The rest of the evening was a blur.
Half of Hermione's attention was on the guests at the soirée before the opening ceremonies; the rest was on Draco and the death grip she had on the Time-Turner. She was afraid to place it in her beaded bag; knowing how sensitive the device was, she could have sent the entire crowd to the Middle Ages with the slightest bump, even without wrapping the chain around everyone.
Then there was Draco, who was both distant and vigilant. His eyes constantly scanned the crowd, as any Auror worth their weight in Galleons would be doing in a high security situation.
It was both irksome and a relief that his gaze would conveniently skip over her.
Hermione's focus should have been on Sensei Yashimoto from Mahoutokoro, Japan's equivalent of Hogwarts, as he discussed differences in teaching styles between the two nations. Instead, it was on the prolonged kiss that had taken place in the secluded room just as she and Draco were discovered. Once they had emerged, she had floundered as she tried to rein in her scattered thoughts, her mind still firmly on the feel of Draco's lips on hers.
"I'm sorry, Master Yashimoto," Draco said with a slight bow to the ancient wizard. "But Minister Granger and I have had a trying day, and we must excuse ourselves." Not giving Yashimoto a chance to respond, Draco gently pulled on Hermione's elbow to lead her to the exit. "We should go back to the hotel for tonight."
She stopped him just short of the door. "We need to stay until—"
"The inauguration isn't until Friday. You know these functions are for taking the measure of the international colleagues and vapid gossip. I'm surprised you've lasted this long without reducing some dunderhead to tears with how uninformed the lot of them are when it comes to atrocities around the world." He suddenly tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "I've already made our excuses to Bitch Waterhouse."
"Draco!" Hermione hissed, though she couldn't fight her smile. "And I think you missed the look of devastation in François Pierre's eyes when he asked me if I was single, repeatedly, and I said that I was trying to ignore him, repeatedly."
Draco snorted with laughter. "There's the Granger I know." He sobered. "But we're both exhausted and we need to regroup before tomorrow."
She sighed. "Remind me what's on the agenda tomorrow?"
"Sight-seeing expedition—all the great locations in MACUSA's history," he deadpanned.
"Joy." She nodded. "All right, let's go."
After a long shower, Hermione donned her comfiest pyjamas and sat down at the table in the bedroom to study the Time-Turner. Draco, having showered as well, was sprawled out on the bed in a dark blue set of sleep trousers… and nothing else. She was trying to ignore him, but he was messing about with the Muggle telly remote, flipping through channels in quick succession.
He paused on one and sat up. "Oi, look at this. It's a bloody Scot hosting a late night program!"
Hermione glanced at the screen. "The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson." She watched for a few minutes, amused, then returned her attention to the Time-Turner.
The device was unlike any she had ever seen, or used, before. The one she'd used in third year was a simple hourglass, the limit already set. This particular device sported settings that allowed the user to change location, time and date. She recognised the location setting from their last visit: 42° 31′ 10″ N, 70° 53′ 50″ W—longitude and latitude for Salem, Massachusetts. She also noted the time references: ante meridiem and post meridiem. Apparently, one could only choose day or evening, not a specific time. But the most puzzling was a number that referred to the date: 2339250.5. She was used to seeing dates being transcribed in a different format in the US compared to the UK and Europe, but this was odd.
"Granger?"
"Hmm?"
"Is joint pain a normal side effect?"
She grimaced as she watched him rub at his left shoulder. "Unfortunately." She gave him a sad look. "As much as you said your father used the Time-Turner, I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did." Taking a deep breath, she moved to sit next to Draco, turned off the telly and showed him her hands. "I wasn't concerned with the side-effects back in third year; I was just trying to finish all my courses and keep Harry and Ron alive." She startled a little when Draco began stroking her fingers. "It's more noticeable now that I'm older."
Thin, barely visible striations ran the length of the tendons of her hands. They faded as they progressed up her forearm, but the minute pain that accompanied them never did. With the recent trips she and Draco had made, they ached significantly.
"Time travelling is not for the faint of heart."
"What happened to my father, then?"
She could only speculate, but based on what Draco had told her earlier, it seemed the most plausible. "Do you know what a Muggle fax machine is?"
He frowned. "Something that spews out random facts about Muggles?"
"No," she laughed lightly. "It's a duplicator, or copier of sorts. Instead of interdepartmental memos, like at the Ministry, Muggles can use a machine that processes the contents, be it text or images, as a single fixed graphic image. The facsimile machine then converts it into a bitmap and transmits it through the telephone system in the form of audio-frequency tones. The receiving machine interprets the tones and reconstructs the image, printing a paper copy."
"So the copy is exactly the same as the original?"
"No, it's never as precise or clear as the original; something is always lost in transmission."
"All right. So what does that have to do with what happened to my father?"
