Redemption

If there was one thing Hermione prided herself in, it was her ability to cope with the obstacles life constantly threw at her. And today, her conflict revolved around the fourth floor of St. Mungo's—the wing dedicated to Spell Damage. She'd been stationed on the third floor, trying to help an elderly Wizard figure out why he'd gotten a bit of a purplish rash on his arm, seeing as it had now spread to the entire left half of his body, when Ginny Weasley shuffled into the room.

As a new intern, Ginny looked none-too-pleased as she approached the blistered man, a look of slight repulsion etched onto her fair features. Hermione whipped around to grab an antidote for the poor Wizard, nearly running into the youngest of the Weasleys. Hermione looked baffled, to say the least; Ginny was supposed to spend the day getting to know the patients who suffered with severe and long-term memory loss, seeing as how the fourth floor of the Wizard Hospital was to become her new permanent station of employment.

"Ginny," Hermione started, a bit breathless. "Shouldn't you be upstairs? You know, you really shouldn't go traipsing about the hospital—you could risk losing your job." She gave her young friend a scolding glare before turning around, proceeding to test out a few drops of Dittany on the man. She bit her lip in concentration, and grew exasperated when she noticed that Ginny still stood there, swaying to and fro awkwardly on the spot. Sighing in aggravation, Hermione twisted her torso around, aggravation clearly etched onto her fine features.

"Yes, Ginny?"

"Her—Hermione," Ginny began, her voice coated with anxiety. "Katie said she needs you on the fourth floor today. She—she wants you to look after a man they've just found. I don't know who he is, they haven't told me, but he's the talk of the entire floor."

Hermione felt her heart sink almost instantly. She dropped the bottle of Dittany, and it clattered viciously against the tray that all of her potions and tools were located on. The Fourth Floor. The Spell Damage level. No, no, she couldn't go back. She couldn't go on that level—she'd sworn to herself a year ago when everything happened that she'd never venture around those kinds of people again. They only made her feel even guiltier for the crime she'd committed. Hermione's eyes grew glassy and she licked her dry lips, swallowing the growing lump in her throat.

"Hermione," Ginny began again, her voice more tender. "If you—if you want me to tell them you've gone home sick or something, I can. I know you don't like being up there, given what…well, what happened, and all."

Hermione was barely aware that she gave a stiff jerk of her head, blinking away the tears that were threatening to form. She stood tall, removed her latex gloves and threw them in the nearest waste bin, and jutted her chin forward. She turned around hotly on her heel to face the man she'd been treating only moments prior, and inhaled a jagged breath.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I've been called away in a matter of urgency," She began in an apologetic tone, her nerves rattled. "But I promise you that Dr. Bones or some other equally qualified Healer will be with you at their earliest convenience. The rash doesn't seem to be fatally serious, so you'll be alright for the next couple of minutes, won't you?" The man reluctantly nodded his head, and Hermione spun around again, sauntering towards the elevator with determined steps. Ginny jogged after her, the young girl's fiery red hair flowing down the back of her scrubs.

"Hermione," Ginny began in an uncertain tone. "Are you sure you should be doing this?" Hermione smacked the elevator button violently and gritted her teeth, suppressing the urge to ball her tiny hands into fists.

"I'm fine, Ginny," She spat, feeling slightly guilty for the snippy tone in which she was taking with her best friend. As the pair stepped on the lift, Hermione closed her eyes and leaned against the back wall of the elevator, groaning slightly to herself. It was just too damn difficult for her to face a whole crowd of people doomed with the same fate as someone she'd known only too well not that long ago. What felt like hours on the lift passed by in silence, until Ginny cleared her throat and awoke Hermione from her thoughts. The bushy-haired ex-Gryffindor's eyes snapped open, and she shoved away from the wall, running her fingers through her mass of curls.

"What's the state of the man in question?" She asked suddenly, realizing she'd better go into this hellacious ward with at least some idea of what she was dealing with. She heard Ginny fish around in the folder she always carried with her, pulling out a paper and reading a small script attached.

"Uhm," She began, scanning the document's contents. "Says he was brought in this morning, and had traces of a memory charm left on him. Katie checked him out, and the charm seems to have worn off. He doesn't act as though he's in a daze or doesn't know who he is—so that rules out his condition as being similar to Lockhart's. And he passed all tests of sanity, so he didn't meet the same fate as the Longbottom parents. So, perhaps Katie just wants you to check him over for a quick physical before they dispatch him?" Ginny sounded hopeful, and Hermione reminded herself to thank her friend later for that. Optimism was a wonderful trait to have, and Hermione needed a bit of it in a situation like this.

