Remembering the Past (one-shot)

The brunette then meandered through the scattered books on the floor and plopped down on a miraculously neat couch. She tightened her blanket around her shoulders and leaned her head against the backrest, expelling a soft sigh of contentment.

She then closed her eyes and smiled when a rustle of wind and wings reached her ears.

"I didn't call for you," she whispered, cracking one eye open. He stood quietly at the opposite of the room, with his head tilted and his brows furrowed deeply.

"You were loudly calling for me in your mind, Hermione," he simply said.

The brunette completely opened her eyes and gave him a full-blown smile. "Guilty," she said. When he continued to curiously look at her, she sighed, knowing quite well that the angel was starting to get a little impatient. "I had a nightmare," she explained. "And I needed a friend, Angel Boy."

"HERMIONE!"

The brunette jerked awake and frantically looked around. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood in front of her desk and stared at her with that disproving and scarily stern look on his face.

Sheepishly, she straightened up and patted her voluminous hair. "Auror Shacklebolt," she greeted, trying to school her emotions. "What brings you here?"

Gradually, Kingsley's face softened into a concerned one. He eyed the twenty-seven-year-old witch warily and sighed. "Is something the matter now, Hermione?" he asked, inviting himself to sit on one of her chairs in her office.

She bit her bottom lip. "I'm quite all right," she smoothly lied.

The older wizard shook his head, amused by her obvious lie. "I'm talking to you as a friend now, not as your superior," he said. "You are, without any doubt, one of our most valuable Aurors in the Ministry of Magic. You proved to be vigilant, yet sly. I can even say that your magic prowess can already be levelled with some of the best witches and wizards in the history of the Wizarding World." He did not skip a beat when she blushed. "But, I honestly think that you need a break now, Hermione. Perhaps, a vacation. After all, stress is one evil, incorrigible thing."

Hermione sighed and rubbed her face in exhaustion. "Kingsley, really, I'm all right," she assured him. The brunette raised a hand to stop him from interjecting. "It is up to me whether to decide for a vacation or not, don't you think?" she asked.

Kingsley sighed in defeat. "Well, if you say so," he said, now slowly standing up from his seat. "But, if… this continues, then I will be forced to give you one. I still want the people under me to work competently." He then gave her a farewell smile before turning around and leaving her office.

Once he was gone, Hermione's forehead connected with her wooden desk. 'What the hell is happening to me?' she softly moaned to herself, blindly standing up from her chair to make herself a coffee.

She had another strange dream she could not understand. The worst thing about those dreams, though, was the fact that she kept on seeing recurring faces that she had never even seen before. Upon waking up, she would quickly forget their faces. Such a frustrating thing gave her sleepless nights and caffeine-induced actions – things that never mixed well with her work.

She was getting sloppier and she knew it. Just two days ago, she almost killed herself by letting a darned, wild hippogriff lose when her job was to simply look after it. After an hour of sermon from Shacklebolt, Hermione went home for the day, fell asleep almost immediately, only to wake up with yet another bizarre dream with trench coats and blue eyes.

These dreams started a few months ago, replacing her Second War-filled dreams. Hermione still could not choose which dream was better than the other. Nonetheless, both themes still drove her insane.