Nothing Like You and I

A/N I wrote this chapter and the next chapter last night - just finished them a few minutes ago. We will NOW delve into the past between Hermione and Draco which I'm pretty sure will send everyone into a loop. I read it this morning and thought it was good enough for my readers Lol. Keep up your theories and comments in the reviews I am particularly enjoying them!

Songs:
*Discovering the Truth*
Cary Brothers - Something
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4CVU8PDbW54

* Hold Me Down *
Augustana – Sweet and Low
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2D07wrBNMk


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Discovering the Truth

Hermione stood in the Headmaster’s office staring at several snoozing portraits. Her hair was pinned back into a sloppy bun with tendrils hanging loose over her soft heart shaped face. She pulled her traveling cloak over her form when a draft blew in and shivered. Why had this room become so cold over the years was beyond her. She had to remind herself that while Dumbledore, and even McGonagall, were very hospitable and thus the room would be toasty warm, Snape was a different story. It was pretty obvious why the room was freezing like a walk-in at a deli, because Snape was as cold as the next person. Of course, with freezing temperatures meant less visitors which, in turn, meant less hassle for the former Potions master.

The door to the room flung open and Hermione turned as a small gust of wind pushed back the tendrils of her hair that fell over her face. Severus Snape stood in the door way, still wearing his high collared black billowy robes. However, his gaunt face was less pale and he looked almost friendlier then she had remembered. Then again, the last time she saw him was at Harry and Ginny’s wedding and when she gathered the courage to ask him to dance because she felt bad that no one even so much as spoke to him, he promptly shut her down. Oh, Draco had a good laugh at that. Bloody git. Snape’s cold coal eyes looked over Hermione for a mere second that sent chills down her spine before he closed the door and spoke.

“You sure do decide to arrive at the most inopportune moments, Ms. Granger,” Snape said softly, his voice coarse yet hardly above a whisper.

“I need help,” Hermione replied, moving to the side as he brushed past her and to his desk.

The Headmaster’s office had changed dramatically since McGonagall’s reign, so to speak. It was no longer bright and warm but dark, brooding and just a few degrees above freezing. The walls held books upon books instead of odd trinkets of gold and silver, the portraits were almost empty – which she suspected was because the inhabitants of the portraits didn’t want to freeze their buttocks off – and the once large mahogany desk was now a fine pitch black ebony one. This room officially gave her the creeps.

“What has Potter and Weasley gotten you into this time?” Snape asked, taking a seat in his large dragon hide chair.

He steepled his fingers to a point and nodded for Hermione to sit, which she did without hesitation and very quickly. Twisting at her travel cloak, Hermione inhaled.

“I-I sent you letters, b-before. I’m not sure if you received any because you haven’t responded,” Hermione began, choosing her words carefully.

“I am not a Muggle therapist, Ms. Granger, and run an entire school. So, forgive me if I do not relinquish my responsibilities in order to assist you,” Snape said coldly, narrowing his eyes at her, “But, yes. I have received your letters.”

“And?” Hermione leaned forward just a tad bit, biting her bottom lip. “Did you find anything? Anything at all?”

“No.” Snape simply replied, leaning back into his chair as if he didn’t want to share an enclosed space with her.

“Oh,” Hermione chewed on her bottom lip and leaned back, her hands twisting into her lap nervously. “I…I have a problem.”

“You always have problems,” Snape sighed and flicked his wand, lighting a fireplace situated right behind Hermione.

The room instantly rose to room temperature and Hermione felt more comfortable, if that were possible.

“It’s not that I see Draco anymore,” Hermione began, her eyes darting around Snape’s stone face, “Just last night, I came back from a date…” Snape snorted but Hermione continued, “And Draco and I got into an argument and I…I slapped him but that wasn’t all. I felt it. Professor, I felt Draco’s skin. It wasn’t cold or clammy but warm and…I swear I heard his heart beat.”

“Interesting,” Snape nodded, his face twisted into increased passiveness, “And what are your theories, I wonder?”

“Emotions,” Hermione said firmly with a nod, “I think that we both had high emotions and…”

“I think…Ms. Granger…that you ought to check yourself into St. Mungo’s for assistance.” Snape swirled around in his chair and rose, his fingers dancing over the top of his smooth desk, “Instead of asking me what you think is going on, in your mind. Clearly, if ‘Draco’ was a ghost he would have made his presence known to everyone and not just you.”

“I’m not losing my mind and it’s not that simple,” Hermione whispered, staring up at him, “He’s tried. I’ve tried. Everyone thinks that I’m imagining him because…well because I don’t really know. Everyone seems to know something I don’t and that’s why I came to you.”