She hesitated, not wanting to be gruesome. "Before he used the device the last time, did Lucius look odd? Like his features had shifted?"
Draco closed his eyes, swallowing heavily. "Several months before I took the Time-Turner, I spied him in one of the bathrooms, pushing at the skin on his face. He didn't see me, but I was able to get a good look at him. It was like half of his face was pulled impossibly tight, while the other half drooped and sagged, like it was melting off his head. He must have applied some sort of glamour, because when I saw him later that evening, he looked like he always did: a bit haggard, but in somewhat good health."
She nodded. "I got these marks on my hands with just a five hour time shift. Imagine what kind of havoc a hundred years' time shift could create. Each use of a Time-Turner alters your age and your basic DNA, like the reproduced images on fax machine paper. The image, or person, looks the same, but there are subtle shifts that, were you to repeatedly send the same image over and over, it would become distorted beyond recognition. Your father travelled so much, the flaws and shifts of each journey took their toll. You were probably lucky that you saw him at all that last day; I suspect he had mangled his body so severely by that point that no magic could have kept him alive for long. His body simply gave out."
"So if you used it during the entirety of our third year, how come you aren't… well…"
"Discombobulated?" At his nod, she continued. "I haven't gone unscathed, by any means. But I used it in short bursts, like a sprint. Your father used his in long sessions, like a marathon. My device was also restrained by a time limit, and I didn't have to contend with location or year. By the calendar, I am about nine months older than you. In reality, I'm probably about two years older because of all of the travelling I did. My joints ache every time I Apparate or use a portkey. I suspect I have marks on my upper back because it's stiff and inflamed."
He moved her hair aside and tugged at her pyjama top, gasping. "Hermione, there are lines of red welts!" His fingers drifted across her skin.
She hissed from the intense pain triggered even by his light touch. "I have some dittany in my bag, if you could get it," she gritted through her teeth.
He quickly retrieved the bottle and applied the unction. "Is this a result of earlier this evening?"
She nodded, not sure of her voice with Draco's breath blowing gently on the nape of her neck.
"I'm sorry." He pulled the fabric back over her shoulders. "Will you be able to sleep?"
"I have to. I'm exhausted, honestly." She looked at the expanse of the bed, suddenly feeling awkward. "Which side do you want?"
"I'll take the left," Draco said as he stood up. "I'm going to check the rest of the suite before we settle in for the night, place some heavier wards than they already have." He left, giving her a few moments to collect herself.
She moved gingerly, the skin at her back tingling from the dittany, and pulled back the thick duvet. She slid underneath and it was definitely a study in luxury, the cool, crisp sheets helping ease her pain. Her defences tended to falter when she was uncomfortable and sleepy; Harry knew to never ask her anything when she was on the verge of sleep, as she would spill secrets that she longed to keep. Draco had no such restraint, however, and she fought slumber as she heard him go from room to room, murmuring under his breath. The magic that washed over the suite was powerful; Harry must have taught him a few undisclosed spells that even the Ministry didn't know about.
Her eyes were closed by the time she felt the bed dip with Draco's weight, and she had to remind herself that they were there for a reason other than the new president's inauguration. We're adults, we can be professional. Right?
"Whatever you say, Granger," he said with a soft laugh. "I can keep to my own side. Can you?"
Damn, she must said that aloud. She pointedly ignored him and turned over.
"Nothing to say? I'm disappointed, Granger."
She looked over her shoulder a little. "Never mistake my silence for weakness, Malfoy. No one plans a murder out loud."
He burst out laughing. "Touché." He shifted around until he was apparently comfortable. "Goodnight, Hermione."
She grunted, her voice stuck in her throat from how soft his voice sounded. She waited, quietly, listening to Draco's breathing. Once it evened out, she sighed in relief. The mattress contoured to her body, so she felt as if she were being cradled all around. It occurred to her that it was dangerous, this lull between them. Of course she trusted Draco with her life; he might as well write his own death sentence were anything to happen to her. Harry would see to his disposal personally.
As she finally drifted off, she contemplated if she could trust Draco with anything else.
She awakened around five in the morning, not used to the early sunrise on the eastern coast of the U.S. Her arm was draped across Draco's stomach, her nose buried at the base of his neck. She blinked, not quite cognizant of how she ended up in this position with such a large amount of space on either side of them. She thought about turning and moving away, but Draco was so warm… and she was still exhausted. Her eyes closed again and she slipped back into slumber within seconds.
When the alarm spell on her wand vibrated half an hour later, Hermione's eyes shot open and she noticed that their positions had switched. Draco was pressed to her back.
He groaned, then mumbled, "Turn it off," before burying his nose in her curls.
