Chapter Eleven: Memory


Harry pinned the flailing girl's arms to her sides, wincing as her screams filled his ears. She twisted and writhed underneath him, desperately trying to rid herself of the demon that plagued her in her dreams.

"No!" she screamed, "Stop, please!" Tears rolled down her cheeks as she, in her sleep, clawed at Harry's arms and face frantically, crying out even louder when he did not release her.

"It's okay, it's okay," Harry whispered in her ear, smoothing his hand over her curly head as she cried. "He's not there, it's just a dream…"

Exhausted, Harry glanced at the clock. It was nearly one in the morning and this had been going on for at least an hour. He looked down at Hermione's tear stained face, fighting the anger and guilt that tore at his heart.

It was about a week and a half since the attempted kidnapping. Hermione had been subdued and quiet, rarely speaking to anyone but him or Ron or Neville. The bruises Malfoy had given her had faded with the help of a special salve given to her by Madam Pomfrey, the cuts and scrapes had been healed with magic. All the physical signs of the attempted attack had disappeared, but the mental and emotional effects were still quite obviously there, if not worse than what they had been earlier in the year.

It had only been a few hours ago that he had received her owl in his own dorm, just before he had gone to sleep.

I'm scared.

Those two words were all it took for him to roll out of his bed and pull out the Invisibility Cloak, and practically run to the Head dorms. Luckily, she had not changed her password, and he did not run into Filch or Mrs. Norris along the way.

He had barged into her room, striding over to her bed, which was oddly empty.

"Hermione?" he had asked.

Her relieved sigh behind him made him jump. He turned in time to find that she had hidden herself behind the door, and was lowering her wand, which had been aimed at him.

"You frightened me," she whispered.

"I didn't mean to," Harry said, stepping closer and brushing his hand along her cheek. She leaned into his touch for a moment, closing her eyes when he stepped forward and embraced her, wrapping his arms around her protectively.

The room was dark save for the dying embers of the fire, whose light glowed dimly along the bottom of the room.

"I couldn't sleep," she said softly, her voice slightly muffled by his shoulder. "I keep thinking he's here somewhere, waiting to take me away…" She cut herself off with a snort and rubbed at her eyes with her sleeve.

"Merlin help me," she muttered sarcastically, "I'm being such a bloody coward."

"No, you're not," Harry protested. "You are the strongest, bravest girl I've ever known." He placed a feather light kiss on her forehead.

"I don't feel very brave right now," Hermione admitted with an involuntary sniff.

"Were you hiding behind your door all night?" Harry asked.

"No, of course not," Hermione said. "I was sleeping in front of the fire." Gestured tiredly towards the fireplace, where a rumpled pillow lay forlornly atop her scarlet blanket.

Harry stifled a chuckle before taking her hand in his. "That looks very inviting, but I have a better idea." Silently, he had led her to her bed, and once he had succeeded in getting her to lay down, he had summoned her blanket and pillow, which he tucked under her head (the pillow, not the blanket), he (after taking off his glasses and setting them on her nightstand) himself crawled onto the mattress beside her, but only once he was sure it was okay with her.

"I feel like a child," she had murmured into the darkness. "It's like I'm afraid of the dark all over again, but this is worse. I see things moving out of the corner of my eye and I think it's him. Someone talks to me strangely or gives me a funny look and I can't help but think it's him again. I hate it."

"It's okay to be scared," Harry said. "But you can't let that hinder you, Hermione."

"It's hard," she said quietly. "I'm always frightened, now… I feel like I can't trust anyone, because what if it's him again? What if he's still here?"

Harry found her hand and squeezed it, rubbing the pad of his thumb along her soft skin.

"Ron and I saw him Apparate away, Hermione. There's no way he could have gotten back to the school grounds."

Hermione nodded, though he couldn't see her he felt the motion.

Harry lay still; he could feel his heartbeat pulsing in his ears. The dwindling fire suddenly popped, breaking into the stillness of the room, and they both jumped. Hermione gave a shaky laugh after.

"You'll stay, won't you?"

"Of course I will."

"There's something I need to tell you; I should have told you before…"

"What is it?"

Hermione turned to lay on her side, facing him.

"I had nightmares after what happened last year. Bad ones. I would get them every time I went to sleep. Nothing I did stopped them until earlier this year, before the ball."

