Dreamweavers

Chapter 2

By the time the morning had fully passed, strangers Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had exhausted all of the polite conversation topics they were capable of, such as “So, what do you do for work?” “I can’t recall,” “What does your family do, then?” “Actually, that’s a bit blurry,” and “So, what don’t you remember?” “If I could describe that to you, I’d remember it.”

Hermione thought it was a bit like being set up for an interview where both sides thought they were the interviewee and neither knew what the job title was. Mildly frustrating and almost entirely fruitless. She wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, though, so she pressed on.

“I know that we willingly signed up to forget this, but even my past self must have known that I’d spend hours and hours trying to figure out why we’re here. What do you think they’re studying us for, Draco?”

The blonde shrugged, leaning back in his chair at the dining table, looking deep in thought with his arms crossed.

Hermione sat facing him, a self-inking quill poised over a notebook she’d dug out of a kitchen drawer. “Well, let’s make a list of what we know, and we can expand as the experiment continues.” The quill scratched across the parchment as she muttered every other word. “Day 1…no recollection of arrival…two strangers,”

Draco watched on as she continued to fill the page with a summary of the last 12 hours, looking utterly unimpressed. “Do you need to write your name in there to make sure you don’t forget that as well?”

“Mr. Malfoy.. is… snippy… will update…on attitude… this evening,” Hermione continued to scrawl. “Right then, is there anything you’d like to add? Otherwise we can begin brainstorming.”

Draco snorted, closing his eyes and drumming his fingers on his arm. “Not at this time, no. Though I’d be willing to discuss why being near you feels so familiar to me despite having no recollection of you.”

Hermione charmed her quill to take notes for her and focused her attention in front of her then. She’d had a niggling feeling in her stomach that this wasn’t the first time they’d met, but she’d chalked it up to paranoia. If this is a randomised experiment, surely the odds of previously knowing your partner must be slim or prevented? Unless whatever we’re doing here involves knowing the other person beforehand… But why? Removing all memory evidence of one person from each of our minds makes very little sense in regards to my note saying I’d be doing good for the world…and-

“Granger. Where’d you go?” Draco pierced through her speeding train of thought and she realised she’d been staring blankly at him for some time now. The afternoon sun shifted and a warm beam slid through the window, highlighting a portion of his face. His eyes, she noted, were a stunning shade of grey. In the warmth of the sun they looked like soft, stormy clouds. Blinking, she pulled herself back to earth.

“...Malfoy? Why did you call me by my surname?” she replied, furrowing her brow.

“I didn’t notice that I did, honestly. It felt natural. My friends in school tended to call me Malfoy, though. So it could just be that.”

“Well I suppose that could indicate something, couldn’t it? Although, why would we have called each other by our surnames? I can’t envision myself doing that to any of my friends unless I was quite angry with them, and even then, I’d have attached a first name as well for effect.” Hermione gestured to her quill to write that down. Every detail could help them explore what they’d signed themselves up for.

Draco stood up, grabbing a green apple from a bowl on the counter. “I think we should explore the house,” he said before biting into it.

She flipped her notebook closed and stood as she tucked it under her arm, ready to write down any interesting finds. “That would be a nice change of pace. I wonder if there’s a bookshelf somewhere?”

And so Hermione and Draco split up to search the house, the former taking the downstairs and the latter claiming the upstairs as well as the yard.

After a good hour of searching, Hermione found nothing remarkable about the downstairs rooms. She’d found a study with two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, cushiony armchairs and a wall calendar, marking the day. The books themselves were a bit confusing - she’d wrinkled her nose at Quidditch Through the Ages, and had been surprised to find a collection of muggle books like Lord of the Flies, Pride and Prejudice, and Frankenstein. She made a mental note to spend some time there to read the handful of books left over, such as a mysterious-looking book of fables called The Tales of the Beetle and the Bard, and a few advanced potions texts that she didn’t recognize from her time at school.

Other notable rooms included a master bedroom and en-suite downstairs, seemingly uninhabited, and hallway chest of drawers holding a pack of playing cards, a Wizard’s Chess set, and art supplies. She grimaced as she shut the drawers, realising that if the home’s “special requests” didn’t include books, she’d signed herself up for 3 straight months of being bored to tears. Perhaps Draco’s found something more interesting, she hoped as she made her way back to the living room.

He wasn’t on the couch or in the kitchen, but a movement outside of large glass doors caught her eye. She turned to see him standing in the distance near the pond, raising his arms slightly in a way that suggested he was enjoying the warm breeze. The afternoon sun kissed the top of his head, making his hair appear like luminous white silk, and Hermione desperately hoped to stop running into him like this as time passed in the house. She slipped on some flats and gently turned the door handle to step outside, crunching over grass and rocks towards the pond and silhouette of Draco Malfoy.

