Disclaimer: Me no owny.

A/N: Ah, my first chapter as a fourteen-year-old. Sorry for the delay, birthdays and holiday outings distracted me. Also, I lost my muse for a while… But I got a little inspiration and managed to squeeze out this chapter.

Please, be aware that this has jumped forward a bit in time, and Hermione is in the last stretches of her memory loss, so she will be getting a big, horrifying, shocking flashback in this chapter. It's not that dramatic, really.

Smitty, x

He was gorgeous, an utterly flawless gentleman with utterly flawless manners, had lived overseas for goodness knows how long, and spoke French fluently. Plus, there was something strangely familiar about him, even though she didn't know him from a bar of soap.

"Yes," she thought, as she studied his face, "I can definitely see myself falling in love with this man."

Since that first meeting with Draco Malfoy in the hospital ward, Hermione had found him to unknowingly fulfill every requirement she had for her dream man.

Charming: Check.

Witty: Check.

Smart: Check.

Attractive: Check. Check times infinity.

While she was in St Mungo's (she had a hissy fit at Blaise for putting her in there and not telling her why - after her sedatives had worn off, of course), Draco had visited at least three times a week. Each time, she felt herself growing more and more attached to him and there was something about him… something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She almost felt as if she had known him in a past life.

Yep, that's how much she had grown to adore him.

She was released a week or two after she was admitted into the hospital, and returned to her house. She had questioned its emptiness – it seemed like there was something – or a few things – missing. It didn't quite feel like home. Draco had looked suspiciously guilty when she voiced her concerns, and Blaise had obviously steered the conversation away on purpose after a few moments of intense, awkward silence.

Slowly, Draco's visits had dwindled, though, and she did not know why… Although, she had a suspicious feeling that it was related to his monologue in the hospital room on the day of her admittance.

Hermione tucked her legs under her frame absent-mindedly as she flipped the page of her new book over. As engrossed as she was in the chapter on the magical properties of wormwood and Bubotuber pus when combined, she didn't notice the dark man push open her front door and whip his head around anxiously in search of her.

She felt a gentle hand place itself on her shoulder, and she looked into the indigo eyes of her best friend.

"Yes, Blaise?" she said calmly, displaying no obvious signs of shock that this man had entered into her house without her knowledge.

"Can I get you to drink this for me?" He pulled out a small vial of shiny, metallic blue and silver liquid from his jacket pocket and held it precariously between his thumb and third finger.

Hermione eyed the vial suspiciously and asked, "What is it?"

"It's a, um… It's a visual projection potion."

"A visual projection potion? I've never heard of that kind of potion before…" Hermione mused.

"Oh, yeah. The blokes at work are trying to make a concoction that will help with the memory extraction of criminals. This one should project chosen memories into the air, so everyone can see them. Legilimency just doesn't work when you need to give evidence in front of the whole Wizengamot." Blaise couldn't believe the lies that were flowing so easily from his mouth, but Hermione obviously did, because she yanked the potion from his hand and downed it in one go.

They waited for a while.

Then a little while longer.

And a little while longer after that.

Suddenly Hermione said, "Blaise, I don't think it works."

Blaise hummed thoughtfully and said, "Oh well, back to the cauldron then, aye? I've got to go tell the boys, so I'll see you later, yeah? Bye, Mione."

"Bye." Hermione farewelled, returning to her book.

"Did you give it to her? The memory potion?" The raven-haired man questioned.

"Of course I did. I wouldn't be back here otherwise, you nitwit." Blaise countered.

"Good." Draco said from the shadows. "The nurse said that she should start remembering things spasmodically after she drinks it. I need her to remember, because whether she likes it or not, she needs to be there when I propose to Astoria. She mightn't see it this way, but she is still one of my best friends. I will not exempt her from that event, no matter how much she hates me at the time. I need her there." Draco didn't know why he added the last sentence.

Both of the other men nodded in agreeance.

Hermione placed her book down on the lounge beside her, and placed a hand to her forehead. She felt rather faint, and her forehead was unusually warm…

I might lie down for a while, she thought as she reclined. I might feel a little better.

Suddenly, her vision began to blur violently, and her stomach began to contract viciously. The pain was almost excruciating, but sudden relief came when the spasms stopped.

Soon after, images began to flood her mind and surroundings, which she found rather distressing in itself. Images of a platinum blonde boy with a sneer on his perfect features appeared everywhere around her. She couldn't help but think that he bore a striking resemblance to Draco… The same boy mouthing the word "Mudblood" across the Potions classroom… and the grown-up version of that little boy, holding her steady after she had run into him on the street.

Suddenly, the image swirled into black wisps of nothingness around her and a new image took shape from the darkness.

It was Draco, sitting on the lounge with tear tracks on his face, being comforted by a small brunette woman. Who was she?

Jealousy flared through Hermione until the woman turned around. It was her… She was the one comforting him.

She couldn't remember this… This couldn't be a memory of her own.

Sighing to herself, she tried to focus on the memory, and succeeded in time to hear Draco say, "I can't do this."

"You can't do what, Draco?" Her memory self questioned. "I don't understand."

She was suddenly thankful for her inquisitive nature, because Hermione didn't understand either.

"This arrangement. I can't do it anymore." Memory-Draco whispered, so softly that it was near impossible to hear.

Memory-Hermione looked disappointed and confused for a while. "What arrangement? Are you talking about Astoria?"

Who in Merlin's name was Astoria?

"This," - she watched as he wagged his finger between them - "This arrangement. It's not working."

Memory-Hermione's expression turned from confusion to rage in a split-second. "Draco Abraxus Malfoy. If you are going to pull this shit," - his eyes widened, and Hermione almost laughed at how comical it looked, but her doppelganger continued before she could - "with me now – after two years of living together in perfect harmony, then you have got another damn thing coming."

Hermione was shocked at her own brazenness and lack of composure, except she had no time to contemplate the lapse in character, before Draco retaliated.

"Look, Granger," – she flinched in synchronization with her memory-self, she had never heard or seen Draco act that way before - "I don't want to live here anymore. I have much better things to do with my life than just going to work, picking your lazy ass up from work and then coming back to this dump to sleep the night before getting up and doing it all again. Okay?"

She saw herself sink awkwardly onto the lounge she was on only moments ago, and croak, "I can't believe this."

Memory-Draco reached out a hand shakily, before retracting it and hissing, "I'll be gone by the morning. Mudblood."

It almost seemed as if he was inclined to comfort her. That confused her immensely.

"If that is what you want." She observed her memory counterpart contain her emotions unsteadily, while Draco's memory counterpart fled upstairs stiffly.

Anger and rage bubbled inside her as she watched herself stare blankly at the wall. How dare he be so rude to her? Her heart broke with every second that passed, and every thud she heard from above her shattered those pieces into shard the size of pinheads. It was Draco packing his belongings, no doubt.

How could he be her dream husband, partner, whatever, when he had so blatantly shut her down and cut her out of his life so easily?

Well, thought Hermione, It won't happen again. I am never ever speaking to that man again.

Somewhere in the back of her fury-controlled mind, she wondered: Why don't I remember any of this? But she didn't think to find the answer to that because Memory-Hermione had lost her staring contest with the wall and was gazing at the foot of the stairs.

Her anger dissipated slightly when she saw Draco had reappeared and was opening his mouth to say something.

However, before she could hear what he had to say, she felt a sharp pull between her eyes, and found herself gazing into the icy blue eyes of the man who she had just witnessed break her own heart.

The man she could no longer refer to as her dream man.

Reviewwwww? Smitty, x.