"How come none of us noticed while we were at the Burrow?" Harry asked, frowning.

"I put Muffliato and Silencing spells on both myself and my room, so I wouldn't wake Ginny or anyone else. I-I'm sorry for not telling you. I just didn't want you to worry, you already have so much on your plate."

"Hermione, you're my best friend. I love you. I always worry about you. Especially now. I wish you'd told me earlier."

"I know, I'm sorry." She grasped his hand. "I'm worried that they'll come back."

"If they do, then I'll be here to help you," Harry said. "And soon as I can, I'm bringing that bastard down."

They lapsed into silence shortly after. The fire had died completely at this point, and he knew Hermione had fallen asleep. Her deep, steady breaths calmed him, but he could not sleep. Too much was on his mind.

Ron trusted him to tell Hermione that they were going to leave her at Hogwarts while they would go to find and destroy the Horcruxes. He knew how reluctant Ron had been to agree to the plan-Hell, he didn't want to leave her there, either! But she would be safer inside the castle than running about the country with them. He had spoken to Professor McGonagall, and had requested that someone be with Hermione at all times, to ensure her safety. Naturally, Neville would be with her most of the time, seeing as they shared almost every class and were both Head Students. Her professors would be advised to keep a close watch on her, as well, just as an extra precaution.

Harry loathed the idea of leaving her. No doubt she would be furious beyond belief and knowing her, he knew she would stop at nothing to follow them. He knew she needed them just as much as he needed her; the thought made his heart ache. She would hate him and be heartbroken that she had been left behind. He wanted to bring her, Godric knew it would be easier that way, if she could come along, if Malfoy had never come into the picture.

But he was her boyfriend; it was his duty to protect her, even if she didn't think she needed it. But he loved her too much to lead her out into the open, where anything could happen. What if they were captured? What if Voldemort or someone from the opposing side found out that he and Hermione were in a relationship? That thought made chills run down his spine. No, it would be infinitely worse. Would they dare to capture her and use her against him? Try to lure him out? Kill her, even?

No.

None of those things would ever happen, ever. He would rather die than let Malfoy or anyone else take her.

His mind had slowed down sometime after, and though all was relatively quiet in his head, he still couldn't sleep. So he lay there instead, still holding Hermione's hand, still listening to her breathing. His eyes felt heavy and dry, and he wanted more than anything to go to sleep, so his troubling thoughts from mere moments ago would not trouble him for a while.

It had seemed that he had been granted his wish; his eyes were closed and he could feel himself descending into a deep slumber.

But then she began to stir.

He had shot up right away, kneeling beside her on the bed, and looked to see if she was awake. She wasn't. She was frowning and her face was white and she was sweating, mumbling incoherent things that he could not make sense of.

His alarm grew with every phrase she uttered, his green eyes searching her face for signs of consciousness.

"Please, don't," she had mumbled, raising her arms to shove at an imaginary attacker.

"Don't what?" he'd breathed, not knowing what to do.

"Don't kill him," she whispered, tears sliding down the sides of her face.

Harry froze.

She had begun to twist in her sheets then, her words slurring together into fast, barely incomprehensible sentences.

He had listened to it all intently, the dread inside him growing steadily.

When she began to claw at the air and shout for Dream Malfoy to get off of her, Harry lightly tapped her cheeks and eyes, telling her to wake.

"Please wake up, Hermione; it's just a dream, wake up!"

She only cried out louder and succeeded in leaving a long, bloody scratch on his arm.

Harry ignored the pain, looking down at Hermione. His palm still cupped the side of her face, where her tears ran over his fingers as he made soothing 'shh' noises.

They remained that way for a while, Hermione's struggles finally ceasing, and her cries had dissolved into nothing. Harry let out a shaky breath. She had fallen asleep again, though her hair was wild and knotted and her eyes were red and puffy. He ran his hand over her head, smoothing her hair, before he collapsed back onto the mattress, holding her hand firmly.


Light was beginning to peek through the sliver of space between her curtains, highlighting a slim section of the wall beside the bed.

Hermione's eyes opened, and she sat up stiffly, wondering why her arms were so sore. Her face felt tight and bleary and once she looked over at Harry, who had scratches and cuts and bruises on his arms and face, she instantly knew what had happened.


He awoke to the sensation of being stared at, and he sat up, concerned, when he saw she was crying.