She should move. She wanted to, but his grip around her middle tightened. When he groaned again and shifted his legs, she quickly extricated herself and stood, grabbing her wand. "Time for breakfast, I think," she rasped.
She didn't look at him as she got up and headed to the bathroom. She didn't need to be tempted to stay.
"Welcome to the Brooklyn Bazaar, home to the Oddities Flea Market!" the tour guide touted in an annoyingly cheerful voice. "Inside, you'll find a wonderful assemblage of vendors bringing you all sorts of peculiar items. Feast your eyes on medical history ephemera, anatomical curiosities, natural history freaks, osteological specimens, taxidermy, jewellery, one-of-a-kind art, bizarre flair, and much more. The most popular merchants are Obscura Antiques and the Forgotten Boneyard."
The contingent of ambassadors, dignitaries and esteemed fellows were seated on an overlarge bus called the SkyRide. Instead of the seats facing the front of the bus, they faced out towards the street on either side. Hermione and Draco were at the front, slightly to the right, staring out the windows at the expansive market bustling with magical folk. She subconsciously gripped her beaded bag, where the Time-Turner was located, a spell surrounding the device so that it wouldn't accidentally activate if it was jostled around. She tried to quell the panic at the thought of the proprietor of Obscura Antiques wishing to exchange an oddity for the timepiece.
"We're not stopping," Draco murmured in her ear, placing a hand over her fist. "Even if we did, we wouldn't get off."
She relaxed fractionally. She was still keyed up from that morning, waking up in Draco's arms. It was a fluke, she knew; bodies migrate in sleep. Ron had accused her multiple times of being a relative of the Giant Squid with how she wound her way around him when they slept together. She vowed to place a barrier of some sort that evening.
The bus meandered for about half an hour, easily avoiding the traffic and congestion of the Muggle cars and crowd, just like the Knight Bus did back in London. They were nearing a tall, stone building that looked like a narrow Muggle church, when the tour guide increased the volume of her voice once again.
"An example of Jacobean architecture, the Explorers Club was founded by Britain's very own Newt Scamander for his wife, Porpentina Goldstein, before they retired to England. Behind impressive heavy doors and ornate turn-of-the-century stained glass windows lie many chambers dedicated to adventure and animal husbandry."
"Isn't Rolf Scamander Lovegood's boss?" Draco whispered as the guide droned on.
Hermione nodded. "They dated for a while, actually. Well, until Neville finally got off the fence and properly asked her out."
They moved on to another landmark. "Tannen's Magic Store is for the mischievous wizard or witch in all of us!" the guide said with a laugh. "Just a few of the items you can expect to find at Tannen's: invisible paint, multiplying billiard balls, pure smoke, the Emperor's Orange Box, and hundreds of versions of common, everyday children's magic."
"George Weasley would ilove/i this place," Hermione observed with a smile.
"Probably best that he doesn't know about it," Draco retorted.
"Yet."
"Merlin's balls, he'll be insufferable if you tell him about it." Draco leaned back and crossed his arms. "Did you know that a quarter of the cases Potter and I get assigned to are as a result of his shop's products?"
"Really? That few?" She grimaced. "I probably won't say anything. It's just, sometimes the poor man gets stuck in his head, thinking he can hear his brother's voice telling him how the business should be run, and I try to distract him if I can."
Draco turned to stare at the passing scenery. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry he died."
"Thank you."
The bus parked along the kerb in front of a modest sky rise. The tour guide became solemn. "This, ladies and gentlemen, is the Travelling Museum of Interesting Things. And while it is quite spectacular in its own right, it is the location where President Jackson Fontaine died." The guide produced tears—real or not, Hermione was unsure. "He visited the travelling museum during one of its infrequent stops to procure an item to commemorate the Salem Witch Trials, though we don't know if he actually made it to the exhibits. It was a terrible accident, one that won't be forgotten."
"Did Harry ever tell you any of the details from the reports he obtained?" Hermione asked quietly.
Draco leaned closer. "From the pictures that Potter showed me, his body was torn to pieces. They never found his left foot. Now that I think about it, the wounds look a lot like…" He paused, his eyes growing wide. "Shit!" he hissed.
"What?"
He made to rise, but Hermione restrained him. "What is wrong with you?"
He glared but stayed seated. "We need to return here later this evening."
She scanned the area. "Why?"
He looked around at the people on the bus and shook his head. "Not here. Wait until we get back to the hotel."
She nodded and waited for the tour to end, keeping her hand on Draco's thigh.
They were seated at the kitchen table in their suite when Draco withdrew the photos that Harry had given him and placed them in front of Hermione. "Look closely at the shoulder and hip areas, and tell me what you see."
She waved her wand over them to magnify the images. At first, she didn't understand what she was looking for, other than the gore of detached limbs. But then she spied it: long, deep red striations traversing the mottled flesh… a harsher version of what had appeared on her hands and back from use of the Time-Turner.
