𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 [𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲

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St. Mungo's

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HERMIONE had dreamed about him.

She woke up in astonishment, straightening her spine as her mind wandered. She had dreamed of doing things with him. Unspeakable things. 

She cleared her throat as she forced a shift upon her thoughts, something she shouldn't have imagined at this hour in the morning.

Hermione yawned into her hand, her hair tousled from sleep and her face wrinkled up. She blinked a few times, in alert, and then found herself glancing over at the bed at the other side of the room, usually occupied with the blonde wizard, now apparently empty.

She felt a snap within, swinging her legs around the edge of the sofa, her red dress fluttering over her ankles. She had briefly forgotten about the party last night, but there was time to dwell on that later.

Her feet found the flat surface of the floor and stood, ignoring the dizziness and the rough vibrations in her temples from her overuse of alcohol.

She lunged forwards, striding about the room, over to his where he should've been. The sheets and covers had been done up, and a beige piece of parchment that lay on the pillow had grasped her curiosity.

Hermione, was written at the top. Despite how guarded she held herself as she read, she couldn't help but fondle over the calligraphy of it.

Blaise Zabini stopped by. He wanted to bring me somewhere for my memories and hoped for your permission. However we both agreed that we leave you sleep in peace.

So instead, he asked Healer Whitmore, and he approved of the gesture. I am writing to you so you don't have to worry.

I need to talk to you about something later though, something important. If you're up for it — I completely understand if you aren't, last night was difficult for you and I admire your bravery for it.

But just so you know, you are the only person I feel comfortable enough to share this with. I will wait until you're ready to listen.

I have no idea how long we'll be, though.

Oh, and happy Christmas, Hermione. Merlin knows you need it.

Draco.

Hermione sighed, her sights reading and rereading the note Draco had left for her. Her welled-up anxiety that coursed through her seemed to slowly ease at his reassurance.

Zabini had been here, and he had taken Draco with him. Somewhere. Where? She wondered. Malfoy Manor, possibly.

She hoped not. She hadn't told him this yet, nor had she asked the staff, but she wanted to take him there herself, not only to jog his memory but to conquer her own fears as well.

Her mind reverted back to the blonde, remembering how frightened he was after his first memory had been unlocked. In Malfoy Manor, no doubt, a haunting thought of his father hurting him.

She wouldn't want him to panic whilst he was there, in case a trunk worth of horrid memories came flooding back to him. But that's why she would be going too — she was the only one who knew how to calm him.

He was crushing on her — it was so blatantly obvious, but what she hadn't been expecting was for her to feel the same way toward him.

For a long time, Hermione held the ability to control herself, guarded her feelings. She wasn't quite as abrupt with her true reactions as Harry were.