Runaway

by Jiwwy
 
 

Chapter 2
Hermione's Home
 

Hermione Granger gasped as she stepped out of the fireplace. There was someone in her living room.

"Arrgh!" Came a yell from under a mass of comforters spilling out around the couch and coffee table.
Hermione brushed ash off her skirt as she closed the distance between it and herself. She barely
remembered to get her wand from her pocket as she stood next to the comforters. She highly doubted
a burglar would be sleeping on her couch under her mother’s quilts and spare bedspreads, but didn’t
know who else it could be.

She blinked, waiting for whoever it was to get the blankets sorted out, then finally kneeled and went
to arranging them herself as she realized it would take quite a while.

"Help!" called a muffled voice from under a few feet of goose down, "it’s not coming off!"

"Don’t move, I’m trying," she called down to the blanket, trying to find seams. "Oh, you’ve rolled
just the wrong way." She sighed heavily and tapped her wand to the blankets. "Praeparo!" And the
blankets removed themselves from the person, revealing…

"Hullo."

"Malfoy!"

Draco stared up at the girl. She had bushy brown hair and straight teeth. Actually, she was rather
pretty.

"What are you doing in my living room?"

"Truth be told, I haven’t the slightest." He smiled pleasantly. She looked very confused. "I think…
I just know… my head hurts. Quite a lot."

Hermione furrowed her brow and stared down at Draco, working out what had happened easily
in her head. He’d fallen and knocked his head on the table on the way down. From the way he
talked, and the absence of the word ‘mudblood’ from every third word, told her he’d lost his
memory. "Mum! Dad!" She yelled.

Draco giggled light-headedly to himself at the view. Hermione looked to see what was so funny
and glared at him as she rearranged her legs, remembering she’d worn a skirt home from the
Weasley’s.

"Hermione? Is that you?" Carl Granger flicked the light switch and appeared in a navy robe. He
chuckled. "I see you’ve met our guest… when did you get here, I thought you wouldn’t be home
until tomorrow?"

"Er, um," Hermione stared down at Draco as she addressed her father. "Well, Mister Weasley’s
mother had gotten very sick and they’d gone to visit her in America, they couldn’t have stayed
even another day and had to send Harry and I home… of course Mrs. Weasley had to give us
so many gifts…." She pointed to her sweater, which was lavender with a quill set behind a powder
blue ‘H’ and a box of chocolates next to her suitcase.

"Oh, we’ll have to send them something back… Er, yes, this is Neville."

"Neville." Hermione repeated faintly. "Urm. Okay."

Draco looked around. "Where am I?" He said quite suddenly, turning to Carl.

Lorelei came in as he said this. "Oh dear, it’s gotten worse… Hermione! You’re home early!"

Hermione nodded. "H-How did… Neville get on the couch?"

Lorelei sighed. "He was robbed in the park and came out without his memory. We took him in."
She looked down at Draco. "Neville, don’t you remember how you got here? Do you remember
me or Carl?"

He shook his head furiously.

"Dear… he should… he should probably stay awake, so he doesn’t loose anything else." She
smiled softly. "I’m so sorry, Hermione, but your father and I must be in the office by eight
tomorrow. You wouldn’t mind too much staying up with Neville, would you?"

Hermione stared. "Mother, really, I’m… I’m really rather tired…"

Lorelei shot her daughter a look. "Hermione, I would really like for you to help poor Neville,"
she said, he teeth gritted just barely.

"Fine!" Hermione said in a rather un-Hermione-like pouty tone that almost every young girl saves
just for her parents.

Carl smiled weakly between the mother and daughter. "Lorlei, dear, why don’t we go to bed
then?" he waited until she left and sighed. "Now… don’t you two try anything under our noses."
He winked and left, leaving Hermione feeling mildly disgusted. Draco just sat with a dubious look.

"Draco, you really can’t remember anything."

He shook his head. "I thought my name was Neville."

"Where did you pick that up?"

"Those people called me that, didn’t they?"

Hermione sat down next to him on the couch and put a finger to her lip, wondering what on earth
Draco had done. At first she’d thought he’d hit his head on the coffee table but this obviously
wasn’t the case. Her parents had found him without any idea who he was. "Drac- Neville. What
can you remember?"

He stared at her, crossed his arms over his chest, and put his feet on the table. She raised an
eyebrow and he coughed and put his feet down. "I remember…" he closed his eyes, "gold on
a table, and putting paper in my pocket… ripping cloth… running and cold… and that lady."

"That’s it?"

"That’s it…"

Hermione bit her lip, running this through her head. "Ripping cloth?" She thought aloud.

"Yes, I was ripping something black."

"You were." She held up a tattered edge of his cloak. "Was it this?"

Draco stared at it. He put one hand on it, put his other hand over hers. He didn’t move it, even though
she blushed. "I… I think so," he finally said, then took his hand off hers.

"Okay. You remember ripping your own cloak. That makes sense." She stared at the cloak, then at his
face. There was dirt on both. "The bathroom’s over there if you’d like to wash… off… Why are you
staring at me?"

"Dunno. You’re pretty..." Hermione blushed. "… You’re… familiar… I think I remember you."

"You do? Really? That’s good. Now, what do you think of me?"

"Hermione." He repeated the name her parents had called her. "Hermione… your teeth. They were big."

Hermione looked very flustered, but a little bit pleased. "Yes, I used to have big teeth. You remember.
That is the first thing you remember about me."

"You’re smart," he added, as if an afterthought.

She stared. "Yes. I- I mean, er, I suppose." She blushed again.

"Hermione…" he repeated. "Hermione… did I like you?"

Hermione stared at him, frozen a little. She felt a chill run through her as she stared at his silver eyes.
For once they were a bit warm, not closed off and biting. His mouth wasn’t twisted into the scowl he
used especially for her.

"You… I… I don’t know." She finally whispered.

He watched her carefully, and finally nodded. "I don’t think I did. Back then."

"What about now?" she whispered again.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out. He looked her up and down, from the
powder blue skirt to soft lavender sweater to the lock of brown hair in her face. He pushed back
for her and moved silently closer. She stared, breathing deeply and wondering what he was doing.
He got an inch away from her face and studied her, his shimmering eyes darting around her face.
She held her breath and closed her eyes, waiting for him, a voice screaming ‘bad, no no!’ in her
ear that may have been her conscience, may have been Ron and Harry… then he suddenly paused
and leaned back.

"I don’t know you now," he murmured sadly.
 
 
 

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Chapter 3