Disclaimer: I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to do really evil things with her characters, on occasion.

Chapter 8 - Of Memories and Dreams

Hermione awoke in her flat, on the sofa, groggy and disoriented. The papers she'd been working with were in disarray, swept aside from where she'd slumped over in the midst of her research, and a few were crumpled from having been slept on. She had the nagging sense that something was wrong, and then the memories returned in a rush: her abduction the night of the ball, the mysterious Tracey woman and her equally mysterious employer, Theodore Nott's mad plan for world domination...

The world tipped and spun, then righted itself, leaving her feeling slightly nauseous as a result. She felt distinctly out of sorts, as if she'd slept too long and had forgotten something important, and for all that the memories seemed so real and vivid, there was a very dreamlike quality to the whole thing, too. The fact that she'd woken up in her flat, on her sofa, confused her, and she could see nothing out of the ordinary about the immediate area, no sign of a struggle, but that only brought back the woman's voice saying how thorough she'd been. Hermione shivered and drew her wand, staring at it blankly for a moment as she tried to recall when it had been returned to her. The fact that she couldn't remember led more credence to the theory that she'd dreamed the encounter, but she checked her wards and other protective charms anyway, unsure whether she should be relieved or frustrated when she found no evidence to suggest they'd been tampered with.

Green fire erupted in her fireplace, and she whirled toward it suddenly, then felt slightly ridiculous for being so paranoid when Ron poked his head through. "Crikey, Hermione, it's only me!"

"What do you want, Ronald?" she asked, more impatiently than she would have if she hadn't been so rattled.

He looked wounded, which immediately made her feel guilty, which then led to her trying to make up for it by attempting to explain herself, the vivid memories that she knew were true memories in spite of the dream-quality they still held in her mind. It was, she later reflected, far from being the smartest thing she'd ever done, as Ron's reaction was fairly typical: he alternated between asking if she was feeling all right and asking if she was completely mental. When she finally tired of the lack of support, she pointed her wand at the fireplace, and was mildly grateful that Ron actually took the hint for once and disappeared.

The entire encounter left her shaken to the point of questioning her sanity, but she was even more shaken when she checked the post and found three days' worth sitting in a neat pile below the post slot in her door. Three issues of the Daily Prophet sat on the floor, their unread headlines glaring at her and mocking her by turns. She had lost three days, been missing for three days, and she'd withdrawn from her friends so much that none of them had even noticed.

She was sick with worry and fear, the realization that her memories were truth weighing heavily on her mind. There had to be someone left, someone she could trust, someone she could confide in. Gathering up the papers, she tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace before stating her destination clearly, "The Ministry of Magic."

It had been so long since she'd been a mere visitor at the Ministry that she'd forgotten about the tediousness of the checking-in process until she was halfway through it, her impatience growing with every wasted second that passed. Her wand was analyzed and recorded, as was her magical signature, and she would have balked at the requests for a strand of hair and a drop of blood if she hadn't been so adamant that those security precautions be added in the first place, back in her early days at the Ministry. Not all visitors were required to present such additional forms of proof of identity, but the screening process had gotten rather stricter in the post-war era, and some part of her found it rather comforting that the procedures were still being followed, even if several of her colleagues had called her a paranoid hysteria-monger.

Kingsley's restructure of the Ministry had relocated the Minister's office to a new Administrative floor, which made it easier to locate, once her visitor's pass was approved. Unfortunately, it meant a further delay in the person of the Minister's Under-Secretary, and the last thing she wanted to deal with was another Weasley, particularly the self-important Percy. She was still trying to impress upon him the importance of needing to see Harry (she could not, for the life of her, call him 'Minister Potter' the way Percy did) when the man himself appeared, saving the day. After waving off Percy's protests that he didn't have time to be entertaining unscheduled visitors, he escorted her into his office and listened while she proceeded to tell her story.

The stress and frustration of trying to get in to see him, however, combined with the lingering temper from her conversation with Ron, and even Hermione was forced to admit that by this point she was starting to sound rather hysterical. Harry's suggestion that she go home and get some rest wasn't well-received, but at least she regained enough control of herself to leave his office without causing more of a scene than she already had. Exiting the Ministry in a huff, she did go home, but she didn't stay there long. After going over her notes again, comparing it to the information she knew to be true, she realized the only course of option left to her was to confront Nott himself.

Hermione arrived at Nott Enterprises with her wand in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other, demanding to see Theodore Nott. She forced her way past secretaries and security alike, until she was finally able to confront the mastermind of evil himself with her accusations. When the Ministry arrived, alerted by security, Harry was with them, and he wore his familiar guilty-looking expression as he helped them subdue her.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but it's for your own good." Harry's words, as he signed the paperwork to have her admitted to St. Mungo's, still wearing that guilty expression. They took her wand, dragging her down the hall as she screamed...

... biting back a scream, Hermione awoke in her flat, on the sofa, groggy and disoriented.