The next morning, Hermione woke feeling—if possible—even more hazy than the day before. She remembered the day before, though, so that was something.

The light coming through the window was pale morning light—soft and white—and in the relative silence, she sighed.

"Awake there, Hermione?"

The voice should have startled her, but it didn't. Instead, she rolled almost lazily to her side and looked at the boy who was already on his side looking at her.

"Any new memories this morning?" he asked, his hair tousled from sleep in a disarming way.

"No." She yawned and snuggled deeper beneath the thin, off-white blanket. "You?"

"Not so far." He shrugged. "Think Madame Pumprey—"

"Pomphrey," she corrected and he playfully rolled his eyes.

"Pomphrey, then, will let us leave today?" He was whispering as if afraid someone might hear, or perhaps simply because in these early, quiet morning hours anything else would have seemed garish.

"I hope so," she breathed. "Though, the thought of going back to a dormitory with strangers doesn't sound overly appealing."

"Agreed," he said, finally pushing himself to a seat. She followed suit aware of how big and tangled her brown curls were. "A few of my dorm mates came by to see me yesterday. A girl named Pansy who swears she's my girlfriend—thought I don't believe her—and a fellow by the name of Nott. Theodore, I believe." He sighed. "I don't remember who I was, but who I am now would rather not stay in a dormitory with them just yet."

At the mention of a girlfriend, Hermione bristled, though she had no reason to.

"Well, I've only met Harry and Ron so far," she said as she pushed her hair back, wishing for an elastic. "But I'm not sure that I'm ready to be thrown into a space with a whole host of unknown people either."

"Maybe we could request housing somewhere else," Draco said before clearing his throat. "Not together, obviously." He cleared his throat. "But neighbors. Away from the people who won't understand what we're going through."

"I think that can be arranged," said the voice of an older woman half a moment before the curtain opened. "It's good to see you both awake," she said, her nose held aloft. Despite her severe bun and stern expression, Hermione saw kindness and familiarity in her eyes.

"Professor McGonnagal?" She asked, and the woman's eyes lit up. "I'm sorry, I don't remember you. Harry and Ron mentioned you yesterday." The woman's face fell slightly. "But you do seem familiar," Hermione offered, and the woman gave her a small smile.

"Yes, well. Madame Pomphrey said it might be some time before you remember." She looked at each of them. "Am I to assume your sentiments from before, Mister Malfoy, are echoed by you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded and she thought she saw, from the corner of her eye, Draco's shoulders sag with relief.

"I think we'd be more comfortable, as we only really have each other at this point," Hermione said, sitting up straight to mimic McGonnagal's posture.

"Interesting," she said, and then as if remembering herself she smiled at them both. "Well, Madame Pomphrey wants the two of you to come back to see a Mind Healer each day, but aside from that, you're free to return to your regular classes. Have breakfast here—it's being delivered, I believe—and I'll get some rooms set up. It's Friday, so I'll expect you back in classes first thing Monday." She looked at them both and her face softened. "I know you're both confused, but seeing you both awake and alert. Well, it does this old witch's heart good after all we've overcome together." She smiled, nodded, and left without giving them a chance to respond.

"Well, that was strange," Draco said after a moment, and Hermione laughed.

"Indeed."

—-—-—

After breakfast, Hermione and Draco were taken to a new set of rooms. They were shown where the Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms were, in case they got their memories back, or changed their minds.

After, they were taken to a small hallway that was reserved for special guests, just beside the teachers' quarters. Their rooms were side by side, and with a brief nod for Draco and an inexplicable sense of loss, Hermione went into her room and shut the door.

Inside her room, Hermione stopped and took a breath. The room was furnished in rich dark wood. There was a four-poster bed with a thick, white comforter, and beside it a plush, taupe armchair. Someone had gotten her trunk from her dormitory and she went through it slowly, hoping something inside it would stir her memory.

Gold and crimson striped ties. A small, beaded bag. Books upon books upon books. But nothing that gave her more than that niggling, almost-memory feeling.

