Chemical Dreams

Scene 8

The Pensieve had cost Hermione a ridiculous amount of money. She would have to come up with a good excuse before she saw her parents next, and cut down on Chocolate Frogs and novelty ink in the meantime.

But for the life of her, she couldn't remember why she'd needed it so badly. The relevant memories were inside, of course. But since it was terrible enough for her to remove it from her memory, she wasn't about to refresh it.

Hermione stared into her pumpkin juice. She had a faint suspicion that it was entangled somehow in the mystery, but all she knew was that for some reason it tasted exceptionally good that morning.

Ron thumped into the chair beside her. "What've we got today, Hermione?"

"You should know by now, Ron," she said. "It's only March."

"I don't need to know. I can just ask you."

"Charms and Arithmancy in the morning. Nothing in the afternoon, since it's Friday."

"Magical Creatures for us," Ron said, nudging Harry, who had his head on his Charms text and was snoring lightly. Hermione frowned. Something about this day was niggling at her neurons, but she couldn't think what. She also knew she didn't want to look at the High Table, just not why. This Pensieve business was terribly disorienting.

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd taken a Friday afternoon off (meaning it had been a long time), so she decided to relax with a bit of light reading. At the bottom of her sock drawer were several romance novels, which Lavender and Parvati must have left there, but Hermione eventually found her copy of Exhaustive History of Sixteenth Century Goblin Wars and settled down with the last of her Chocolate Frogs.

A few hours later, McGonagall's head appeared in the fireplace.

"Miss Granger, are you there?"

Hermione went over to the fireplace. "What is it, Professor?"

"You didn't come by my office this afternoon, so I just wanted to make sure everything was all right."

Oh hell. "I'm sorry, Professor, I completely forgot. I thought I had the afternoon free, and it's been so long since I've had any time to myself…"

"By all means, take some time off," McGonagall said. "Everything's going well, then?"

"Splendidly," Hermione said, making sure not to stop smiling until McGonagall broke the connection.

How could she have possibly forgotten about the meeting with McGonagall? Especially, she now noticed, since there was a bright yellow note on her desk that read, "Check w/ McG Fri. PM office hrs." Hermione scanned the surface of her desk to make sure she wasn't about to forget any other critical meetings, and saw to her relief that her only other obligation was to patrol the corridors with Ernie Macmillan from nine to midnight – annoying, but not surprising.

Hermione returned to her book, deeply grateful that she had the entire weekend to rest her overtaxed memory.

Monday, unfortunately, meant Potions and Hermione had an awful feeling that she didn't want to go, for reasons other than the usual. It was disconcerting to continue receiving cues from neurons that no longer existed, and it made Hermione jittery. But class went smoothly enough, at least until the end.

"I'll be collecting your essays as you leave," Snape said, taking up his post at the door.

Hermione had a sudden, ecliptic moment of horror. She had forgotten her essay. And it wasn't lying on her bed or on her desk: she had simply forgotten to write it. She dug through her bag anyway, wondering frantically why such awful things kept happening to her.

"Did you forget your essay, Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up to find Snape standing next to her and caught her breath. She knew she didn't want him there, the more so because his voice lacked its usual bite. In fact he'd sounded nearly concerned.

Oh dear God.

"Yes, sir," she said.

"A Summoning Charm --"

"No, I forgot to write it."

The expected shower of abuse did not come. Instead, looking almost repentant, Snape said, "Would this have anything to do with what happened during the last class?"

Hermione stared at him, speechless. For all she knew, it did, because she couldn't remember what happened during the last class. And it must have been traumatizing for her to want it out of her head and for Snape to look so remorseful about it.

"Because --" (Snape's voice dropped measurably) – "I owe you an apology. My behavior was out of line, and it obviously hurt you."

"Don't mention it," Hermione said brightly, cutting off whatever Snape had been about to add. "I've already forgotten about it," she said, as sincerely as she could. "And I'll have the essay for you as soon as possible."

She slung her bag over her shoulder and left the dungeon, grateful that she'd been able to head off Snape's apology. Of course, she'd probably just thrown away her only opportunity to hear the words "I'm sorry" cross Severus Snape's lips, but better that than to let him know any more than he already did. And she knew she didn't want Snape to talk to her like a human being, because it had something to do with the black hole in her head and whatever was so terrifying that she couldn't stand to keep it there.

Of course, the short-term memory loss was doing her no favors either. Hermione paused in the middle of the corridor to write a note to remind herself about Snape's essay. Naturally, once she'd gotten out parchment and quill, she couldn't remember how long the essay had to be or, in fact, what she was supposed to be writing about.

And there was no way she was going to go back and ask Snape.

Harry and Ron were out of the question as well. They had just about stopped thinking she was crazy and she wanted to keep it that way.

She could, on the other hand, ask Neville. Forgetfulness was something he understood. And she'd bailed him out enough times over the years that if she asked him to keep quiet, he would.

Now all she had to do was remember to ask him.