She hoped that her inability to remember them meant that they were safe somewhere. That she had protected them before the war started.
She hoped they didn't know what had become of her.
Chapter End Notes
A thousand paper cranes by Flyora.
Hermione with a paper crane by lyrium_mysterium.
Hermione's cranes by thegirlthatreadsfantasybooks.
Hermione with her crane by silicea.art.
Five days later Hermione was seated on the floor by the window folding what was, by her count, her two hundred and thirty-sixth paper crane when the door opened and a young man peered through. His eyes swept across the room and when they landed on Hermione he entered the room and quickly closed the door behind himself.
His expression was shifty and he stared at her intently as he came forward.
He seemed hurried.
He was solidly built with dark hair and an angular face. He was wearing formal, dark blue dress robes. He had thick stubble across his face.
Hermione's instinctive response at the sight of him was utter terror.
She froze as though petrified and stared.
There was nowhere to run. She couldn't even scream.
It hadn't ever occurred to her that a stranger might just walk into her room one day.
He paused slightly as he approached, noting her expression.
“You don't remember me,” he said in a tone of surprise. There seemed to be a hint of offense in the words.
Hermione studied him desperately, trying to guess who he was. He seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps from school? Someone she hadn't known well.
He kept coming across the room. He was halfway across it and Hermione's hands started spasming as she struggled to think of what to do. If she bolted, she'd have to get out of earshot or he could just order her to stop. Perhaps if she plugged her ears...but he could just stun her.
She couldn't—
He was only a few feet away and his expression was growing triumphant.
Suddenly there was a sharp crack and Malfoy appeared beside her out of thin air. Hermione started and shrank toward him, away from the approaching stranger.
The intense, triumphant expression on the young man's face faded sharply into indifference at the sight of Malfoy. The shiftiness of his posture falling away as he straightened and glanced around Hermione's room.
“Lose your way, Montague?” Malfoy asked coldly as he stepped slightly in front of Hermione.
Montague shrugged.
“Just exploring,” he said. “I got curious when I saw her. You've got a lot of protective wards on this room, Malfoy.”
Hermione's eyes darted to the walls. Were there? She'd never noticed. It was difficult to detect certain types of wards without a wand or a bit of magic to press into them.
“The Dark Lord entrusted her to me with specific instructions regarding her care. It's always useful to know when someone is trespassing,” Malfoy replied. His tone was pure ice.
Montague laughed. “Is she not allowed visitors?”
“She is not,” Malfoy said, stepping away from Hermione after giving her the most perfunctory glance. “And if you were just curious you could have asked me. It's nearly midnight. Perhaps we should return to the party. I'm sure Astoria will be wanting us.”
Malfoy stalked across the room and waited for Montague to follow him. Montague seemed to intentionally take his time.
He glanced around the room again and then back at Hermione. The intensity returned to his eyes as he stared down at her with Malfoy behind him.
Something. There was something he was trying to communicate to her.
Then he turned and followed Malfoy out.
Hermione stared at the door that closed behind them for several minutes.
Montague.
Graham Montague?
He'd been on the Inquisitorial Squad. And he'd been captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Fred and George had shoved him into the Vanishing Cabinet during Fifth Year.
Hermione barely knew him. He barely knew her.
When had she known him to the extent that he would expect her to recognize him?
While she was thinking, Hermione laid aside the piece of paper her spasming fingers had wrecked.
The Malfoys were hosting a New Year's Party in the manor. She would have had no idea if Montague and Malfoy hadn't appeared.
She stood and went to the door, hesitating. She wanted to see people with her own eyes but the thought also terrified her.
If anyone saw her they could do anything they wanted to her unless Malfoy showed up and stopped them. Her sharp, instinctive relief at his arrival earlier unsettled her in more ways than she wanted to think about.
She stood at the door for several minutes before hesitantly opening it. She crept down the hall and slipped into one of the disused servants passages, winding her way toward the main wing of the house.
Gradually the sound of a string quartet began to reach her ears accompanied by the buzz of conversations. She stopped and listened.
Music.
She hadn't heard music in years.