"I'm sorry about that," she said softly, as she touched her wand to his skin to heal the wounds she had created.

"It's nothing," he insisted, and then paused. Did she know?

"Do you remember what you dreamt last night?"

Hermione crossed her arms, looking out towards the window at the beam of light protruding from the gap in her curtains. There were dark circles under her eyes. Harry watched as she closed them, and spoke.

"I saw him kill Dumbledore, and then he was strangling me again, trying to touch me."

Harry's reached out and caught her in a close embrace, brushing his lips against her forehead.

"I tried to wake you, but you couldn't hear me." She nodded, but said nothing.

"Do you want to talk to Madam Pomfrey or Professor McGonagall?"

She shook her head.

"Can we go outside?" she asked. "I can't stand being inside any longer."

She asked this with trepidation, thinking he might refuse and start going on about her safety.

Harry pondered for a moment. "Alright. But you are aware that it's the middle of the day, and we are technically skipping class?"

He was expecting Hermione to turn pale and hit him for not waking her earlier and to rush madly about, gathering her things to run to class.

Instead, he was appalled and deeply concerned when she simply shrugged.

"I don't feel like going to class," she said, slipping on her coat.


He was sitting in the lavender field by the pond, letting the cool breeze wash over him, enveloping him in the scent of the plants around him. It reminded him of her.

Of course it did, which was why he'd had his gardener plant this small field. The color added a refreshing feel to the area, which was mostly green. The wind mussed his hair, making it fly around his head and into his eyes, but he didn't mind. His mind was elsewhere employed.

He'd had the most interesting dream the night before. In it, he had found himself in a memory of his Fifth year.

He remembered that day clearly; it was early November, and the scenery around the school was a mesmerizing blend of oranges and reds and yellows and everything in between, like the school itself was shrouded in a gentle fire. It had been a fine morning; he'd woken in a good mood and had treated himself to a delicious green apple with a stack of toast before deciding to go out for a stroll, since he still had about an hour till class began.

The leaves crunched under his feet as he made his way towards the lake, contentedly biting into another apple. The lake was just up ahead, and he headed straight for it, hoping to have some time alone to relax and maybe even sleep a bit. The day before had been a tough one, he and Granger had got into a rather heated argument. They had been assigned as partners for their Ancient Runes class, and had to work on a research essay together. Neither would had been caught dead in the others' respective Common Room, and he absolutely refused to meet at the library, so they had decided on the empty Charms classroom after dinner.

He didn't even remember how it started, but she had been her usual prissy self, bossing him around like he was her own House Elf, and when he told her off, using a few choice words, her face had gone scarlet and she snapped at him to help her search the stack of books she had already acquired for what they were looking for. When he had reminded her to say please, she glared at him and remained silent, much to his annoyance. He had jabbed at her then, piling the insults till she kicked him. From there it had escalated until they were shouting at each other, and it seemed they would have remained arguing all night had she not abruptly gotten up from her seat and stalked out the door, summoning her things after her.

He hadn't seen her at breakfast. Perhaps she'd gone to blubber to Potter and Weasel about how rude and immature Big Bad Malfoy was. Frowning, he bit into his apple with a satisfyingly violent crunch, and quickened his pace.

He had finished his apple by the time he reached the small wood that lay before the lake, carelessly tossing the core to the side.

Here, the leaves were still soft and fresh, and did not crunch under his step. With each step he felt his foot sink a little into the soft layer of leaves that blanketed the ground. He navigated his way through, and finally decided to sit down at the base of a handsome birch tree, but not before conjuring a blanket to sit upon so his robes wouldn't get filthy.

He had sat there for some time, not really thinking, just staring at his surroundings, though what his eyes saw didn't really sink into his mind. A breeze danced through the scene, and he listened to the leaves and branches rustling around him. He could faintly hear the waters of the lake moving about, lulling him into a trance-like state.

He wasn't quite sure when he had fallen asleep, but he awoke calmly, his eyes focusing instantly once he had opened them. Something felt different. Something had changed.

The wind had picked up, for one, whistling in his ears and fluttering his clothing with its force. But that wasn't it.

He stood, looking around him, reaching out and placed his palm flat against the trunk of the tree he had been sitting against.

An odd sound reached him and he turned, trying to detect from which direction it had come. It was a voice, that much he knew, but it had come by so quickly and so faintly he was not able to determine whether it was male or female.

