Six Years, Nine Months
Hermione awoke as though from the dead. Her limbs still held that weightless quality she associated with a particularly good night’s sleep, coupled with a night started early from previous affairs’ exhaustion. She kept her eyes closed, detecting the brightness of her surrounding through closed lids tinted red. Her pillow was fluffed to perfection in such a way that she considered forcing herself back to sleep- if only for a little longer. She was not accompanied to waking up with such a sense of luxury. The bunk inside the tent usually was comparable to sleeping on the ground, particularly uneven and lumpy ground at that.
But no, it wasn’t just her pillow that felt surprisingly comfortable this morning, it was the bed itself too. And the sheets were silk and crisper. What a fine day this was to be. This was the very definition of waking up on the right side of the bed. Today felt like a horcrux finding day. The sense of fresh pine and muddied earth was somehow absent, replaced by a gentle lavender mixed with something she couldn’t quite place, but just as pleasant.
She wondered absently if maybe Ron or Harry had lit a candle. She doubted it, neither of them were oblivious enough to miss the potential hazards of having a lit flame inside a magic, unstable tent. Perhaps they were attempting to brew a love potion? She shot down the idea as quickly as it arose. They would have no use for a love potion and even if they did, they’d have asked for her assistance, rather than simply going off and trying it without her.
She faintly recalled something then, something that made her chide herself for forgetting it in the first place. Ron was gone. He’d gone off and abandoned them when they going got tough and they had little to show for their efforts. He’d walked out on them, leaving her to reside in misery with Harry.
She swallowed hard. This wasn’t right, none of it. Something down the bunk, warm and soft was pressed against her leg, moving ever so faintly. It was this that drew her to open her eyes. And the sight she found before her horrified her. For, Hermione was not in their tent at all, camped out in the wilderness. She was in a room- a bedroom to be precise, facing a great pane of windows that had the curtains drawn wide, revealing the sweet neighborhood below. A woman was walking her two dogs along the sidewalk, framed by immaculate, lush grass. The sun shone into the window, casting the room into an ethereal glow. And at her feet was her beloved cat, Crookshanks.
Confusion and alarm whistling through her like a morning melody, she sat up abruptly and found that she was not alone. Beside her, on the other side of the bed, his arm outstretched as though he was reaching for her in sleep was Draco Malfoy.
She gave a start and jerked away from him, toppling off of the bed altogether. Horror swept through her as realization dawned. She had just been sleeping in the same bed as a death eater, clear and stark against his pale skin shone the dark mark, glaring up at her. She scurried back, searching for a wand that wasn’t on her. In fact nothing was on her but a short, pastel yellow night dress. It clung to her curves as she examined herself, the think straps leaving her arms bear. Gleaming up at her like a taunt was a cruel word, carved into her skin as a devilish reminder of how the boy in the bed saw her. Mudblood.
Bile churned in her stomach, making its way to the back of her throat, where it stayed, threatening to keel her over in a fit of sickness. Her sudden, panicked movements had jostled the bed and caused him to stir, his eyes opening and falling upon her.
His lips curled into a languid smile, something gentle and warm filling his gaze. It was an unsettling look on him, something she had never seen before. A quiet joy that held no hatred, no animosity towards her wit and blood status. And she didn’t understand it. Just then she spotted her wand on the nightstand and snatched it up, pointing it square at his face.
Malfoy’s expression morphed into one of confusion, followed by a hint of concern, but he said nothing as he looked at her. Waiting. To see what she might do. “What the bloody hell is going on?” She snapped, glaring at him openly. The concern dissipated from his features replaced by utter incomprehension at her words. He sat up, looking at her and she nearly cursed him right then.
But some tiny little voice in the back of her head stopped her, told her better. He was no threat to her yet, not like this. “Where are we? Where’s Harry? What did you do?”
“Mione, what?” He asked and she nearly gagged at that name on his lips. His cruel, cunning lips. “What are you talking about?”
