Memories are often taken for granted. Series of images that play in the mind like a film reel. Or words and sentences that float around in an unidentifiable voice. Whatever it is, it came to be in a way that people often overlook. Not Hermione Granger, though. Curiosity, intrigue, and an undefinable characteristic that makes her entirely unique led her to carry out extensive research on the birth of a memory, the build-up of miniscule experiences. She concluded that each memory is centred around the five senses. Sight, smell, sound, touch, and taste.
Memories of the mind, that is.
She believed that there were two types. Those of the mind and those of the heart. Memories of the heart, in her opinion, were senseless and had no scientific explanation, but so real. Raw. A feeling of believing, but not quite understanding.
Dissecting pieces of text are among Hermione's favourite hobbies; fragmenting information until she could carefully store away each piece by category into a mental file, essentially building her own private little library. Despite her effort to build a memory focusing on just one sense—sight-it was impossible, the smell of parchment, libraries, rain, and coffee always seemed to sneak their way into each of her textual memories, muddling themselves into alternated patterns. And that was when she decided smells were her favourite memory triggers.
She had yet to completely explore touch and taste, so based on smells, sounds, and sights, Hermione had built an extensive internal library, filled to the brim with files ranging from muggle history to dark magic and artefacts. She also had files for her parents, professors, each of her friends and Draco Malfoy. Not that he was special in any way, shape, or form. No. She had collected information on him based on habits, speech, and actions. Sight and sound. Every insult he had carelessly thrown her way, every nudge or shove and every attempt to spite her; she had learnt and memorised it. Was it love thy enemy, they say? Well, that was bollocks. One should know thy enemy and create a handy little guidebook on how to deal with them for good measure.
"The static crumpling of a sherbet lemon sweet wrapper brought her attention back to Dumbledore.
"I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't understand…" she said, her lower lip caught between her teeth and her eyebrows perfectly scrunched together.
"Miss Granger, I am speaking to you in strict confidence. I'm afraid you are not at liberty to tell your friends what I am about to tell you." He peered over his half-moon spectacles to fix Hermione with a stern gaze.
She frowned.
"Not even Harry and Ron?"
"I am sorry, Miss Granger, but no." he told her.
"Okay." she mumbled, somewhat reluctantly.
She told Harry and Ron everything. Every single detail of her life since they had become friends nearly six years ago. She had even told them all about her research and fascination about the human mind and memories, not that they seemed to listen, or care judging by the eye-rolls she received. Just how was she expected to keep a secret from her two best friends?
He smiled at her fondly and rested his arms on the desk between them, the sleeves of his robes gently knocking into the row of quills neatly laid out.
"What is your opinion on Mr Malfoy?"
I hate him.
Of the numerous possibilities as to why Dumbledore had called her into his office at 7pm on the first Friday back at Hogwarts, she would have never guessed that it would be to discuss her bully in such a secretive manner. But she knew by now to always prepare for surprises when anything concerned her Headmaster. Plus, given the shambolic state of the wizarding world at the current moment, she was not entirely shocked that he had requested to speak to her, even if the topic was centred around the son of a death eater whom they had gotten imprisoned mere months ago. Malfoy must be furious, and she would not be staggered if she was the target of his rage. Peachy.
"Um…Malfoy?" Dumbledore nodded. "He's vile, Professor. I don't think I've ever been able to see him in a positive light, if that's what you were hoping for," she paused with a frown, "but I have to disagree with Harry, Sir. I know Malfoy is cruel and has been a horrible person to me for years, but I don't think he's evil enough to have become a death eater."
"Your ability to see his good nature seems promising… however, I must regretfully inform you that Mr Malfoy has indeed taken the dark mark."
Hermione sucked a sharp breath between her teeth. Call it naivety or stupidity, it was all the same really, but Hermione had desperately wanted to believe that Malfoy was not capable of becoming a death eater. Not evil enough. He was a misled boy, yes, but she had hoped for him to realise that perhaps blood purity was not all that important; that regardless of his family-taught idealisms, Voldemort was not a leader or any sort of hero. He was a murderer.
"Harry was right." She muttered.
Dumbledore nodded.
"Before you make any judgement, Miss Granger, I implore you try to understand Draco's circumstances."
Hermione swallowed her scoff, "with all due respect, Professor, we're all victims of circumstances. That doesn't mean we just carry on along the path someone has led us down. Plenty of us have made changes for the better, why should Malfoy be excused?"
Dumbledore held a long, wrinkly hand up to silence Hermione's rage-filled rant.
"I will not dignify the boy with defence of any form just yet, nor will I sit and explain my understanding of how he became a death eater. I understand your anger and how you perceive him to be, but I'm certain that given time you will start to recognise him for what he really is."
An incorrigible prat?
She slumped down in her seat and tugged the sleeves of her jumper over her fingers anxiously.
"Okay. What does Malfoy have to do with me?" she finally asked.
