TW: Loss. This fic is not about loss, but it will deal with death and loss in some ways. If now is not a good time for you to embark on this journey, I understand. Please take care of yourself.

Snippets

Chapter One

It starts slowly, little snippets here and there– an image of a garden, her hands adorned with unfamiliar mittens while snow falls around her, the cupboard in her kitchen where she keeps her mugs but with a few new ones added. She had originally chalked them up to daydreams or images influenced by books or television. That was until she saw an image of an infant, wrapped up in a knitted blanket and she just knew that that child was hers– nevermind the fact that she's never been pregnant, nor become a mother to a child by any other means.

Hermione Granger sighs as she sips from her (familiar) coffee mug, rubbing her forehead with the fingers on her free hand. It happened again last night– she dreamed that she was rocking a newborn in her arms, stroking the child's pale, pudgy cheek. Hermione knows logically that perhaps her subconscious is just aware that her biological clock may be ticking and that if she desires to have children, that she would likely have to address that sooner, rather than later. However, that train of thought falls apart when she considers the fact that she's never felt a longing for children before.

Hermione has thought about being a mother, sure– especially when that exact topic was a point of contention in a previous relationship– but it was never a longing like she feels in her 'dreams'.

Hermione sets her coffee mug down and stands, deciding to head into the Ministry early.
Perhaps she can catch Harry on his way into the DMLE and have tea with him in his office. Harry still seems to be one of the only people who can ground her when she's spiraling.

"Hey, 'Mi," Hermione's bespectacled best friend, Harry Potter, smiles when she enters his office, immediately reaching out to wrap her in a tight hug. "Did I know you were stopping by this morning?"

Hermione shakes her head and takes a seat in a chair across from Harry's desk which she had helped him pick out two years ago when he was promoted to Head of the DMLE.

"I didn't even know," Hermione frowns, averting her eyes from Harry's. She knows that Harry will see right through her and immediately know that something is bothering her, but she can't seem to shake the unease this time.

"What's going on, 'Mi?" Harry asks, leaning his forearms on his desk.

Harry's eyebrows furrow, and if Hermione didn't know for a fact that Harry isn't a Legillimens, she would be worried that he's reading her mind.

Hermione looks down at her fingernails, pinching her left ring finger with the thumb and forefinger on her right hand– a nervous tick of hers from the War.

"N-nothing," Hermione lies. "I'm just not sleeping well, I suppose."

That last part isn't technically a lie. Hermione feels almost as if every time she closes her eyes, a new image flashes behind her lids. It has become harder and harder to sleep peacefully without the aid of potions.

Harry frowns, tilting his head slightly as if to say, 'And…?'

"C-could I come 'round tonight? Have dinner with you and Ginny?" Hermione asks meekly.

Harry sits back in his chair, his eyes widening minutely before he schools his expression.

"Of course. James and Al would love to see their Aunt 'Mione. Gin only eats fried pickles and blueberry ice cream right now, but I'm sure you and I could scrounge up something."

Hermione smiles a sad smile and nods, scrubbing her hands down the front of her robes before standing.

"Thanks, Harry."

The next image comes while Hermione is sitting at her desk just after lunch. She takes a sip from the to-go cup of bad coffee she's been attempting to finish since before lunch and when she sets it down, she closes her eyes– only for a moment, but evidently that's all it takes.

This image is as if she's watching herself from behind– she'd recognize her own unruly, curly brown hair anywhere. A hand presses to her back– pale skin with a gold wedding band on the clearly male ring finger near her waist. The long fingers attached to the aforementioned hand twirl the hair dangling down her back between them as if they've done it a thousand times before.

That's what unnerves Hermione the most about these images. They don't feel like daydreams. They feel like memories– like she could almost recall the coolness of that gold wedding band on her skin, feel the warmth of the mystery man's skin on her own.

Hermione taps her quill against her bottom lip, bouncing her knee beneath her desk in her frustration.

A knock on Hermione's office door shocks her out of her reverie, and she calls out a half-hearted 'Come in.' to whomever is on the other side of the door.

"Ms. Granger," Hermione's assistant, Delilah, says as she pokes her head into Hermione's office. "Mr. Weasley is here to see you."

Hermione waves her hand, allowing Delilah to permit whichever Mr. Weasley is here to see her to enter. At least four of the Weasley men are employees of the Ministry, one is an occasional consultant, and one is a friend who does stop by Hermione's office on occasion to drag her out to lunch, so it's anyone's guess which one might be gracing her doorstep this afternoon.

When Hermione catches a glimpse of black Auror robes when Delilah steps aside, she immediately knows which Mr. Weasley is here to see her– and it's not that she's not happy to see him, but she does have a sinking feeling in her gut that she knows why Ron is visiting her office today.

Hermione stands from her desk and despite her unease, smiles wide. She wraps her former boyfriend up in a tight hug and despite wanting to hex Harry sideways for telling Ron about her visit to his office this morning, she is happy to see her other best friend.

"Hey, Ron," Hermione greets, squeezing Ron once more before pulling back. She gestures for Ron to take a seat in the chair opposite her desk as she leans up against the front of the aforementioned desk.

