The world around her was black. There was no ground, no sky, no nothing. Just black. Hermione couldn't even see her own body when she looked down; she was merely a disembodied consciousness. Maybe she had made a mistake trusting Draco enough to plunge into his memories.
As the panic began to consume her – could she even feel her toes? Was there a way to trap someone in memories? – a pinprick of light formed near where her feet should be. It grew larger and larger until she was standing in a room. A room she had been in before. The Headmaster's office. McGonagall's office to be more specific.
"Granger," Despite how tired his voice sounded, Hermione would recognize it anywhere after this year. She turned and found him standing against the fireplace. "If you're watching this," He took a deep breath, "I'm dead, and Blaise passed these on to you." He chucked ruefully and rubbed the back of his neck, "I just – I needed you to know – I couldn't let you think – You need to watch these. Please. I know you're mad, but you need to watch them. I need you to watch them. It's the last I'll ever ask of you."
The world went black again.
xoxox - (()) - xoxox - xoxox - (()) - xoxox - xoxox - (()) - xoxox
Hermione crashed down onto the couch in Madam Malkin's shop. Diagon Alley. She adjusted herself into a more comfortable position, ultimately standing as the memory couch was rather unrelenting. Looking around the shop, it was a shock of white-blonde hair that caught her attention.
There he was, Draco Malfoy as a child again. Judging by his hairstyle, slicked back with obscene amounts of gel, Hermione was confident he was twelve at most. A smile played at the corners of her lips. He was so young, so undamaged by war. And then she heard the abuse he was shouting at the seamstress, and she wanted to smack him. Someone needed to. Sighing and remembering the boy Draco had been, Hermione assumed it could have been worse. Surprisingly, the terrible words made her feel a bit better; if he hadn't edited them out, perhaps she was getting a true telling. She remembered Harry's description of Slughorn's altered memory. There was no jumbling of words despite their vitriolic flavor, and that gave her some comfort. At least she might finally know the truth. She looked around the room, dreading the sight of Lucius or Narcissa, but neither was there.
Why was he showing her this? She already knew he was a rotten little boy. Madam Malkin turned Draco on the pedestal so that he was now facing the door - "Don't touch me!" He was awful. Truly awful. At the very least, he had refined his terribleness over the next few years so that it could be misconstrued for a biting wit.
The door to the shop opened, and the bell jingled. Hermione could not see who had entered, the door being just behind a clothing rack. Draco fell silent as the seamstress called, "Hogwarts, too, dear? Not a problem! Just hop up on that platform there, and I'll begin taking your measurements."
A small girl hopped up on the podium, her eyes sparkling as she craned her neck to peer around the shop. She was enthralled in the magic of the room. Hermione knew because she had been that girl eight years ago. Little Hermione let out an excited yelp when the tape measure began measuring her of its own accord.
"Don't worry about that," Madam Malkin and older Hermione - she had forgotten about this exchange - both raised their eyebrows when Draco spoke. His voice lacking all venom it had just held towards the seamstress, "Won't hurt. First fitting?" He was looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Hermione nodded, appearing to notice the other boy for the first time. She now remembered that she had wondered if his hair, so blonde and perfect, was magic, too. How had she not connected her fitting friend with Draco Malfoy? "Most kids don't get fitted until they get their letter from Hogwarts. I'm going to be a first-year this fall." The little girl wouldn't remember him, just another stranger in the onslaught of new faces.
"Have you read Hogwarts a History? They just came out with a new edition! I've had my nose buried in it ever since I got it!" Older Hermione cringed, she had literally just gotten the book in the previous shop by the point she had met Malfoy, and she had already read thirty pages, "I'm so excited to be sorted! I think I'll be a Ravenclaw, perhaps a Slytherin - I do fancy myself as rather resourceful." Older Hermione shook her head at her younger counterpart's optimism; she knew nothing of the wizarding world's bigotry.
Draco's eyes widened only a fraction of a centimeter, "Slytherin?" I know all the Slytherin hopefuls, they're my friends. Crabbe, Goyle. Pansy. Nott. Zabini. The Greengrass girl. Myself, obviously. That does leave a spot for this new girl if she has what it takes. Hermione started at first upon feeling a sensation she had only ever felt when trying to teach Harry occlumency. Another strand of thought brush against her own. She could hear him. His thoughts.