“Has ‘Draco’ not spoken of your past with you?” Snape asked, quirking an eyebrow when Hermione frowned.

“Don’t speak as if he’s a figment of my imagination, Professor,” she had caught how he pronounced Draco’s name and it infuriated her. She was not crazy, or even close to it! “But to answer your question, no he has not. In fact, he seems to be in denial.”

“Interesting,” Snape nodded, wrapping his cloak over his arms as he crossed them. He stared into the fire for a second but turned when Hermione rose.

“Is there something that no one is telling me?” Hermione asked cautiously approaching him, “Does it have to do with the war?”

“There are many secrets that are kept hidden during and after the war and not all of them…” Snape paused when Hermione glared at him.

“I want to know and by Merlin you are going to tell me even if I have to hex it from you!” She snapped, clenching her fists, “I’m not leaving until you…”

Snape strode across the room and pushed her against his desk, their chests bumped up against one another.

“Do not threaten me with your words, Ms. Granger,” he spoke so low that she barely heard it, “Have you not the mental capacity to ponder why some people know more than they give? Do you not comprehend the reasoning behind people of power, people who tried to help?”

“I need to know,” Hermione found herself whispering, “I need to know what is wrong with me and why…why I can only see Draco but now feel him. It’s…I’m…I don’t know what to do.”

Silent tears began pooling at the edge of her eyes, causing Snape to back up. The last thing he wanted was to deal with a sobbing mess of a former student. He sniffed and reached out, resting his hand on her shoulder. Hermione looked up at him with those doe eyes in wonderment.

“If you are sure…”

“I am.”

“Very well,” Snape said with a nod, moving from Hermione to a large cabinet she once suspected held potions.

When he waved his hand in front of it, Hermione realized that it didn’t hold potions but memories. She moved to his side and stared at the labyrinth of small bottles – each labeled in Snape’s chicken scratch. Snape ignored Hermione while rummaging through bottle after bottle, collecting a few into his hands before he shut the door.

“You must understand one thing, Ms. Granger,” Snape began, placing the bottles in front of him onto his desk, “What happened during your years at Hogwarts was not all it appeared. You mustn’t get angry, weepy, or have any form of feminine emotionality. I have just eaten lunch and do not wish to lose it before dinner.”

She frowned, but nodded her eyes lingering on the first bottle that was labeled ‘Yule Ball.’ Snape picked that bottle up first and held it out to Hermione. She looked up at him but he merely nodded and she took it. The weight of the memory was almost overpowering – signifying something extremely emotional – but she held it to her.

Snape brought out a small circular silver dish and watched Hermione uncork the bottle, allowing the silvery memory to fall out over the dish. She pulled her wand out and was prepared to prod at it like she would a slug but Snape’s hand moved too quickly. He grabbed her wand and shook his head.

“You enter alone,” Snape ordered, nodding to the bowl.

Hold Me Down

Hermione took a breath and leaned in; watching swirling figures around her become clear. She could see the Great Hall and students dressed in their many dress robes. Suddenly, Hermione felt as if she were falling into the image and with a rushing sound of wind at her ears her eyes clamped shut.

She heard sobbing, crying that sounded too familiar to be true. She saw herself, crying just outside the GreaT Hall where the Yule Ball was slowly losing students to weariness and moments of exploded passion. Hermione stood in awe as she watched her fifteen year old self cover her legs with her arm, her periwinkle dress crinkled from her harsh treatment of it. Overwhelming feelings came rushing back to her and she remembered this, it was so surreal.

She had to lose Viktor Krum, who spent a considerable amount of time looking for her before retiring to the large ship that sat on the Black Lake. Her tears and heartbreak over Ron’s stupid selfishness made her a bleeding mess.

“Draco?” Pansy’s voiced broke Hermione’s sobs, stifling them completely when she forced her hand over her mouth.

The Slytherin pug wandered down the corridor, holding onto her hideous emerald green dress with her hands, looking as if she were about to spit venom. She stopped where Hermione was hiding but didn’t give her an ounce of attention. Hermione wasn’t certain if Pansy saw her or not, but she didn’t care if she did or didn’t. Letting out a sigh, Pansy clamored down the passageway toward the dungeons.

It was then did Hermione decide to retire to the Gryffindor dorms to get rid of the mess in her hair and tear streaks off of her cheeks. A splitting headache was forming because of the amount of salty tears Ron’s insensitivity created. Standing with a little hiccup and wobble, Hermione parted from the nook and walked slowly down the corridor but stopped when she felt a cool breeze pass her.

