Chapter 11

The Dream That Was Real

The sound of bustling conversations, hurried footsteps, and the faint pop of apparition filled the hallways of the Ministry of Magic. Hermione strode through the corridors, her robes billowing behind her, trying desperately to ground herself in reality.

The meeting. Focus on the meeting.

She forced herself to recall the agenda. Legislation reform. Updates on magical law enforcement procedures. A discussion on wizard-Muggle relations.

Routine. Predictable.

Yet her mind kept slipping back—to him.

When she finally entered the meeting room, the sight of the round table, lined with Ministry officials, gave her a moment of reprieve. This was her domain. Her life.

But then—

Her breath caught.

Seated directly across from her was Lucius Malfoy.

For a moment, time it self faltered.

Hermione felt the air leave her lungs as if someone had physically struck her. Her fingers clenched the chair as she forced herself to sit, but her body was rigid, her mind whirling.

He lookedexactlyas he had in the dream. Every detail was the same—the sharp cut of his robes, the gleam of his silver hair, the piercing gaze that had haunted her even in sleep.

And then—

It happened.

For a fleeting second, Lucius looked at her—not with his usual cold detachment, not with the carefully constructed mask he always wore.

But with recognition.

A softness flashed in his expression, something knowing, something deeply personal.

Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

His features steeled, his gaze turning to ice.

Hermione barely heard the opening remarks of the meeting. Every word spoken blurred into background noise, drowned out by the pounding in her ears.

The day was excruciating. She went through the motions, answered questions, made notes, all while trying to suppress the unshakable sensation of loss.

Because she missed him.

No, not him.She barely knew this version of Lucius Malfoy.

And yet—

A week passed, and the feeling didn't fade.

The quiet ticking of the clock on her wall was the only sound filling her apartment. Hermione sat curled on her sofa, a book open in her lap, though she hadn't turned a page in over an hour.

The loneliness was suffocating.

She felt him.

Not in the way one remembers a dream fondly, but in the way one misses something real. Tangible. As if she had lost something irreplaceable.

"You're being ridiculous,"she told herself for the hundredth time."It was just a dream."

And yet, as the days passed, the ache in her chest only grew.

Then—

A sharp knock at the door.

Hermione jolted upright, her heart thudding. No one ever visited unannounced.

She hesitated before rising, wand in hand as she moved cautiously to the entrance. She took a steadying breath, unlocked the door—

And froze.

Lucius Malfoy stood before her.

Tall, composed, impeccably dressed—but there was something different in his stance. A tension that hadn't been there in the Ministry meeting. His sharp gray eyes bored into hers, not with indifference, but with something else entirely.

Hermione's throat went dry.

—"Malfoy?"she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lucius inclined his head slightly.

—"It seems,"he said, his voice smooth yet edged with something unreadable,"that you have some things to explain, Granger."

Hermione's breath hitched.

—"How did you find me?"

Lucius stepped past the threshold, his presence overwhelming in her small space.

—"That's the question you want answered first?"he said, arching a brow.

Hermione swallowed.

—"You—You don't just show up at someone's home, Malfoy. Especially not on a Sunday night."

Lucius smirked, but it was devoid of humor.

—"And yet, I have. Because something very… curious has happened, hasn't it?"

She exhaled shakily, closing the door behind him.

—"You had the dream too."

It wasn't a question.

Lucius's expression darkened.

—"I don't dream, Granger."His voice was sharper now."At least, I never used to. And yet, I have spent the past week being haunted by memories that don't exist."

Hermione took a step back, trying to steady herself.

—"It happens,"she murmured."With certain types of magic, certain types of connections. It's rare, but it happens. Just because it was a dream doesn't mean it wasn't real."

Lucius's jaw tightened.

—"Real?"He let out a low, humorless laugh."You expect me to believe that I wasmarriedto you? That we—?"He stopped himself, shaking his head.

Hermione flinched at the coldness in his tone.

—"I didn't do this, Malfoy. I didn't make us dream the same thing."

Lucius's lips curled into a sneer.

—"And yet, here we are. Tell me, Granger—"He took a step toward her, and she took one back."Is this some desperate attempt at wish fulfillment? Did you—?"

—"Don't."

The single word came out raw, broken.

Lucius stilled.

Hermione's hands clenched into fists at her sides, and before she could stop herself, the tears welled.

She felt it. The loss. The pain. The ache of something she had never truly had.

And it hurt.

A single tear escaped.