"That's where I'll be. Malfoys are always Slytherins." He nodded as if that drove home his point.
"All done, dear." Madam Malkin helped Draco remove his newly hemmed robes, "Let your mother know these will be coming in the post within two days' time."
Draco nodded and stepped off his podium, stopping in front of young Hermione before he left, "Suppose I'll see you on the train. Maybe we'll be housemates."
Young Hermione gave him a smile and a nod before focusing all her attention on the mechanics of Madam Malkin's mirror. Older Hermione hurried after young Draco as that was where the memory would continue. She spared one final look at her younger self - had her hair really been that bushy? Maybe Draco had been right to make fun of her.
Hermione caught up with Draco quickly, her legs were, for once, longer than his. He led her down the street towards the Leaky Cauldron, but he halted in front of an ice cream stand. She could hear him tallying up how much change he had left in his pocket and if that was enough to sneak an ice cream before dinner.
"Draco Lucius Malfoy." Hermione turned. Narcissa. His mother stood just behind Draco and Hermione, a stern look on her face, but her eyes were alight, "Don't tell your father." She flipped him a coin. Draco wasted no time, purchasing himself, with his mother's coin, a chocolate ice cream.
Draco and his Mother set off back into the Alley, having used the area near the Leaky Cauldron as a place to reconvene after their respective errands. Draco alternated between eating his ice cream and chattering aimlessly, Narcissa hung on every word that spilled from her son's mouth. As if she knew the days of Draco speaking without a care and emoting without a thought were limited. Draco, being only eleven, did not notice the sad glint in his mother's eyes as she ruffled her son's gelled hair - "Mother! Stop! This is how father wore his as a boy!" He quickly patted the wayward strands down.
Recovering from his annoyance quickly, Draco's returned to his amiable tone, "I met a girl today (ice cream) at Madam Malkin's (ice cream). She was getting fitted for her robes, too (ice cream). She said she wants to be a Slytherin (ice cream)."
Narcissa's eyebrows lifted, "Oh, really, and what was her name?"
"A-" Draco's brow knitted together, "I don't know. I forgot to ask."
"Then I suppose you will need to find her on the Platform and properly introduce yourself." Narcissa steered her son to the side of the busy street, "One more stop! We must get you an owl so you may send as many letters home as you wish."
As Narcissa pushed open the door to Magical Menagerie, Hermione's vision went black.
Her knees hit the ground hard. If this weren't a memory, it would have hurt quite a bit. It only took Hermione a moment to orient herself this time. The crowds, the steam, the whistle. September 1.
"Now, Draco, you know your father wishes, more than anything, that he could be here to see you off, right?" Narcissa knelt in front of her only son. Hermione was surprised by the undignified position the Malfoy Matriarch placed herself in to be at her son's level. He was paying her no mind; instead, he was instructing Crabbe and Goyle to save him a seat and searching for the crowd.
"Mother, the work of a Malfoy is never done." He spoke proudly, finally turning to his mother, "Father has a business to run, and duty always comes first. No matter what."
"No matter what." Narcissa echoed hollowly. She tucked an imaginary stray hair behind her son's ear. It was so gelled back that such a wayward strand could never have existed. "You have all your things packed away, and if you need anything else, just send an owl, and I'll have it delivered right away. Oh, I'll miss you, my darling boy." She pulled Draco into a hug that he did not return.
Quite the opposite, actually, as he pushed her away, urgently whispering "Mom stop! There she is! You're embarrassing me!"
Narcissa relented, standing to her full height and dusting off her robes. With curiosity on her face, she followed her son's eyeline to a little girl, twenty paces away. Her mother was fawning over her as Narcissa had been Draco, but the little girl was eagerly accepting her mother's attentions. Older Hermione could see Narcissa's brow furrow; she would not have recognized Hermione or her mother and therefore known that she was not by any means a pureblood. "Well, aren't you going to introduce me?"
Draco balked, "Of course not, Mother! I have to go now; I will see you at Christmastime." And with that, Narcissa watched her only son climb onto the train, gone.
The wind vortexed around her. When it died, she was on another train platform. This one was in the open air and in the dark. The doors to the scarlet train, still panting from exertion, opened, and a stream of children of various ages poured forth.