"Don't 'Hey, Ron' me, 'Mione," Ron eyes Hermione pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Harry told me you came to his office this morning."

Hermione bites her bottom lip and looks down at her shoes before back up at Ron.

"It's nothing, Ron," Hermione says, and she almost means it. Ron is only just back from his extended, unpaid paternity leave– he doesn't need to be worrying about anything other than his job, his wife and his daughter right now. "How's Padma? And Priya?"

Ron raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Don't change the subject, 'Mione. I know that you spoke to Padma last night, so you know that she's itching to get back to Mungo's and that Priya is twelve weeks going on twenty– bound to be in Ravenclaw like her mother, that one. I'm here about you."

Hermione crosses her legs at the ankles and leans more heavily against her desk, slumping slightly.

"Really, Ron, it's nothing," Hermione repeats. "But if it makes you feel better, I'm going 'round to Harry and Ginny's tonight. Please, worry about your wife and daughter. I'll be fine."

Hermione steps through the floo at 12 Grimmauld Place shortly after leaving work for the evening and is immediately greeted by two boys whom, if she didn't know any better, she would swear were younger versions of their father.

A chorus of, "Aunt 'Mione, Aunt 'Mione!" rings out before Hermione even has a moment to remove her scarf. Hermione smiles as she unwinds the knitted material from around her neck and leans down to press a kiss to the tops of each child's head.

James and Albus each grab hold of one of Hermione's hands, dragging her into the kitchen, as if that wasn't already her next destination, with shouts exclaiming that, "She's here, she's here!" Hermione only wishes she had had another moment of peace beforehand when she steps over the kitchen threshold.

Before her sit Harry and Ginny, each with equally concerned looks on their faces, as well as Ron and his wife Padma Patil-Weasley, who has their daughter in a wrap strapped to her chest. Both Harry and Ron's arms are crossed over their chests and Hermione notices creases between both of their brows which betray their worry.

"Boys, go play in your room, please," Harry says to his children, slinging one arm around the back of his wife's chair.

James and Albus scrunch their brows together in confusion, but obey their father regardless. Typically, when Aunt 'Mione comes over for dinner, the boys are the center of attention. She asks them questions about their primary school, talks to them about their favorite books and listens to them regale tales of the most recent time their mother or father took them out on their brooms, so being sent to their room is the first indication that something is different this evening.

"This feels suspiciously like an intervention," Hermione laughs half-heartedly as she sits down in a chair opposite her four friends. No one speaks in response. "... I suppose that's because it is an intervention, then?"

Padma leans forward, reaching out the hand not cradling her daughter to place it atop Hermione's forearm.

"We're just concerned. You haven't been yourself for a couple of months now," Padma says quietly, using the voice which Ron lovingly refers to her as her 'Healer Voice'.

Hermione frowns. Perhaps it's best to just rip off the plaster– and Padma might even have some insight as a Healer. Her specialty is accidents and emergencies, not neurological maladies, but it might be worth asking her about it.

"I've just– I've been having strange dreams for a couple of months now. That's all." Hermione decides that this isn't exactly a lie. The dreams aren't exactly confined to her sleeping hours, but Hermione decides to keep that bit of information to herself for the moment.

Padma's head tilts in thought and Hermione chances a look over at Harry and Ginny. Both Potters seem an even mixture of confused and concerned, but Hermione even knows that she's downplaying what's been going on with her.

"What sort of dreams?" Harry asks, dropping his hand from the back of Ginny's chair to his wife's shoulder, clear distress in his voice. Hermione understands that Harry probably knows better than anyone how unsettling something like this might be– after all, he did have Voldemort in his own head for the better part of three years.

Hermione sighs. These are her friends– her best friends. If she can't be honest with them, then who can she be honest with? Hermione takes one last deep breath before beginning to explain properly.

"Well, th– they're not exactly dreams, per say," Hermione stammers, averting her eyes from those of her friends. "They're more like… visions? They happen when I'm awake, when I'm sleeping– they're unpredictable."

Padma stands from her seat and rounds the dining table to sit beside Hermione.

"Could you guys give me a moment with Hermione, please?" Padma asks of the remaining three in the room, and it's evident to all present that Padma has just slipped into her Healer shoes.

Ron, Harry and Ginny nod and leave the room, heading off to the parlor, likely to pay a visit to the bar cart beside the hearth.

"What do these visions feel like, Hermione?" Padma asks, gently stroking the fine, red hair on the top of her daughter's head.

"They feel like memories," Hermione states quietly, as if she doesn't believe it herself, and certainly as if she doesn't expect Padma to believe her either. "This afternoon, I saw myself walking beside a man wearing a wedding ring. I didn't see a face, but as I'm sure you're aware– I'm not married. But I felt like I knew this man, like this was a memory– something I'd already experienced before. It felt like looking into a pensieve."

Padma seems to ponder this information for a moment before responding.

"Similar to déjà vu?"

Hermione shakes her head. No, it's not like déjà vu at all. It's not like walking into a room and doing something that she feels like she's done before. It's more akin to watching a film of her own life, watching familiar snapshots in time, despite never having experienced them before– exactly like looking into a pensieve, as she said.