Dumbledore gave a sort of amused sigh, and she just knew she would not like what was coming.
"Over the course of this year I would like you to become as close to Draco Malfoy as you can. Build a friendship if you may."
Oh Godric, no.
"Professor, you can't be serious! How can I do that?" she moaned, "he hates me. I hate him."
"You are an exceptionally bright witch, Miss Granger, I trust you will find a way to do this."
"We're in two different houses, we don't have any mutual acquaintances…it's simply impossible." she argued with a defiant shake of her head.
"Help will be given."
Dumbledore rose from his seat and, with a swish of his robes, walked away from Hermione bringing their discussion to an abrupt end.
She felt her shoulders slump in defeat, the weight of Dumbledore's burdening request finally settling into her body. If she had any hope left in her bones for getting through at least one year of her time at Hogwarts peacefully, she could safely say it had now been completely diminished.
Befriend Draco Malfoy?
Hermione scowled.
Merlin forgive me, Dumbledore must be completely off his rocker.
"Bugger off, Zabini." Draco snarled.
"Come on, Malfoy, just let me see-"
"NO!" Draco snapped suddenly.
He grunted at the audience they seemed to have gained as they bickered in the Slytherin common room, but with a threatening glare from each of the older wizards, their younger housemates quickly scurried away out of sight.
"That's quite the show you put on there," Theo teased, "is it time to set the two of you up in Carkitt Market?"
"Piss off." Draco grumbled and sunk down into the sofa behind him.
"Perfect timing, Nott, I was actually hoping to speak to you, as well." Blaise sighed.
Theo faltered and made to move away from the two boys in front of him, but his foot barely lifted off the ground when Blaise curled his fist around Theo's elbow and yanked him down to sit beside him.
Theo huffed.
"Bloody hell, Zabini." He grunted, "are you trying to tear my limbs apart?"
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose as his two…acquaintances began to argue back and forth like siblings. He did not have time for this. At any other point in his life, he would have happily laid back and indulged in the entertainment they provided with their regular quarrels, but not anymore. The summer leading up to his sixth year at Hogwarts had been the most eventful one yet. Saint fucking Potter and his entire army of pathetic admirers had successfully managed to get Draco's father carted off to Azkaban and The Dark Lord was truly back. Well, he had been back for quite some time now, but in Lucius' absence, You-Know-Who had set up base in Malfoy Manor and had turned to Draco to offer the chance for redemption in light of his father's screw-ups. Fuelled by his anger towards the scar-head sympathy organisation, Draco happily agreed and received a pat on the back in the form of a branding of the dark mark on his forearm. Yes. He had been officially recruited as a death-eater. But his anger had long since subsided and he was no longer sure that this was the life he wanted to lead.
The offer for redemption, however, had not been given without a catch-if he fails he dies, which means he essentially has no way out of his new, dark lifestyle. Brilliant.
"Can the pair of you just stop acting like spoilt brats and understand that I'm asking this of you out of concern!" Blaise finally snapped.
"You do realise that you haven't actually asked me anything yet, right?" a small smirk tugged at Theo's lips and Blaise scowled in response.
"Just show me your marks, please. I swear to you I won't tell anyone." He sighed again.
Draco let out an undignified scoff and turned his gaze onto the dim, flickering fire beside him. With a wave of his wand, the flames roared to life and Draco's mouth settled into a content line. There. That was better. The smell of charring wood and burnt parchment clogged his nostrils and throat, soothing his nerves and casting his mind back to a simpler time sat beside the grand fireplace in his living room at Malfoy Manor, sipping cinnamon-laced hot chocolate with his parents to beat the winter chill and nibbling on gingerbread biscuits. With a click of his tongue, Draco rolled his shoulders to ease his muscles and turned to Blaise to give a reluctant nod of his head.
He hesitantly pushed the left sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow displaying the faint mark on his inner forearm. It was ghastly. It appeared red and irritated as though he had been itching at it relentlessly and Blaise frowned at the sight of it. They each squirmed uncomfortably, noting that the hollow eyes of the snake seemed to follow them and after a moment too long, he shot one last glare at his blemished skin then yanked his sleeve back down.
"There, happy?" he spat.
Blaise ignored him and turned to the other death eater, "and you, Nott?"
"Sod off, Zabini." He grumbled.
"I'm not-"
"If you're so bloody interested in it why don't you just march on over to You-Know-Who and sign yourself up?" Theo spat.
"You're a fucking prat, Theo, all I want—"
"Just show him." Draco finally cut in with a groan.
He huffed and, with a few grumbled profanities under his breath, roughly yanked the sleeve of his robe up his left forearm shamefully bearing the emblem. Somehow, the mark seemed to look worse on Theo's skinny arm, his veins protruding through the pale symbol and thin, sickly red lines rushing away from it, splaying across his arm, like fresh ink filling the small crevices on a piece of a parchment.
