It had been weeks since Hermione Granger had begun to feel something was wrong. Her life at Hogwarts had returned to some semblance of normalcy after the war, but something felt… missing. She couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was, but there was a gnawing sense of unfamiliarity she couldn’t shake. It wasn’t the way things used to be; there was a quiet emptiness in her heart. At first, Hermione thought it was the stress of exams or perhaps just the weight of her responsibilities. But the more she tried to focus on her studies and her friendships, the more she realized something vital was out of place.

It was in the little things. The dreams that felt just beyond her reach. The feeling of déjà vu when something triggered a memory that didn’t fully belong to her. And most disconcerting of all—the strange flashes of Draco Malfoy, moments where his face appeared suddenly, fleetingly, and then vanished as if erased before she could fully recognize him.

She had thought it was just another one of the lingering effects of post-war trauma, the kind of thing that could haunt someone like an old ghost. But there was something far more specific, far more personal to it. It was as if someone had carefully gone through her mind, pruning away certain parts, smoothing over jagged edges.

The strange feeling hit its peak one evening while she was walking alone through the halls of Hogwarts. She had been on her way to the library, but her feet took her elsewhere, toward a familiar stretch of the castle where the walls seemed to hum with old magic. Without meaning to, she found herself standing before the entrance of the Room of Requirement.

The door shimmered before her, as though waiting for her to ask. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. It had been years since she had been inside, and even then, she’d only ever used it when absolutely necessary. The room, mysterious as always, had been a sanctuary during the war—safe from prying eyes, a place to hide away and heal. But tonight, it felt different. There was no war to end, no secrets to hide. It felt more like a place she had hidden something else: a piece of herself that had been lost.

Hermione stepped inside.

The room was empty, save for a solitary chair by a window, where moonlight spilled across the stone floor in soft beams. The silence seemed to settle over her like a weight. She wasn’t sure why she was here, but it felt like something she had to do. Without thinking, Hermione sank into the chair, her fingers brushing the smooth surface of the wooden arms. The air in the room was still, as if holding its breath.

Then, in a fleeting moment, it happened.

A sudden wave of dizziness rolled over her. It came on quickly, disorienting her as the world around her seemed to tilt. Her stomach churned. She gripped the arms of the chair tightly, trying to steady herself. In the space of a heartbeat, a flash of a memory—*his* face, the pale blonde hair, the smirk that was both mocking and oddly tender—flickered before her eyes.

It was gone before she could grasp it, leaving only a lingering sense of… familiarity.

The dizziness passed as quickly as it had come, but the unease remained. Hermione shook her head, feeling lightheaded as if the world had shifted beneath her feet. She stood slowly, trying to gather her bearings. But then, the memories came in a rush—an avalanche of fragments she didn’t fully understand. Draco Malfoy, standing beside her in a shadowed hallway. His voice, quiet and urgent, whispering her name. His hand—no, not just his hand, but his fingers intertwining with hers in a moment of trust, of vulnerability.

But none of it made sense. It was as if the memory had been planted in her mind, and the pieces didn’t quite fit together.

Hermione staggered backward, her pulse racing. Her mind was spinning with confusion, trying to reconcile the images of Draco with the reality she knew. How could she have ever been close to him? How could she have possibly *cared* for someone like him? It was absurd. He had been her enemy, her tormentor, the Slytherin who had done everything in his power to make her life miserable. There was no way—no way—they had shared anything beyond animosity.

Her breath quickened, and for a moment, she felt as if she might crumble under the weight of it all.

“*What’s happening to me?*” she whispered to the empty room, the words tasting like acid in her mouth.

Just then, the sound of a footstep broke the stillness. Hermione spun toward the door, her heart hammering in her chest. The Room of Requirement remained quiet, but her sense of unease remained, as if the very air in the room had become thick with tension.

Without warning, her mind erupted again, this time with more clarity. She *remembered*—a memory that made her chest tighten, a moment of standing in the middle of the Forbidden Forest with Draco, the stars above them, his hand brushing against hers, his expression unreadable but soft. The fear, the longing, the undeniable pull between them.

