Aside from completely forgetting that they had a daughter, the Grangers' lives continued as usual.
Every family had its own troubles, and society had its own problems.
Hospitals, in particular, were public service institutions.
Unlike schools, which had a fixed number of holidays each year, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was not nearly as relaxed. For example, it had just received another difficult patient.
Hospitals did not enjoy the same fixed holidays as students.
"Quick, Pye! Immobilize this patient's foot! He's under the effects of a Leg-Shaking Curse!"
In a ward on the fifth floor of the Spell Damage Department at St Mungo's Hospital, Augustus, the attending physician, nervously examined the patient's injuries while gripping his wand.
"Is that so?"
A clear, pleasant female voice came from behind him.
Suddenly, several white bandages flew out of the medical kit and firmly bound the patient's struggling legs to the bed.
Whether it was merely his imagination or not, the way the bandages intertwined actually looked rather beautiful and artistic.
"That's it! Hold him tightly! Don't let him break free!" the man shouted excitedly.
The pleasant, slightly seductive female voice was highly distinctive. However, the doctor was so absorbed in his work that he failed to notice who was helping him.
Augustus muttered incantations and continuously waved his wand, gradually easing the patient's pain.
The patient struggled for quite some time before the shaking bed finally settled.
"Phew."
Augustus breathed a sigh of relief.
"You did a good job today! You didn't cause me any trouble."
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and turned to pat his assistant on the shoulder encouragingly.
However, his arm froze halfway when he saw who had helped him.
"Miss Delacour?"
His voice was filled with surprise.
That troublesome assistant was no longer there.
How boring.
"Have a look."
Fleur smiled.
She had somehow found a pure-white nurse's cap and placed it on her head. Her long, flowing silver hair had been tied up and tucked inside the cap.
If her original temperament had been charming and alluring, she now appeared holy and dignified, almost overshadowing the natural allure of her Veela bloodline.
She was still wearing a pure-white hospital gown.
"You're the patient! How can you help me?"
"Where's Pye?!" Augustus demanded, his anger gradually rising.
"He's dealing with new patients. There have been many patients lately, and he's extremely busy."
"And I volunteered to help."
Fleur nodded gracefully.
The anger quickly drained from his face, like air escaping from a deflating balloon.
After Lord Voldemort's return, although he had not formally appeared in public, many restless wizards had begun to act. Violent crimes had increased significantly, and the number of injured patients had naturally risen as well.
Augustus sighed and shook his head helplessly.
A shortage of manpower had always been a persistent problem for him.
"If you're short-staffed, you can let me help, if you don't mind."
"This…"
Augustus looked somewhat embarrassed.
"It's nothing. I'm free right now. I'll explain everything to my parents."
"Normally, I should be looking for a job by now," Fleur said with a smile.
Her studies at Beauxbatons were indeed nearing their end.
"You're a patient yourself. How could we possibly let you come here and work?"
Augustus's face was filled with hesitation.
"It's only amnesia, isn't it?" Fleur said dismissively.
"It only affects a short period of my memory. It's not a problem for me, and it doesn't matter if I can't remember it."
"Compared with these patients, I feel perfectly normal."
Her parents did not want her to recall those unpleasant memories. Some painful memories were better left forgotten.
What they truly feared were other consequences, such as future memory loss or the possibility that certain memories had been altered.
St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries enjoyed an excellent reputation throughout the wizarding world.
After all, when memories were involved, who could guarantee that there would be no future consequences?
However, after observation, they discovered that aside from completely forgetting approximately one year of her life, Fleur had suffered no other apparent effects.
Her parents had already begun arranging for her to be transferred to another hospital.
Britain's wizarding world was far from peaceful.
What they had not expected was that this temporary transfer would lead Fleur to a future career, preventing her from returning home for a long time.
It was worth mentioning that she performed exceptionally well in the years that followed.
At first, she had struggled to adapt. Those strange symptoms were certainly not easy to endure.
