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“Hey! Wait!”
The man ignores her, or possibly doesn’t hear her. She severely hopes it’s the latter and not the former, but she’s not quite sure why. He continues to walk away from her and when she tries to follow, she realizes there are too many people around. She looks around, confused at the crowds in Diagon Alley. It’s not quite the few weekends before Hogwarts is set to begin, so she’s not sure where all of the people are coming from, and no matter how much she tries to shoulder her way through, it seems like they keep multiplying, keep getting in her way.
“Come back!”
She tries again, calling out to him. Despite the thickening crowd, she can easily find him, his tall, bulking frame like the Northern Star. Sunlight seems to glint off his dark hair as though helping her keep track of him.
“Excuse me, excuse me!”
Elbowing people as best as she can, she tries not to notice the blank stares they give her. It’s as if they don’t understand why she’s there or where she’s trying to go. One man in particular - a tall blond man with grey eyes - looks as though he’s going to stop her but thinks better of it and turns away.
“Hey,” a voice calls from her right side. It’s another man, shorter but still handsome, with eyes that look so familiar. “Come back, okay?”
“What?” She’s so confused and her head is starting to hurt, as though ice crystals are being forced through her skull.
A young woman, thin with shoulder-length black hair, appears next to the man, her mouth twisted in a grimace. “When you’re ready, Hermione, come back. We’re here.”
She wants to ask questions, so many questions, but the man she’s been following appears in her peripheral vision. Her attention is taken from the couple in front of her to focus on the man again.
“Hermione? Hermione! ” It’s that man’s voice, the man with the glasses.
“I’m okay,” she tries to say but her voice is fading as she turns completely away from him to see another pair of eyes - grey and full of life. She moves away from the couple and follows the cobblestone streets toward the man. The left side of his mouth quirks up into a half-smile as he begins to walk backwards, away from her.
“No, wait!”
Hermione keeps walking, stumbling really, over the uneven street below her feet. She keeps going until the sounds of the crowd lessen to a gentle murmur behind her. At the realization that she’s walked a long way from Diagon Alley, her heart pounds a fast staccato beat. She doesn’t like this feeling of solitude that suddenly overtakes her. Part of her wants to run back to the Alley where the crowds are, but something stops her from even looking over her shoulder.
He appears in front of her so suddenly that she stumbles back a few steps. The ground beneath her feet is suddenly softer and she looks around, confused, to find herself in front of a forest. The trees loom behind the man.
Their eyes meet. His hand is warm on her cheek and he stares down at her with a gaze so intense that her heart flutters wildly, not from fear though. No, she’s not sure what this new feeling is, but she thinks she likes it.
“What is it?” His voice is strong, concerned, with a twinge of fear.
“What’s what?” She can’t help but ask him.
He doesn’t give an answer. Instead, he turns and walks at a brisk pace, checking over his shoulder once to see if she follows. Something tugs at her stomach, at her chest, and she finds herself running after him. This time, it’s not people in her way, but tree roots that make her trip and branches that leave tiny cuts across her skin. She stares at them for a moment, wondering why the cuts don’t hurt as much as she thinks they should, but then ignores them because she’s suddenly lost sight of him.
There’s a clearing just ahead and she runs toward it though her body complains. She’s sore, so sore, but she’s done more physical activity before so the pain doesn’t make sense. She spins slowly, looking for the man, but he’s nowhere to be found. Her emotions dip down.
Where is he?
She likes seeing him, likes chasing after him. It feels like a game. While she’s not sure what will happen if she ever catches him, a little voice in her head tells her it will be something grand.
“Hello?” She calls out, hoping he’ll hear. “Where did you go?”
An echoing voice wraps around her. “I’m right here.” His voice is smooth, deep, comforting. She can’t tell where it’s coming from though, only that the sound reverberates in the air and through her body. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes!” She yells out and panic rises in her for some reason. “Where are you? Please! I need to know! Where are you? Who are you?”
“Hermione, please,” he tells her. “I’m here. I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever.”
A shadow passes through her vision from the left. Her body turns and bolts toward it. A cacophony of sounds breaks through the serenity of the meadow, making her wince. It hurts and she doesn’t like it, not one bit. Her body stops its movement and she makes to turn around, back toward the calm clearing, but she stops.
There he is, leaning against a single tree that seems to be planted in front of the rest of a dark forest. He’s smiling, a wide and hopeful grin, and she knows it’s meant for her, and her alone. Slowly, he lifts an arm up, reaching out to her with his palm facing the sky. His fingers curl just a bit, as though beckoning her closer, and then he stills.
Waiting.
Her heart flutters at the sight. It’s an image she’s forgotten but it’s slightly different. Once upon a time, a man - this man - leaned against a Quidditch post in a black and white uniform. He’d been waiting for her then, just like he is now, with an easy smile and a promise in his eyes. The memory makes excitement bubble in the pit of her stomach and she suddenly wants nothing more than to feel his arms around her.
She knows he’ll keep her safe.
As she rushes to him, though, the ground seems to fall from beneath her and she feels cold water rush over her, drenching her from the waist-down. There wasn’t a river in front of her seconds ago, but the water is suddenly rushing past her, making her lose balance.