A bobbing lantern walked towards her.
"First years." Hagrid called up ahead, "This way!" Hermione was adrift in a sea of first years. She looked for a familiar face. Draco had to be here somewhere. There. A shock of blonde amongst various shades of black and brown. She thought she saw a similarly disruptive redhead, but that was not her purpose.
Hermione hurried through the crowd to catch Draco. He led his group. She recognized Crabbe and Goyle, immediately behind him. Pansy, with three other girls behind them. Blaise and Theo followed behind, barely close enough to be associated with the group. Hagrid's voice boomed up ahead, "Four to a boat, in you go."
The larger girl looks panicked. There were nine of them in their little group. One would be left to their own devices. Clearly, she was not confident that she would remain in their quickly formed clique. Draco, meanwhile, craned his neck until recognition lit up his features, "You lot go along, I have something to attend to. Bulstrode," The girl Hermione had been watching started at her name, "save us all a seat at the table. You should be sorted first." She nodded, but Draco had not waited for her response.
He was a fast little thing; it was why he would be so good as seeker. Draco scurried his way through the crowd. Hermione thanked her ghostlike state. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to keep up. Draco and his unseen companion ended up a few steps away from the boats and right beside a young Hermione Granger.
Older Hermione's lips threatened her with a smile. Hermione watched as Draco turned, 'accidentally' bumping Hermione with his shoulder. Her younger self turned and, before Draco could speak with what Hermione could only assume was a well-rehearsed line, she exclaimed, "You're the boy from the robes shop. I realized I never introduced myself. Awfully rude of me. Hermione. Hermione Granger. And you said your name was Malfoy, correct?"
He recovered from his surprise quickly - Hermione was sure none of the girls in his group talked as fast or as animatedly - and smoothly spoke, "Yes. Draco Malfoy."
They stood in awkward silence, until Hermione spoke again, "Well, would you like to join us in our boat? We need one more?" With a noncommittal shrug, Draco assented. He slid into place behind Hermione, only giving Neville a look of mild distaste.
Hannah climbed into the boat first. She steadied the small vessel and, with a smile, helped Neville into his seat. Draco went in next. Older Hermione noticed his hand raise almost imperceptibly to help Hermione find her way. Instead of offering his hand, he seemed to settle with a single hand outstretched as a guide. Although young Hermione didn't notice - she was too busy trying to catch her first glimpse of the castle - older Hermione recognized Draco's gesture. He was ready to catch her if she fell, even if she had no idea.
This time the scene change was so abrupt. Just a flash of light as the night on the lake turned into the warm glow of the Great Hall. Draco stood between memory Hermione and real Hermione. The trio was surrounded by nervous first years. Draco stood just a step away from Hermione, keeping her close without being close enough that people would associate them with one another.
Hermione watched as Bulstrode, Crabbe, Goyle, and Davis were sorted into Slytherin. Half of the group was confirmed into the house of the snake. The remaining serpents, meanwhile, converged on their de facto leader. Pansy went so far as to shove her way between Draco and memory Hermione. Hermione didn't notice, though; she was too busy trying to guess how much longer she had.
"Granger," was intoned, and the bushy-haired muggleborn climbed the short steps to the stool. Draco seemed to stop breathing. The hat fell over her eyes. Her knees knocked together, and her fingers clutched at the stool.
"What would your father say, Draco?" A voice hissed quietly. Pansy.
"About, Parkinson?" Draco's lips barely moved, and his eyes stayed riveted on the hat. A minute had elapsed.
"The little muggleborn you've befriended." She snorted, "I'm Hermione Granger." Her voice was a well-rehearsed imitation. Hermione wondered how many times Pansy had already used that gag. "Lucius would be appalled, Draco."
"I needed a seat on a boat." A muscle in his neck twitched, "That's all." Two minutes.
"And that's why you're staring so intently at her." Pansy was as tall as Draco, so she whispered almost directly into her ear, "You barely spared our friends a passing look."
"They were each sorted in under thirty seconds." Draco did not look away from Hermione. "There wasn't much to look at."
"And she is?" Pansy's eyebrow arched, "She's something to look at?"
"How many people do you know take three minutes to be sorted?"
