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Hermione woke up, and realized she was sitting at a bus stop.
It was an odd sort of place— the surrounding area was covered in fog, hiding any features from view. The bench was cold underneath her, and a little damp. She looked up toward the marquee, trying to determine where she might be, but the scrolling electronic sign didn't give a destination. Instead, it asked a question.
Where do you want to go?
Hermione frowned. This had to be a dream. Maybe this stop was like the Knight Bus— she could choose her own destination.
"What a strange dream." She turned to look to her left and promptly screamed.
Draco Malfoy jumped and covered his ears before scowling at her. "Must you be so loud?"
"M-Malfoy?" she stuttered, alarmed to see him in her subconscious unexpectedly. She hadn't seen him since the war— nearly eight years ago. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for a bus, apparently."
Hermione frowned again before looking around. "How long have you been waiting? How did we get here?"
"Beats me. I've been having this dream for ages. First time you've shown up though. Have to say, I think I preferred it when it was quieter."
Hermione scoffed in outrage. What kind of dream spent its time insulting her?
"This is ridiculous." She rose to her feet, took a few deliberate steps forward, and stuck her wand out into what she presumed was a road, waiting for the Knight Bus.
Nothing happened.
"It's not coming, Granger. If you're a figment of my imagination, that just confirms my suspicion that this dream is trying to torture me. If you're not… well, be prepared to be sitting here for a while."
"You're a figment of my imagination," she hissed, looking back over her shoulder at him.
He did look older than she remembered him. His face structure had changed a bit, and he had filled out through the shoulders. Would a dream be able to age him up like that?
"If you want to keep standing there, be my guest. Gives me more room to stretch out." Ignoring her, he laid down across the bench, crossing his arms behind his head.
"So what, you just sit here until you wake up? You haven't even tried to leave?"
"Again, be my guest."
Hermione hmphed and stuffed her wand back in her pocket, marching resolutely forward. Why her mind had decided to dream about Malfoy of all people, she couldn't say, but she wasn't going to sit around in the fog and wait for a bus that wasn't coming.
"Lumos." The light did little to illuminate her path— if anything, it made it worse, reflecting back at her like headlights. Still, she walked forward, looking for… anything.
There was nothing— it was eerily silent, and utterly devoid of features.
"Hello?"
No response.
There! A shadow in the fog— some kind of structure. Hermione hurried forward, but her smile promptly fell when the same bus stop came into view with Malfoy lounging on its bench.
"How could I have gone in a circle?" she asked, outraged.
"This is a dream, Granger," Malfoy replied, sounding supremely irritated. "There's nowhere to go. There's just this bloody bus stop. Now please shut up if you don't mind— I'm trying to take a nap."
"A nap? Inside of a dream?"
"Do you see any other entertainment options? I don't."
Grimacing, Hermione walked toward him. "Move over, then."
"No. This is my bus stop. Get your own."
She let out an aggravated sigh before leaning back against the shelter, imagining how good it would feel to push him off the bench. "Apparently my subconscious thinks I don't have enough stress in my life already, if you're who my brain decides to invent for company."
Time passed, and Hermione waited in vain for something to change, but nothing happened. No buses came, and Malfoy seemed determined to ignore her at this point, which left Hermione nothing but quiet time to obsess over her campaign.
The Wizengamot would confirm an appointment for the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in a month's time, which gave Hermione four whole weeks to stew and stress and worry. She had already given her speech for the various department heads, and she knew that Magical Creatures would back her candidacy, along with International Magical Cooperation. Sports and Games was a bit of a toss-up, but who really cared about Sports and Games? No, she needed to get the Department of Mysteries endorsement— that would be where she should focus her attention tomorrow.
She sighed as she let herself slide down the side of the shelter, pulling her knees in close to her chest once she reached the ground. Running the DMLE would be… interesting. Harry and Ron had both worked in the department, but she had stayed out of it, preferring to focus on Magical Creatures. Regulations and advocacy campaigns were more her wheelhouse than crime-fighting, but everyone knew that if you wanted to stand a solid chance of becoming Minister for Magic, you needed to prove yourself in the DMLE, and Hermione Granger was committed to becoming Minister for Magic before turning forty. That would make her the youngest Minister ever in Britain.
"What are you stewing about down there, Granger?"
"I thought you were asleep."
"You're existing very loudly."
"Oh well excuse me for disrupting your beauty sleep." Hermione rolled her eyes, and as she looked up, the marquee again caught her eye.
"Where do you want to go?" she murmured, watching the words scroll by.
"Home, preferably."
An idea came to her.
"Have you tried that?"
"Excuse me?"
"Maybe this dream is like a puzzle. These signs normally have a destination listed, but this one's asking you— asking us— where we want to go. Maybe we need to tell it."
"I want to go home."
Nothing happened, and Malfoy sighed loudly.
"Brilliant idea, Granger."
Undeterred, Hermione stood up and faced the marquee. "I want to go to the Ministry of Magic."
