Sensorial (Dramione)

Chapter 1. Confidential

Memories are often taken for granted. Series of images that play in the mind like a film reel. Or, words and sentences that float around in an unidentifiable voice. Whatever it is, it came to be in a way that people often overlook. Not Hermione Granger, though. Curiosity, intrigue and an undefinable characteristic that makes her entirely unique led her to carry out extensive research on the birth of a memory; the build-up of minuscule experiences. She concluded that each memory is centred around the five senses. Sight, smell, sound, touch and taste.

Dissecting pieces of text are among Hermione's favourite hobbies; fragmenting information until she could carefully store away each piece by category into a mental file, essentially building her own private little archive. Despite her effort to build a memory focusing on just one sense–sight–it was impossible, the smell of parchment, libraries, rain and coffee always seemed to sneak their way into each of her textual memories, muddling themselves into alternated patterns. And that was when she decided smells were her favourite memory triggers.

She had yet to completely explore touch and taste, so based on smells, sounds and sights, Hermione had built an extensive internal library, filled to the brim with files ranging from muggle history to dark magic and artefacts. She also had files for her parents, professors, each of her friends and Draco Malfoy. Not that he was special in any way, shape or form. No. She had collected information on him based on habits, speech and actions. Sight and sound. Every insult he had carelessly thrown her way, every nudge or shove and every attempt to spite her; she had learnt and memorised it. Was it love thy enemy, they say? Well that's bollocks. One should know thy enemy and create a handy little guidebook on how to deal with them for good measure.

The static crumpling of a sherbet lemon sweet wrapper brought her attention back to Dumbledore.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't understand..." she said, her lower lip caught between her teeth and her eyebrows perfectly scrunched together.

"Miss Granger, I am speaking to you in strict confidence. I'm afraid you are not at liberty to tell your friends what I am about to tell you." He peered over his half-moon spectacles to fix Hermione with a stern gaze.

She frowned.

"Not even Harry and Ron?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger, no." he told her.

"Okay." she mumbled, somewhat reluctantly.

She told Harry and Ron everything. Every single detail of her life since they had become friends nearly six years ago. She had even told them all about her research and fascination about the human mind and memories, not that they seemed to listen, or care judging by the eye-rolls she had received. Just how was she expected to keep a secret from her two best friends?

He smiled at her fondly and leaned forward to rest his arms on the desk between them, the sleeves of his robes gently knocking into the row of quills neatly laid out.

"What is your opinion on Mr Malfoy?"

I hate him.

Of the numerous possibilities as to why Dumbledore had called her into his office at 7pm on the first Friday back at Hogwarts, she would have never guessed that it would be to discuss her bully in such a secretive manner. But she knew by now to always prepare for surprises when anything concerned her Headmaster. Plus, given the shambolic state of the wizarding world at the current moment, she wasn't entirely shocked that he had requested to speak to her, even if the topic was centred around the son of a death eater whom they had gotten imprisoned mere months ago. Malfoy must be furious, and she wouldn't be staggered if she was the target of his rage. Peachy.