"Draco…"
"I know!"
Her hands shook as she traced the lines. "Are you sure Nott only made one true Time-Turner?"
"That's what my father said." He ran his hands through his hair. "I suppose my father could have lied, but I don't think so, not about this. In an odd sort of familial duty, he would've given one to me while he would've kept the other."
"But these wounds are clearly the result of an abuse of a Time-Turner!"
"That why I said we needed to return to that museum. Maybe he purchased something like it and didn't know how to use it."
"All right." She checked her watch. "The guide said the museum was open from six until midnight, yes?" At his nod, she donned her heavy coat, grabbed her beaded bag and they headed for the door. The moment they opened it, they were confronted by two men and a woman wearing black cloaks.
"Can we help you?" Draco intoned darkly.
All three had their wands at the ready. "Your presence is requested by Vice President Waterhouse," the witch said, brooking no argument.
"For what purpose?" Hermione asked haughtily. "We are ambassadors from Great Britain, you cannot unlawfully detain—"
"The night of your arrival, there was a magic signature present in the vicinity. Due to the number of guests arriving near or at the same time, we could not be certain to whom the signature belonged. However, in the past twenty-four hours, this signature has increased, and all attempts at tracking it have led here."
"Why would it lead you here?" Draco snarled. "If you're tracking us, that's in direct violation of the international code of—"
"Sir, you are in direct violation of Code 24: section C, which states that there is to be no unauthorised magic in times of crisis." The witch moved closer. "Now please, Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy. Come quietly."
Hermione knew the contingent couldn't enter the room, but that was little comfort. "May I please retrieve something from my luggage first?"
One of the wizards narrowed his eyes. "Such as?"
"If I'm to be detained," Hermione huffed, "then I wish to take my glasses, so that I can clearly comprehend, in great detail, how I'm going to sue your government for unlawful detention!"
The three looked at one another then shrugged. "Quickly, then."
Draco had a thoroughly confused look on his face. "Since when do you—"
"Help me find them, Draco," she said pointedly.
He followed her to where their luggage was stowed, watching as she unlocked the case and pretended to root around in the contents. She placed her beaded bag on top of the pile she had made, opened it, and withdrew the Time-Turner.
"What are you doing?" he hissed.
"Be quiet and do as I say!"
"What about the consequences?" he fumed.
She unfurled the chain and held it out to him, but he refused to place it around his neck. She stared at him. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes, but—"
Not bothering to think about why she was doing it, she stopped his words with a hard kiss. "Then help me!"
"What are you doing?" the witch at the door spluttered as she watched Hermione throw the chain over both of them.
Draco pressed his forehead to hers. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"So do I."
"Well, at least there aren't any fanatics trying to hang us."
Hermione gripped Draco's wrist to keep the pulsing blue light from his wand steady so she could study the Time-Turner. "We're in the same time period we visited before because I haven't figured out the way to adjust it yet. I'm not sure of the exact unit of measurement." She looked around at the wooded area. "But I was able to change the location coordinates—we're supposed to be in New York, at least."
Draco looked glumly at the device. "I hate that bloody thing!"
"I won't argue with you there." Her teeth chattered from the throbbing pain in her ankles. "I have the compass aligned correctly, but look here." She showed him the date dial. "This series of numbers is confusing, and I don't honestly want to chance another trip unless it's to the correct time and place."
Draco rubbed his temple with his free hand. "Nott liked obscure references…"
"That could mean any number of things, Draco."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "He also liked maths and astronomy. Does that help, Princess?"
"Don't snap at me! I'm doing the best I can with limited resources. If your friend wasn't such an arse—"
"Genius arse, let's remember."
"Right," she snorted with contempt. "If he was so smart, then why didn't he work for the Ministry or in some other field?"
Draco shrugged. "If you're good at something, never do it for free. My father had the means to pay him what the Ministry couldn't."
"Great. A genius arse with mercenary tendencies. I'm surprised he lived long enough to create the device, what with all the wizards and witches that would've betrayed him the moment he finished."
"What do you mean?"
She shook her head. "Draco, please don't take this the wrong way, but your father… well, he was a cunning and sly wizard. He escaped prosecution multiple times, and when he was in Azkaban, I'm sure he had other plans unfolding to prepare for when he was free. Ever read any Shakespeare? Et tu, Lucius? Do you honestly think he just left Nott in a safe place, in some other time? To insure he was the only one who knew about the true Time-Turner, Lucius probably removed Nott from the equation. Permanently."
"Shit."
"Exactly." She stared at the device again. "Wait… wait a moment. You said Nott liked maths and astronomy, right?" At Draco's nod, she groaned. "Merlin! How could I be so thick?"