Sometimes she had to deal with exposed flesh and blood, disgusting abscesses, and limbs twisted into shapes that seemed beyond human imagination.
Even with the assistance of magic, the pervasive smell of blood and decay was an enormous challenge. It was difficult enough to endure even without direct contact.
Some things could make a person feel nauseated after only a few seconds of looking at them.
But Fleur overcame it.
She found it strange. In the past, she might have vomited, felt disgusted, or even fainted from nausea.
Now, however, she could control herself.
She gripped her wand firmly and precisely, without the slightest tremor.
She also gained considerable satisfaction from the work.
Especially when she saw the smiles on patients' faces after they recovered.
Perhaps that was the meaning behind her hard work.
Everyone had a different destiny.
In contrast, Fleur Delacour had found a job that allowed her to realize the value of her life.
The person who had effectively "stolen" her memories was not nearly as fortunate.
At that moment, wolf howls could occasionally be heard within Malfoy Manor.
The courtyard in front of the reception room had become overgrown with weeds. The once carefully trimmed lawn had been torn apart, and the proud peacocks that used to stroll back and forth were nowhere to be seen.
The fountain in the centre appeared to have dried up, producing only a few weak streams of water.
The people living there were a mixed group, and even members of the same species could come into conflict. Communication between different groups was even more difficult.
With the Dark Lord's departure, the order that had barely been maintained through his prestige and power quickly collapsed.
If not for the strict orders prohibiting unorganized activity, they might have already degenerated into a chaotic mob and been wiped out.
By then, Malfoy's parents had moved to Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the House of Black, which now served as their temporary residence.
Their own home had been "sacrificed" to the Dark Lord as a refuge and base of operations.
Even so, Malfoy's imagined destination remained the Wiltshire estate rather than the old Black residence.
He needed to keep track of the Dark Lord's movements. If Voldemort took any action, Malfoy would have to return there immediately.
At that moment, in a secluded cellar, the furniture had been arranged in an unusual yet orderly fashion.
The Vanishing Cabinet against the wall looked as though it had just been used. Its door was slightly ajar.
The chandelier was unlit.
The light from Lumos was extremely faint, casting only a soft halo that barely illuminated the room.
Under the dim light, Malfoy could be seen sitting in a cherrywood armchair. In front of him stood a tulipwood table with elegantly curved edges.
Several mushroom-shaped brass handles, each engraved with delicate patterns, adorned the outer surface of the drawer beneath the table.
Malfoy's face was extremely pale.
His hands mechanically and numbly grasped the handle, pulled open the drawer, and stuffed the chocolate inside into his mouth.
What had originally been a leisurely snack had become a necessity.
He leaned back in the chair and breathed heavily, exhausted.
Waves of dizziness washed over him, accompanied by various negative emotions. Every bite of chocolate brought him a small measure of relief.
The rich aroma of cocoa filled the dim room. An unsuspecting visitor might have mistaken the place for a hidden underground chocolate factory.
After resting with his eyes closed for a while, Malfoy gradually calmed himself.
The soothing effects of the chocolate helped him regain some clarity.
The holiday had already been underway for many days, and he had spent much of that time alone.
His plan had not made any major progress. It had simply continued forward, one step at a time.
He stared at the abstract mural hanging in the centre of the wall opposite him, his thoughts drifting as though he had suddenly remembered something.
Two quills floated into the air.
Three sheets of parchment spread themselves across the oak table, and writing began on each of them.
For some people, the holidays were now busier than school days.
Malfoy stroked his chin, trying to determine the proper wording.
One of the letters began:
"Madame Maxime… I am… currently at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries… I hope you can help me."
Another letter began:
"Minerva, this is Olim Maxime…"
The final letter began:
"Dear…"
While Malfoy wielded his quill and wrote his letters, a quarrel was taking place at Hogwarts, thousands of miles away.
It was less an argument than a one-sided accusation.
"Minerva, we can no longer endure this! Unknown, evil creatures are devouring our territory!"
The voice of the centaur Firenze sounded unusually harsh in the room, almost like a roar.