She unpacked some clothes, tired of the maroon pajamas she'd been in for, she assumed, a week, and changed. Jeans with holes in the knees—something she assumed was against dress code here—and a periwinkle jumper. She found some ballet flats and pulled her tangled hair back into a messy bun.

Hermione grabbed a book she assumed she'd read before—Hogwarts: A History—and tried to read it, to hopefully jog her memory a bit.

She made it through the first chapter before she felt so antsy she had to close the cover. The margins were covered in notes, so she knew this was something she loved, and she had to admit it was interesting, but she couldn't focus.

A glance out the window told her she still had hours before lunch. She looked around her room and then at the door. She wondered what Draco was doing. Maybe she could—

A knock on the door startled her. She put down her book and stood with a deep breath. Ron and Harry hadn't come to see her that morning in the hospital wing. This was most likely them. She could tell from her almost memories that their care was sincere, but just now they were overwhelming.

With a second deep breath, she opened the door.

"Hey," Draco said, hands in the pockets of navy blue slacks. He wore a white button-down, with the top button undone, and his hair fell just across his forehead.

"Hey," she said, unable to keep the smile from stretching even further across her face. "Come in," she said, standing back.

He ducked his head and stepped in. "Sorry to bother you," he said, and she laughed.

"I was just thinking of coming to see what you were doing," she said, a faint blush staining her neck. "I was feeling a bit antsy."

"As was I," he said, looking around, hands still in his pockets, "I went through all my things, hoping for some sort of memory flash or something, but there's still nothing." He settled on leaning against the bed frame in the relatively small room.

"And I'm the only person you know," she said, a little of her initial elation falling away as she realized coming to he was his only real option.

He ducked his head again, then looked up again. "Well, I know Pansy. And that Nott fellow. And I suppose Harry and Ron." He smiled, his cheeks that lovely shade of pink again. "But you're the only one I wanted to see. I just thought maybe we could explore the school a bit."

Hermione felt something akin to butterflies in her stomach and she fought the urge to bounce on the balls of her feet.

"OK," she said, glad her voice wasn't breathless. He smiled and she smiled and she was a moment from opening the door when there was a second knock. His smile fell as hers did and like ripping off a bandaid, she opened the door.

As expected, she opened the door and there stood Harry and Ron. Harry looked resigned. Ron looked angry. Hermione felt tired.

"We came to find you in the hospital wing," Ron said, scowling. "Then Pomphrey said you weren't coming back to the tower!"

"I just—"

"You didn't wait for us. We said we'd be back!" Ron said, and Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Ronald," she said, that name coming as if from someone else's mouth, "I just need some time to—"

"What about Malfoy, eh?" he asked, stepping forward. "She said he didn't go back to Slytherin. He's going to be right next door. He's—" he stopped as he pushed his way past her and saw the subject of his rant, standing stock still, eyes wide, still leaning against the bedpost. "Bloody hell. What's this then?" He wheeled on Hermione. Harry still stood in the doorway, eyes wide.

"We were going to go explore the castle grounds," Hermione said, slipping between Ron's body and Draco's. It was a small room, so now everyone was too close. Hermione met Harry's eyes over Ron's shoulder. "To see if we remember anything."

"With him?" Ron asked, glaring at Draco over her head.

She stood up taller. "I'm not sure who else I know so well," she said, knowing those words would bite.

"Hermione—" Ron began, learning forward.

And then Harry was there, crowding the room further, between them. Hermione stepped back and bumped into Draco's foot and he steadied her with his hand on her lower back.

"She doesn't know us, Ron," Harry said, putting his hand on Ron's chest.

"We can't leave her alone with him," Ron said, face red, leaning toward Harry.

"It's not our call, mate," Harry said. "Maybe if they look around, it'll jog something."

"We should go with them," Ron said, looking past Harry. He saw Draco's hand still on Hermione's back and his face bloomed crimson. "Oy! Get your hands off her!" He tried to come forward and Harry stopped him.

"We need to go," Harry said, then looked back at Hermione, his green eyes full of pain. "We'll go."

