Hermione walked slowly down the street, her head bowed and shoulders hunched against the falling rain. Dull grey buildings loomed through clouds of drizzle, and the sun was only a distant memory. The weather matched her mood perfectly.
As her feet wandered aimlessly along empty streets, she thought wistfully of Harry’s arrival at the Weasley’s that day. She imagined their joyful reunion, everyone sitting down and eating together, magic weaving itself naturally into their actions and conversations. She shook her head to dispel the image, raindrops flying from her mane of bushy hair. She didn’t like to admit it to herself, but she much preferred school to home. At school she had friends, fascinating classes (at least in her opinion), and excitement was always close by; sometimes, she reflected, too close. The truth was, she looked forward a lot more to her return to school than she did to the summer holidays.
Guilt struck her suddenly. How could she think about her home and her family like that? She did love her parents, of course she did, but sometimes they just didn’t…understand. Their discomfort at the mere mention of anything magical was so obvious, she sometimes wondered if they really were as supportive of her new life as they would have her believe.
Hermione shivered. Thinking like that would not help. A feeling of isolation swept over her. She had no friends here “ she had drifted away from anyone she had been friends with before Hogwarts. Everyone was distant now. Half seemed to think she was a bit odd and the rest that she was snobby. She supposed she didn’t really make an effort to be friendly, but Muggles just seemed so... boring... after magical people. She couldn’t exactly chat with them about the new spell she’d learnt, and likewise whatever interest she had once had in Muggle sports had long since vanished. Muggle boys suddenly seemed a lot less interesting and attractive.
Her mind sprang onto a related topic, one that always came up when she thought of boys or love: Ron. Almost every day, she regretted telling him that this wasn’t time, that they could wait until after the war. Yet the moment she took the quill into her hand to write him a letter telling him she had changed her mind, all the reasons against it came flooding back. War didn’t make a good backdrop for relationships. Her time should be spent helping to locate the Horcruxes. War often led to whirlwind relationships, without thought for the consequences. She could not deny the truth of these reasons, and always she put down the pen before she got past Dear Ron.
Ron hadn’t been very happy when she first told him this, on that last day of Hogwarts. He had hardly spoken to on the long trip back on the Hogwarts Express, and she hadn’t gotten even one letter from him yet...
A sudden sound interrupted her musings. She stopped dead, listening hard over her own racing heart. Paranoia, the constant companion of most witches and wizards these days, spread suspicious tendrils through her brain. Could it be a Death Eater? Someone out to get a close friend of Harry’s? Yet this sound didn’t seem threatening. It sounded so familiar, like someone... crying?
Curious despite herself, she looked around the corner. A desolate car park met her eyes, with only one battered vehicle remaining in the rain-soaked lot. Two dying trees huddled towards the back, and Hermione could just make out a dark shape beneath them. She took a step closer and felt the bottom fall out of her world.
Draco Malfoy crouched beneath the dripping branches, head in his hands as he rocked back and forth. His sobs tugged unexpectedly at her heart with their raw expression of pain and fear. Unsure of herself, she hovered a moment too long; he looked up and saw her. Shock and shame chased each other across his face briefly, but next second his features contorted in fury and he whipped out his wand.
Panic screamed through Hermione’s nerves, rooting her to the spot, paralysed like a deer in a car’s headlights, waiting for the spell that would send her to certain doom...
“Obliviate” he screamed hoarsely.
The sound of his voice jolted Hermione back to her senses and she flung herself behind the old car. The spell rebounded off the car window at the same time as her hands hit the tarmac with stinging force. She heard a sharp intake of breath, a muffled thump, and then... an ominous silence.
Heart thudding painfully against her chest, she peered cautiously around the car. Malfoy sprawled, motionless, on the wet tarmac. She crept a little closer, her wand in her hand in case he suddenly leapt up. Stopping a few feet away, she picked up his wand from where it had fallen from his hand when the spell hit him. He still didn’t move. A sudden, terrifying thought hit her “ what if he was dead? She gazed at him with her heart in her mouth, desperately willing him to show some signs of life, but he remained still. Her worry outgrew her fear and she moved forward and knelt down beside him. She reached in reluctantly to take his pulse, but noticed that his chest was moving slightly as he breathed shallowly.
Heaving a huge sigh of relief, she stood up, her thoughts spinning wildly in her head. She ran her hands through her soaking hair, oblivious to the rain that pelted down around her. What should she do? Malfoy, a wanted Dark wizard, was lying unconscious at her feet! Should she call the police, or the Order, or…
A sudden groan interrupted her frantic thoughts. Startled, she looked down. Malfoy had propped himself up on his elbows and was looking around, bewildered. He started when saw her, staring at her in obvious bewilderment.
“Who are you?” he asked, rain-slicked brow wrinkling in confusion. Then he paused as a look of dawning horror spread across his face. “Wait a second… who am I?”