His hooves pounded impatiently against the floor of Professor McGonagall's office.
"Our living space is shrinking, and this pervasive sense of oppression is driving me and my people mad!"
He continued complaining without pause.
After safely returning all the students to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Professor McGonagall had returned to Hogwarts.
Following an unhappy marriage, she had never remarried. Hogwarts had become like a second home to her.
But now, in her office, she had to endure the complaints of a resident of the Forbidden Forest.
Firenze's handsome face was filled with anger and impatience, a stark contrast to his usual gentle and refined demeanour.
His deep, sapphire-blue eyes were filled with anxiety and fury.
Now that all the students had left, he no longer needed to hide his emotions. Previously, he had been forced to consider the students' presence. Now, with them gone, he could argue his case openly and rationally.
"I went there with you once before. There was indeed a rather unpleasant smell, but we couldn't find its source."
McGonagall looked troubled and perplexed.
"Firenze, I genuinely want to help you resolve this problem."
"The agreement established by the school's founders and our predecessors…"
"If this matter cannot be resolved, we centaurs will have to find another way out!"
Firenze slammed his powerful hooves against the floor before storming away.
In the end, the negotiations ended in discord.
Less than two minutes after Firenze left, Professor McGonagall's office welcomed another visitor.
"Professor McGonagall? Are you there?"
Hermione's voice came from outside the door. She knocked lightly.
"Please come in," Professor McGonagall replied gently.
"Miss Granger, you're very punctual."
She paused before asking, "Have you discussed this with your parents?"
"Hmm."
A fleeting, almost imperceptible trace of disappointment crossed Hermione's face before she nodded firmly.
"This is their permission."
She handed over a document bearing her parents' signatures.
There was no doubt that the signatures were forged.
Professor McGonagall glanced at the document and nodded.
"Firenze?"
McGonagall tapped the table and suddenly called towards the door.
The centaur who had just left returned almost immediately.
"I'll deal with that matter as soon as possible," McGonagall said.
"But you must do me a favour."
She turned towards Hermione.
"Take her into the Forbidden Forest and let her experience it for herself."
Firenze walked slowly, allowing Hermione to keep pace with him.
"Miss Granger, correct?"
"You're Potter's friend—the Saviour. I remember him."
He initiated the conversation, though Firenze continued complaining throughout the journey.
He had also taken on the role of a free labourer, constantly using a sickle to cut down weeds and clear branches obstructing their path.
"Be careful not to get scratched by the leaves," he warned.
"Get out of my way!"
The handsome centaur swung his sickle fiercely. The edge of the blade struck the hairy, thick leg of a spider and knocked it aside.
Startled, the enormous spider scuttled backwards on its thick legs. Its plump body moved with surprising agility.
"They've been acting strangely these past few days. They originally lived deep within the Forbidden Forest, but now they've been forced to come out."
Firenze continued speaking, while Hermione listened quietly.
Small stones, muddy paths, trees that blocked out the sky, and thick fog made visibility extremely poor.
Since Professor McGonagall had asked her to experience the forest, Hermione was paying close attention to everything around her.
After all, an Animagus was an animal form that allowed a witch or wizard to merge with nature.
Strange insects crawled over her boots.
Some had shells, while others were slippery molluscs.
Hermione was glad she had chosen to wear tall boots.
Suddenly, she noticed that Firenze had stopped.
She stopped as well.
Hermione instinctively grabbed her shoulder.
A cold, negative emotion enveloped her, leaving her inexplicably frustrated and distressed.
"You felt it too, didn't you?"
Firenze raised his thick eyebrows dramatically.
"This atmosphere constantly interferes with our astrological activities!"
"Our living environment is being compressed further and further."
"I know Minerva has been extremely busy lately, but my people cannot endure this any longer."
"Alas."
The centaur chieftain appeared deeply troubled.
He keenly sensed the uneasy atmosphere surrounding them. After taking a deeper breath, he could tell that the outbreak of war was not far away.