Hello, sunshine
Hermione (Age 13)
** Two years later **
The hallway stretched before her, a path worn smooth by countless journeys. Her feet barely touched the cold stone, her body light as a feather, carried by the currents of her mind. The familiar grand archway beckoned her forward. She stepped through, the darkness parting like a curtain, revealing the room and the boy who awaited her within.
There he was, the picture of ease, his hands casually resting in his pockets. A warm smile graced his lips, and his eyes met hers with a steady, reassuring gaze.
"Hello, sunshine," his voice echoed playfully in the small room. "How's my favorite witch this evening?"
She crossed her arms, attempting a stern look that faltered at the corners of her mouth. "You know I detest that nickname. Must you always be so infuriating?"
"Infuriating?" He feigned innocence, a sly smirk curving his lips. "Well, I am a product of your imagination, so I suppose that's accurate." His eyes danced with mischief. "What should I call you then? Property of House Malfoy?"
"Oh, do shut up, Malfoy," she snapped, but the irritation in her voice was undercut by a hint of amusement.
“Oh ho ho, kitten has her claws out.” He teased, raising an eyebrow. “You're a bit touchy tonight”.
“I guess I am.” she confessed reluctantly.
“Is something bothering you?” His tone became serious.
A wave of resignation washed over her. What was the point of pretense? This was a conversation with herself, albeit one filtered through the infuriatingly handsome visage of Draco Malfoy. The irony wasn't lost on her, and a dry laugh escaped her lips.
“I suppose, I just want more - “ She conceded with hesitation.
“More?”
“Yes, more.” She answered with a touch of exasperation. “I wish people like me could go to Hogwarts, I wish I knew what house I would have been in. I wish I could learn magic without having to hide it from everyone. I want the freedom to decide what I want to be. I want my own wand.” She paused for a moment before continuing her rant. “AND - I’m worried about Arys, his visions are getting - quite intense. I know he’s scared, but I am not sure how I can help.”
Draco paused thoughtfully, considering her words before responding.
“Maybe things won’t always be this way - maybe someone will defeat the Dark Lord someday.” His words carried a hopeful undercurrent.
“That’s treason, Malfoy.”
He just shrugged.
An inquisitive glint shone in her eyes as she asked, “What about you?”
“What about me?” He responded, feigning indifference.
“What do you desire above all else?” She probed further, her curiosity piqued.
“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to Avada you.” A radiant smile lit up his face.
She rolled her eyes. “Tell me - please.”
He paused for a moment, deep in thought.
“I guess - I desire freedom as well.”
*****
Hermione's eyes fluttered open, blinking away the remnants of sleep. Arys was gently snoring beside her, seemingly undisturbed. A breeze drifted through the open window, causing the curtains to dance softly. She had dreamt of Arys’s brother many times over the last two years. At first, he would just sit there, silently watching her, but after a while her mind had begun conjuring actual conversations with him.
Arys and Hermione had learned from Mippy that Arys’s brother’s name was Draco Lucius Malfoy. She wasn’t sure why she had dreamed of him so frequently. Soon after their first encounter, she had pieced together that he had used Legilimency to look through her memories when they met in the maze. It had led her on a relentless quest for knowledge. She had exhausted every available text on the subject, absorbing all the information she could find. The level of mastery he displayed at such a young age was astonishing. She assumed that her dreams stemmed from his mental intrusion, perhaps an echo of their connection, yet she harbored no resentment. Their conversations had become a treasured part of her nights, something she eagerly anticipated.
The real Draco hadn’t returned, it had been nearly two years. She thought she’d glimpsed him circling above on his broom a few times, but she couldn’t be certain.
Arys had written several letters to him, each one met with silence, but it didn’t seem to discourage him. He still spoke of Draco with fondness, and even followed his Quidditch career at Hogwarts with keen interest, snipping articles from the daily prophet and saving them. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for Arys, whose desire for Draco’s affection seemed to be met with indifference.