"You know, those things are going to be stuck with you for the rest of your miserable lives." said Blaise, his eyes struggling to pull away from Theo's arm.
With a tug at the fabric, his sleeve fell back down into place.
"Thank you for that, sunshine, we had no idea." He remarked sarcastically.
"I don't see how that affects you." Draco sneered.
"Don't bloody sit here and act like we were never friends, Malfoy! Is it so bad that someone in your life cares about you?"
Draco's lip twitched and his mind drifted back to the years when he had no worries. They were so young, only around 7 years of age. Things had been so different compared to now and Draco felt a sliver of regret for taking it all for granted. Life may have been good for him at that time, but it was not like that for everyone. Especially not for Blaise Zabini. Draco could barely count the number of times that Blaise had been left on the doorstep of Malfoy Manor with his mother's excuses of needing to do something important; that something being one of her many love interests.
Blaise and Draco would spend many afternoons together playing, eating cakes, and learning how to fly. Draco had never allowed Blaise to feel alone. And on many occasions, Theo would turn up too. His father had business to attend to with Lucius, and Narcissa would care for the three boys, allowing them to raid the kitchens and stay outside on their brooms until nightfall.
They had been very close at the time and Draco wished he could go back to that. A simpler time. He regretted that he drifted from his only real friends when they started their education at Hogwarts. Theo kept his head down and out of trouble whilst Draco was busy creating trouble with Crabbe and Goyle; a pair of idiots he was only friends with because he was the brains and power in that triplet. Naturally, he and Nott fell into different circles, they did not necessarily lose their friendship...but it may have weakened. His friendship with Blaise was a bit of a different story; he was always more of a lone wolf. Draco credited that to his rough and lonely upbringing. Blaise was a neglected child and he lacked emotional support, but he was still one of the most caring people Draco knew, even if it was shown reluctantly. His upbringing was also quite possibly the reason that Blaise was not interested in blood purity. He was not raised in an environment that projected years of family honour, teachings, and pureblood supremacy onto their children. Draco sometimes wondered if he would have been a different type of person had he been raised in a different setting.
Regardless of whatever had happened over the years, petty disputes, and harmless arguments, the three Slytherins always seemed to fall back to one another in an oddly comforting manner.
"I don't need your pity." He snapped, having realised that his silence stretched out longer than he had intended.
"Good, because that's not what I was offering." Blaise said.
"Then, what is it?" Theo huffed.
There was a slight difference between how Draco and Theo had become Death Eaters. While both boys had been subject to some form of abuse off their fathers, physical and emotional, Draco had begun to crave the dark lifestyle, whereas Theo had wanted nothing to do with it. In the end, they were both offered up as servants to The Dark Lord by their fathers.
"I don't want to see either of you fucked up." He admitted.
Theo snorted humourlessly, "bit late for that.
Blaise frowned at them, "Is it? Because as far as I can tell, neither of you have turned into your fathers yet, and I'd like to make sure that never happens."
"Don't talk to me about my father, Zabini." Draco warned, his tone low and threatening, but Blaise rolled his eyes completely unaffected.
"Yeah, I don't want to end up like his dear old daddy, to be fair. I don't think Azkaban is my cup of tea." Theo commented drolly.
"Fuck off!" Draco hissed, in a pathetic attempt to defend his father, not that he was bothered by the words said against him. No. It was simply because he was still Lucius' son; they still shared the same blood, and in his world that meant everything.
"Look, what I'm saying is that I want to offer you a way out." said Blaise.
The two death eaters snapped their attention towards the hard-faced wizard and Draco swore he could hear each of their thudding heartbeats in the silence that followed.
"A way out?" Theo echoed.
Blaise nodded.
Draco clenched his jaw in thought and chewed his tongue to keep his temper in check. He did not need anyone to provide him with a sodding way out; this was everything he had ever been waiting and preparing for. His dream. His chance to prove himself to every fucker who had ever thought less of him.
"I don't care how often you choose to act like arseholes…both of you," his dark eyes flickered between them, "neither of you are built for this lifestyle. Is blood supremacy really worth fucking yourselves over for? You can't possibly be filled with that much hatred."
It was true.
Draco knew that. It was so tiring having to constantly remind himself of his superiority and it was so tiring carrying hate in his heart. Really, it was. With the character he was taught to maintain, there was always a strange invisible pull on him that made Draco feel as though he was being held back. He was missing out on…something. Peace, perhaps. He was not entirely sure how to describe it, but maybe it was not necessary to denominate that feeling. It mattered that it existed. In his mind and heart.
The seed of doubt had always existed in his mind. But Draco did not pay any attention to it. Because a seed is just a seed. It does not have the ability to grow and hold any importance or worth until you plant it; until you provide it with nutrients, warmth, water and love.
Essentially, with all the crap they had just discussed between themselves, Draco realised that someone else—someone he could personally relate to—was nourishing his own seed. And now, the dirt in his mind had been dug up and Blaise had planted it.
~~~