Chapter 4

A tight, tense silence ensued. Tears of anger, mingled with hurt, shone brightly in Hermione's eyes as she challenged his domineering stance. Malfoy's grip loosened as he gazed at her. They stood, poised, for a full minute before Draco spoke.

"Why do I feel this strange inclination to take care of you?" he asked quietly. He let his hands slip down the length of her arms. Slightly embarrassed, he turned away and gestured towards the coffee table.

"I found these in my search for clothes," he said, patiently, "which I obviously found."

A pink tinge crept over Hermione's face. She hugged the diary closer and looked a little bit remorseful.

"I was searching through your drawers," he explained, (Hermione issued an indignant squeak) "to find something to wear other than a towel or women's lacy underwear. It was obvious, after a little while, that there wasn't a man in your life. I decided to check the laundry area, and bingo, I found what I was looking for." He crossed his arms, an accusing look in his eyes. "You shouldn't hide other people's clothes," he chastised mildly.

"You shouldn't read other people's journals without permission," she shot back.

"I'm getting there," he said pointedly. "Calm down." He sat down on the couch and picked up a photo of himself. He was holding the hand of an American actress, his hair windblown. The caption described them as "young lovers taking a walk on the beach on the Italian shores."

"I don't understand," he said. "I don't remember this girl. I don't remember ever being in Italy. Yet here is the proof." He examined the photo carefully. "It even has my name on it. Draco Xavier Malfoy. Why do you even have all of these photographs of me?"

Hermione, her ire lessening, sat down next to him and leaned over him. His smell washed over her. Unwittingly, she pressed herself even closer to him. She studied the photograph from Witch Weekly.

"Look," he finally said. "I didn't mean to go through your journal. When I pulled my clothes off the shelf, something fell. I bent down to see what it was, and I was staring at a photo of myself. I reached up to see what else was up there, found the journal, and found the clippings."

He nodded towards the book she still held in her hand. "I admit, I did read your journal. But not all of it. I found the last entry, and read a few before that. That's all, I promise."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn't read some of the earlier entries, where she had fantasized about certain, unmentionable things. She turned beet red just thinking about some of her entries.

"Look," she said, quietly. "I don't know what you remember, or what you are thinking right now. For some reason, you don't recognize me. I can tell you that you and I went to school together. To Hogwarts. We didn't like each other at first." Her lips twisted in an ironic smile. "Actually, we hated each other. But then, during your seventh year, things changed. We had a relationship of sorts."

Hermione was quiet. Draco stewed over this information. His elbows rested on his knees; his hands clasped together underneath his chin.

"It doesn't make sense," he said, staring straight ahead at the wall in front of them. "I have a clear memory of being born in England. My parents were Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. I grew up in Essex, England, in a huge Manor House called Malfoy Manor. At age ten, I went to Durmstrang. My two best friends were Braden Barrington and Mac Johnson. I earned Prefect in sixth year, but did not make Head Boy in eighth year. I graduated, decided to remain in Sweden, and got a job in Stockholm.

"Three years ago, I ran into my Aunt Bella and Uncle Rodolphus, who I had never met, but knew existed. They owned a manor just outside Warsaw, and Aunt Bella invited me to visit. We talked a lot, about family and loyalty. After several weeks, she began to broaden my knowledge of the Dark Arts. We learned them in school, but I didn't know them like she did. It was fascinating. And, then, one day, two months later, they drugged me, took away my wand, carried me to the dungeons, and wouldn't let me out."

He shivered unconsciously, dropping his face into the palms of his hands. "She fed me succulent meals, clothed me in the finest material, but refused to let me go. It was bizarre. After a month, I figured out how to magic the lock without a wand. I planned my escape, down to the last detail. I knew the area well enough to know where to hide and where they would look for me. It was the middle of the night. I knew I would only have several moments to spare before the alarm that they set on me went off."

Hermione's hand had inched to his thigh. She was resting it there, holding her breath, drinking in every word he shared.

He continued, "I found the road in the forest that I was seeking fairly quickly. It would take me directly into the village, where I could con my way onto the train. From there, I would make it to Warsaw and get lost in the crowd. After several hours of wandering, I became aware that someone was following me. I played a game of cat and mouse with them for over two days. One night, they saw me and began chasing me."

He finally turned his head to look at Hermione. "That's when I ran straight into you." He was silent, exhausted from his recollection of the events of his life.

"Draco?" Hermione asked quietly. "I don't understand. What I know about you… well, you've never been to Sweden. I've followed your travels over the past few years. France, Italy, Spain. But, never Sweden or Poland." She stood, shaking her head. "It doesn't make sense." She began pacing the small room, mumbling to herself as she went.

Draco watched her, fascinated. She was beautiful, even with her hair thrown back into a ponytail, her oversized jumper and her fitted jeans. No make-up covered her clear complexion.

Finally, Hermione stopped. "What doesn't make sense is that you have a memory. You haven't lost a memory. You simply have a different one. And, it's a very clear memory. It is, isn't it?"

Draco nodded. "Yes. I can see the halls of Durmstrang in my head."

Hermione sat down once again, her arms hugging herself, a bewildered expression on her face. "I don't understand."

"How did you find me?" asked Draco, suddenly.

Hermione reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out the galleon. She took his hand, opened it and pressed the portkey into his palm. "You gave me this galleon before you left for London. You… you told me to look you up if I ever came. I was wandering around last night and started to think of you. I pulled out the galleon, held it tight and hoped that you were okay."

Hermione continued, her expression thoughtful. "It was a portkey. It took me to you. I apparated us both back to London since you didn't seem capable of doing it."

Draco's eyebrows rose. "You can do long-distance apparition? That's difficult magic. You must be extremely intelligent and strong-willed."

Hermione smiled wryly. "You could say that."

"It's odd, though," said Draco. "I don't remember you, but I have this odd attraction to you."

Hermione lifted her eyebrows and rolled her eyes at him. "Draco, this is not the time to start flirting with me. We have a serious problem here."

"No," he cried. "That's not what I mean. It's different. I've just met you, yet I feel an urgency to protect you and to take care of you. I should just feel straight lust for a girl like you."

Hermione blushed and laughed uncomfortably at the well-delivered compliment. "Whatever, Draco."

He reached for both of her hands and forced her to turn to him. "Hermione, I feel like I belong to you, like I've already memorized your face. It's not a new, exciting feeling. It's warm and deep and cemented in my soul."

Hermione was mesmerized. She couldn't help it. Nobody had ever spoken such eloquent words to her before. She drank it in. She drank him in. And, before she realized what was happening, she had leaned into him. She closed her eyes and released a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Draco's hand stroked her cheek. Gently, he tilted her head towards him, bent down, and kissed her firmly. His tongue stroked her bottom lip and nudged open her mouth. His tongue dove into her mouth, a silky whisper against her own. Hermione groaned softly and lifted her face for more.

Draco's hand slipped down her exposed neck to her full breast. He cupped it, stroked it, and teased her nipple. Hermione pressed herself against his palm, uncaring that she wore no bra.

She didn't hear the jingle of keys in the door. She didn't notice the door to her flat opening. It wasn't until she heard Harry's voice say, "Well, I hope I'm not interrupting anything," that she realized someone else was in the room.

She pulled back from the embrace, mortified at being caught at such sophomoric behavior. Draco grinned down at her, a knowing smirk on his face. Harry, Neville and someone she didn't recognize stood in the middle of her living room.