She turned the Time-Turner around so that Draco could see the date stamp. "This series of numbers? It's a computation for a Julian calendar!"
"Julian… like Julius Caesar?"
"Yes! Julian dates are simply a continuous count of days and fractions since noon Universal Time on January 1, 4713 BC. Julian dates are widely used as time variables within astronomy. Typically, a variable can represent an epoch expressed as a Julian date to about one millisecond precision. It's assumed that seven-day weeks have formed an uninterrupted sequence since ancient times. Thus, the day of the week can be obtained from the remainder of the division of the Julian date by seven."
Draco looked completely lost. "That shouldn't sound as arousing as it did, Granger, but… damn."
"Are you sapiosexual, then?"
"What?"
"A person who is sexually attracted to intelligence in others."
Draco ducked his head, probably to hide a blush. "I didn't think so, but I'm going to have to defer to your know-it-all moniker and just agree with you on that."
She rolled her eyes. "I just need a date so that I can work the computations to get the Julian equivalent."
"Well, we were going to go back to the museum, right? President Fontaine died on October 8th, 2014, so let's start there."
She ran through the mental computations, shifted the compass dial until it read 40° 43' 49.7964'' N 73° 59' 35.2752'' W and then rolled the number on the date dial to 2456938.5. She glanced up. "Are you ready?"
He blew out a breath. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?"
"You have no idea."
Hermione had to stifle the scream that wanted to escape when they materialised near the front of the bustling square that led to the building housing the museum. Her ankles were on fire and now her knees threatened to buckle. Draco didn't look like he was faring much better.
"Fuck!" he spat, cradling his elbows. "We can't do that much more."
"Once more, after we find out what happened to President Fontaine." Though, to be honest, she would probably need a month in St Mungo's just for recovery alone after they returned home.
Draco moved his hand away from his left elbow and grimaced at the red welts that ran from his forearm to his shoulder. "Are these permanent?"
She touched them lightly. "I can put some dittany on them for now. Maybe they won't scar." She retrieved the bottle and let a few drops coat his skin, watching as the wounds scabbed over.
He clenched his teeth and bore the pain she knew he was going through. "What about you?" he panted.
She needed more than dittany. "I'm okay, for now," she lied. She led him from the alleyway where they had arrived and walked slowly towards the building. "Do we know what Fontaine looks like?"
As they made their way up the concrete steps, Draco stopped just before the final one. "No, but I'm going to say that's him," he said, pointing at a couple that was making their way towards the entrance.
Though the man in the dark wizard robes was unfamiliar, the witch was none other than Victoria Waterhouse.
"We can't be seen," Hermione whispered harshly, and pulled Draco behind a crowd moving in a different direction.
"Where are we going? I thought the whole point was to follow him and find out what happened to him?"
"It's obvious that Waterhouse had something to do with it, but we can't risk running into them. It creates a paradox of sorts, although I'm going to say we successfully avoid them because she would've recognised us when we arrived at the festivities." She slipped behind another building next to the museum, one where they still had a view of the entrance. "We need to wait until they leave and then follow them. Discreetly."
Draco grumbled as he flexed his elbows. "I hate waiting."
Hermione laughed a little. He'd sounded like the petulant boy she had met at Hogwarts, and though those years had been some of the bitterest in her life, his whinging brought a sort of comfort to her, as if there were some things that would never change.
"When we get back home, Granger, we're destroying that cursed thing."
She couldn't agree more.
They waited for almost an hour before Fontaine and Waterhouse reappeared. Fontaine seemed to be mesmerised by something in his hand, with Waterhouse sporting a smug look. They moved off past the nightly crowds, rather quickly, in Hermione's opinion.
"What do you think it is?" Draco asked low, following behind her.
She ignored the shiver his voice sent down her spine. "I don't know. But if I were to speculate, I would say it's another Time-Turner, one like Nott made."
Draco shook his head. "It doesn't make sense. He only made two; one was destroyed and we have the other."
Hermione arched a brow. "Are you sure the other one was destroyed?"
"Yes, the Ministry confiscated…" He sucked in a breath. "Damn it!"
"What?"
"Vincent Donovan," Draco growled. "He was one of the Aurors during the raid on Nott's property. He was suspended about two years ago because I caught him selling some of the artefacts we had confiscated during prior raids." He smacked the side of a building they were near. "Donovan probably took the damn thing and sold it to a collector who had dealings in international antiquities, having no idea what it really was."
"It looks like Waterhouse knew where to find it, though."
Draco grimaced. "After Donovan was dismissed from the Aurors, he must have realised what it was that he'd taken from Nott's home and sold, because he travelled to the US to find the wizard he'd sold several relics to. We always keep tabs on former employees, especially ones that leave with tarnished records."
"Once an Auror, always an Auror, is it?"