And then it all shattered as quickly as it had come.

No. It was impossible. She must have been mistaken. It had to be the stress, the exhaustion. But something deep within her refused to let the thoughts go.

Something was missing. And it was clear now—whatever it was, it had been taken. From her, from her mind, from her heart.

Her pulse raced as the overwhelming reality of it all hit her.

Draco Malfoy. She had known him as more than an enemy. And now, it seemed, that everything—*everything*—had been erased.

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This chapter sets the tone of Hermione’s confusion and realization, establishing the mystery around Draco’s actions. Let me know if you want me to continue or revise anything!

The next few days felt like a blur to Hermione. She kept busy with her schoolwork and tried to engage with her friends as usual, but there was a persistent sense of unease hanging over her. The strange feeling that something was missing wouldn’t go away. It was a feeling that followed her like a shadow, a quiet tug at the back of her mind, no matter how much she tried to ignore it. Something fundamental had changed, and the more she pushed it aside, the louder it became.

She tried to chalk it up to the stress of exams, or maybe the emotional toll of the past years. But each time she found herself looking at Draco Malfoy—whether in class or in the halls—a strange dissonance stirred in her chest. The closer she looked at him, the more she could almost swear she had known him differently. She wasn’t sure what it meant or what had happened, but the flashes of memories—like fleeting glimpses of him in a way she couldn’t explain—seemed to intensify with every encounter.

It wasn’t just Draco’s sudden appearance in her mind that unsettled her. It was his presence in real life. The way his eyes would flicker over her with a strange intensity, followed by an awkward avoidance. The subtle ways he’d linger in the halls when she walked past him, almost as though he was waiting for something—waiting for her to acknowledge him, waiting for something to *click.*

But when she looked at him, she couldn’t feel what she had once felt. Or at least, she thought she couldn’t. Every time their eyes met, her heart would flutter unexpectedly, and then she would feel a sudden emptiness, as if she were being dragged away from some deep, buried memory. It was like being on the edge of remembering something important, but unable to grasp it.

On one particular afternoon, she found herself sitting next to Draco in Transfiguration. Ron and Harry were a few rows away, busy discussing the latest Quidditch match, but Hermione couldn’t focus on their conversation. Instead, she kept stealing glances at Draco, trying to figure out what it was that she was missing.

Draco, for his part, was staring at the parchment in front of him, his face unreadable as always. He didn’t even look up when the professor called on him, simply answering in his usual clipped tone when the question was directed his way. But then, something shifted. As Hermione was about to write down the answer to her own question, Draco’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Hermione,” he said softly, his voice almost hesitant. He never called her by her first name in class—not without some sort of sarcasm or mockery. The way he said it now was… different. “You alright?”

Hermione blinked, startled out of her thoughts. She had been so lost in her own confusion, she hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Draco’s gaze was on her, his usual coldness replaced by something more complicated, something she couldn’t quite read. Was that concern in his eyes?

“I’m fine,” she answered quickly, a bit too quickly. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks as she looked away, focusing hard on her notes. “Just tired. You know, exams.”

But Draco didn’t look convinced. He was still watching her, his brows furrowed slightly, his mouth set in a thin line. His usual composure was there, but there was a subtle vulnerability in the way he was studying her that Hermione couldn’t ignore.

“I didn’t mean to—” he began, but stopped himself mid-sentence, as if reconsidering the words. “Forget it.”

Hermione looked at him then, really looked at him. There was something in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before, something raw, something unguarded. And for a brief, fleeting moment, she could have sworn there was a flicker of regret there, buried beneath his usual mask of indifference.

But that couldn’t be right. Draco Malfoy didn’t regret anything. He didn’t have feelings like that. He had never shown any softness to her—at least, not in the way that would make her feel like he had actually cared. They had always been enemies, hadn’t they? Enemies who had rarely spoken outside of insults and barbed comments.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Draco’s voice was soft now, quieter, with an almost imperceptible hint of concern. He wasn’t looking at her in his usual haughty way; his gaze was no longer the calculating, indifferent stare of the Slytherin who had always kept his distance.