As she approached him, his head tilted as if he was noticing and cataloguing the sound. He turned around to look at her, a small smile slipping off of his face. “Hello,” she offered, “how did you hear me coming? That’s incredibly impressive.”

Draco shrugged, “I’ve attuned my hearing over the years. You don’t get through 7 years in Slytherin without being able to tell when someone’s going to try to pull one over on you.”

“Slytherin?” Hermione gasped. “Really? I suppose it’s not surprising but I absolutely thought you’d have been in Ravenclaw. You don’t seem conniving or snaky to me at first glance.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smirk. “Cheers, Granger. What a compliment.”

“Erm, well, I didn’t mean- It’s just that… Well, you must have known that other houses viewed Slytherins quite poorly. In Gryffindor Tower we had a strict no-snakes rule implemented almost immediately in our first year.” Hermione stuttered out.

Amused, Draco must have decided to capitalise on her hesitation. “You bloody Gryffindors. A no-snakes rule? Surely you all knew that you wouldn’t be getting shagged regardless of the rule, right?”

A hot flush crept across Hermione’s cheeks, turning her a rosy pink. “Absolutely uncalled for, Draco Malfoy. I mean, really. We’ve just met.” Despite the scolding intention of her words, she couldn’t bring herself to sound very annoyed. She worried her bottom lip, indenting it with marks from her teeth. “Right. I’m going to go inside and see what we have to make for dinner. I don’t imagine you’ve got much experience with cooking, judging by your confusion with making hot water this morning. You can learn from me starting tomorrow - I’d rather not spend the next 3 months hand-feeding you.” She spun on her toes and made her way quickly back inside, leaving him looking quite entertained at the pond. She shook her head at herself as she walked. Merlin. Hand-feeding him…? Phrasing, Hermione, gods.

If she was being honest with herself, Hermione wasn’t an incredible cook either, but she did know how to cook to survive. At 6 o’clock on the dot she found herself nervously setting out two plates of spag bol and carefully poured glasses of red wine. Good first impressions were always important, she’d reasoned, especially if you were going to be alone with said person for 13 weeks straight. Charming a serviette into a paper aeroplane, she flicked her wand to send it soaring out the doorway in search of her new companion. Moments later, Draco entered the kitchen holding the same cloth. “This thwacked me in the temple, so I’m assuming you needed something?”

He paused, taking in the scene. To avoid seeming like she was trying to set up a romantic atmosphere, she’d avoided candles and kept the lights bright in the kitchen as the sun set outside. She’d also made sure to slightly underpour their wine, not wanting to seem like a lush on the first evening.

“This is… this is nice, Hermione, thank you for setting it up.” He pulled out his chair and sat himself down, smoothing out the cloth serviette on the table.

“Oh, well, it’s not much. I know spag bol isn’t fancy.” Hermione smiled softly as she sat, shrugging her shoulders.

“Sure, it’s not even close to what you’d see served at the dining table in Malfoy Manor, but I’ll admit reluctantly that it’s much more than I could do.” Draco picked up his fork and twirled a noodle.

Hermione choked on her sip of wine at the backhanded compliment, moreso that he didn’t seem to notice he’d done it. “So,” she cleared her throat, “tell me about school. We can compare and contrast - clearly we both went to Hogwarts and were in the same year. We’ve got to have some similar stories or have crossed paths.”

“Well, you know I was a Slytherin. That’s one thing. I was the seeker on the house Quidditch team - perhaps you saw me play in a match, even briefly?” Draco theorised.

She winced. “It’s not likely, I’m sorry. I loathed Quidditch and I only went to support my friends, Harry and Ron. Otherwise I steered clear of that pitch every chance I got.”

“Harry and Ron… Harry Potter and Ron Weasley? I’d love to say it can’t be, but there’s no way it’s not. They were the only two gits named Harry and Ron in our year.”

“Oh! Yes! They’re my best friends to this day. I suppose I’m going to really start to miss them while I’m here. Ginny, too…”

“Eurgh. Those idiots were bad enough in small doses, I don’t know how you put up with them long-term,” Draco complained.

Hermione was busy thinking. If Draco has interacted with Harry and Ron enough to dislike them, the odds of us not meeting or seeing each other at all are incredibly slim. Unless they only met at the Quidditch Pitch… “I’ll be ignoring the insults to my friends as I’m not sure just yet what they’ve done to annoy you, as I do know they can be a bit much. Tell me about your 3rd year class schedule? I have a lot of fond memories of that year.”

Draco listed several courses, including Divination with Professor Trelawney, whom Hermione could not stand. “I loathed Divination. I found the lessons to be full of absolute rubbish and actually stopped attending, which, as a self-proclaimed swot, was unheard of. It was a supreme waste of my time.”