"Seems that way," Draco grunted as he hit the wall again. "He probably couldn't retrieve the device from the collector, so he must have followed, waiting for the opportunity to snatch it."
"And Waterhouse provided that opportunity," Hermione surmised. "I thought the original device Nott made was from inferior material?"
"It was. That doesn't mean it didn't work. Five minutes at a time doesn't seem like much, until you spin the dial like a wheel, and then you have bursts of time loops that don't stop until the dial comes to a halt." Draco paled. "I have a feeling I know what is going to happen."
They followed the pair from a sizable distance. "You know, when it happens, we can't interfere."
Draco stopped abruptly. "Shit."
"I know."
A feeling of anticipation swelled within Hermione, one like the time she and Harry had rescued Buckbeak, one that signalled something momentous was about to happen. She waved her wand over her and Draco, creating a Glamour that made them invisible. "Come on, we need to get as close as possible."
They resumed their journey until they found the couple again, standing in a secluded area on the edge of a seldom used field that abutted the busy metropolis, conversing in low voices.
"Just imagine all the sights you'll see, Jackson! All the disasters you can help our society avoid," Waterhouse cooed as she spun the dials on the device.
"If it works, Victoria. I'm still sceptical."
She nodded. "As well you should be. But I have it on good authority it will. My source was… quite forthcoming."
"I bet she killed Donovan as well," Hermione whispered.
"Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead," Draco agreed.
Waterhouse slipped the chain around Fontaine's neck and placed the device in his hands, the mechanism primed and ready. "All you need to do it press the button at the top and away you go!"
Hermione cringed and backed into Draco, his hands wrapping around her from behind. "Close your eyes," he murmured.
She did as he bade, having seen too much death already during the war and the intervening years, and buried her face in his neck. She shuddered when she heard the sharp yelp of Fontaine as he disappeared… and then a short blood-curdling scream as he reappeared five minutes later, his body being torn apart. The process repeated three more times before there were no more reappearances.
Tears fringed Hermione's lashes as she gulped and raised her head to take in the scene. Victoria looked like a viscera-splattered mess, which she promptly cleaned herself with a quick spell. She had a very self-satisfied look on her face. She then began searching amongst the body remnants, a scowl increasing on her features the longer it took to find whatever she was looking for. When she found Fontaine's head, Victoria searched it over frantically, only to shout in frustration as she threw it in a shallow ditch.
"I think the device was destroyed during Fontaine's journeys," Draco offered. "She must have cued the Time-Turner to loop, thinking to take the device once he died."
Hermione silently agreed. Her mouth was dry and her throat closed. She had seen the worst of wizard-kind throughout her years, and she had thought she'd seen it all, but there was always something new to surprise her. She watched as Waterhouse snarled and Apparated away.
"Can we go now?" Draco asked quietly. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
For some reason, this caused another surge of tears. She clung tighter to him until they eased. When she was sure they had stopped, she withdrew, sniffed and cleared her throat. "I don't think we can go back to the time we originally left from."
"What do you mean?"
"Waterhouse sent those three Aurors to retrieve us. They said they'd been tracking a certain type of magic. We've disappeared several times now, and it's probably a safe bet that she knows we have a Time-Turner."
"She'd get her hands what she was denied before. We'd be returning right into her trap."
"Exactly." Hermione waved her wand and the Glamour disappeared. "We can't travel to the future, only to points in our past."
"Well, then. Let's do that."
They arrived at the soiree right at the time when their past selves had secreted themselves in the locked closet. Of course, they looked out of place, being dressed in casual wizarding clothes, but they were determined to find President Quahog. They received less-than-friendly gazes as they moved through the crowd, their hands clasped tightly. Draco's hand holding hers was the only thing that kept Hermione from collapsing to the ground in a knot of pain. If she looked at her legs, she could only imagine what the damage would be.
Just before they reached the middle of the gathering, Hermione tugged on Draco to stop. "We need to send Harry a message before we meet with the president. That way, he knows what's going on and can intervene if he needs to."
Draco shook his head. "I'm here in Potter's stead, remember? If I say there's foul play, he'll issue the arrests without hesitation."
She gave him a measured look, but then nodded. As they approached a group of dignitaries, the Aurors stepped forward and pressed wands threateningly against their chests, forcing them to halt.
"I'm sorry, sir and madam, but you'll have to step back." One bulky Auror blocked their way forward.
"I'm Lieutenant Minister Hermione Granger, and it's urgent that I speak with President Quahog."
The Auror shook his head. "The President is indisposed at the moment. You'll have to—"
"Anthony?" came an overly sweet voice, and Victoria Waterhouse appeared at the Auror's side. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Is everything all right?"
Anthony nodded at Hermione and Draco. "These two want to see President Quahog."