Was someone spying on him?

There it was again. This time, he heard it more clearly, and he quickly went to the direction it had come from, fingering his wand in his pocket.

He had not gone far when he stumbled across the source of the noise.

It had to be Granger, of all people. He'd fought not to roll his eyes.

What caught him off guard was the fact that she was laying on her back, curls spread about her and hands resting atop her ribs, Gryffindor robes being rubbed into the leaves and soil beneath her. He was aghast, disgusted. Whereas he had actually taken precautions to make sure he would not get his robes dirty, she was lying there without a care.

In the dirt where she belongs, he'd thought with malice.

Was this how Muggles were? Undoubtedly, he'd told himself, still watching her.

Perhaps he should scare her. Throw water on her? Dirt? Aim a hex or two? The possibilities were endless.

It was hard to tell if she was sleeping or not, since a curly lock had fallen in such a way as to conceal her eyes from him. All he saw was the lower half of her face. Still, she was not moving, so he figured her to be asleep and made his choice.

He had just begun to take a step forward when she stirred, her left hand moving from her abdomen to place itself underneath her head as a makeshift pillow. He tensed, breathing as quietly as possible. Luckily, she did not turn. But now that he knew she was awake, he ducked behind the nearest tree, taking care to not move too quickly so she wouldn't detect his movement out of the corner of her eye.

When he looked back at her, he found that she had not moved much, only now he could see her eyes. The girl was looking up into the sky; a sad tilt curved her lips as the trees whispered around her. At that moment it occurred to him that he had better leave; it was no use trying to pull a prank on her if she was wide awake. And it was about time he headed back to go to class. These were the reasons he gave himself to ignore the fact that he was intruding on what to her must have been a private moment.

Should he have felt wrong watching her in this manner? He was practically spying on her, for Merlin's sake. A day ago he'd called her a dirty Mudblood bitch and now here he was behind a tree, watching that same girl lie on the grass, consumed with her thoughts. Anyone else might have felt wrong. What did he feel?

Nothing.

Or is that just what I want to hear? he'd asked himself. Something felt way off about all this and to be honest, he wasn't sure what he felt just now. There had been the initial anger at finding her here but what had that turned into? Draco didn't have a fucking clue, and that annoyed him. It was hard to take his eyes off her and that was strange too. This was a rare occasion that he'd found her without a book or a roll of parchment in her hands, without that bossy look on her face or that posture that suggested she had a broom up her arse. It was like the Yule Ball in Fourth Year all over again. What had she done?

Just as he began to turn away, she began to hum. His head whipped back around to face her, and his ears strained to hear her of the chatter of the rustling leaves above him. He listened intently as she quietly sang to herself, wondering why exactly his feet would not obey his mind's orders to get out of there and go back to the castle. He had heard her hum before. He'd catch her in the library, or in their common room, her voice barely audible as she breathed out the music in her head. She usually didn't know that he could hear her, either. For some reason he had never complained about it. But something had been different about that time. Usually, in the few instances he'd heard her, her voice, although quiet and contained, had sounded cheerful, or normal, for want of a better word.

But then, as he stood there, hidden behind the thick trunk of one of the many trees that surrounded them, her melody filled him, and he suddenly realized how sad she sounded. Which was strange, because when had he ever heard or seen Hermione Granger to be sad? The girl was made of fire and ice, for Merlin's sake! The girl rarely cried; she made others cry! At least, that's what he'd heard. He briefly wondered if her sorrow had anything to do with those two dunces she hung around so much. It couldn't be, though. No matter what kind of argument those three would get into, they usually made up quickly, and from what he had heard, none of their fights were ever truly damaging. So Potter and Weasely were out of the question.

And then he'd frozen and the reality of the situation struck him at last. Why on Earth was he trying to figure out why she was upset? He didn't care for her at all! He had ignored the voice in his head that urged him to stop thinking and just listen to her voice, to listen at how beautiful she sounded, how he thought she may have been crying but couldn't tell, because due to the breeze, that damned lock of hair had fallen over her eyes again. He simply pushed that voice out of his mind, and silently, he fled the scene.

Draco grasped a short stalk of lavender and pulled it from the ground, gaze still lost in the waters of the pond. His mind had gone elsewhere again, his eyes had unfocused but his hands remained alert; they ran softly, reverently over the delicate little petals on the stalk as his hair moved in the wind.