"She won't be in Slytherin, Draco." Hermione shifted her focus to Pansy. Her voice had lost its edge. It was almost consoling, "I've watched her. She's loud. And brash. A Gryffindor. She seems like she could string together a coherent sentence despite her upbringing. At best she'll be a Ravenclaw, but you know that's not enough for Lucius. And it doesn't matter, because, as I said, she'll be a-"
"GRYFFINDOR!" The hat pierced through the conversation. McGonagall ripped the hat off the girl. Hermione and Draco made eye contact before she ran off to her new house with a giant smile plastered on her face. Older Hermione noticed the sadness in the back of Draco's eyes as Pansy smirked and crossed her arms.
Greengrass went to Slytherin, then, to the room's surprise, Neville went to Gryffindor. Ernie, Wayne, and Megan went to Hufflepuff, and Isobel joined Ravenclaw. Then it was Malfoy's turn. He climbed the stairs, turned, and cast one last look at the girl at the Gryffindor table. She was chatting merrily with Percy Weasley, her friend from Madam Malkin's already forgotten. The hat barely touched Malfoy's blonde hair before it shouted, "Slytherin!" Hermione offered polite applause without stopping her conversation or even looking up at who had just found their house.
Malfoy stood and crossed to the snake pit. They gave him a warm welcome. The prodigal son was home.
Half the hall's population blinked out of existence. The enchanted ceiling shifted with the morning's light.
Draco sat at the Slytherin table. By the looks of the spread, it was breakfast time. Crabbe and Goyle flanked the young blonde. Across from the well-known trio were Blaise and Theo. The two shared conspiratorial glances while Draco lectured Crabbe and Goyle.
"I'm dying to see it!" Hermione cringed as her young self's voice cut through the din. The younger image strutted past the group of Slytherin boys. She was following another girl. A second-year muggleborn from Hufflepuff if she remembered properly. "It's based on an eighteenth-century fairytale, you know."
"Yes, Hermione, I kn-"
"Beauty and the Beast! So romantic! Where do you live, Erin, perhaps we could-"
"Bloody hell, Granger!" Draco scoffed, loud enough to attract the attention of the two passing girls. Erin kept walking, but Hermione paused, "It's too early to listen to you prattle on about finding your beast. So do us all a favor and shut up." Hermione blushed and scurried away.
Crabbe and Goyle guffawed. Blaise was too busy chatting with Greengrass beside him to acknowledge his childish friend. Theo, however, fixed Draco with a leveling stare. "If Granger were looking for a beast, wouldn't that make her the beauty?"
Hermione watched Draco trace Theo's words. She saw the realization and the blush. He shook his head, "Shut up, Nott. It's too early for your shit."
"Draco," Lucius called. "Stay right there and do not cause any trouble."
Draco did not protest. As soon as his father drew away, he fumbled with a book. Hermione heard him, thank Flourish and Blotts under his breath for holding such a vast array of texts. Flipping through the book as fast as he could… Acromantula, no… Chimaera, shit, too far… Basilisk. As sneakily as Draco could, he ripped the page from the book and tucked it into his cloak, just in time for his father to return and initiate his plan by antagonizing Arthur Weasley.
Draco watched the altercation from his place behind his father. He only looked up once when he heard her voice scolding his father. "No one scolded Father. No one. Especially not a twelve-year-old girl." His voice tickled the inside of Hermione's skull. His eyes were drawn to her immediately. But then she noticed him looking and sent a snarl his way; he dropped his gaze once more.
The next scene blinked into being. There was no pretense. Second-year Hermione was in the middle of the quidditch pitch, standing between the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams, both of which were dressed for practice. Older Hermione watched in horror, knowing full well what was about to happen, "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in, they got in on pure talent."
Anger flooded into her. Then hurt and surprise. Shouldn't be surprised. She stood up to Father. Why wouldn't she stand up to me? Hermione staggered back as the force of Draco's emotions hit her. The anger won out, and he schooled his features into a furious mask, but Hermione could still feel the betrayal that was coursing through his young veins. He slowly stepped up to her, almost nose to nose, the closest they had been, the closest they would be for years to come. "Nobody asked your opinion, you filthy, little mudblood." He watched as something inside young Hermione broke, and she felt something inside him break in response.
