Hermione loosely tied and untied Harry the cat's collar. The buckle on it clicking in its metallic way as she just petted the bare cat now. His black fur was soft under her fingers, dull and repetitive strokes that the cat seemed to love regardless of how monotonous it was. There were tears running down her face, and she didn't bother to wipe them away. Why would she? There was no need when more would come after those that fell, besides, she never really liked the now damp blouse her mother had gotten her anyways.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in her lap until his furry self again rested and purred atop her crossed legs. They were resting on the table set lowly in the middle of her sitting room. It was a dark wood, sort of reddish look to it if you were glancing quickly. Her furniture matched it, the chair she was lounging in had a soft interior however that was a red and brown paisley patter. The studs were silver, and her biased towards silver was evident even in the scarce amount of jewelry she wore on occasions she couldn't even remember.

Hermione hated not knowing. Every fiber of her being was fighting against the fact that her brain was lapsing in crucial fragments of her life that were just gone right then. It was like they hadn't even exited as well, for sleeping did nothing but create new façades. Hermione hated how she slept knowing that she'd quite probably broken a man's heart. Severus Snape had left so abruptly that Hermione wasn't even sure he'd been there, holding her face so tenderly as though he'd done it for years... the only thing was, Severus had. Hermione had had no experience in their intimacy, she knew only what Harry, Draco, and Ginny, had informed her of. Even her parents had contributed to the few parcels of memory she clutched onto.

Harry stretched under Hermione's hand as she gently stroked the soft, black fur of her cat. The cat Severus had given her in his proposal.

She wondered if she'd cried... or if she had gracefully said yes and allowed him to kiss her. Knowing herself fairly well, Hermione figured it was the latter option. While her strength preceded not many other's, she knew Severus Snape to be a strong man. So, with hope in her heart, she prayed that he was getting on alright by himself.

He'd survived an attack from a snake, by Merlin, surely this was bearable compared to that insurmountable pain?

And although Hermione wasn't quite sure in that moment, it didn't matter. Her eyes were still watering from all the guilt that plagued her.

What a torture that kiss must have been! She had pressed her lips against his and felt nothing, but quite obviously there was something strong enough to bring back his love for her! The thing was, why hadn't it worked for her as well?

Hermione sighed, not fortified enough to attempt to take down such a wall of thinking. Of course, every piece of her wanted to know just exactly why Severus had been allowed the grace of his returning memories, yet there was a nag inside her not to give into jealousy. What would jealousy get her in attempting to find the lost thoughts in her head. Obviously there was a muggle way to solving the magical problem, especially since Severus simply awoke with his mind intact. Again, jealousy crept into Hermione's heart, the long and torturous feel of something so dissatisfying. Her parents were understanding, but she wasn't sure how understanding the rest of the world would be.

Hermione knew that evading work that day was the smart choice in terms of cost. She was able to sit there and wallow in whatever pity she felt fit to indulge in. Mr and Mrs Granger had been extremely kind, and she couldn't have been more thankful for her parents when they'd embraced her openly. If they would have been too upset, or if they were to have left and not stayed through the night; Hermione couldn't have handled. It was a slight enough that everything around suddenly felt foreign.

She buckled Harry's collar once more with frustrated fingers and sagged into her chair. The cat looked at her expectantly, like she was to continue even if she didn't want to. Ignoring the feline's plea, Hermione looked at her hands and their nimbleness, their rather short nature with a steady eye. Her fingernails were perfectly trimmed, the cuticles pushed back into their places, and it wasn't like she'd polished them lately.

Standing abruptly, Hermione felt somewhat guilty as Harry startled and landed on the ground on all fours. The small cat seemed to ignore her the rest of the day.

After muddling about for a few hours, feeding herself and finding even the most of mundane tasks to complete, Hermione gave up and changed into her nightwear. She couldn't have cared less that it was merely half seven in the evening, and no one went to bed that early these days. Hermione simply went anyways, justifying that if she fell asleep, all would be easy on her mind and it wouldn't have to suffer.

The sheets were cold, stiff, and harsh as she lay beneath the gray coverings. Every inch of her body was surrounded sooner than later as she submerged below them, hoping to just block out the sunset and the world in its entirety.

She felt foolish for acting like such a child, but everything in her mind told her that her sorry arse would have to get up in the morning and face the ministry and whatever its wizards had to say about her predicament. Not that it was any of their business.

Hermione sighed, rolling over in hopes to find comfort or relief from the pains of forgetting. Hopefully it wouldn't harm her work the next morning, and with a hollow laugh in the middle of her room, Hermione let her selfish thoughts go and set out to fall asleep.

-

Ron sat across from the witch who he had dined with earlier, wondering exactly why they were sat alone in a restaurant together. He ran a hand through his soft red hair and quickly stole a glance her way.