The moon was half full but shone across the lake where the Durmstrang ship sat on still water. Little flickering lights shut off one by one, indicating that it was time for sleep. There was another task soon and she was sure Viktor needed to get some rest, so did Harry and Cedric. Elder Hermione remembered this part clearly, Ron being insensitive and calling Viktor their enemy boy did he learn a thing or two during the battle. It was Krum who saved Ron from Yaxley in the middle of their first battle. Suffice to say, Ron and Viktor became good friends even though Ron could hardly understand a word he was saying.

Elder Hermione followed her younger self, her hand tracing across the stone wall. She remembered leaving and going to sleep but what happened next shocked her. Fifteen year old Hermione let a few last tears slip from her weary eyes and streak down her cheeks. Something moved behind her, causing her to spin around before she could wipe her tears away.

“What happened, mudblood?” came the voice of her most hated enemy, Draco Malfoy.

He stood behind her with his hands in his pockets, his tie hanging from his neck and hair finely mussed up. It was an overwhelming relief to see this Draco, a little. Elder Hermione noticed that his left forearm was untainted by the Dark Mark yet but he was still the same pompous prat she knew. His face was a little flushed so either he had been hiding from Pansy or just gotten out of a snog session with another girl. It might have been both but what did she care.

“Bugger off, Malfoy.” Hermione snapped, brushing her tears from her face.

“Was Krum that bad of a snogger? Or, wait; did you have a spat with the charity case of Hogwarts?” He sneered with that wicked Malfoy grin.

“You really are an arse,” she growled, turning on her heel to leave.

It was better to walk away from this situation than to start a fight. Unlike Ron and Harry, Hermione had no problem walking away. It was Malfoy who had a problem of it. He moved quickly, coming to stand in front of her with that smile etched in his skin.

“Move, Malfoy.” Hermione demanded, trying to squeak past him but he moved each time she did, blocking her path.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry so much before,” Draco grinned, moving forward.

With each step he took, Hermione took a step back until she eventually hit a wall. Her hands moved through her dress, looking for her wand but when she realized she left it in the dorm she balled a fist and aimed a swing at him. Draco easily caught her fist and held it tight but not roughly. Elder Hermione frowned and wished she had her wand to hex that grin off of Draco but damn Snape took it and she had a feeling that it wouldn’t have mattered much anyway. This was a memory.

“Let me go,” she snapped trying to pull her hand from him.

His fingers loosened around her but instead of letting go, he grabbed onto her hand lightly and pulled her to him. Hermione frowned when she felt his hand rest on her waist. He moved slowly, as if they were dancing and before she knew it, they were. In an empty corridor with no music, yet their bodies swayed against each other in time.

“I wanted to ask you to dance, mudblood,” Draco whispered into her ear when he pulled her close to him, “But I can’t just waltz up to you and demand one. What would people think?”

“That you’ve gone mental,” Hermione replied, gasping when he parted from her and spun her gently around.

“Maybe I have.” He said quietly, stopping once she was facing him, “Maybe I’ve always been nutters.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” she heard Draco chuckle, his minty breath blushing against her face.

She felt his hand release hers, his fingers traced down her palm, wrist and arm until it settled on her shoulder. He looked down at her, pushing her slowly against the nearby wall and hell, Hermione let him.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, leaning in slowly, “For a filthy little mudblood.”

“Don’t you know any other atrocious names?” Hermione breathed in anger, but feeling it quell when he smiled genuinely at her.

“I like mudblood. Besides, I’m hardly trying to be creative at this point,” he laughed, tracing his nose against hers. “I’m going to kiss you, Granger, and you’re going to let me.”

Hermione felt her heart jump into her throat at his words and relaxed her stance. Draco brought a hand to her chin, tilting it up for him. They stared at each other until one by one they faded beneath their lids. She gasped when she felt his lips graze hers, pressing so lightly against it that she wasn’t even sure they were kissing. Having just shared a brief kiss with Viktor before the Yule Ball, Hermione wasn’t sure what a kiss was and wasn’t. This sure felt like a kiss, a soft, sensual one.

Exhaling a breath, Hermione parted her lips when Draco did and felt his own collapse around hers. It was a sweet savoring kiss that sent chills up Hermione’s spine. His tongue darted playfully into her mouth, caressing her lips before seeking her own. Draco moved slowly, pushing Hermione against the wall where his hands cupped the back of her head, tilting it back ever so slightly. Hermione moaned into the kiss and brought her hands to his forearms.

The elder Hermione covered her mouth and leaned back against the wall, ignoring Draco’s murmurs to Hermione as they parted. What in the devil was that? And more importantly, why did she have this memory taken out?