Waterhouse looked them over with a frown, evidently noting their clothing was different from earlier in the evening when they had met. "My, you've changed." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm afraid the president had to leave early. But I'm sure I can answer any questions you may have."
"In private, please," Draco said gruffly before Hermione could respond.
She stared at Draco, hoping he knew what he was doing.
Waterhouse led them to a rather sparse chamber, one that was still under construction from all the renovations that seemed to be constantly going on. No Aurors followed them, and Hermione didn't like it.
"Tell me why you've changed your clothes, Mr Malfoy," Waterhouse demanded when they came to a halt.
"Many people may not know it, but Granger can be a wonky widget when she has a few too many Fire Whiskeys in her. She ruined my suit."
Hermione wanted to roll her eyes at the blatant lie, but she didn't dare take her gaze from the coiled viper.
Waterhouse smirked and crossed her arms. "You're a terrible liar. Your father should have taught you better. I must say, I'm disappointed. Lucius Malfoy was the stuff of legends."
"He became the puppet of a deranged megalomaniac and died a withered husk of a wizard," Draco sneered. "Be my guest if that's your idea of an idol."
"Tsk tsk," Victoria chided and withdrew her wand to point it at Draco. "You must learn better manners. Now, tell me why you're really here."
In the blink of an eye, Hermione had her wand trained on Waterhouse. "Whatever you're thinking of doing would be very unwise."
Waterhouse spared her a glance. "It would be quite unfortunate if I had to inform the British Ministry of the apprehension and incarceration of two of its most famous persons. Crimes against a foreign government, I believe?" She cocked her head to the side. "Yes, I do believe that carries a minimum sentence of having your mind wiped. We couldn't have you causing trouble again, could we?"
Draco bared his teeth. "You won't touch her!"
"Ah ah ah," Waterhouse warned. "Tell your lapdog to stand down, Miss Granger, or he'll be living the rest of his very short life as an opossum."
"Draco," Hermione pleaded. "Don't do anything stupid." At his glare, she gave him a sad smile. "I'm the one who has what she wants anyway."
Waterhouse immediately turned her attention to Hermione. "What do you mean, what I want?"
With her wand still trained on Waterhouse, Hermione slowly withdrew the chain that held the Time-Tuner from beneath her blouse. "Isn't this what you were looking for when you killed President Fontaine?"
Waterhouse's only visible reaction was a twitch in the witch's eye. Then Waterhouse swung her wand and pointed it Hermione, giving her a malicious smile. "Imperio!"
"No!" Draco screamed, rushing at Waterhouse, his wand at the ready.
"Crucio!" Waterhouse shouted, turning on him.
Draco dropped to his knees and curled into a ball, screaming.
"The boy really does need to listen," Waterhouse mused. She pointed her wand at Hermione again. "Give me that device."
Hermione tried to resist, but between the backlash from the time travel and the spell itself, she had no choice. She pulled the chain over her head, fiddling with the dials as she approached Waterhouse. Once she was within grabbing distance, the woman yanked the device from her hands.
Waterhouse studied the Time-Turner with a fanatical light in her eyes. "Donovan never said there was another one."
Hermione tried to move, but the Imperius held fast. Draco was another story. In her peripheral vision she saw the Cruciatus ease up, though he remained huddled on the floor. Then she saw him grip his wand and stand.
Waterhouse smirked at him. "Too late, Mr Malfoy," she said casually, and pressed the button on the top of the Time-Turner.
"Sectumsempra!" Draco hurled at her just as Waterhouse began to disappear. The spell hit home, judging from the screams that issued from the swirl of light, then abruptly stopped as she vanished.
The Imperius faded and Hermione dropped to the floor in agony. The curse had inflamed her already battered body, and moving was too much of an ordeal. Tears edged her lashes and she took deep gulps of air, feeling like she was drowning. After what felt like ages, she was pulled into Draco's arms and held tightly as he rocked her back and forth.
"Shhh," he murmured against her forehead. "I'll send for help." He conjured his Patronus and sent the ferret sailing out the chamber door. "Stay with me, Hermione. I haven't lost anyone yet on my watch, I'm not about to now."
She closed her eyes, hoping she wouldn't break his record.
The soft, light feeling surrounding her was too good to be true.
Hermione pried her left eye open and saw that she was in a sterile white room with windows spanning the length of one side. It was dark out and raining, the rivulets of water making their way down the panes of glass. An occasional flash of lightning, following by mild thunder, lulled her into sleep once more, barely cognizant of the hand holding hers.
When she awoke again, sunlight was creeping through the lingering clouds. A few songbirds sounded through the pre-dawn hours, reminding the rest of the world to wake up.
Harry Potter was sitting off to her left with a stern look on his face.
"Harry!" she croaked. She felt like she had an elephant sitting on her chest. "What're you doing here?"