Hermione stared at him in shock. “What do you mean, who am…” she trailed off, a similar expression of horror crossing her face as she realised what had happened: Draco Malfoy had obliterated his own memory. Not only the last few hours, days, or even months. His whole life.
For the second time that night, shock rooted her to the spot. Draco Malfoy, the biggest bully and snob in Hogwarts “ except that now he didn’t know that. All he knew, all six feet of him, was that she was a rather slight girl who was standing above him in a threatening way. Before he had a chance to figure this out, she trained her wand on him.
Malfoy didn’t seem to be in a fit state for any sort of calculations, however. He pulled himself upright and groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Grit and dirt covered his usually pristine blond hair, giving it a grey colour, while filthy water trickled down his face, leaving grimy smears behind it.
He looked up at her unexpectedly, and her heart leapt suddenly. If he attacked, what could she do? Stupid, she scolded herself, you’re the wand with two wands! Just Stun him if he tries anything. She willed herself to calm down, keeping her wand as steady as possible as she kept it aimed at him. His eyes widened, and he leaned slightly away.
“Look, this probably sounds really strange, but do you know who I am?” he asked tentatively, his voice hoarse. “My mind’s gone blank. I think “ I think I must have hit my head.”
“You’re… oh, don’t you have any idea?” Hermione asked helplessly. He shook his head wordlessly. What was she going to do? Her head spun wildly. She only had one option really. She had to take him home with her and send an owl for help. Her heart sank at the thought of trying to explain to her parents. But what else could she do?
Malfoy was still looking up at her expectantly.
“You’d better come with me.” she told him reluctantly. He nodded and she turned to go.
“Aagh!” She whirled around in fright and saw Malfoy kneeling on the wet ground, clutching his arm to him.
“What“”
“Nothing.” he interrupted. “My arm hurt for a second, that’s a“” His eyes widened suddenly in disbelief as he looked down at his arm. “What the “ what the hell?” His voice rose in fear. “What happened to my fingers?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, bewildered. He stepped closer and brandished his left hand at her. A loud gasp escaped her.
“Oh my God,” she breathed softly.
His smallest finger and ring finger were gone.
Simply... gone. There was no blood, no scar, no sign to explain the absence. Just a smooth bit of skin where his finger should have been.
“Did you do this?” he cried. He stumbled back, limping for a moment on his right leg.
“Of course not!” Indignation overcame shock, and she gripped her wand tightly at the hostile look in his eyes. “Listen, it’s pouring rain. We need to get inside and then we can think about what to do.” She prayed that his memory charm had worked completely; otherwise, she was going to have a hard time of it convincing him to trust her, particularly when it was so obvious she didn’t trust him.
“All right, then,” he said at last. As he jerked his sodden robe over his mutilated hand, a thought struck her. She couldn’t walk through a Muggle town with someone dressed in wizard’s robes! She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt the reassuring touch of a bank note; she would have to run into a shop to buy him some suitable clothes.
“Can you wait here for just a couple of minutes?” she asked, counting her money quickly.
“Where are you going? Why can’t I come?” The note of fear in his voice made her look up in surprise. “You are coming back, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m coming back, but you can’t come with me. This is a Muggle town,” she explained. “Dressed like that, it might not be the best idea.”
Unwilling comprehension dawned on his face. “Fine. I’ll wait then.”
“Don’t move from here,” she cautioned him as she left, breaking into a run once she was out of his sight.
He watched as the girl walked quickly away. It wasn’t until she’d disappeared that he realised she still hadn’t told him his name, or hers for that matter. He sighed in exasperation. It was so annoying having to rely on someone else to tell you about yourself. He concentrated once more, trying to remember something, anything, about his life. But try as he would, the earliest thing in his memory was coming to in this cold, wet car park.
He kicked a stone out of the way in frustration and winced as yet another sharp pain stabbed through his leg. He didn’t know why he kept on getting these pains, but they weren’t pleasant. He sat on the kerb under some trees, hoping for some shelter from the rain. He was soaked through. He hoped that girl got back soon, or it would take more than a Pepper-Up Potion to get rid of the cold he would get. A Pepper-Up Potion? What is... but the thought faded away, leaving him feeling even more irritated. He hated not remembering anything. Things kept on popping up in his head, like that potion, and he would have no idea where they came from.
His fingers twisted together nervously as he wondered what he should do. The girl didn’t seem to have any ill-wishes towards him “ she seemed more afraid than anything else. His options were either to wait for her, and follow her wherever she was going, or run away. He drew a hand across his face, sending a sheet of water flying from him. Run away where? He had no idea where he was, who he was, where he should be... nothing. He decided the best thing to do would be to stick with the girl, and if things went bad, he could always make a run for it.
Where had that girl gotten to?
