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“As you can hear,” Dr. Silver said, and shrank slightly at Hermione’s fourth scream and the sobs that followed. “Your daughter is very much awake. Naturally, she is very confused; she keeps on rambling about pig warts, magic, and she has several times asked to see a ‘Ronald Weasley’. Does that name sound familiar to you?”
Truth Be Told
“There is no such thing like magic,” Mr. Granger said softly, and Hermione could hear the faintest trace of impatience in his deep, mellow voice.
Psychology vs. Proof
“Draco Malfoy?” Hermione said testily and watched the young man's, Malfoy’s, face whiten until it was the color of newly fallen snow.
“You had a relapse.”
Letters to a Stranger
“Dear Ron,” she wrote. “Perhaps we used to be the bestest of friends, or maybe we never met at all. A few months ago I woke up on a hospital in London, full of memories of a boy the doctors tell me never was. That boy was you. I woke up calling a single name: Ron Weasley."
In Another World
Meredith walked over to the where he was laying, put the tray down beside his sleeping frame and slipped into bed. She bent down and buried her lips in his red hair, close to his ear.
“Draco Malfoy,” Hermione spoke, once the shock of recognition had faded away into confusion, into thrill. Before he could turn on his heel and escape she grabbed him by his wrists and gaped up at his face, so real it could not be a dream.
Strange and Stranger
"Ron." she said softly, tasting the name as though it was an exquisite desert. "He... I mean, how-" she stuttered, shaking her head, still smiling dazedly. "What I mean to say is, do you know how he's doing? Ron?"
"What do you want me to say? I don't know where he lives! I don't know anything, except for that he married that Mudblood. And I only know that because his ugly face was all over the newspapers for months!"
Calming Storm, Raging Tension
"I'm not afraid of you." Hermione said plainly, and to her surprise she felt that she wasn't. She doubted he would lay a finger on her, because brutality had never been the way of Draco Malfoy. He enjoyed to tear down his enemies by the effective use of stinging words and invectives, like a spider weakening its prey before spinning its web around it.
Unidentified Dark Object
Her expression changed immediately, like ice-cream washed away by hot coffee. Her almond-shaped, dark eyes narrowed and her lucius, pink lips became a dangerous, white line. "Malfoy." she said, in a cold voice which did not suit her.
Through the Fire and Flames
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, her heart banging against her chest.
Who Are You?
"Who are you and what were you doing together with Malfoy in our house?", Ron demanded, successfully calling Hermione's attention back onto him. He was glaring at her, and though he had glared at her many times before, during all of their quarrels and heated arguments, Hermione couldn't help but notice that this was a different glare. A glare deprived of any underlaying affection beneath the hard blue.
"Draco Malfoy.", the blond woman spoke in a screeching voice laden with authority. "You are hereby under arrest for breaching the International Statue of Secrecy."
"So, enlighten us," the Chief Warlock spoke, his voice as hard and unpleasant as its owner. "How do you know the offender?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, disgruntled, his forehead creasing. "You told me they took the book when we went through security."
Quid Pro Quo
"I thought-" Malfoy said frostily, contemplating her through narrowed eyes. "-you wanted to hear my theories. But if you came here to lecture me about Elf-rights and proper language you might as well leave right now, because I’m not interested in taking advise from a Muggle."
Breakfast at Malfoy's
"It’s the sad truth, Granger. You only have two options: Either you can trust me and take the risk, or you can give up, go home and enjoy the remainder of your sad, pathetic Muggle life."
Meet the Parents
Hermione felt completely and utterly speechless. She was officially a missing person, Malfoy was a suspect in her kidnapping and all of London were on the look-out for the pair of them.
Too Close for Comfort
Hermione steeled herself, fighting hard to keep her face soft and lovelorn, the way actresses did in movies when professing their affections, rather than disgusted at the mere thought of harboring feelings above grudging respect for the man currently sipping tea in the Grangers’ living room. ”I love him, Mum,” she said, unable to keep a certain note of stiffness from her tone, though hoping that it would pass by unnoticed.
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