Nothing happened.
"Do you ever stop working?" Malfoy said, disgusted. "Even in your sleep, you're asking to go to the bloody Ministry."
"At least I do work," Hermione sniped back, knowing it was a cheap shot. "Not all of us were born into a mountain of Galleons."
"More's the pity."
"Yes, you sound very sympathetic. Really understanding."
"Empathy is not my strong suit."
"Tell me something I don't know." She rolled her eyes again.
"You don't want to go to the Ministry of Magic."
Hermione blinked. "What?"
He opened his eyes, finally, and looked up at her. "You're supposed to go to the Ministry of Magic— supposed to be a good little worker bee, filing all your paperwork right on schedule, saving the world one signature at a time. But you don't want to go there."
"Of course I—"
"Oh come on. I've seen what those grubby little cubicles are like. You really want to be spending all your time sitting at a desk, hoping that Magical Maintenance finally gets around to fixing the dripping pipe in the ceiling?"
"There are no dripping pipes in the ceiling," Hermione sniffed.
"You know what I mean."
She did, though she would deny it. The Atrium of the Ministry looked impressive, for visitors' sake, but the average office… not so much. Which Hermione was fine with! Any department funds should go toward creature welfare, not updating the furniture… even if the cabinets jammed and the lights flickered if you ignited too many at once and the Interdepartmental Memos always shredded themselves near her desk and made such a mess…
"Alright fine, so maybe it's not the most glamorous place in the world," she muttered. "But we're doing really important work! Just last week, we got funding for a new unicorn preserve—"
"So why are you leaving your position, if the work you're doing is so important?"
"I… what? How do you know I'm leaving my position?"
"Goyle's the one who can't read, not me. The candidates for the DMLE are all the Prophet's been talking about for over a week."
"Oh." Hermione flushed. She had done an interview for the Daily Prophet, of course, but she never would have assumed Malfoy would have read it.
"So why are you leaving?"
"The DMLE does important work too—"
"Every department does important work. Not a good answer."
Hermione huffed. This was just a silly dream anyway— she could be honest here, couldn't she? "The DMLE is the fastest route to the Minister for Magic."
"Ah. There it is. What on Earth do you want to be Minister for?"
"Are you mad? Why wouldn't I want to be Minister? Are you just saying that because I'm Muggle-born?"
Malfoy scoffed. "Not at all." He sat up and turned to face her. "You do realize that's the most thankless job in the world, right? You go into it with all these big ideas, these promises for change, but then bureaucracy gets in the way, and oops, looks like that initiative lost funding, so not moving forward with that, and oh no, the Wizengamot ruled that your new tax plan violates the Such and Such Code of 1648, so no can do there, and what's that? A scandal in the Goblin Liaison Office? The Minister's fault, without a doubt— doesn't matter that you had nothing to do with it, you're in charge. Your fault."
Hermione gaped at him, but pulled herself together quickly. "Having never worked a day in your life, I doubt you know anything about it. It's true I won't get the same kind of fieldwork experience, but I'm sure through policy I can—"
"Is that what you want, though? To spend your days mitigating arguments between departments and getting blamed when things inevitably go wrong?"
"Well, I…"
She couldn't make herself say it. Why couldn't she make herself say it? Yes, I want to become the Minister for Magic.
Malfoy leaned forward. "Where do you want to go, Granger?" He nodded up at the marquee.
Oh. Was it an existential type of question, then?
She closed her eyes. "I want to go… I want to go… work at the unicorn sanctuary, help them get it up off the ground."
The words were out of her mouth without conscious thought, surprising her enough that she opened her eyes again. Before she could say anything else, Malfoy's eyes widened as the sound of tires echoed behind her.
A bus! She whirled around to see a nondescript, navy bus waiting with its door open. Above the door, the scrolling sign read Hermione Granger.
"Looks like it's for you," Malfoy said faintly.
"I…"
Maybe this dream wasn't about where she literally wanted to go. Maybe it was about what her heart wanted— what she really wanted, deep down, when society's expectations fell away.
"Go on. The bus is waiting."
"What about you?"
He laid back down on the bench. "My name's not on there."
"Don't you want to try—"
"I'm still figuring out where I want to go, Granger. You've shown me the way out— now I at least know what to spend my time here thinking about. Go— have fun at your unicorn sanctuary."
"Malfoy… Thanks," she said, not sure of what else to say. Could she really give up working at the Ministry? The very thought made her stomach clench in anxiety… but also filled her with a sense of peace that was truthfully unfamiliar to her.
Hermione boarded the bus.
Draco woke up, his room full of sunlight, and he allowed himself to ponder how his recurring dream had changed.
Hermione Granger didn't want to work at the Ministry. She wanted to work with unicorns. What did Draco want?
Truth be told, he wasn't sure. But, as mad as it seemed, he knew where he should start his search.
Dear Granger,
I realize this letter makes me sound like a lunatic, but I just had the strangest dream about you…