“You can do it!” He calls to her from his position against the tree. His hand is still waiting for her to take it. “I know you can. Come on, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
The word wraps around her like a warm blanket - or an oversized green and grey knit sweater, a giant ‘S’ across the front. It’s such a vivid image that it shocks her into stillness. That’s when she realizes how cool and rejuvenating the river feels around her. It’s taking away the soreness that had settled into her muscles earlier, relaxing her into a swaying motion.
It would be so easy to be swept away. Hermione suddenly feels tired, so so tired , and a niggling thought in her mind tells her to Let go. The pain in her body is coming back even with the low temperature of the water. She spreads her arms and dips low, letting her body settle into the water, and shuts her eyes.
“No, no, come back.”
Hermione opens her eyes and he’s there, right on the bank of the river, crouching down and still holding out a hand for her. The sight of him waiting urges her to try again, to make it to the side where he is, but then it’s like the current strengthens, like it doesn’t want her to leave the water. More than once, she slips and almost falls completely underwater. Her lungs ache as she struggles to breathe with every moment she finds air. The water in her mouth tastes foul and she tries to spit it out with every gasping breath.
“I can’t,” she whispers.
“You can. I know you can do this.” His voice is so confident and she wants to make him proud. “Come back. Please.”
He’s so close. Despite the rushing water that now makes her feel like she’s in the middle of an ocean rather than a river, she stretches out her body, her arm, and her fingers brush against his. She feels herself slipping away, feels the way the water refuses to let her latch on to his hand, but then his fingers close around hers in a tight grip. He’s so warm, so full of life, and she never wants to let go.
But then she slips out of his grasp. Her body begins to sink, the water rushing over her head as she falls beneath the surface of the river. The ocean?
She doesn’t know anymore.
Hermione gasps, her lungs feeling like they’re on fire. Her eyes fly open and high-pitched beeping surrounds her. A door slams open and the tall, blond man from the beginning of her… Was it a dream? She’s not sure but he’s there in bright green robes and waving his wand over her body. Lines and numbers and phrases appear in the air, some green, a few red, most blue.
“Malfoy,” a familiar deep voice rumbles next to her. “Is she okay?”
“Healer Malfoy,” he mumbles back. “I worked hard for this. The least you can do is address me properly.”
“We’ve been friends since we were kids. Get over it. Tell me what’s going on.”
“You,” Hermione interrupts the two men with a breathless word. They both turn to her and there he is, the man she’s been following, the man who tried to save her. He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept for days, but he’s smiling, relief evident in his eyes.
He rushes back to her side and strokes the side of her face, pushing back errant curls. “Merlin, it’s good to see you awake again.” He takes a deep breath. “I was so fucking scared, Hermione.”
“You saved me.” She stares up at him, a bit in awe, remembering the feel of his hand pulling her toward solid ground.
There is a pause and a look exchanged between the men. “Do you… Hermione, do you know where you are? Do you know what happened?”
“I followed you here.” She blinks and a piercing pain laces through her head. “But I don’t know where here is?”
“Malfoy.” The name is said with a sense of urgency.
“I need to get Healer Winters.”
“Malfoy,” he tries again but the Healer ignores him and rushes out of the room. “Malfoy! Fuck.”
“Are you okay?” Hermione asks.
The man shuts his eyes. Hermione wants to ask him to look at her again. She feels safe, content, when he does. The distress on his face makes her both sad and angry; she wants nothing more than to soothe him, to take him in her arms and comfort him.
“They said… With the explosion… Seven hells, they warned me, but…” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Do you remember anything? Anyone?”
Hermione squints her eyes, thinking as deeply as she can with the pounding headache happening in her head. A pair of green eyes behind glass pops into mind. She bites her lip before asking quietly, “Harry? Do I know a Harry?”
“Yes.” The man answers her, his voice almost as soft as her own. “He's been waiting outside, has been for the last few days, off and on. I’ll get him for you. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She watches as he moves to the door, his large frame still a shadowy remembrance.
“Wait!”
He pauses and turns quickly.
“What about you? What’s your name?”
His eyes stare at her, unwavering, as he tells her, “Marcus. My name is Marcus.”
He continues staring, like he’s waiting for something, but she just gives him a shaky smile. “And I’m… My name, it’s Hermione Granger - right?”
A strangled sound echoes from the room and the man pales, his eyes dimming at her words.
“Am I - Is that not right?” she asks cautiously.
He takes slow, measured steps back to her, crouches at the side of the bed. She can’t help but reach out and stroke the side of his face, the stubble along his cheek and chin scratching against the pads of her fingers.
“You were Hermione Granger.” He knows he shouldn’t do this, tell her this way, but he can’t stop the words from escaping. “You haven’t been Hermione Granger for just about a year now.”
“I haven’t?”
The man - Marcus - reaches inside his robes and searches a pocket. When his hand reemerges, he holds it out to her. Resting on his palm are two rings - one with a large sapphire stone surrounded by diamonds, another that sparkles as though it’s been covered with diamond dust. They look so familiar and when she picks up the sapphire ring, it warms at her touch.
“What is this?” She asks, holding the ring in front of her face to study it.
“That’s your ring,” he says quietly. “They’re both your rings.”
Hermione turns her head back to him, tilting it to one side. “Mine?”
“Yes.” He thumbs the band still in his palm. “You took my name. Hermione Flint. ”
She gawks at him. That can’t be right. She would remember something that important. Wouldn’t she?
“Hermione,” he says with a strain in his tone. “You’re my wife.”