Just a reminder: Hermione and Draco can't be more than 20 feet apart from each other.
Hermione woke with a start. She shot upward and nearly collided with Draco Malfoy.
He leapt backward, then guiltily looked at her. "Er – sorry, I had to wake you. We need to head into the castle."
"Oh." Hermione mumbled. "Sorry."
While Malfoy opened the carriage door and climbed out, Hermione took a quick second to reorient herself. By the time she stepped out of the carriage, Malfoy was twenty feet toward the castle.
"Can't you hurry it up?" He said impatiently, and Hermione was struck by how normal that sounded to her. Compared to the last few hours of gentle speaking and soft words, his usual irritation was far too welcome.
"I'm coming." She muttered, jogging over to him.
They entered the castle with no more problems, and silently entered their shared dorm. Their trunks were on their beds, and Malfoy immediately went to open his. Hermione collapsed onto her bed, ignoring the unpacking that awaited her.
"Here." Malfoy handed over her wand.
As soon as her wand was in her hand, Hermione sighed in relief. It was like holding a dear friend she hadn't seen in too long; a comfort, a relief – a piece of her finally fitting back to the place it had broken off from and making her whole again.
Malfoy shuffled back to his trunk, and she watched as he quietly muttered spells and sent all his clothes and various items into the nooks and crannies of his side of the room. After he was finished, he turned and held his wand out, as though he were about to do the same with her trunk. He visibly stopped himself. Conspicuously not looking at her, he instead quietly sat on his bed.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Malfoy?"
He didn't answer, so Hermione sat up and repeated herself. "Malfoy? Malfoy!"
"What?" He snapped, finally glancing up at her.
Hermione opened her mouth, then realized she didn't know where to begin. "All right, can you please tell me what is going on? Why do you keep acting so jumpy around me? And – I mean, not that I'm not grateful, but I saw you about to unpack my trunk. Why would you ever – I mean, for me? – just, what is going on?"
Malfoy winced. "Look, I'm not in the mood, all right? Tomorrow your friends will get here, and they can do all the explaining."
"Explaining what?" Hermione demanded. "How will my friends know why you're acting all squirrely?"
"I'm not acting squirrely!"
"Oh, you most certainly are! Don't think I didn't see you jump thirty feet in the air when you startled me awake!"
"If I'd jumped thirty feet in the air, I'd take you with me! Besides, I cleared my throat and called your name at least twice before I had to touch you. Who doesn't wake up at the sound of their name?"
"I'm a light sleeper, Malfoy. You obviously must have been whispering it! I would have heard otherwise."
"Why would I whisper your name? That doesn't even make any sense! For 'the brightest witch of our age', you really can be daft sometimes!"
"I won't pretend to know why you do what you do. I'm bright, not a mind reader! Besides, if you would just tell me what it is that's going on, I wouldn't have to guess!"
"I did tell you! I told you I called your name, and you didn't wake up. Then you 'guessed' that I actually whispered your name. If anyone's acting squirrely now, it's you."
"I am not acting squirrely – look Malfoy, this isn't the point! I just want to know why you've been so strange."
"I literally have no idea what you are talking about, Gra-" Malfoy choked out, then turned aside and coughed into his elbow. "-No idea what you're talking about."
"That, right there!" Hermione crowed victoriously. "Why can't you say my name?"
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but she could tell she'd hit a nerve. "I don't know what you're talking about. Hermione Granger. There, see? I can say your name just fine."
"You just faked a coughing fit after barely getting out the first part of my last name." Hermione cried.
"You're imagining things." Malfoy muttered.
Hermione paused, realizing just how close they'd gotten in their argument. She was barely inches away from him, and he seemed to realize it, too. He backed up slowly, and settled onto his bed again.
"Look, Malfoy, I know something happened while I was unconscious. Did you get into a fight with Harry and Ron? Or…did the Weasleys come visit me while I was out? Did you have a fight with the Weasleys?" Hermione persisted.
She tried to think of what possible situation could draw such a severe reaction from Malfoy, but her mind was drawing blanks. He was having difficulty getting her name out, she knew. Besides that, he'd been about to put her trunk away, and he kept looking at her strangely. What could have happened to cause all that?
Malfoy groaned, leaning back onto his bed. "Please, can't you just wait until tomorrow?"
He's saying please, Hermione added to the list. "No, I can't! I'm terrible at patiently waiting."
"Didn't you once make Polyjuice Potion? That takes months."