She settled on the most pressing issue, deeming that he would fail to answer more than one question at once. “Where is Harry?”
“I have no idea.” He replied slowly, as though he was trying to explain something to a very small child. “I expect he’s back at his flat. Do you want to floo him?”
“Do I want to floo him?” Hermione repeated, dumbfounded. What on earth was the matter with him? “No, I want to know what the hell is going on here.”
“Hermione, I don’t understand what you mean.” Malfoy said gently.
“Where are we?” Hermione snapped, jabbing her wand forward in the air menacingly.
Malfoy didn’t so much as flinch. He wasn’t even looking at the wand, his gaze was locked on her face. “We’re in our bedroom, in our flat.”
Hermione shook her head, stumbling back until she was flush against the window. Malfoy stood slowly, eyeing her shaking wand hand cautiously, as he moved. It was like he was trying to keep from startling a frightened animal. Which Hermione supposed wasn’t all that far from the truth.
He sidled over to the door before she could stop him and slipped out. Hermione stood there, pressed against the cool pane, trying desperately to gather her thoughts. It was nearly Christmas and yet no snow littered the ground. The grass was perfect in a way that indicated there had not been snow here in quite some time. The woman outside was wearing shorts and a cami, certainly not appropriate for winter air. She shook like a leaf, gripping her wand tightly to ensure it was still there- to ensure she could protect herself, should she need to.
The door clicked open and Hermione trained her wand on it as it creaked lowly, swinging inward to reveal Malfoy standing there with- “Harry!” She gasped, flinging herself at him. She held him tightly, basking in the calm that came with his presence.
He drew back, scrutinizing her. “Hermione, what’s going on? Malfoy said you woke up and didn’t know where you were.”
“One minute we’re camping in that tent in the woods, hunting horcruxes and then the next I’m here.” She said frantically. “I don’t know how I got here and you, and he’s here and-”
Harry’s eyes widened. “Hermione.” He said slowly. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”
There were tears in her eyes now. “I’m not joking, Harry! I don’t understand what’s happened.”
“Hermione,” Harry began, “We got rid of all of the horcruxes in 1998, remember? When we killed Voldemort in the Battle of Hogwarts?”
“But, but- Voldemort is dead?” Hermione asked, confused and overwhelmed as tears left tracks down her cheeks.
Harry nodded gently. “Yes, he died on May 2nd, 1998. I killed him in the Great Hall.”
Hermione gaped at him. “I, I don’t remember that. I don’t remember any of that.”
“What is the last thing you remember?” Harry asked.
“You and I were dancing. In the tent. You were trying to cheer me up because Ron had gone. And then we went to sleep and I woke up and I was here.” Hermione whispered, looking at him with pleading eyes, begging him to somehow make sense of all this.
He only looked incredibly frightened, his features matching how she felt. “Hermione, that was back in December.” Harry said slowly. “Of 1997.”
“I know.” Hermione snapped, her voice like steal. “I try my best to keep note of the date, even on the run.”
Malfoy interjected, “Mione, it’s August 19th, 2004.”
She sucked in a startled breath, both at his causal use of that nickname and at the date. Six years and nine months. She couldn’t remember anything that had happened in six years and nine months. They were just gone. Every single second.
Hermione collapsed to her knees from the weight of it. Malfoy lurched forward, as though to catch her, to comfort her, but then stopped himself, thinking better of it. Instead Harry knelt beside her, gently pulling her hands away from her face and wiping away her tears.
“It’s okay, hey, hey, we’ll get this all sorted out, alright?” Harry said soothingly. “It’s going to be okay.” He rubbed her back for several long minutes while her breath stuttered back into an even rhythm. “We’re going to go to St. Mungos, yeah? Have them take a look at you.”