"Harry—"

"Come on, Ron," he said, putting both hands on his chest and pushing.

"Hermione—" Ron said, looking over Harry's shoulder. "Bloody hell, Harry!" He said, shoving him hard and stepping around him. "Hermione, this is ridiculous!"

"I don't know you!" Hermione said, exploding toward Ron. "You know me, and I know I should know you, but I don't!" She felt tears prickle in the corners of her eyes. "The more you're like—like this, the less I want to know you!" Her hands went to her hips and her chest was heaving. All around, the others were quiet.

After a beat, Ron narrowed his eyes and said, "What's he told you?" He gestured toward Draco with his chin and Hermione felt something inside her snap, then wither away.

"Get out of my room, Ron." Her voice was steady.

"What?" Ron laughed, mirthlessly, then turned toward Draco. "This is your fault."

"I've nothing to do with this," Draco said, standing up tall. He took a step toward Ron, hands out to show that he meant no harm. "Whatever I've done to you in the past, I'm so—"

Without any provocation, Ron hauled off and punched Draco in the face. There was a crack, a spray of blood, and for a moment silence.

In that moment of silence, something happened in both Hermione's and Draco's minds. What once was a vast sea of wispy echoes of memories now held one single, vivid memory.

"You foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!"

Collectively, Draco and Hermione gasped. It was only a moment, and then reality kicked back in.

"Ron!" Harry yelled, pushing Ron back.

Hermoine fell to her knees beside Draco, whose nose was dripping blood.

"Cockroach?" Draco asked, pinching his nose.

"You saw it, too?" Hermione asked, eyes bright. "Wait. That can wait. We need to get you to hospital." She helped him stand, vanishing blood with her wand as if on instinct. She held onto his arm as he leaned his head back to try and staunch the flow of blood, and helped guide him as they walked out the door.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, face pale, as Harry gripped his arm tightly.

"They're going to see if his bloody nose is broken," Harry said, his voice a growl. "And hopefully not to McGonagall to report you!"

"Hermione—" Ron said, his voice pitiful, but they were out the door, and down the hallway without a look back. As they turned the corner, Hermione could hear Harry say, "We have to let her figure this out on her own, mate."

Once they were safely out of earshot, Hermione slowed her pace and more gently took his arm. With her free hand, she vanished blood as they walked without a word.

"So," she said as the let her muscle memory take her back to the hospital wing. "First of all, I'm sorry you were assaulted." Her cheeks were red at the memories—both the one from moments ago and the new one she'd found.

"S'not your fault," he said around his pinched nose. "Well, not this one, anyway."

She looked up at him, mortified, and found him looking at her from the side of his eye, a smirk on his face. The effect was ruined by a smattering of drying blood, and she couldn't help but smile back.

"Do you remember why I punched you?" she asked as they walked up a set of stairs that started moving as soon as their feet landed on the second step.

"No," he said tentatively leaning his head forward. Hermione noted there was no gush of fresh blood, which was good. "Just that you called me a cockroach." He looked down at her again.

She adjusted her grip on his upper arm, not ready to let go, even though he could look ahead and now and make his own way. "A foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach, actually." She sniffed and he grinned.

"Well, I suppose it gives credence to what that Harry and Ron fellow were telling us about me being the bad guy." He laughed, but it sounded forced, and Hermione wondered how she could read him so easily when, essentially, he was a stranger.

"Regardless of what they think about who we were," she said, standing up straighter and shifting slightly closer to him. "We're new people, now."

He smiled as the stairs stopped and together they stepped off, into the wing that housed the hospital.

They were silent for a long moment, and then Draco chuckled. "Cockroach," he said under his breath, and Hermione laughed and squeezed his arm as they walked into the large, open room they'd left just hours before.

—-—-—

"I can't believe you didn't turn Ron in," Hermione said over an hour later as they walked around the Black Lake, soaking up the late morning sunlight. Draco's nose hadn't been broken, and after some pain potion and a quick bruise-reducing paste, they were released.