Hermione and Arys had changed a lot over the past two years. Arys’s had grown considerably, surpassing her in height, and his voice was taking on a more mature tone. Hermione was developing breasts, which she felt compelled to conceal beneath loose clothing.
Arys’s vision of the maze was no fluke. Now, visions plagued him relentlessly, first in dreams, then bleeding into his waking hours. He'd zone out, eyes glazed, disoriented for hours after. Despite her concern, he kept the visions to himself, a tightly guarded secret.
Once, after a particularly harrowing vision left Arys trembling, Hermione reached out to comfort him, her hand seeking his. But the moment their skin touched, a searing pain shot up her arm, and the image of the bleeding tree blazed in her mind as vividly as if she were back in the maze. She recoiled, her body reacting as though she'd been struck. Arys fell to his knees, apologies spilling from his lips. He swore he had no control over what had happened and of course she believed him. It was the first time she had seen him cry, tears tracing paths through the anguish on his face, and she silently prayed it would be the last.
The days of January stretched out, monotonous and gray. Hermione and Arys filled their afternoons with magical studies, reviewing the day's lessons and practicing spells. But while Arys was away, Hermione found herself alone in the garden, her nose buried in a book or mimicking wand movements with a stray branch. She soon discovered her true talent lay in wandless magic, a necessity given her Muggle-born status. She could now levitate small objects, extinguish lights, and manipulate locks.
Her brow furrowed in concentration as she attempted a wandless Wingardium Leviosa spell on an apple. The sudden crack of a branch nearby jolted her from her focus.
“Who’s there!?” She yelled into the empty garden.
No answer came, and a prickle of anxiety danced across her skin. She hastily packed up her things, trying to minimize any noise that might draw unwanted attention.
“Rather impressive, but you’re doing it wrong.” She recognized his familiar drawl before she saw his face.
A gasp escaped her lips as she dropped her belongings, her body reacting instinctively. She spun on her heel, her eyes wide with surprise.
Draco stood casually by the pond, his back propped against a tree trunk. A sly smirk curved his lips, as if he were privy to some secret. His attire was a stark silhouette against the greenery, black from head to toe. He was taller, leaner, his facial features sharpened by age.
"Malfoy." The name came out in a breathless rush, her heart betraying her with its sudden leap. "What are you doing here?" She hated the warmth that spread through her at the sight of him.
The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words. His face was a mask of shadows.
He raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with superiority. "Surely, it's obvious. This garden held a special place in my mother's heart."
"This was your mother's garden?" her voice held a note of surprise.
He evaded her question, steering the conversation in a new direction.
"Pray tell, where is my beloved brother? Has he left his little pet unattended?" His voice oozed condescension, each word sharp. The butterflies in her stomach withered and died.
"I'm not anyone's pet," she snapped, anger simmering. The real Draco was even worse than she remembered - arrogant, cruel. "Your 'beloved brother' you ignore? The one whose letters you never answer? The one you've left alone?" Her voice shook with fury.
A muscle in Draco's jaw twitched, but he didn't respond. He adopted an air of nonchalance, inspecting his nails as if they held the secrets of the universe, his mind was miles away.
After a tense pause, he pushed away from the tree, his steps measured as he closed the distance between them. Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling with each nervous inhale. A flush crept up her neck, staining her cheeks a vibrant red.
He stood mere inches away now, his eyes unreadable, the air crackling with unspoken words.
“And what makes you think you can speak to me so informally, Mudblood?”
The word pierced her heart, but she refused to let him see her hurt. This Draco was a cruel parody of the one who'd occupied dreams, and the realization left her feeling hollow and disappointed. His cold demeanor and cutting words made her skin crawl. She needed to get away, to put distance between herself and this unsettling version of him.
“I’m leaving.” She huffed.
“You’ll leave when I permit it. Don’t forget yourself, Mudblood, you belong to me.” He declared confidently.
She whirled around, shock warring with defiance in her eyes. His gaze, in the dim light, was almost metallic.
