Edward followed Hermione into her chambers. The room was cozy, its soft taupe carpet a warm contrast to the cold stone of the castle. A large four-poster bed dominated the space, its cream-colored curtains falling gracefully around it, and a blush-colored bedspread draped neatly over the mattress. An excessive pile of pillows crowned the bed, making it look like something out of a dream.
Hermione moved to the side of the bed, where a wooden desk chair sat, and gently draped her outer robes over the back of it. She then seated herself, her posture casual with a hint of purposeful grace, and motioned for Edward to lie down.
He hesitated. His eyes widened as he looked around, his discomfort evident. He'd never been in a woman's bedroom alone before, let alone asked to lie on her bed. If he could blush, his face would be a deep crimson by now.
"You might as well get comfortable," Hermione said with a wry smile, trying to ease his tension. "I'm going to be rooting around in your head, and while I know you don't get tired like humans do, I'd imagine this will be uncomfortable."
Edward hesitated but eventually toed off his loafers, sitting on the edge of the bed and then reclining against the headboard. He fidgeted nervously with the end of his tie, a tic he hadn't realized he still had. It felt oddly... human.
"So, how does this work exactly?" he asked, his gaze fixed intently on her.
Hermione took a steadying breath. "Right," she said, her voice a little shaky. "Close your eyes. Feel free to lie down if you want to get more comfortable."
Edward adjusted himself on the bed, laying back with a slight rustle of the blankets. He ran a hand through his hair before slowly closing his eyes. With the absence of sight, his other senses sharpened. The rhythmic thud of Hermione's heartbeat filled the silence, almost deafening in its intensity. He could hear the faint, almost imperceptible squish of her blood pumping through her veins. The sound made his throat tighten, the venom pooling under his tongue.
He cleared his throat, trying to suppress the hunger. "M'ready," he mumbled, his voice a low rumble.
"Wait." Hermione's voice cut through the tension, and he opened his eyes again, her tone sudden and cautious. "I should've explained this part first." She paused. "In my head, I use multiple layers of protection. The first layer was the door to the library we had to unlock. Of course, there are ways to bypass a door, whether it's with a key, an unlocking charm, or even a well-placed Bombarda. A door's hardly a foolproof defense."
"Then why use it at all?" he asked, a little confused.
Hermione's lips curled into a sly smirk. "To let people think I have poor security, of course," she said, the gleam in her eyes betraying the playful mirth in her words. "If someone were to try to root around in my mind, the door would show them I have some Occlumency skills. But it would lull them into a false sense of security, making them think I'm not capable of keeping my thoughts properly guarded."
She leaned back slightly, shifting her gaze to the ceiling before continuing. "Once they've bypassed the door, they'd be greeted with the library. I mean, of course, Hermione Granger, Swot of the Century, would keep her memories in a library." She chuckled lightly. "The obvious next step would be to start pulling books off the shelves, rifling through them one by one. All of those books would seem like innocuous memories. Like you saw, me giving my cat a treat for the first time? Nothing anyone would be looking for."
Edward raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "So where would someone find something worth looking for?"
Hermione's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. "The restricted section, of course," she said with a laugh that sounded like wind chimes, light and tinkling. "But even if someone ventured in there, all they'd find would be more harmless memories, maybe something embarrassing." She paused, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "Like the time I hid from Cormac McLaggen behind the curtains at a Slug Club party, after a pathetic attempt at making Ron jealous. Or the time I was hit by a stray hex and my teeth grew past my chin! Definitely not my finest moments," she admitted with a self-deprecating laugh. "But even the restricted section's memories aren't much of a threat."
She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "The real information is in the card catalogs. And unless you're familiar with my personal version of the Dewey Decimal System or if you have the patience to sift through every single thought I've ever had, the card catalog's pretty useless. It just looks like a mess of nonsensical numbers and letters."
Edward listened intently, his expression thoughtful.
Hermione hesitated before continuing, her voice growing quieter, tinged with a seriousness that shifted the atmosphere. "That said, you don't need to worry about any of that war hero stuff. Withholding information was crucial back then... Fortunately, I never had to use it. I mean, nothing like a well-placed Cruciatus curse to get someone to talk, right?"
Edward's gaze fixed on her, his eyes searching hers for something she hadn't quite said. He remained silent, waiting.
Hermione's expression softened slightly as she waited for him to speak, feeling the weight of the unspoken thoughts hanging between them.
"I can't say I'm familiar with what that is," he finally said, his voice measured, but with an undertone of curiosity.
Hermione barked a nervous laugh. "Count yourself lucky," she replied, shaking her head. "I think we're getting ahead of ourselves with the Unforgiveables talk. Let's just get back to the meditation, shall we? What are your hobbies? Or things that come naturally to you?"
Edward's lips tugged slightly as he considered the question, his fingers unconsciously tapping on the side of his leg. "I enjoy auto mechanics," he began, "and I hold several medical degrees, though I don't really practice. I don't know if that'll be much help here... Oh, and I collect and compose music. I play a few instruments, but the piano's my favorite."
Hermione's eyes lit up, a grin spreading across her face. "Perfect!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm infectious. "I can definitely work with music. As for auto mechanics... well, I won't even pretend to know about that." Her gaze sparkled with amusement as she added, "And, for obvious reasons, I think we'll skip the breathing part of the meditation."
She reached over, fluffing the pillow beneath his head, her hands lingering for just a moment. "Ready?"
If it could, Edward's heart would've skipped a beat at the closeness, and for a brief moment, he was caught off guard by the way the sound of her voice, the faint floral scent lingering in the air, and the stray curl brushing against her forehead made him feel uncharacteristically exposed. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught. He simply nodded, ignoring the flaring sensation in his throat.
