyeliner, and streaks of dry, black tears down her cheeks was Jenna Flint.

"You look like shit, Flint," Pansy pointed out with overwhelming amusement. "Another trashy night, I reckon."

"Jenna," Hermione started in her parenting tone. "Cho is absolutely livid. The board is here and they are particularly interested in our ward since news of that developmental potion curing—"

"To hell with the fucking board!" Jenna hissed, slamming the door closed with just as much force as she had used to open it. "I spent the last six hours detained in some cold holding cell with criminals. Actual fucking criminals, Hermione! One of which I am positive was still covered in the blood of their victim!"

Standing from her seat, Hermione hurried in the direction of her fellow Healer and friend. "Merlin, what happened?" she demanded as she gripped Jenna's jaw, tilting her head back to inspect every centimeter of her dirty face.

When she was about to pull her wand out for further inspection, Jenna pushed it down. "I'm fine," she ground out. "I slept with Malfoy—"

"How you look right now is usually how you feel when you shag Malfoy," Pansy commented with another laugh. "Just take a shower and shag someone else. You'll give over it. I did."

"That areshole had me arrested soon as I woke up!" screamed Jenna, throwing her black heels across Hermione's office. "Zabini answered the Floo Call! Half of my family's friends work at the Ministry and they saw me being dragged in! For fuck sakes, Marcus had to bail me out for breaking and entering and disorderly conduct!"

Hermione's brown eyes filled with dread. "If the hospital's board finds out—"

"Forget St. Mungo's! I'm going to murder Draco Malfoy!"

Pansy scoffed. "As lovely as that would be, you know Malfoy is notorious for treating women like rubbish. Salazar, I was his girlfriend and he cheated on me with Japanese triplets. Let's not forget how he fucked Mrs. Greengrass when he was dating Astoria. Did you really think you'd be different?"

Jenna's fury decreased slightly while Ginny said, "That explains Daphne Greengrass' article, Draco Malfoy: Scum of the Earth."

"And the retraction I had to print the next day much to Daphne's outrage, Draco Malfoy: Playboy and Philanthropist," Pansy reminded.

"Fuck off," Jenna said as she moved to Hermione's cabinet, taking out a wet-wipe. "Everyone knows Malfoy isn't capable of love. I just had a few too many drinks last night and he was the closest bloke around me. Well, him and Goyle, but he's married and I have morals."

Pansy, Ginny, and Hermione grimaced.

"Clearly what you need to have is standards—"

"But I still didn't deserve to be treated the way I was," Jenna ignored Ginny's snark as she wiped away her smeared makeup (a tear that no one commented on, too). "You give these aresholes everything—your body, your heart, and your mind, and they still have the fucking nerve to treat you like you hadn't just presented them with treasure. Because we are—we are fucking treasure, and these idiots can't keep making us believe we aren't because they can't value what's in front of them. They don't get to break you, humiliate you, and just move on with their lives. They just don't."

Hermione looked down at her cold, trembling hands. At the hands that had touched Finn Conrad. At the hands he had left empty.

With the constant knot in her throat and tears swimming in her eyes, Hermione said, "Then don't let him. Don't let Malfoy get away with humiliating you. Teach him he is not unbreakable."

At once, Jenna, Pansy, and Ginny turned to Hermione with a shared look she later identified as genius (revenge).

A practical joke she had not signed up for.

"I can't," Hermione stressed for the millionth time as Jenna threw a very revealing outfit at her as Pansy and Ginny tried to tame her hair.

"Of course you can," Jenna told her for the millionth time as she then looked over Hermione's small selection of heels.

"I meant like punch him on the face like I have multiple times," Hermione explained, "not have me seduce him—something I'd like to point out only you and Pansy have done."

"Poor judgement and lots of whiskey," Jenna brushed her statement off just as she let out a sound of approval at a pair of red pumps she found in Hermione's closet.

"I drank a lot back then, too. Oh, and I didn't know better men existed," Pansy pointed out when she tugged harshly at a section of Hermione's hair. "Until Ron came along, that is."

Ginny snorted. "You think my brother is better? You sure you're still not drinking, Parkinson?"

"Here," Jenna's right hand offered her a bottle of wine Hermione thought was still in her fridge just as her left handed her the red heels. "Drink this and wear these. You'll do great."

"I won't," Hermione stressed for the millionth time as Jenna dropped the wards of Malfoy's flat as Pansy and Ginny dragged his piss-drunk, passed-out body in.

"Of course you will," Jenna told her for the millionth time as she directed them to his bedroom.

Ginny dropped Malfoy onto his bed, gagging and wiping at her arms from having had touched him. "You know what, I'm with 'Mione on this. Maybe this is too far."

"Are you saying Malfoy doesn't deserve to be taught a lesson?" Pansy questioned.

"I'm saying this is Draco Malfoy. We're on the same page of how absolutely fucking horrible he is, right? Now let me remind you we are putting Hermione in front of his backlash. She's been through enough bullshit. She doesn't need it from this git."

Pansy and Jenna both faltered.

Hermione knew they would never pressure her into continuing with a scheme she had not wanted to be a part of in the first place.

Did she think Jenna deserved better? Of course. The woman was a little wild, but she was a person owed respect.

Did she think Malfoy was an arsehole? Of course. The man had made that his legacy with his carelessness and debauchery.

Still...

There was a moment—a sliver of a moment—when Hermione wasn't sure she was entirely playing the part, when Pansy was actually enjoying her hen party, when Ginny and Jenna were no longer in the vicinity, that she saw something warm flash in Malfoy's icy, silver eyes.

It could have been all the alcohol (it had to be), but she thought maybe there was more to him. She thought maybe there was remorse. A remorse hidden behind all his snide remarks and disdain.

Hermione did not know what she was going to try to prove, but she took off her left heel, throwing it across his bedroom before the right followed.

"You can't be seen in the next few weeks, Jenna," she said. "If Malfoy sees you, he'll put two and two together. He's smart."

Pansy looked warily at Ginny while Jenna beamed.

"Hermione," Ginny's gaze narrowed as her best friend pointed her wand at Malfoy. "Think about it, okay? You're going to get into bed with Malfoy."

"I'm not," she said. "Not really, at least. I'll just implant false memories of it. My magic is impeccable. He won't know they aren't his."

"And," Jenna added as she walked over to Malfoy's sleeping figure, grabbing for his hand to slide on a ring before she threw an identical one in Hermione's direction, "he'll never think of hexing off the ring. It's the perfect plan."

It was.

Until Hermione discovered there was more to Draco.

Until she discovered his remorse.

It was.

Until Hermione's broken heart started to mend together with his name on the stitching.

Until Hermione only ever wanted to exist in Draco's arms.

It was.

Until in that same night club he hexed off a wedding ring that could only be legally removed by the magic of the Ministry Official who had married them (had it been a real marriage to begin with).

Until it was all Draco left behind.