Her features had softened, and the Pansy Parkinson he'd remembered from his earlier years certainly no longer existed. She'd been so hard through their school years, almost as though she was constantly tasting bitterness upon her tongue and had nothing to balance it. Her hair had changed as well, for Ron clearly remembered it being that awkward shoulder length for pretty much her whole education. Now, well, it rested gently framing her pale skinned cheeks, and it was highlighted with obviously dyed streaks of reddish-black that shone when she turned her head the correct way. Her eyes were green, only describable by using the word Slytherin. Ron looked into them and saw her change, the way she wasn't really Pansy Parkinson anymore... she was just Pansy. That exotic witch Harry had told him of so many times, but Ron had ignored him figuring she was just as annoying as the rest of the lot of Slytherins whom he'd began to associate with when Draco came into his life.

"Are you alright?" She inquired, and that was usually code for: "You missed what I said, are you listening?" In Ron's experience.

"Sorry, of course."

He tried to remember exactly how they got there, but his mind was far too occupied on the fact that Hermione was suffering from memory loss, and that Pansy was actually kind to him right then.

"Right. May I ask you something?" She wondered aloud, luckily catching his attention.

"Sure," he responded, putting on a serious face and nodding.

She smiled quickly, another gesture Ron could pick out that was seemingly uncharacteristic on her.

"Is this a date?"

He blinked, rather quickly in confusion as he watched her continue on.

"I mean, you are the one who asked me if I'd like to share dinner with you."

So that's how they'd gotten there? He'd invited her, supposedly, and while Ron couldn't believe he'd done it... he did remember why. Although in that moment nothing was making any sense at all.

It wasn't only the fact that Hermione lost her memory, it wasn't just that he was happily seated across Pansy. There was something else.

"Yeah, I reckon."

"Okay!" She said rather loudly, then shrinking back down to grab his attention. "There must be something dreadfully wrong because every time we are together I study you, Ronald Weasley, and you're never like this."

To say the least, he was startled that she had been studying him as she so eloquently stated. Though, they had read one another equally, as something in Ron made him watch the dark witch. Maybe it was her pale skin, or maybe it was the fact she contrasted Hermione so very brilliantly. He couldn't say seeing his old flame with someone else didn't hurt, but whenever this witch was around, he forgot everything.

"I might have done something..."

"And what is that, Weasley?" She asked him suspiciously, "Wait, you aren't the one who erased the Snape's minds, are you?"

"They aren't married yet, are they?" He snarled, but she just looked on at him expectantly.

Gods, Ron was at a war with himself in every way possible. Should he tell Pansy at all what he'd done? He felt the offense already that Harry would have when he discovered that of all people, he told Parkinson first.

Still, the way she was looking at him sent chills down his spine that tapped each chord and nearly forced his tongue to become loose.

"That doesn't bloody well matter, Ron, what did you do?"

Ron scowled now, and while he was hesitant to admit such a folly, her charm was overbearing.

"I may or may not have been the result of Snape's memory loss... But only him!" He rushed into the conversation, making sure that she understood. "I don't know how Hermione lost hers, maybe they're just that bloody well bonded."

"You know their magic doesn't bond until the official ceremony, Weasley, but do you understand what you could have done?"

"I was drunk," he argued back, however feebly it certainly came out.

"You would have ruined Hermione! She's my friend too, now! You know that, and maybe she doesn't, but... Merlin, what an arse!" She nearly yelled, grabbing a few muggle's attention.

Ron was cringing through her whole rant, and sadly enough it didn't seem to be over. She rambled on through her perfectly thin lips about how he was an inconsiderate prat, or a dunderhead which was kind compared to what Snape would really call him when he found out.

"Listen, Pansy—"

"Oh no, don't you dare, Weasley!" She interrupted violently, pointing a thin finger at him.

"I wasn't in my right mind! By Dumbledore I wouldn't have done it if I was anywhere near sober! The woman I loved was getting married, I was attempting to defend myself in some inebriated and twisted way!"

Pansy suddenly got very quiet, looking at him with those soft green eyes knitted into disgust.

"And here I thought you invited me out because you fancy me. Quite obviously, I was mistaken," she grit, her voice filling with malice once again for Ron to be reminded of the old days.

Those prior days when all was right, Slytherins hated Gryffindors, and Hermione loved him. Why couldn't it just go back to the way it was?

He watched Pansy leave, feeling rather void without her presence, but Ron knew where she was going, where else would she go? Draco and Harry would know about Snape's condition within the next half-hour, and Ron could all but end up in Azkaban.

Making it easier on everyone, Ron apparated to his flat... just waiting for the Aurors he knew so well to come and take him away.

A/N

One down, one to go! Who do you lovely readers think erased Hermione's mind since we now know Ron is the culprit to Severus? Hint: The person who did it has already been introduced to the story!

(I know this is early, but you'll get an update tomorrow too!!)