Dreamweavers

1

May 1st, 2001

Hermione rolled over and stretched her arms above her head, dappled sunlight from an open window warming her stomach above the soft duvet. She yawned, crinkling her nose softly. It wasn’t often that she woke so peacefully and felt so rested. Had she thought about why that was, she would have found no explanation. Sitting up slowly, she ran her hands over her face and through her wild hair. Two toffee-coloured eyes widened as Hermione realised she was in an unfamiliar bed in a room she did not recognize. Swinging her feet to the floor, she picked up two empty vials from the nightstand, her brow furrowing. Dreamless Sleep and Calming Draught? That explained the lack of hurry she was in, then. She shuffled over to the window to see if she could place where she was. Grassy fields stretched out before her, a pond nestled into the grounds and a few deer wandering through sparse groups of trees. The sun was warming the tops of the tallest trees and she thought it must be after 9 am.

As the Calming Draught wore off, she started to become aware of her pulse speeding up. The walls of the room were a soft sage green, with plush beige carpet. The bed was unassuming, simple with a fluffy white duvet and matching pillows. On a dresser by the window, Hermione noticed her wand resting in front of a framed photo. She sucked in a puff of air as she recognized her parents in the photo, holding her between them at a school carnival when she was a toddler. Did the owner of this home know her? Know her family? Steeling herself and pushing her shoulders back, she pocketed her wand and opened the door to the hallway.

The cushiony carpet from her room continued out into the hallway. A handful of closed doors lined the walls and she glanced at them thoughtfully as she made her way to a set of stairs. Stepping out into a sunny living room, she took in a fuzzy white couch facing a dark wooden coffee table and a muggle television. Wood flooring creaked under her socks, a blue rug spreading across the space. It was an airy, beautiful space. On the coffee table, a dark blue folder sat by itself. Hermione felt a tug behind her navel drawing her towards it inexplicably, and she flopped herself unceremoniously onto the couch to open it up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. The cover of the folder read “Dreamweavers: An Introduction” in a silver filigree scrawling font, and already, Hermione thought, that was both intriguing and quite vague. She flipped the cover open and was startled to read her name in the first line.

“Hello, Hermione and Draco. Welcome to Dreamweavers. I would like to start this period of time on a good note - you are not lost or in danger, and though you do not recall at this time, you have both entered this house and signed up for this experiment of your own free will.

You are participants in an independent study combining muggle psychology with magic. Due to the nature of this experiment, I am unable to disclose exactly what we are studying or how we are studying it. Know that before you woke up here, you were fully informed and signed many, many waivers. I’ve included portions of your waivers that do not give away any details that would spoil the data, and you will find those tucked into this folder along with a note you each wrote to yourselves.

Now, to what you are allowed to know. You have both been entered into the Dreamweaver database and paired at random. You are in a remote location that has been disclosed to one emergency contact each, should anything happen to go awry. Your employers at the Ministry of Magic have been informed that you will be on a sabbatical. At 10 pm last night, you were apparated into your respective rooms, and you both willingly drank vials of Dreamless Sleep and Calming Draught. After falling asleep, our carefully trained Legilimens team came in and obliviated you. They combed through your memories and extracted specific ones, leaving your general recollection of your lives intact.

You are bound to this property for 3 months. Food will be provided for you to cook, toiletries will be replenished when they are used up, and the house is charmed to listen to you for special requests and/or needs. Your wands have been charmed not to allow you to restore memories, travel, or harm each other. You’ll find a magical barrier around the edge of the property that will not let you pass. Anything inside of that barrier is free for you to explore. What you decide to do next is entirely up to you. Thank you for your participation, and good luck.”

Hermione frowned slightly and flipped the page, briefly glancing at her signature on unfamiliar looking forms, portions of them blurred out. She came at last to her note-to-self, hand-written on a piece of notebook paper.

“Hermione,

Since I can’t give anything away, I will keep this brief. You are brave, capable, and caring. You are doing good for the world by being here. Please enjoy yourself and (I cannot believe I’m saying this) try not to stress or worry about work and the outside world too much.

Most sincerely,

Past You.”

Well that was particularly unhelpful, Hermione grumbled inwardly. She leafed through the folder again. That didn’t make sense... There was no letter to whomever “Draco” was in there. Was she alone here?