Contemplating the class, Draco agreed. “I sat next to Potter in that class, actually. I was too busy mocking Trelawney to bother with him as much, though. Wanted top marks for our year so I didn’t stop going, but I won’t say I did all of it the honest way.”

“Surely you don’t think that cheating in your courses makes you deserving of the top spot in our year? And besides… I was the best student in our year, so you wouldn’t have had a chance.”

Draco snorted. “My father wouldn’t have allowed anything less than the best for a Malfoy and I would have hated you for trying to surpass me, putting me in his path of destruction. If I haven’t even heard of your name before today, I doubt you were a threat to my rank in class.”

“Considering that I was the top of our year, I don’t know what you’re on about.” Hermione sputtered. “Wait,” she paused, “you remember your father?”

“Not much,” Draco conceded. “I know his name, I remember his anger issues. If I focus I can recall him teaching me to ride a broom as a child, and sitting down to family dinners with my mother. I can’t recall any more recent memories of him after our 2nd year at Hogwarts. Even those are fuzzy, as if I’m missing bits and pieces.”

“I know it doesn’t help any, but I’m sorry. Having a parent who valued you only for what reputation you portrayed for them would have been so difficult.” she raised her glass of wine in solidarity before taking a sip. “I do mostly remember my parents. My memories of them start to fade around 6th year. They were very proud of me, though. I set my high expectations by myself, not them.”

He nodded. “You know, Hermione, there’s no possibility that we were both at the top of our year. Not even that we were competing for the spot - at least, not without interacting with each other at all.”

She knew Draco was right. They’d have to have known each other at some point. The inevitability of it was too apparent. So why didn’t they know each other now? What relevance was it to this situation?

They ate in silence for a while after that, forks clicking on plates.

“Do you think we were friends?” Hermione asked Draco quietly, looking up at him through her lashes.

Draining his wine, Draco stood from the table. “No, I don’t,” he said wistfully, “I didn’t have many of those. For good reason.” He set his dishes in the sink, charming them to wash by themselves. “I’m going to take an early night. See you in the morning, Hermione.”

He excused himself with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and Hermione sat in thought for another hour.

**********

At about 10 pm, Hermione retired to her room. She’d spent a few hours before that mapping out a timeline of times and places where she and Draco could have met in her notebook as well as writing down questions she might want to ask him the next day.

Laying in the bed, her mind racing, she wished for Dreamless Sleep. She’d kept it on hand at Hogwarts as a last-resort when she desperately needed to rest but couldn’t make herself stop revising for exams. It didn’t look like that would be an option this time, so she yanked the covers over her head, forced her eyes shut, and laid still until she could drift off.

Hermione straightened her robes anxiously, striding down the halls for her first evening at Hogwarts. Her bushy hair bounced on her shoulders and she trailed behind Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, having just met them on the train before. She couldn’t find Neville Longbottom, or she thought she’d have preferred to stand with a friendly face. As the first years shuffled to a halt, a small group of boys approached Harry. “It’s true then,” the leader of the pack, a pointy little boy with heavily slicked-back blonde hair stepped forward to speak, “what they’re saying on the train? Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts. This is Crabbe and Goyle, and I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” The tall, dull-looking boys he’d referred to as Crabbe and Goyle stared blankly as if they’d emptied their heads of all thought before arriving. Hermione strained to see over Ron’s taller shoulder.

She watched as the tiny Draco Malfoy ripped into Ron’s hair and second-hand clothes, her mouth agape. “You’ll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” Draco stuck out his hand for Harry to shake, Hermione watching on with round eyes. Harry bit back “I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.” Draco's hand stayed out, waiting.

Hermione bolted upright in her bed, breathing heavily. She knew it was a dream, but it had seemed so real. Her pulse was fluttering, she’d had night sweats and her mouth was dry. Though the sun was only just coming up, she peeled herself out of bed to get a glass of water from the kitchen.

Softly padding her way downstairs, she had made it halfway across the living room when she noticed a new parchment on the coffee table. Pausing all else, she approached and gingerly picked it up.

Hello Hermione and Draco. Welcome to Day 2 of your Dreamweavers Study. I assume that by the time you are reading this, you will have experienced your first dreams. I’d like to provide context to these. The dreams you have received are memories of yours, selected and administered back to you by our Legilimens and scientific team. They are not secret in any way, so you may, of course, discuss them. Please keep an open mind and enjoy your day.

Oh, my gods. That was real? What an insufferable little git young Malfoy was. She physically shook herself as if she could get rid of the memory now that it was back. Suddenly tired again, she pulled the throw blanket over herself and closed her eyes, waking an hour later to find Draco sitting in the armchair facing her, holding the note. Her eyes widened.

“So you got one, too?” he asked, seeming hesitant. Hermione nodded gravely and he grimaced.

“Wonderful. Care to share?”