"Okay – I'm terrible at patiently waiting for things that I know I could have right now."
Hermione sat back on her bed and stared at Malfoy, who was pointedly staring at the ceiling.
"Oh, come on!" She finally burst out. "Just tell me what's been bothering you!"
"No." He said stubbornly. "I won't do it."
"Please, please, please, please?" Hermione clasped her fingers together under her chin. "If you don't tell me, I'll bother you all night!"
"Why are you so obsessed with finding out?" Malfoy asked in exasperation, finally sitting up and looking at her again.
"Because I know it's about me!"
Malfoy shook his head at her, but she swore for just a second, he almost looked amused. He rose up and she sat straight in anticipation. Instead, he moved toward the bathroom and shut the door, leaving Hermione thinking this must have been the longest civil conversation they'd had since Quidditch practice over two months ago.
Hermione bit her lip. She wondered if Malfoy had gone to the bathroom to hide, and briefly considered pounding on the door until he came and told her. She just wanted to know what had happened to make him barely keep eye contact with her and jump out of his skin whenever they touched! Was that really so bad?
Malfoy opened the door and she turned to look at him. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe casually. "Do you really want to know that bad?"
"Yes!" Hermione nodded. "What is it?"
"The curse that hit you was a memory spell and de-aging spell that bonded. Instead of passing out, you actually turned into a little girl. For all of the holidays and the last week of school, you were this tiny little…Baby Granger, wandering around with a stick that Professor Flitwick gave you as a wand-in-training, and a little book about this magic Muggle character, and both Potter and Weasley as your own personal lapdogs."
Hermione stared at him for a second before rolling her eyes. "If you don't want to tell me, just say so. Don't insult my intelligence, Malfoy."
"I'm serious, kiddo." Malfoy grinned. "I can even prove it to you."
"Oh, really?"
"Do you remember what your favorite Muggle book was as a child? Because I can tell you the name."
Hermione crossed her arms. "Okay, tell me."
"Matilda." Malfoy's grin got wider. "You were – and probably still are – obsessed with rocks. I have no idea why, but every time we went anywhere, you would always find some rock and put it in your pocket or trunk. Look over there, do you see that rock on your bedside table? That's Rocky. You love him, you know. And…let's see…you love Cinderella, which I believe is a Muggle fairytale. You couldn't say your R's properly, so you couldn't really pronounce your own name. You wouldn't sleep by yourself, so half the nights we spent here, you slept in my bed with me. Shall I go on?"
Hermione stared at him, dumbfounded. "That's – that's not true."
"Which part?" Malfoy gestured toward his bed. "That part where you begged me to let you sleep in my bed, because you were afraid, or the part where you begged me to read Matilda to you, because you could 'drink magic'?"
"I don't – I can't – how do I know you're telling me the truth?" Hermione demanded weakly.
Malfoy didn't even bother responding to her. He strode toward her bed, opening her trunk and pulling things out. "Let's see…here's a rock, not surprising…oh, here's your wand-in-training. Take good care of it, you wouldn't want to lose that. And, here's Matilda. Oh, you know, you were little for Christmas, too. Do you want to see your Christmas presents? Three books, from Potter, his girlfriend, and Weasley, I believe."
Despite his wry tone, Malfoy gently handed her the child's edition of The Tales of Beedle and the Bard and the picture text of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Hermione stared at them, instinctively stroking the spine.
"Why – why would my friends give me children's books?" She whispered faintly.
Malfoy moved her trunk off her bed and levitated everything onto the side desk, leaving her with the books in her hand. "I'm not lying to you."
Hermione brought her knees to her chest, fixedly staring at the books. She'd lost three weeks of her life, with no memory of what happened – that would have been just fine. But this? Learning that she'd actually had experiences, felt so many things, learned so much – and lost it all?
Her cheeks were wet. Hermione tried not to blink, hoping the tears wouldn't fall, but she couldn't stop herself. Malfoy sighed heavily. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."
"It's not your fault." Hermione squeaked, attempting – and failing – to keep the tremble out of her voice. "I just – I didn't…I don't…"
"Here, I'll put the books away." He offered.
Hermione couldn't hold it back any longer. If he'd just been mean to her, rude, or ignored her – but he was being so kind. His sympathy was the last straw. She buried her head in lap and sobbed.
Malfoy slid the books away from her waterworks and balanced them on the side table, then awkwardly went to his own bed.
What had happened over the last few weeks that had brought even Malfoy to be nice to her? She desperately wished she could remember.