He crossed his arms and glared. "Well, let's see. My best Auror—and good friend mind you—sends me an urgent Floo call in the middle of the night to tell me that my best friend is dying. Dying, Hermione. Do you know what kind of panic that sent me into?"
"Sorry?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm just glad you're okay. Draco and I have been at MACUSA all night, trying to explain to President Quahog why he needs a new Vice President."
Hermione grimaced and sunk further under the covers. "Where's Draco, then?"
"He's giving testimony at the moment. When you feel up to it, they'll need yours as well."
She nodded and tried to turn on her side, only to be met with gentle resistance.
"They have a stationary spell on you for right now, at least until the worst of it heals."
"How bad is it?" she asked dreading the answer.
His lips thinned. "You were lucky; the dittany Draco used on you before you were brought here ensured that your limbs could be saved." Harry looked down at this lap. "But you have extensive scarring."
She refused to give into the bleak feeling rising in her chest. "Well, I didn't have many suitors after Ron, so I guess that solves my curiosity about whether I'll become a crazy cat-witch when I get older." She gave him a tremulous smile.
Harry gave her a lopsided grin. "I don't think so. I think you'll find you have several options."
She yawned and shook her head. "You're biased." Her eyes began to close again.
"I'm not the only one," Harry whispered.
Even though she had only talked to the MACUSA officials for a half hour at most, she was beyond exhausted.
Draco sat next to her bed the entire time, mostly silent. Harry stood on the other side of the bed like a watchdog, scrutinising everything the Aurors did. When the officials were satisfied with their findings they left, promising that once she was well enough to travel, she would be free to return home.
Once the three of them were alone, Harry sat on the bed next to Hermione. "So what did Waterhouse hope to gain? She removed Fontaine, only for Quahog to take his place."
"Donovan probably didn't tell her the time limit on the device. I imagine she thought once she had got rid of Fontaine that she could 'remove' anyone that stood in her way to becoming the president of MACUSA," Draco offered. "She hadn't counted on the device being destroyed the one time she used it on someone."
"Some people never learn," Harry posed. "So, I'll ask the question MACUSA didn't ask: how do we know Waterhouse died? We know that she used the Time-Turner to disappear. But how do we know she's truly gone?"
"I cast Sectumsempra on her before she disappeared," Draco muttered. "It struck her just before she faded away."
Harry's eyes widened. "Ah."
"Without Snape, there's no cure, is there?" Hermione asked. "Not that we could track down where—or when—she went, anyway."
"No," Harry answered, blushing. "The cuts won't heal without his counter-spell." He cleared his throat as he glanced briefly at Draco. "And we know this Time-Turner has been destroyed?"
"I spun the dials before I was forced to give it to her," Hermione said quietly. "Either way, she and that thing were not coming back in one piece."
Harry's lips thinned as he stared at Draco. "I should report you for this shit storm. I should fire your arse for being in possession of such a—"
"I know!" Draco growled. "If it comes down to it, I can take a stint in Azkaban." He ran his hands through his dishevelled strands, gripping them tight.
Panic swelled in Hermione's chest. She clasped onto Harry's wrist. "Don't, Harry. He protected me and we completed our mission—everything you said he would do because you trust him."
"Hermione, I can't—"
"You can," Hermione intoned, brooking no argument. "I know where you hide your Invisibility Cloak, mister."
Harry grimaced, nodded and scrubbed at his eyes under his glasses. "You're both a pain in my arse!" he grumbled. "I'll… just go and check on our portkey." He beat a hasty retreat.
"Potter has an Invisibility Cloak?" Draco whispered.
"Among other things," she assured, sitting up to swing her legs over the edge of the bed.
Awkward silence filled the room as Hermione slid her feet into her shoes. When she tried to stand and her knees faltered, Draco was there to make sure she didn't fall.
"Are you sure you're well enough to travel?" he asked, his look grave.
She patted her hair and gave him a small smile. "What, don't I look healthy?" When he didn't respond to her jest, she grew concerned. "What's wrong?"
"I… I thought you were gone, Hermione," Draco whispered, swallowing heavily. "And all I could think about was if I had that damn Time-Turner, I could go back to our Hogwarts years and treat you differently, so that maybe if you were gone when I returned, at least I would've been able to see you smile."
Hermione was certain she was dying now; she couldn't breathe. She trailed her fingers over his red cheeks. "Draco, our past is just that… past. I would rather be concerned with our future. Wouldn't you?"
He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. "I just don't want you to be hurt anymore."
She sighed. "Everyone and everything will eventually hurt you. You just have to find the ones worth the suffering."
He tilted her chin until their lips met. "And am I worth that suffering?"
"Ask me next week, when I don't ache all over."
He laughed. "I'll remember to do that."