Just then she heard the patter of bare feet on wood floors. A man strode into the living room from another hallway, and she jumped, suddenly aware that she was only wearing a short striped pajama set and socks, her tawny brown curls unruly and large around her head. Snatching a throw blanket from the arm of the sofa, she covered her lap quickly. The man, who was quite pale and had bright blonde hair, raised his eyebrows at her fast movements before taking a seat in an armchair halfway across the room.

“Do I know… a-are you Draco, then?” Hermione choked out, suddenly overcome with nerves. He nodded and folded his hands in his lap.

“I most certainly am. Very astute observation, Hermione. I’m glad the memory charms didn’t take away any major brain function you may have had before this,” he sneered.

She jumped, taken aback by Draco’s abrupt rudeness. “You know my name! Do you know me? That’s… oh, I see. You’ve read through the folder as well, then.” She cringed inwardly at how poorly this was going. 3 months of this?

Draco rubbed his forehead with his hand, letting his shoulders fall. “I apologize, I woke up with a horrible pounding headache and it’s put me in an awful mood. I didn’t mean to snap at you. This is weird enough as it is.” He pushed out of the chair and crossed the room to Hermione, holding his left hand out to shake hers. “I’m Draco Malfoy. And you are?”

Hermione stood hesitantly, clutching the blanket to her legs. “I’m Hermione Granger. It’s lovely to meet you. I assume we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” she nervously laughed. Draco quirked one eyebrow up, a smirk crossing his face briefly. “Erm, not- not like that, sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that-” Hermione stuttered.

Draco let his smirk return. “Relax, Hermione, I didn’t think that was what you meant.”

“Erm.. Right. Well. I suppose I’m going to change and then find the kitchen. I’ll just… see you later then.” Hermione walked backwards out of the room, and up the stairs, leaving a very amused Draco Malfoy in her wake. Hermione closed the door of her room, flopping herself onto the bed face first. Oh, my gods. Merlin. What did I sign myself up for? What was I thinking? And it occurred to her belatedly that she may never know what she’d been thinking at the time.

*****

After tugging on a pair of muggle jeans and a rose-coloured jumper, Hermione made her way back downstairs, running her fingers absently through her hair.

She poked her head down a hallway, hoping to find the kitchen to make tea. She could hear her stomach growling as she walked. Stepping through an open doorway, she found Draco Malfoy staring frustratedly at a kettle, his toe tapping the floor in irritation. She stood a moment to take him in without interruption. His shoulders were quite strong, but he was still very lean. He wore black slacks and a black button-up shirt, the top few buttons left undone. It was a stark comparison to the paleness of his skin, and Hermione didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed that before. His white-blonde hair was tousled, as if he’d been running his hands through it in anger or annoyance. He was, objectively, an attractive man. Not that she’d be acting on it or telling him so, since 3 months of painful one-sided attraction, or worse, rejection, while she was apparently helping the world, would be unnecessarily unpleasant. She hit her ankle on the doorframe and he whipped around to see what had made the noise.

“Oh, thank Merlin. Hermione, have you got any experience with one of these?” He held up the electric kettle. “I’ve never… Well, I’ve never made tea before, and this looks similar to what tea is served in, but it has this peculiar tail attached and there’s no water inside.”

Hermione bit her bottom lip to hold in a laugh, her shoulders shaking. “It’s not a tail, Draco, it’s not alive. And yes, pass it here- I can show you how it works.” She took the kettle from him, filling it with water and walking over to a plug in the wall. Grabbing the cord, she plugged it in and flipped a switch, making it beep to signal that it was heating. Draco jumped, shouting “You said it wasn’t alive! Why is it speaking, then!?”

Realisation struck her then. “You’ve never been in a muggle home, have you? Or seen electricity?” Draco looked miffed. “Obviously not. When would I have encountered any of those things at Malfoy Manor?”

A manor… odd. Hermione filed that bit of information away for later. She tried to explain electricity to Draco, benevolently, for the next half an hour.

“No, Draco, it’s like magic for muggles. They harness it and use it to turn on lights, communicate with people, and run machinery.”

“That seems quite advanced for a muggle, actually. I’d been under the impression that they used fire for light and delivered communications by hand, like in the stone age.”

Hermione cradled her head in her hands. What was she doing here?