Hermione’s heart beat faster, and the confusion swirling in her mind deepened. Something was wrong. Something wasn’t adding up. The Draco Malfoy she knew didn’t ask questions like this. He didn’t *care* how she felt, and yet here he was, trying—*really* trying—to understand her.

“I’m fine,” Hermione repeated, a little too firmly. She could feel the walls inside her rising again, pushing back against the strange connection that had formed between them. She had no idea where it had come from, or what it meant, but it didn’t feel right. And it wasn’t just because of their past. It was something more. There was a part of her that felt *lost* when she looked at him. She didn’t understand it.

The rest of the lesson passed in a blur of muted voices and shuffling parchment. She could barely focus on what was being taught, her mind constantly drifting back to Draco. The feeling of unfamiliarity kept returning—each time she glanced at him, each time his eyes met hers, it was like a flicker of recognition that immediately dissolved into something she couldn’t define. It was as though the two of them were standing on the edge of a precipice, and the memories—*their memories*—were just out of reach, like a distant echo of something that had been lost forever.

After class, Draco remained seated for a moment longer than usual, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk. Hermione made a move to leave, but something held her in place. She stood there for a few seconds, watching him, before she turned away quickly, her heart pounding in her chest.

What was going on? Why was he suddenly acting like this?

She didn’t have the answers, but one thing was certain: something was very wrong between them. And Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that she was about to uncover something that would change everything.

And that thought terrified her.

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The next evening, Hermione found herself in the Room of Requirement again, the door materializing just as it always had when she had needed it most. But tonight, she wasn’t looking for comfort. Tonight, she was looking for the truth.

The air inside was still, the room empty except for the dim flicker of candles casting long shadows against the walls. She felt a shiver of anticipation as she walked further into the room, her footsteps echoing softly. She was alone for now—but she wouldn’t be for long.

Draco had been following her for days now, quietly observing from a distance. He had felt it, too—the change between them, the gap that had formed. And it terrified him.

Tonight, he had to confront her. He had to explain, even if it meant losing her forever.

Hermione’s breath caught when she heard the door creak open behind her. She turned quickly to see Draco standing there, his posture tense and guarded, but his expression... there was something different in it now. Something raw.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I wasn’t sure I could stay away,” Draco replied softly, his voice full of reluctant sincerity.

A long silence passed between them, neither moving. Hermione swallowed hard, her heart racing. This was it. The moment she had been avoiding. The moment she had feared.

“Why?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “Why did you erase my memories? What did you do?”

Draco hesitated. He had known this moment was coming, but that didn’t make it easier. “I did it to protect you,” he finally said, his voice barely audible. “I thought... I thought it would be easier if you forgot what happened between us.”

“*What happened*?” Hermione asked sharply, her pulse quickening. “What do you mean? What could you possibly think could be easier about making me forget?”

His face softened, his eyes flicking down to the floor as if he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze. “We... we weren’t supposed to be together, Hermione. Not after everything. After everything I’ve done. I thought you’d be better off without the memory of what we shared. I thought I was protecting you.”

Hermione's heart felt as though it was splitting in two. *What they shared?* She could barely remember what that even meant, but a piece of her, deep inside, *knew*. It was there, in the pit of her stomach, a gnawing ache that she couldn’t ignore.

“You erased my memory of *us*?” she whispered, a horrible realization dawning on her.

“I had to,” Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand clenching into a fist. “I thought it was the only way to keep you safe. To keep us safe.”

Hermione felt her legs tremble beneath her. *Safe?* Safe from what? From *him*? The very thought was so absurd, it made her want to laugh—and cry—at the same time.

“I loved you,” Draco added quietly, his eyes still fixed on the ground. “And I thought you were better off forgetting me. Forgetting... everything.”

The room seemed to spin around her as the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together in her mind. *No.* She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to believe it. But in the depths of her heart, she knew it was true.

She had loved Draco Malfoy.

And now, everything he had tried to protect her from had come crashing down in the form of a broken, half-remembered truth.

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