Harry looked at her expectantly and after a long moment she gave a weak nod of agreement. He helped her to her feet and then disapparated her into the St. Mungos lobby. Harry explained the situation to the witch behind the desk and she directed her focus on Hermione. “Are you in any pain, dear?” She asked kindly. Hermione shook her head, not trusting her voice. She knew she probably looked a mess. Her hair even bushier than usual, her eyes red from crying, in nothing but her night dress. She sniffed loudly as the witch asked, “Feeling light headed at all or off balance?” Another small shake of the head. “Alright, you two can go over there and have a seat and someone will be with you shortly.
Harry thanked the witch and steered Hermione over to a chair, sitting down beside her. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Hermione summoned the courage to ask Harry, “Why was I in bed with Malfoy?”
Harry looked at her as though he was trying to decide on something before he said, “You’re married to him, Hermione.” He took her left hand gently and held it up for her, showing off the gleaming ring there.
“No, I- no, that isn’t possible, I would never marry him. Never.” Hermione protested, trying desperately to wrench the ring off of her finger, to no avail. It remained firmly in place. “And he wouldn’t marry me either, I mean I’m a, I’m a- this.” She held up her arm, displaying the letters carved into her flesh for him.
He winced slightly when he saw it but was quick to recover. “It came as a shock to us all when the two of you started dating. I mean, Hermione, you two were sneaking around us like you were teenagers and we were your parents. It was months before you even told us.”
“How did it happen?” Hermione asked, still tugging at the ring uselessly.
Harry shrugged. “I’m not the right person to be asking about this Hermione, you’ll have to talk to him about it.”
Hermione blanched. “I am not talking to him about it.” She hissed. “He is a monster.”
“He isn’t.” Harry snapped. “Do you really think I would have let you marry him if he was a monster?”
It was bizarre to hear Harry arguing on behalf of Malfoy, it really was, but Hermione supposed everything about this situation was bizarre.
She was about to open her mouth to ask Harry how he could be so sure when a nurse strode out of the adjacent hallway and called for Hermione. She and Harry stood together and walked over to meet her. She led them into a room about halfway down the hall and instructed Hermione to sit on the bed. She did as she was told and watched with rapt attention as the nurse preformed diagnostic spells and scans on Hermione’s brain and body. From the little Hermione knew of such spells from her time at Hogwarts she could immediately tell that something wasn’t right with her brain, though the one on her body appeared to be completely normal, from Hermione’s untrained eye.
The nurse clucked her tongue worriedly when she enlarged the image on Hermione’s brain. “See here?” The nurse asked, pointing to a spot on her brain that was a deep purple- almost black- while the rest varied from pastel pink to lavender. “This is the hippocampus, it’s responsible for housing all of your memories. This is showing that there is a veil over your memories, housing pieces of them from you. Now this is common with trauma patients, specifically those with severe head injuries. However, this is indicating that you did not sustain a head injury, with the specificity of the time loss, it appears as though a curse was cast to carve out specific memories and lock them away from you. Are you familiar with Occlumency?”
Hermione nodded as Harry cringed beside her. “Good. I believe the spell that was used was memoriae abactor, which is an incredibly dangerous and dark bit of magic. It’s outlawed by the ministry, essentially it’s an unforgivable, but due of the rarity of witches and wizards using it, it isn’t listed as such. It follows the same methodology of Occlumency in which you can close out certain pieces of your mind from someone who is attempting to apprehend them through Legilimency. However, the caster has control, rather than the person whose mind it is.”
“So I was cursed by someone?” Hermione asked.
The nurse nodded grimly. “Yes, and it would appear as though the incident happened months ago. The spell usually takes time to take effect, and the longer it takes, the more time is lost. Based on this I would estimate you lost roughly seven years of time, is that correct?”
“Six years and nine months.” Hermione replied.
“Can you fix it?” Harry asked, “Can you get her memories back?”
The nurse sighed. “Unfortunately since cases of this spell being used are very rare, there have been little studies on ways to counteract it. At this time all I can do for you is provide you with a potion that will keep you from losing any more memories.”
