His Girl by greenflowerpot

Chapter 9

- NOT MY STORY!! ALL CREDITS TO @greenflowerpot ON A03!!

After Draco recovered, he and Hermione ate dinner together. She seemed warmer than before, perhaps grateful to him for going through such a demanding process to help her restore her memories.

"The notes say that the memory should 'integrate' overnight," Hermione said, cutting into her roast chicken. Draco nudged the gravy towards her, was trying not to be overbearing but also very much wanted her to no longer be malnourished. "Isn't that curious? I know the story of the bracelet now, but I won't have my actual memory of it back until tomorrow morning. Apparently it will bring adjacent memories with it, too. Such an interesting branch of magic, I'll have to find some books in the library on memory work."

Draco smiled down at his plate.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"It's just nice to hear you talk," he said. "About whatever you're thinking about. Nice to know what you're thinking."

"I am talking a lot, aren't I? I'm usually not so chatty."

Draco snorted.

"Why is that funny?"

"You might be a little shy at first," Draco said. "But you talk a lot when you get excited, or happy, or nervous..."

"Untrue. I'm known for being very reticent."

"You'll see," Draco said, mouth twisting into a smile. "When you get your memories back—you'll see how talkative you were."

Hermione rolled her eyes, speared a potato on her fork and gestured at Draco.

"Will I see more of that cocky tone, too?"

Draco's eyebrows lifted in amusement.

"What an unfortunate surprise it will be for you when you learn how much you loved my cockiness," he smirked.

Hermione turned pink and averted her gaze with a huff. He didn't mind. It was easier to watch her, drink in the sight of her, when she was looking away.

Draco sometimes wondered whether he would have been as infatuated with any girl, if perhaps Hermione had just come into his life at an especially formative time. There was no way of knowing for sure, he supposed. Hermione was pretty, very much so—big brown eyes, softly rounded cheeks, expressive pink lips—but Draco had money and power, was no stranger to pretty women.

It was how sweet she had always been, like a soft-centered candy, sniffles and kisses and the smell of vanilla that haunted Draco. And the intensity of their connection that nobody else had ever understood, how she had slotted just so into his life, wearing his bracelet, delighting in his gifts, demanding he wear the ring she gifted him—as obsessed with being his girl as he was with taking care of her.

He tore his eyes from her, aware that his gaze had become too intense. He cleared his throat and forced his attention back to his plate. Don't scare her, he reminded himself. Don't scare her.

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Nott recommended breaks of a few days between sessions, so Draco and Hermione had to wait a bit before trying their next memory. In the meantime, Hermione wrote down the side effects of the memory potion, reported vivid dreams and that she sometimes sleepwalked, waking up in places other than her bed. Her memories did not return yet and Draco wrote to Nott, concerned. Nott responded that the potion sometimes took a few days. They could expect Hermione's side effects to become more intense, he said, and likely she would recover a handful of memories when they did.

Their days passed in a languid, comfortable manner. She spent most of the time in her room at first but ventured out more and more to read in the library, curled up on an armchair in the corner. Draco initially opted to give her space, but found it harder and harder to stay away. They were much friendlier than before, their conversations getting longer.