Author's Note: Okay, here is chapter eight! I apologize that this was a short chapter, but it needed to cut off here. To make it up to you all I will be posting chapter nine along with this as well (:

The Missing Piece Chapter Eight

Day: 16

Hermione just didn't comprehend. Why was Malfoy showing her these apparently pointless scenes? Why would she need those memories to move on? After the twentieth time of asking herself these same questions she decided that they're best left unanswered. Malfoy appeared to be a complex person, with hidden intentions.

"Hermione, you're all right?" Ron asked her, worry prominent in his eyes.

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts and blinked a couple times to get her best friend into focus.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine." She smiled at him in order to reassure him. She was okay, really. She just had a lot on her mind. A lot to sort out. Malfoy didn't seem like the type of person to help others. Especially her. The idea of giving didn't suit her vision of him, and she had seen three memories to back it up. People could tell her he had changed all day every day, but she wasn't going to believe it until she witnessed it for herself. The truth was, she was paranoid. Hermione thought that Malfoy didn't help unless there was something he could gain, and so she was trying to figure out what he could stand to gain from showing her his memories. It just didn't make sense…

She felt a warmth along her fingers, and looked at her hand to see Ron's hand on top of hers, clasping it in an attempt to comfort her. She smiled up at him, appreciating the friendly gesture.

"I'm fine, Ron, just… thinking." She assured him.

"All right." He said, apparently at ease.

But he did not let go of her hand.

Day: 17

She took a sip of her tea. Bit into the cookie she was eating along with it. And stared. Another sip of her tea. Her eyes never left that spot on the wall. Hermione wasn't sure why she kept looking at it, or giving it so much attention. It was a simple hand print, imprinted upon her baby blue wall. Just a hand. Just a hand, but so much more at the same time. Yes, it definitely meant something to her. But as Hermione took another sip of her tea, and just stared at it, the reason as to why it meant something didn't come to her. Perhaps what held her attention about the hand print was the mystery behind it: The simple fact of how it came to be on her wall, and who it was done by. The hand told her there were things she had long forgotten, and needed to be remembered. Perhaps the fact that the first time she laid eyes on the mark on her wall, was the first time she registered something was wrong, so many days ago. And maybe all those reasons caused Hermione to sit on her couch, sipping steaming tea, watching it. The hand print provided Hermione with some sort of resolve: That she would watch more memories in the hopes of triggering her own memory. Hermione thought back to her confusion on the topic of the pensieve as she took another sip of tea. At first, she wasn't sure about it due to psychological reasons: What if she couldn't live with the pain of seeing what she did not remember, knowing she would never see the memories from her vantage point? What if going into the pensieve caused her to spiral into depression?

But once Hermione made up her mind about the matter, a new reason to stay away had come to her mind: What if this was part of Malfoy's plan to bring her back to him? What if she fell for his plans? Seeing that hand print, however, put everything into perspective. She would do this. She would view the memories, and continue to do so long as Malfoy had more to show her. Hermione bit into her cookie, savoring the chocolate as she thought. Everyone seemed to trust him, why shouldn't she? After all, her friends knew Malfoy by now better than she did, as terrible as that was to admit. The chance to trigger her memories was just too precious to throw away for another person's possible hidden intentions. She had thought her mind was made up once before on this matter, but the recent days' events showed her that she had been completely undecided, having not sorted out the thoughts on her choice. But the hand print put it all into perspective. When she saw that imprint, she saw what she must do. And that was to continue.

Hermione finished her tea, satisfact with her snack, and gave one last look at the hand print. She remembered the brief moment yesterday when Ron held her hand, and wondered if it meant anything more than a comforting gesture on his part. Hermione shook her head to herself and stood, walking toward the kitchen with her empty tea cup in hand. She and Ron were friends. That's the way it had always been. He had always been a "human contact" kind of guy, so it shouldn't be a big deal. The thing was, Ron had never touched her hand in that way. And as Hermione thought back, she remembered her second year at Hogwarts, when she had walked into the great hall after being petrified, hugging Harry with all her might, and then awkwardly shaking hands with Ron. She had never thought anything of it… That was how Ron was, but now…

Hermione shook her head once more, in an attempt to clear her head. She was obviously overthinking too much today. It was all probably due to the fact that she stayed inside her flat all day long, like Molly had once hinted at. Hermione suddenly felt like the room was very compressed, and stuffy. Without fully thinking through what she was doing, Hermione put on her shoes and left her flat for fresh air.

She walked across the street, attempting to let her feet lead her places rather than her mind. As she walked, Hermione had a sudden flash back to several days ago, when she watched Healer Greene cross this very street from her window. There was no doubt the woman was strange. Why had she been walking in such manner? Perhaps she was injured. Somehow that didn't seem likely. Her tattoo was sketchy as well… but as far as personal taste went one could never tell with a person. Hermione walked onto the sidewalk, and continued straight for several blocks, her mind racing and her feet leading the way. Hermione Granger didn't claim to know the standard procedures at St. Mungo's but the ways the Healer did things, or explained certain things didn't feel right. The woman didn't sit right with Hermione at all, but she couldn't tell if it was personal dislike for the healer or something more.

Hermione turned right at a corner and walked straight for three more blocks, noticing the sky had dimmed considerably since she had left her flat, but paid no attention to it. She stopped thinking about Healer Greene in favor of taking in her surroundings. She seemed to be in some part of Muggle London… Gossett Street to be exact. Hermione felt a sense of satisfaction when she noticed nothing had drastically changed. She remembered the clothing store, and when she walked by it on her way to the magical entrance to the Ministry of Magic for the first time three years ago. She remembered the antique store was red, and was glad to see it was still painted red. She remembered the lamp post, the telephone booths, and everything in this neighborhood. Familiarity. It grounded her, and made her feel secure, in a world where nothing ever seemed that way to her anymore.

A cool September breeze caressed her face, and blew her hair in the opposite direction that she was walking. She suddenly remembered London Public Park, a place she had often visited with Ron and Harry during her breaks, when she had decided to complete her final year at Hogwarts. And so her feet turned around, already knowing where to go. She felt eager, really to revisit this park. She was very fond of it. There were willow trees, and a lake, where she would read books and feed the ducks whenever she could. She went there with friends, and sometimes by herself when she needed to think. She remembered the vibrant leaves, how they were beautiful to watch during the autumn, and refreshing to sit under in summer. She recalled dipping her feet in the lake, laughing and shivering from the ice cold of the water that shot up through her feet. She remembered reading numerous spell books and lesson books from Hogwarts, all magically charmed so no muggle could suspect anything suspicious. As she grew closer to her destination, Hermione began to practically jog in her excitement to get there, receiving strange looks from other people on the street.

When she arrived, she double checked to make sure she was in the correct place. She spotted a sign that read, "FUTURE SITE OF ST. MARY'S PUBLIC SCHOOL" and looked around to peek at the street signs. Perhaps she had taken a wrong turn. But as her eyes scanned for any sign of a wrong direction, she caught site of a piece of wood, lying upon the ground. "LONDON PUBLIC PARK: Established 1986" it read. Hermione's stomach dropped, and she shook her head in disbelief. There had to be a mistake. Her eyes roamed the supposed park, searching for some familiarity, only to find the familiar willow tree, shriveled and dying, and the mucky lake beside it.

A knot formed in her throat, and Hermione fought the urge to cry in public. She simply stood there, inert; staring at what had once been her paradise, her tree, her park. Familiarity. There was none. Not here.

The thought that if she had her memories intact, she would have known the fate of her park, caused Hermione to run all the way home, with only the night to give her comfort. This was one more reason to view Malfoy's memories.