"I belong to no one," she retorted, her voice firm. "Least of all you. If anything...I belong to Arys."
“And what if I decided that I wanted you.. to be mine?” His voice sounded strange, still cold, but lacking its usual confidence.
“If I had a choice? I would say no.” She responded as quickly and as nastily as she could muster.
The temperature seemed to drop as his gaze intensified, his silver eyes boring into her own. She looked away, unwilling to be trapped in his piercing stare. It felt as if he could see straight through her, leaving her feeling stripped bare and defenseless.
“Well - luckily for you - I have no interest in owning a Mudblood pet.” He said darkly.
For a heartbeat, their gazes locked. Then, with a deliberate movement, he extended his hand towards the fallen apple. It obeyed, floating gently into his grasp. He took a bite, his silver eyes never leaving hers.
****
A few weeks passed before she saw Draco again.
The garden path was bathed in the fading light of dusk as Arys and Hermione walked back from the garden, their voices animated with the thrill of Hermione's wandless magic breakthrough. Their conversation abruptly ceased when they noticed a silhouette darkening the porch.
“Draco!?” Arys shouted excitedly.
Hermione's eyes burned with fury as she fixed him with a piercing stare.
Arys jogged up the path and ascended the stairs.
“Draco, what are you doing here? I’m so happy to see you. Did you get my letters?” Arys asked hopefully.
Draco and Hermione’s eyes locked for a fleeting moment. Draco, in his usual immaculate fashion, appeared perfectly put together.
“Hello brother.” Draco drawled, his tone nonchalant. “Yes, I did get your numerous letters. Regrettably, my academic and athletic pursuits have left little time for correspondence.”
“That’s okay. I understand. You must be terribly busy.” Arys responded sweetly.
A fierce protectiveness surged through her. She longed to whisk Arys away, to put distance between him and his brother's cruel indifference. Arys, with his gentle heart and unwavering optimism, was blind to Draco's subtle barbs.
In a stark contrast to his brother's aloofness, Arys's voice was filled with genuine warmth. "Will you come inside for dinner?" he asked, his smile inviting. "I'm sure Mippy has something wonderful waiting for us."
Ignoring Arys, Draco fixed his gaze on Hermione as he answered.
“Sure, I’d love nothing more.”
Dinner was tense. Arys bombarded Draco with questions, receiving curt answers but no reciprocation. Hermione seethed silently, as she pondered different ways she could dispose of the blonde git. Mippy and Dolly served roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with a noticeable unease. She wondered if they feared Draco himself, or the consequences of his presence.
A chess game offered a brief distraction from the tension. Hermione's victory over Arys was met with a challenge from Draco. She met his challenge with a scowl, her competitive spirit ignited. He settled opposite her, amusement dancing in his eyes. She was determined to wipe that smirk off his face.
The chess game stretched on for over two hours, a battle of wits that ended in a stalemate. Her muscles ached, her jaw clenched tight. Draco mirrored her frustration. The room crackled with unspoken tension as they locked eyes, neither willing to yield. Her mind raced, replaying every move, until a dull headache throbbed behind her eyes.
“Well, I am going to bed.” She said, trying to calm her racing thoughts. “Arys - are you coming?”
Arys's eyes darted from her to Draco, and his brow furrowed slightly.
"Another game, Draco?" Arys's blue eyes sparkled with hope.
“No, I must be off.” Draco responded quickly.
The room fell quiet before Arys's small voice pierced the quiet. "Will you return?"
"I will," Draco's response was unexpectedly tender.
At that moment, she saw a crack in Draco's icy facade. His gaze softened as he looked at Arys, and a tiny flame of hope kindled in her heart.
For a week, Draco became a fixture in their quiet lives, participating in their games and accompanying them on walks through the garden. Though his demeanor remained cold, his presence filled Arys with an undeniable joy. The brothers were so different. Arys, with his gentle spirit and thoughtful nature, and Draco, quick-witted and guarded. Draco rarely spoke to her directly, his eyes often avoiding hers, yet she sensed a subtle shift, a thawing of the ice that encased him. Arys's radiant warmth seemed to be working its magic.