Hermione pulled at the ring anxiously. “Okay. Thank you.”
The nurse hurried from the room to fetch the potion and Hermione stared at the ground just beyond her dangling feet. It felt like the walls were closing in on her and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She couldn’t breathe. “Tell me something.” She said suddenly.
“What?” Harry asked, jolting to look at her.
“Tell me something about now.” She said. “Are you and Ginny married?”
She’d noticed the ring on his finger, but she didn’t know if it tied him to Ginny or another. He nodded. “We got married in March of 2001. You were the maid of honor and Ron was the best man.”
Hermione nodded. This made sense. This she could handle. It was what she would have expected for the future, her future. What she didn’t expect was to be shackled by marriage to the pureblood ferret, Malfoy. She shivered and forced herself to think of something different. “Do you have kids?”
Harry nodded again and said, “We have a son. James Sirius Potter. And another on the way. He’s due at the end of September.”
“And what will he be called?” Hermione asked. This felt like a dream. Like they were talking of a make believe future and what they would name their kids if they ever had any. She still felt like he was seventeen, no where near old enough to be having children.
“Albus… Potter.” Harry supplied with a hint of hesitation.
Hermione picked up on it instantly. “No middle name?” She asked.
“Well, he, uh. His middle name is going to me…” Harry trailed off, as though unwilling to say it. Hermione did not understand why. It was just a name after all, and Hermione was sure it wasn’t going to be Albus Draco Potter, Albus Tom Potter or something of the sort, so Hermione didn’t understand his unwillingness to share.
She gave him a look and said, “Well?”
Finally, he spit it out, “He’s going to be called Albus Severus Potter.”
Severus. As in Severus Snape. As in the death eater who had paraded around pretending to be repentant, pretended to be on their side, part of the Order. Had been their cruel teacher who had relentlessly bullied them all throughout their years at Hogwarts. Who had killed the other for which this child was to be named.
“Severus.” She said lamely, uncomprehendingly.
“Hermione, he… well it turned out he wasn’t what we thought he was, after all.” Harry said, scrambling to explain. “He was on our side. He was the one who put the sword in the pond and he and Dumbledore planned for him to kill Dumbledore in that tower so Voldemort would think he was a loyal death eater. And he died protecting me, so Voldemort would never get the elder wand.”
Very little of what Harry had said made any semblance of sense, but she decided she could only address one issue at a time. “The sword in the pond?”
Harry groaned, massaging his temples. “Right, that happened after Ron came back to us.” Harry said, as though he was chiding himself for forgetting in the first place. “Snape brought us the Sword of Gryffindor and hid it nearby so we could find it and use it to destroy the horcruxes.”
Just then the nurse returned, several vials of potion crammed into her arms. Clumsily she passed them to Harry, keeping one to give to Hermione. “Take one now and then another every thirty days. These should last you a year and hopefully by then we’ll have developed a way for you to get your memories back.” The nurse explained. “I’ve notified our research department and they’re making an antidote their priority, we can’t have one of the greatest minds of the century missing seven years of her life.”
Six years, nine months, Hermione corrected internally. There was a difference after all. That was three extra months of her life that she still had. She was going to hold onto them until her dying breath.
The nurse continued. “Now, since this is largely uncharted territory, we are going to have you come in every three weeks to check in and see if any progress is being made. Hermione, it would be best for you to remain with those close to you, those who can help you fill in the missing time. We’re recommending that your friends share pieces of your missing years with you in case that helps you to remember. But, we’ll advice you to take it slow. Too much information at once could be damaging to your mind.”
Hermione removed the cork from the vial and poured the liquid down her throat. It was sticky and slightly tangy, leaving a foul taste in her mouth. She grimaced and handed the empty vial back to the nurse before standing to exit with Harry. Just as they were about to walk out the door the nurse called, “Mrs. Malfoy? Do not hesitate to contact us or stop in if you have any questions or concerns, anything at all.”
Hermione shuddered and kept walking.