Hermione hurried down the darkening streets, a shopping bag bumping against her legs. She held her breath a moment as she scanned the car park for Malfoy. She wasn’t sure if she was happy or not to see him emerge slowly from the gathering gloom.
“Do you have the clothes?” he asked. Wordlessly, she handed the bag to him and stepped back. He looked pointedly at her. Confused, she stared back, until he shook the bag of clothes and twirled his finger in midair.
“I do need to change, you know, and much as I appreciate your help, I think I can handle this bit on my own,” he said, lips twitching momentarily in what could almost be taken as a smile. Hermione hurriedly turned and walked a few steps away, feeling her cheeks heat. Her head whirled, hardly able to take in the events of the last half-hour; Malfoy had gone from attacking her to smiling at her, and right now she wasn’t entirely sure which she preferred.
“Ready,” came his voice from behind her in a few minutes. She turned around, and her eyes widened at the unfamiliar “ and strangely comical “ sight. Malfoy looked very different indeed, as he stood somewhat sheepishly before her in Muggle jeans and t-shirt. Even his expression was barely recognisable. She had never before seen him without a sneer on his face.
“Well? What now?” asked Malfoy, walking towards her.
What indeed? Hermione wondered. “We’d better go. It’s nearly dark,” she replied at last.
She turned and began to walk back in the direction of her house. She heard the thud of running feet as Malfoy caught up with her. He kept pace with difficulty, wincing every now and then from some unknown pain.
“You still haven’t told me my name yet,” he reminded her. “Or yours.”
Hermione took a deep breath. “Your name is Draco Malfoy.” She tried to blank out the unpleasant connotations that name conjured up for her. She was startled when he laughed.
“No, come on, seriously, what’s my name?” he asked, a half-grin on his thin face. “It’s not fair to take advantage of me if I can’t remember.”
She stared at him in puzzlement. “But that is your name. Draco Malfoy.”
“Seriously?” Now it was his turn to look confused. “But that’s… it’s just… what were my parents thinking?” he cried indignantly. To her surprise, Hermione felt a smile tugging at her lips. She had thought the very same thing when she had first met him.
“What’s your name? Not as bad as mine, I should hope. By the way, did I know you? Before, I mean.”
“I’m Hermione Granger,” she told him, somewhat overwhelmed at the barrage of questions. “We’re in the same year at Hog- I mean, at school.”
“Not quite as bad as my name, then.” He grinned at her again, but fell silent when she didn’t return it. Hermione had too much on her mind to worry about smiling at old enemies. She was surprised to find that she actually felt quite sorry for him; she supposed it must be quite traumatising, losing your memory like that. But still, feeling sorry for Malfoy, of all people!Yet it wasn’t really Malfoy, or so it felt to her. He looked different, talked differently, and altogether behaved in a most un-Malfoy-ish way.
Finally, they reached her house. Only the hall lights were on. She heaved a sigh of relief as she realised that meant her parents weren’t home yet. She felt too drained for explanations right now.
“This is your house? It looks very Muggle-ish to me,” Malfoy said from behind her.
“That’s because I’m Muggleborn,” Hermione said coldly, fixing him with a look that dared him to say any more.
“Okay, okay! I never said that was a bad thing, did I?” he protested, blond eyebrows disappearing into grimy hair.
She gave him a funny look as she fumbled for the key. She really didn’t know what to make of the ‘new’ Malfoy. One minute he seemed the exact same, the next... well, he was just different. She slid the key into the lock, twisted and stepped inside, letting the gentle warmth wash over her gratefully. Walking a few steps in, she turned to Malfoy.
“There’s a spare room here,” she told him, indicating a small room just along the dim hall. “You can sleep in it for tonight.”
“Thanks,” he muttered, walking in without another word.
She traipsed slowly up the stairs to her bedroom. The evening’s events had left her emotionally drained. Entering her dark room, she collapsed on her bed, relaxing for a precious moment. Her long-eared owl, Athena, hooted softly at her from her perch. Hermione looked over at her with a smile. She had bought Athena when her parents had visited London while collecting Hermione from the station. She could still remember that thrill of excitement when she had left Diagon Alley with her beautiful bird. Even though she had Crookshanks as a familiar, she felt she needed some way of communicating with the magical world. She was glad she had bought Athena now.
Hurriedly, Hermione scribbled a note to Professor McGonagall about what had happened, and asked for advice. Athena hopped over and extended her right leg, waiting expectantly for Hermione to attach the letter. Smiling tiredly, Hermione did so and watched as her owl sailed gracefully out into the night sky. As Athena vanished from sight, Hermione sighed and turned from the window, coming back with a bump to the real world. She stifled a yawn and trudged back down to the kitchen to await her parents’ return. She didn’t think they’d be too happy at finding a wanted Dark wizard staying at their house.
They weren’t.
My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think by mooncalf
Chapter Notes: This chapter has been edited to include new plot information. You have been warned.