As February drew to a close, Draco prepared to return to Hogwarts. At Arys's hopeful request, he promised to write.
****
"Hello, sunshine," Draco's voice teased, a familiar warmth in his tone. "It's been a while. I've missed you."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "I've spent time with the real you this past month," she admitted, "and I must say, I prefer the version my dreams have conjured up."
A smirk played on Draco's lips. "Hardly surprising. How could anyone compete with that brilliant mind of yours?" His tone softened. "But tell me, how have you been? Still mastering wandless magic? And Arys... how is he?"
She sighed, the weight of her worries settling on her shoulders. "His visions are worse than ever. He's obsessed with dark magic and life bonds, convinced everyone he loves is in mortal danger. I'm... worried, Malfoy. He won't confide in me, doesn't want to scare me. But it's agonizing watching him struggle alone."
"A difficult situation indeed," Draco mused. "Have you considered trying to communicate with him while he's asleep?"
"You mean, like... sleep-talking?" She asked, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.
"Perhaps," Draco replied. "He might not respond, but your words could resonate more deeply when he's relaxed. And if he does talk back, you might gain some valuable insights."
Her mind whirred with possibilities. It was worth a shot.
“Thank you, Draco.” She said sincerely.
His eyes sparkled, a genuine smile tugging at his lips.
“What?” She asked with a playful roll of her eyes.
"Nothing," He chuckled. "It's just... you've never called me 'Draco' before."
*******
Easter arrived, and with it, the real Draco returned to the cottage bearing an unexpected gift.
"Is that... THE SORTING HAT?!" Hermione's voice was barely a whisper, her excitement palpable.
Draco stood outside the cottage with the ancient talking hat in his grasp. He rolled his eyes, a clear sign of his annoyance.
"A Slytherin," the hat mused aloud. "Hmm. Of course a Slytherin is behind this daring theft. But I suppose this is the best a hat can hope for in its twilight years - a little adventure to keep things interesting."
Draco led them to the garden, directing them to sit beneath the sprawling oak. Hermione trembled with anticipation. The Sorting Hat - a dream come true. Tears welled in her eyes, and she fought to compose herself. Draco's motivations remained a mystery, but she couldn't risk revealing her vulnerability, not when he could so easily snatch this moment away.
Without another word, Draco placed the hat roughly on her head.
"Honesty, loyalty, a tireless work ethic," the hat murmured, its voice filled with reverence. "A powerful witch you are, Hermione Granger."
Granger? Her mind raced.
"Such talent, oh yes. This is an easy one—GRYFFINDOR!"
Tears finally spilled over, a mixture of joy and relief. Draco watched them trace her cheeks, his expression unreadable. He lifted the hat from her head.
"Rather predictable, aren't you, Granger ?" His tone was sharp, the name a deliberate jab.
Granger. She mulled the name over, foreign, yet so familiar.
It was Arys's turn now, and her excitement returned in full force. The hat sat in silent upon his head, seemingly pondering its decision.
"Young man, you must lower your shields. I cannot see into your mind."
Arys looked up in confusion. "Shields?"
"Indeed. I've never encountered anything like it. I cannot penetrate them."
Draco chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "So, I'm not the only one. I've tried to explore his mind, but I’m met with impenetrable obsidian walls."
"The magic is strong," the hat continued, "but there's little else I can discern."
She watched Arys's shoulders slump and her heart hurt for him. She'd wanted this so badly for him, especially after experiencing her own Sorting.
"Well, Arys, we can't know your house, but clearly you're an exceptionally gifted Occlumens," she said, hoping to make him feel better.
"My guess is Hufflepuff," Draco interjected, his tone callous. "Let's just go with that."
"You're a prat, Malfoy," she snapped, her protective instincts flaring.
"Such impressive deductive skills, Granger," Draco sneered. "Ten points to Gryffindor.”