"Okay," she said softly, her voice now more soothing, "close your eyes." Edward obeyed, feeling the weight of his lids as they gently shut. "Now, I want you to envision yourself at home. Or at least, somewhere that feels familiar and comforting. Take in your surroundings... notice the color of the walls, how the floor feels beneath your feet as you walk toward your piano. Picture yourself sitting on the bench, your hands resting lightly over the keys. There are 88 keys, but infinite possibilities. Can you see it?"
Edward's breath slowed, and for a moment, the image took shape in his mind. A warm, familiar space, his fingers hovering over the keys of a grand piano.
"Good," Hermione continued, her voice low and steady, "Now think of a memory, something simple, something you wouldn't mind having easily available. Do you have one?"
Edward nodded almost imperceptibly. "I think so," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Excellent," she said, her voice a comforting rhythm. "Now, press that memory into the C key. When you've done that, choose two more. One for E and one for G. Just nod when you're ready."
Edward took his time, each memory coming to him like fragments of a dream. He thought of a lecture on bioethics, a curious discussion about medically assisted suicide that had recently been taking Oregon's medical scene by storm, and another, lighter memory of chasing Alice through the woods after she'd used a rather salacious method to get him to forfeit a game of chess. He pressed each one into the corresponding key, focusing on the sensations attached to each memory as his fingers moved.
Once done, he nodded.
"Perfect, you're doing so well" Hermione whispered. "Now you have memories nestled in C Major. But when you press them all together, you don't want them to spill out all at once, do you?"
Edward shook his head slightly, unable to articulate just how much her voice, her words, seemed to wrap around him like a soft, silky chord.
"I want you to think of something more cherished. Maybe your first kiss... or your graduation," Hermione continued. "Something personal. Something that you would want to linger on."
Edward's mind shifted. Taking inspiration from Hermione's own secrets held in her restricted section, he thought of Tanya. Her persistent advances, her confusion when he hadn't reciprocated her feelings. He picked one of those moments at random, pressing the memory into the keys, his fingers moving almost mechanically, repeating the action against his thigh in an unconscious gesture.
"Now," Hermione said, her voice still gentle, "open your eyes."
Edward blinked, pulling himself from the depths of his thoughts. His gaze met Hermione's, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to fall away. She stood over him, her expression a mixture of warmth and amusement, her wand now pointed at his forehead. The intensity of their connection was palpable, but her smile remained playful.
"Legilimens," she cooed, her voice lilting as she cast the spell.
Edward felt a warm breeze wash over him as Hermione entered his mind. She was still in her own body but her mind was standing in a large, airy room with honey-colored hardwood floors and cream-colored walls. The space was bright, filled with natural light from windows that stretched across the expansive length of the walls. In the center, there was a grand piano, its polished surface gleaming. The bench was velvet, and the keys waited,
Hermione's fingers brushed over the keys before she settled on the same chord Edward had played. She pressed them down, and the room seemed to resonate with the sound, filling the space like a ripple through water. Then, a vision, fuzzy at first, but gradually sharp, appeared before her.
A figure in the snow, spinning gracefully before collapsing into a bank of white, sending flurries into the air. The figure rose, revealing a strikingly beautiful woman with platinum blonde hair, her eyes shimmering like the snowflakes around her.
"Edward?" she called, her voice saccharine. Edward stood nearby, leaning casually against a tree, unaffected by the snow. The woman approached, brushing snow off his face with a flirtatious grin. "Sorry, it was just a joke."
"I know," he responded dryly, his tone carrying a touch of irritation.
"Irina and Kate think I'm annoying you," she said, pouting.
"Not at all," Edward reassured her. "I'm the one being rude—abominably rude. I'm very sorry."
The woman tilted her head, still smiling, though her voice raised an octave. "You're going home, aren't you? It's all my fault, isn't it?"
"Of course not," Edward lied, but his face betrayed him.
"Don't be a gentleman," she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I make you uncomfortable."
"No," Edward answered too quickly, and she raised an eyebrow in disbelief. He sighed, the laugh escaping him, unwilling to admit the truth. "Alright, maybe just a little."
The vision began to fade, and Hermione slowly withdrew from his mind, severing the connection with a flick of her wrist.
Edward's breath was shallow as he blinked, still reeling from the intensity of the experience. Hermione met his gaze, a small, knowing smile playing at the corner of her lips as she hovered above him.
She felt the chilly waft of his breath on her face, taking in the sweet and minty scent, before realizing how close they were. With a sudden jolt, she leapt away from the bed, her words tumbling out in a flustered rush. "Sorry, I—I—"
A quick triple knock on her door saved her from what would've been inevitable embarrassment. "Mi? Ready to go down for dinner?" Draco's disembodied voice called from the other side. Hermione scrambled to the door, whipping it open without a second thought, entirely unaware of the compromising position she was revealing.
Draco's gaze swept across the room, landing on Edward, who lay stiffly on Hermione's bed. His expression remained neutral, but Hermione, having spent the better part of seven years observing him, caught the slightest narrowing of his eyes and the faintest purse of his lips. Her face flushed as she heard Edward shift behind her, extricating himself from her bed. He cleared his throat as he approached her side.
"Shall we, then?" he said, his tone casual but with a touch of awkwardness.
Edward could feel Draco's eyes boring into the back of his head as they made their way toward the door. He couldn't help but wonder just what was on the menu for a dinner with vampires. The thought made him uneasy, though he didn't let it show.