The lift opened and the pair stepped out, Hermione's legs wobbling recklessly under her. She stood erect and appeared to maintain a confident disposition, but inside she was an absolute mess. Ginny surveyed her one final time with an anxious expression before slamming her folder shut and leading Hermione through the doors of the Spell Damage Wing.

Hermione kept her gaze on the speckled tiles below her and her scuffed brown shoes. She refused to meet the vacant glares of the occupants of this wing—staring at Wizard after Wizard and Witch after Witch who'd unwittingly succumbed to the damaged life of amnesia and other harmful spells made her stomach lurch, and she soon felt nauseas. The guilt gripped her in this wing like no other, and she focused on evening out her breathing patterns, just to give her something to do.

Ginny elbowed her in the side gently, and so Hermione lifted her head as if on command, stopping short when she realized she'd almost run into her old schoolmate, Katie Bell. Katie, after having been cursed, had vowed that she'd help others who were placed in situations similar to hers. She worked her way up through the St. Mungo's Healing line, and had managed to land herself a spot of authority: the Head of Department. She was in charge of the fourth floor—the floor Hermione so completely loathed and detested. Her eyes ran over Hermione's frame quickly, a sweet smile encompassing her features. The benign Witch held her hand out expectantly, and Hermione took it, offering a weak handshake in return.

"Hello, Katie," She began meekly, a fraction of a smile twitching onto her features. "Ginny told me that you needed me to inspect a new patient, or…or something?" She hoped the 'or something' would be an immediate dismissal from this particular wing of the Hospital and an apology for disturbing her time. As it was, no such luck occurred.

Katie's expression seemed to change slightly, and she too seemed uneasy, as Ginny had only minutes before. Hermione was about to open her mouth and blurt out a slur of questions as to why Katie would have such an apprehensive look on her face, but was cut off by her co-worker and superior responding, instead.

"Yes, well, I'd better show you," She said quietly, turning around and indicating for the pair to follow them. Ginny and Hermione exchanged bemused glances, and slowly trotted after Katie. Whatever it was, it appeared that this new inpatient had given several members of the fourth floor quite a bit of trouble.

Not a good sign, Hermione thought pessimistically, nausea surging inside of her again.

Hermione and Ginny followed Katie down a row of corridors; the Spell Damage Wing—Hermione had noted—snaked and slithered. The corridors weren't straight and narrow as other floors were. Instead, they were spacious and curved and didn't have sharp or jagged turns. Hermione noted that this was probably due to the fact that the patients of this particular ward were, most often, permanent members, and therefore deserved the luxury of strolling about the floor at their ease.

Hermione was so absorbed in her thoughts and theories that she barely noticed Katie halt abruptly at the end of a long corridor, and Hermione stumbled over her feet in order to keep from running into her. Ginny caught her by the elbow and steadied her, and Hermione threw her friend a grateful smile. Ginny just nodded knowingly, and the pair turned to study Katie curiously as she reached to grab the large brass knob on the door positioned in front of her. Hermione observed the slightest tremor in her fingers, and one brown eyebrow rose of its own accord in the most curious of manners.

Hermione took a step closer, her legs like lead as she trudged towards the door. She kept her gaze fixed on the wooden frame, trying to imagine what could possibly lurk behind it. She felt drawn to it, almost—crazy as it was, she almost hoped that whatever inhabited the opposite side of the thin wooden door would help her overcome the constant guilt and fear she lived with. She nibbled on her lower lip, and designed to keep her gaze focused on the door, that way she could brace herself for what was on the other side.

"Hermione," Katie began in a cautious tone. She twisted the knob, and the door slowly opened. "We've found your husband."

Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes grew blurry and her hands absentmindedly balled themselves into tight fists; her nails clawing into her palms and creating crescent-shaped grooves in her supple skin. Her throat grew dry and her brown eyes grew wide as she took in the scene before her.

No, no, they're lying, Her mind hissed at her frantically. There's no way. He—they…it can't…

Her thoughts were severed at the sight of the man in front of her.

Leaning against the wall of the small inspection room and studying his cuticles as though he were bored to tears, was a lean and pale-faced Wizard with a mop of white-blonde hair. His grey eyes lifted to the doorway as he heard the click of the lock, and a cruel smirk slipped onto his features. He stood taller and shoved himself away from the wall, his eyes glimmering deviously.

"Honey, I'm home," came the dry and humorless greeting of Draco Malfoy.