Draco shrugged, hands in his pockets. "He wouldn't have punched me for no reason," he said, shoulders hunched. "And besides, it got us a memory back." He shrugged again.

"Still," Hermione said, wringing her hands in front of her.

Draco stopped and looked out over the still water. "I suppose some part of me—the part that doesn't remember, but sort of does—felt like that punch was a long time coming."

Hermione paused and thought. The memory of punching him was clear. She remembered the way the air smelled. Remembered the way it felt for her fist to connect with his face. Remembered the righteous anger she felt toward the tall, blonde boy. And yet, looking at him now, even though those memories were as clear as crystal, she couldn't reconcile that memory with the here and now.

"We each now have one memory, but we've lost countless," she said.

"We'll get them back," he said, eyes sliding toward her.

"What if—" she paused and weighed her words. "What if we don't?" She looked up and met his gaze, some certainty settling heavily in her gut. "Would that be the worst thing?" Her voice was soft and as she waited for him to answer, something splashed out in the water.

"We'd have lost years of our lives," he said, his own gaze heavy on her.

"We would," she nodded, then looked away, toward the ripples from the unseen disturbance. "But from what little I've learned, maybe those years weren't so wonderful." She sighed. "I can't remember my past, but those—those echoes of it? They feel sad." She took a deep breath. "They feel like they weigh just too much."

"I know what you mean," he said, looking down at his arm where she knew the inky black stain rested beneath his white sleeve. "But still I think we should try and get them back." He met her eyes and the intensity of his gaze made her heart beat a little quicker.

"What if—" she stopped herself and her cheeks warmed. She was about to vocalize half-formed thoughts based on half-formed feelings as if she'd known this boy for more than a day and a half.

"What if?" he prompted, his voice soft.

She took a deep breath for courage. "What if we get them back, and our—our friendship, the one that we're building, that's rapidly becoming very important to me, is destroyed?" She looked up at him—their shoulders were mere centimeters apart—and knew her eyes were too wide. "The only real memories I have started yesterday, with you. In all of this, you're the only person that feels—" she huffed at her lack of words.

"Normal?" He asked. "Safe?"

"Yes." She felt her eyes well with tears and she didn't understand why. "If we get all of our memories back, get our old lives back, that will be gone." She felt broken at the thought of that. "I don't know how I know that, but I do. It'll erase this." Her hands were balled into fists. "It's been a day, but it feels longer. Like this, whatever it is, this friendship means something important."

"This has only just started," he said, and her face fell. "How about this," he said, closing the distance between them and slipping his arm over her shoulder. He tucked her against his side and she felt calmer. "We work to get our memories back, and when we do, we remember this conversation. We sit down, together, and talk about what that means." He adjusted his fingers on her shoulder and she tentatively slipped her arm around his waist. She didn't see him blush. "We need to know who we were, but that doesn't have to stop who we are now. Or who we want to be."

Hermione nodded and then leaned her cheek against the side of his chest. After a moment, she felt him lean his head against the top of hers. Safe, he'd said. He was right. This felt safe.

"But there's another, bigger question we need to answer first," he said, his voice gruff. Hermione's heart stuttered.

"And what is that?" she asked, her voice low.

"Are we going to be brave enough to go and eat with everyone else for lunch? Or are we going to sneak food from the kitchens and hideaway for a while."

She felt herself smile at the playfulness in his tone and leaned away to look up at him. He was smirking down at her and she fought the urge to poke his ribs.

"I've not been punched yet, so I'm good either way," she deadpanned, and he laughed, pulling her infinitesimally closer.

"Kitchens it is, then," he said and nodded. "I can't handle being punched twice in one day."

Hermione smiled and slipped away from under his arm to make it easier to walk. It was nearing lunch, and they had to find the kitchens. Immediately she felt the loss of his presence, so before she could think it through too much, she reached over and took his hand. His warm fingers folded over hers and she grinned.

"To the kitchens," she said, smiling shyly up at him.

"To the kitchens," he said as he squeezed her fingers and led her back toward the castle.