"Hermione," Padma starts, taking Hermione's hand in her own and holding it tightly. "Speaking as your friend, I'm sorry that you're going through this, and I am here if you need anything. But, speaking as a Healer, I think you should see a Healer. Mungo's has a ward for neurologic effects caused by dark magic. Of course, I can't be sure of the cause of this, but we have some talented Healers on staff. I can refer you– give you some names."

Hermione frowns again. She knew that the possibility of Padma insisting she get medical treatment would be high, given her own field of work. However, the thought of having to explain all of this over again to a Healer who would then run tests– poke and prod at her– makes her uneasy.

"Please. Just consider it, Hermione. It could help," Padma pleads, conjuring a piece of parchment and a quill to write down two names– presumably those of the Healers whom Padma recommends. "There's a whole department of Healers in this specialty, but I'd recommend seeing either of them for your initial intake."

Eek! Hi, friends! Happy Tuesday! (:

Welcome to Snippets. This fic has taken over my entire brain for the last four months, and now that the upload date is finally here, I'm scared. Lol. This fic is my baby and I'm nervous to share it, but also so excited! (:

So, first things first, this fic is massive. Absolutely mammoth. I believe that I am closing in on the finish line (as this fic is still a WIP, but is basically done) and as it stands right now, I am projecting that it will be approximately 38 chapters, all told, including epilogue(s). That's huge for me. That is double the length of my previous multi-chapter Dramione (Manhattan) and more than double the one before that (Worth the Wait). This fic is a novel. So, strap in. We're going to be here for a while, folks. :P

As I mentioned, this fic is still WIP. However, I very much doubt that you (my lovely readers) will notice that, as exactly like with my other previous Dramione ffs, I will be adopting a once-a-week schedule of uploading on Tuesdays. (Sometimes I change it up, and sometimes I post bonus chapters, but you are nearly guaranteed at least one chapter per week unless something drastic happens.) I already have 34 of the 38ish chapters written and mostly edited, so barring something extreme happening, I will absolutely have this fic finished by the time I'd be set to upload those last few chapters.

That being said, I'm well aware that a WIP- especially one this long- is a commitment, and I truly cannot thank those of you who will be with me until the very end enough. Once-a-week for 38 weeks is almost nine months. That is an incredible commitment, and if you decide to embark on this journey with me, I truly, truly thank you from the bottom of my heart. Words cannot express my gratitude, but please know that your support is not unnoticed or unappreciated.

Next, this fic is based on a prompt I saw which read, "Your character begins to remember things that have never happened."

Ooh, intrigue. :P

(Also, just FYI, I originally thought that I could tell this story in like, five chapters. HA. Lol. Absolutely not. :P)

As mentioned above, this fic will have some themes of loss and death within, but this fic is not about loss. In fact, I think it's more of a story of coming together, rather than loss, but I wanted to mention it to be on the safe side. It is also overall a fairly light read, though there are some times of angst and frustration.

Also, this fic deals with a lot of medical-hoopla, though nothing terribly graphic. There's no graphic descriptions of gore or medical procedures or anything, so if that makes you queasy, don't worry. Furthermore, I do work in healthcare, but not in neurology, so if any of my information is inaccurate, I apologize- just try to see past it or explain it away as magic. :P I think I did a pretty good job with research, though, so I hope that it doesn't come to that. :P

Finally, (because I've learned that I need to specify this for those who don't read the tags) this fic is a Dramione, a.k.a. Draco/Hermione. It's a romance. If that isn't your jam, feel free to exit now, no harm, no foul. I promise, there will be no hard feelings. (:

Oh. Okay, maybe that wasn't the final thing, lol. Sorry.

ALSO. This fic is a SLOW-BURN. Like, "Is the oven even on?" slow-burn. HOWEVER. Even if slow-burns aren't your thing, I still challenge you to read this one because I think it's still an interesting and fun story, even though the romancey part takes a while to get going. :P

OH! Also, this fic is like a giant game of Clue. Everything is important and everything is connected. I'd advise taking notes. :P No, but seriously, keep an eye out. Things will piece together, so if you're a little detective like me, you'll feel super accomplished when you find out that you were right about something or when you see something come back around. :P

One last thing, this fic is rated M out of an abundance of caution. There is no graphic depictions of violence or gore, no major character death and no smut. There's medical procedures, death and romance, and therefore I wanted to be on the safe side, but if you generally stay away from M for those reasons, you're safe here. (:

... I think that's it. Maybe. If I forgot anything, I'll add it to next week's A/N because I think this one has gone on long enough. :P

SO. If you're still here, even after all of that explanation, thank you. Thank you for reading. Thank you for being here and for spending a chunk of your time here with me today. I am truly grateful for your support and it means more to me than you can ever imagine. I re-read the reviews on my older fics constantly because your words of encouragement and kindness truly mean the world to me. Please don't ever forget that.

All of that said, thank you again, and please review. Let me know if you're excited for this journey, let me know what you think of this pilot chapter, let me know your theories or hopes for this fic, I want to know it all. (:

Thank you. I appreciate you. You matter. See you next week. (: