Chapter Four: Haste.
Hermione pulled open her wardrobe.
"What to wear, what to wear…?" She muttered to herself.
She pulled out a pair of straight, bootleg jeans. "Nope!" She threw them over her shoulder, onto the bed. Then she repeated this process, with a pair of straight-cut black jeans, a white denim skirt, a red dress and another pair of jeans before deciding on her blue hipster flare jeans with flames creeping up the legs.
Then she pulled open her chest of drawers, immediately deciding on a red spaghetti-strap top. She turned around and saw that all the clothes she'd pulled from the wardrobe were picking themselves up, one at a time, and putting themselves away.
"Well, that saves me the trouble!" Hermione smiled cheerfully, pulling open her door.
Draco stood there, hand poised to knock. "Talk about timing!" He smiled, dropping his hand to his side. He wore a pair of khaki pants and a form-fitting Slytherin green shirt. "Shall we?" He extended an elbow for her.
Hermione grinned and accepted the elbow. "We shall."
He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her down the corridor.
"So, Draco… Forgive me, but I don't remember much… well, about my personal life, anyway. I mean, I remember Hogwarts, and Tom told me that we're friends, you, me, Pansy, Blaise… um… that's all he really told me, but can you tell me details? I can't remember my favourite book, author, animal, teacher, subject, anything! I don't know who my arch nemesis is, I don't know which teacher I disliked, I don't remember if I had a diary or any of that kind of stuff. I didn't even know you until you told me your name. Sorry, I'm rambling."
Draco grinned. "'S'all good. I can describe everything to you, if you want."
"Please." Hermione smiled gratefully up at him.
"Okay… well, you are in Gryffindor where, I quote, 'dwells the brave at heart', but you didn't really get along with most of your house. This is mainly because you're friends with me, Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe – Vincent Crabbe – and Goyle – Gregory Goyle, among others. We're all in Slytherin, 'where those of wit and cunning' reside. So that kind of separates you from the rest of your House, but you didn't mind, because you're friends with us. You're really, really smart, at the top of the grade – maybe even the school – but you don't take any shit from anyone. You're witty, you have some of the best comebacks anyone's ever heard, and you never really cared what people think about you. You don't really have a favourite book, but you generally read Fantasy. Same with authors… umm… Your favourite animal is the cat, and dragons. You love dragons. Your favourite teacher is Professor Vector, he teaches Arithmancy. But your favourite subject is Potions and Astronomy. You don't have an arch nemesis, but two people come pretty close. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Potter – you know all about the whole 'downfall of the Dark Lord' don't you? Good – he's famous, and he lets it get to his head. In our second year, he was giving out signed photos. Pretty self-centred, eh? He and Weasley try hard to be your friend, because you're so pretty, and because they were furious when you accepted our friendship over theirs. You disliked Dumbledore and McGonagall. They think they're great, but they aren't. They'll probably give you another one of their talks. They've done it every year since third." He put on a high voice, alternating between a high, female and a deep male. " 'Are you alright, Miss Granger?' 'We're worried about you, Hermione.' 'You have been misbehaving recently, haven't you?' 'Do you need to talk?' 'If you need me, I'm here, Miss Granger.' 'You can think of us as your advisers, your parents, even, if you like.' You always came back to the Slytherin Common Room and pull faces about them. It was quite comical. Have I forgotten anything? Oh yes… No, you didn't keep a diary. You always said it was degrading, and dangerous to do so."
"Wow… You sure know a lot about me!" Hermione smiled.
Draco flushed lightly. "Well, you were – are – a very open person."
"Hmm… well, if you say so." Draco turned, pulling open a door, which lead to a magnificent Grand Hall. "It's weird… I vaguely remember my room… but none of anything else looks familiar."
Draco looked at her, alarmed. "Um… Well, you did hit your head pretty bad…"
Hermione looked at him. "What?"
"The accident. Don't you remember?"
"Obviously. What happened?"
"Well, you kinda can't fly, so you asked me to teach you to fly, y'know, get over your, well, I guess fears is the most suited word. One lesson, it was raining, and you slipped off the broom. Thankfully you weren't too high, but I'll never forgive myself if you don't recover."
"I don't remember that… but I don't blame you. You're so sweet, helping me out like this. We must've been really close, huh?" Hermione tilted her head to one side, curious.
"You could say that." Draco nodded. "You've always been closer to me than anyone else, but we never dated. Always seemed like it'd be dating my sister, and that's incest."
Hermione grimaced. "I still find it disgusting that in the Middle Ages it was the norm to marry your sister or brother. Yuck."
Prior to this.
Voldemort closed the door to Hermione's bedroom. He stalked down the hall towards the sitting room, where he sank down into a black soft-leather chair, resting his head in his hands.
"My lord?" Lucius bowed to the dark lord from a respectful distance.
"Yes, Lucius?" Voldemort mumbled.
"If it is not too disrespectful or if I am not too unworthy to ask, may I ask you a question, my lord?" Lucius grovelled.
Voldemort straightened up, pulling his hands away from his face. "Go ahead, Lucius. But it had better be important."
"Yes, my lord. I as just wondering what you did in the girl's –" Voldemort glared, " – uh, that is, the dark lady's bedroom, when you pulled away your face."
"You do not deserve to know, Lucius, but I shall tell you. I remember every single conversation I ever have. I remember the words, the feelings, who it was with, what it was about, when it was, how long the conversation went for, every minute detail. The day I set about for immortality, I was nineteen. It was half past three in the morning, on the eve of winter." At Lucius's puzzled look, Voldemort enlightened him. "The day before winter set in. Or, rather, the day winter set in, as the wheel of time had already turned from autumn to winter, by over three hours. The hedge witch who gave me the words for the incantation to become immortal had told me that I would become a monster if I did so. I had no problem with this, afterall, it is much more fun if the woman is not willing. But the hedge witch insisted on my learning the words to the reversal of my semi-immortality." Voldemort recited the words, his eyes hollow and austere.
"This spell has been cast without thought and in haste,
The magick I used I'm sorry to waste,
Please return myself to my former state,
Do it now, I cannot wait.
"The spell returns me to the age and appearance I was when I cast the spell, all I had to do was chant the words and peel away my face as if it were a mask." Voldemort spat the word like it was poison. He threw the mask on the floor. "Now all I have for my hard work is this!"
Voldemort stormed out of the room in a black rage.