She was inside now. In a nondescript corridor somewhere in the castle. Draco was strutting down the passage, his clipped footsteps echoing in the quiet. Suddenly, he halted.
"Granger," Draco drawled, saddling up beside Hermione. She was in a small alcove. The one with the window seat overlooking the lake. He could only have seen her if he had been searching for her. It was one of the few moments she was alone: after her final class of the day when her two shadows ran off to watch the other quidditch teams practice.
"Malfoy." Her voice was polite, but they both knew she was bracing herself.
"So the message said 'Enemies of the Heir beware.' Are you being wary, Granger?"
"Are you threatening me, Malfoy?" She halted, turning her chin to glare up at him. Already, halfway through their second year, he was far taller than her.
"Threatening implies you're worth my time; taunting is more like it. I'd stay out of the corridors at night if I were you; wouldn't be a fair fight if you didn't." He turned, heading back from where he had come and leaving Hermione alone, her mouth opening and closing without a sound.
Hermione's vision went black. She could feel Draco's pulse rushing beside her own. She felt a fear and saw Filch's face, and then Mrs. Norris's flash across her vision. Her eyes adjusted. It was nighttime. Draco was again rushing through a hallway, but despite his hurry, Draco still took great care to peer around corners with a gilded mirror - a mirror Hermione thought she had seen before - before turning them. Hermione lengthened her strides to keep up with the boy who had had another growth spurt at some point during the year. The castle was dark, and the hallways silent. It was past curfew. They reached their destination before Hermione could figure out where they were heading. The library.
Draco pushed open the doors, cringing when they creaked. Otherwise, he was silent as he snuck into the coverage of the bookshelves. Hermione followed him as he tiptoed to the very back of the library, to the corner, to Hermione's favorite table. His breath caught in his throat. Hermione snuck up behind him to look over his shoulder. There she was. Couldn't she just take the advice and not sneak around at night?
Young Hermione sat hunched over her table, working by wand light. Books were piled high around her, ranging in topics from animals to curses to myths. She angrily flipped a page in a thick, pink book. Less than a paragraph into the page, the second-year let out an infuriated shriek and slumped aggressively onto the table. She wrapped her arms around her head, hair poking out from the cocoon at odd angles.
Draco made his move. She heard him whisper Wingardium Leviosa and with a swish and flick of his wand the mirror, and a small piece of scrap paper levitated across the abyss separating the two children. No sooner had the mirror settled on top of a stack of books at her table than Hermione shot upright, her eyes searching the darkness of the library, clearly having sensed something. Draco took a step back into the shadows, but he didn't leave, not yet.
Content that she was alone, young Hermione closed the book in front of her and set it onto her "useless" pile. Turning to pick up a new book, a glitter caught her eye. Her eyebrows knitted together. Gingerly, Hermione picked up the mirror and examined it. The paper fluttered to the table in front of her. Putting the mirror aside, she unfurled the paper. Her eyebrows shot into her hairline then she shot out of her chair. Not bothering to reshelve her books, young Hermione fisted the paper, grabbed the mirror, and ran from the library.
Draco finally leaned against the bookshelves. His work was done.
The earth spun, and Hermione was in a new setting. The dungeons.
"Explain to me, Mr. Malfoy," Snape drawled. Young Draco was still in his pajamas. The candles burned low. Snape warded the doors to his dungeon office with far more than the customary locking spell; Snape turned to the boy, "How Ms. Granger, on the night she was attacked, had a Rosier mirror in her possession."
"Attacked?" What little color Draco had drained from his face, "She was attacked? I tol-" His mouth slammed shut.
"You told her what, Draco?" The pretense of being only professor and student dropped.
"I didn't say anything to her."
"Then what did you convey to her."
Draco wrinkled his nose, "That she really ought to stay out of the corridors at night."
"And?"
Draco glared at his mentor, "And that it was a Basilisk causing the attacks."
Snape's eyes widened, "What has Lucius done?" He seemed to say it more to himself than to the boy, "Go back to your room and stay there. Do you understand?"
A.N. Here's how I see this. Remember orientation when you're so overwhelmed with new things that you simply cannot remember it all? Hermione was learning about an entirely new world, so despite her brain capacity, I think one little boy she spends maybe an hour total with before the sorting could easily have slipped her mind.