Lucius moved before he could stop himself. His fingers brushed her cheek, wiping it away—

Then he froze.

As if horrified by his own gentleness, by his ownreaction to her pain.

He pulled back sharply, his expression unreadable, his breath slightly uneven.

Hermione stared at him, feeling something shift irreversibly between them.

Lucius Malfoy despised being out of control.

His entire life had been built on structure, on meticulous planning, on the careful curation of power. Yet, standing in Hermione Granger's modest living room, watching her stare at him as if he held the key to some great cosmic mystery, he felt his carefully composed world crumbling.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He wasn't supposed to feel this way.

For the past week, he had done everything to expel her from his mind. He had immersed himself in work, taken long, grueling walks through his estate, drowned himself in brandy until the room spun—but nothing had changed.

Every night, when he closed his eyes, she was there.

Every morning, when he awoke, his first thought was of her.

And now, faced with the very woman who had haunted him, Lucius wanted to hurt her. Wanted to lash out, to smother the growing obsession before it took root in his soul.

Because it wasn't real.

It couldn't be real.

Yet, as he looked at her, saw the uncertainty in her eyes, the way she clenched her jaw in defiance even as something in her softened toward him, he knew—

She felt it too.

And he hated her for it.

— "I don't know what twisted magic is at play here, but I refuse to be manipulated." His voice was cold, venomous.

Hermione flinched at the venom laced in his words. But just as quickly, her spine straightened, and she met his glare with equal fire.

— "And you think I do? Do you think I chose to have those dreams, Malfoy? To wake up feeling like I had lost something I never even had?"

Lucius sneered. "How tragic. The war heroine, tormented by the illusion of a life she never wanted."

Hermione's nostrils flared. "You bastard."

Lucius chuckled darkly, stepping closer, his gaze sharp as a dagger. "Come now, Granger. Let's not pretend you didn't enjoy it. Let's not pretend you didn't wake up wanting me."

A sharp slap echoed through the room.

Hermione had struck him before she even realized what she was doing.

Lucius's head turned slightly from the force, his jaw tightening. But when he looked back at her, there was no anger—only something dangerous. Something thrilled.

Hermione's breath hitched.

Because he wasn't angry.

He liked this.

That realization sent a shiver of unease through her.

Lucius let out a slow exhale, tilting his head, his gaze raking over her.

— "Tell me, Granger—" he drawled, stepping so close she could feel the heat of his breath, "if you truly despised me, why do you look at me like you miss me?"

Her stomach clenched.

— "Shut up."

— "Oh no, my dear, I don't think I will."

She wanted to push him away, wanted to scream at him, but—Merlin help her—she couldn't.

Because he was right.

She did miss him. She did want him.

But not this version of him.

Not the man who stood before her now, cruel and taunting, his walls fortified with barbed wire. No.

She missed the man from her dreams.

The one who had loved her.

The one who had held her as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered.

And she hated herself for it.

Lucius saw it. He saw the battle waging within her, and something twisted inside him.

She was supposed to hate him.

She was supposed to push him away.

Because if she didn't—

If she welcomed him in—

Then he would break.

With a sharp inhale, Lucius turned abruptly, stepping away from her as if she were contagious.

— "This is madness," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

Hermione exhaled shakily, pressing her hands against her temples. "Then leave, Malfoy. Just—leave."

Silence.

Lucius didn't move.

He wanted to. He should have. But his body refused to obey.

Because if he left now, it would mean losing her again.

And that, he realized with horror, was unbearable.

— "You think this was a mistake," Hermione said suddenly, her voice quieter now. "But what if it wasn't?"

Lucius turned to her sharply. "And what if it was? What if this is nothing more than the universe's cruel joke? A fabrication?"

Hermione swallowed.

— "Then why does it feel real?"

Lucius clenched his fists.

Because that was the question that had been torturing him from the moment he woke up.

And he had no answer.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Then—Lucius let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head.

— "It doesn't matter," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "It can't matter."

With that, he turned toward the door, his movements stiff and forced.

Hermione watched him, her heart hammering.

— "You're running," she accused.

Lucius paused, his hand on the doorknob.

— "And you," he countered, voice low and sharp, "are foolishly holding onto something that was never meant to be."

Hermione inhaled sharply, but before she could retort, he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her standing alone in the silence.

A lump formed in her throat as she stared at the empty space where he had stood.

And for the first time since waking from that dream—

She felt truly lost.