Chapter 1
Nighttime
Of all the things that have come to pass, this one was definitely the strangest one, she thought after regaining her senses. She was lying on a makeshift bed, her wounds addressed and her arms and legs tied to the bedpost so that she would not not run, and staring at the ceiling.
She was alive, once again, the thought nearly maddening. In her own timeline, she was either a churned corpse or dust in the wind. Or dying from radiation, skin peeling off and multiple cancers consuming her from the inside. Maybe they all were, all of those who survived the battle. She could imagine the terror and the burnt air and smoke and so she coughed and forced herself not to think of that.
Because, as of now, she managed to pull off quite a stunt. The portkey had worked - but in a manner that was unthinkable. Instead of throwing her into someplace, it threw her across the time, five years back. Which meant - and at the thought she nearly groaned with anxiety - that now England had two Hermiones. One that was sixteen and - presumably - waiting for the Battle of Seven Potters, and one that was twenty one and skilled in both magical and Muggle combat.
That is why seeing both Snape and Draco - a war hero and a close friend - nearly made her jolt with joy and hug them. Only then she had realized that Snape's sacrifice has not yet been discovered and the boy was still a poor kid forced into war he never had the stomach for.
She knew she should not. It was a principle: never interfere with the timeline. An action of this sort, could alter her timeline beyond repairing. And yet, knowing that her timeline meant a real apocalypse, she wanted nothing more but to undo it. She would never return there - this much was obvious. First, she never wanted to, knowing that it would the death of her. A second, it was probably impossible. The magic she used was corrupted - presumably because of the nuclear impact - and there was no real way of either repeating the same scenario (unless, she chuckled sourly, she found a way to explode a nuclear bomb). No Time Turner could aid her as well. And Dumbledore, the man who knew of many things but spoke of too few, was dead. Had she traveled further back, she might have found him alive - and maybe the two of them could figure something out.
The Dark Git maybe had the power to alter the time but, definitely, he was too dumb to figure it out.
She snickered, this time louder and her train of thoughts was disturbed by someone walking into the room.
'Severus!' she smiled at the man who had sacrificed so much and in vane.
'Miss Granger. Is that a way to address your teacher?' his voice was silky and cold.
'But a war hero and friend? I'd say yes. I know' she emphasized the word 'of your sacrifice. Harry's told me. The Harry- well, the future Harry, this one's clueless.'
'Did you hit your head, miss Granger?' he glared at her so she used the only resource she had and entered his mind.
'Severus, I know you're still working for Dumbledore. I know he asked you to kill him - you had to save Draco and the Horcrux would've kill him anyway. I know it all.'
He shifted but stayed in control.
'I see someone's learned Occlumensy.' he answered in his head. 'You know you should not speak of the future.'
'My timeline is death, Severus. Not mine only, but the entire world's. When Voldemort attacks Muggles, a world war erupts and we all die.'
'You wish to change the future?'
'I need to avoid it.' she stated simply. 'I must speak with him. With Vol- You-Know-Who. Does the taboo work on thoughts or only on saying his name aloud?'
'I'd rather not risk it.' he answered, somehow vaguely and then addressed her in his trademark silky voice 'Miss Granger, I repeat, did you hit your head? The nonsense is rather Weasley-like, and not your usual know-it-all semblance.'
'Professor Snape' she rolled her eyes almost against her will but played on 'I might have.'
He nodded briskly.
'I do not know nor care, miss Granger, why does the Dark Lord wish to speak to you. But he does, so I daresay it would be a smart thing to preserve your energy for your encounter. And that would mean, you should rather not strain yourself with that nonsense talk. Unless you'd prefer it that Madame Lestrange where to tend to you in my stead.' it almost sounded like the Snape that taught potions and taunted Neville than the Snape who died not so long ago having saved all their lives - for what it felt like, tenth time.
He must have seen it, the scar on her forearm, the farewell gift from Bellatrix Lestrange, those letter that screamed 'Mudblood' in almost childlike handwriting. At the time, the torture felt like a big deal. But then, upon having seen, what fate had in mind for Bellatrix, Hermione found herself rather sorry for the Death Eater. Right now, she had to face Snape's eyes, cautious and almost wary. The Potions Master must have read her mind - she allowed her shields to drop for some time - and right now he was looking slightly sick with the very idea of Lestange's torture.
'I shall see to you, miss Granger, later on. Is there anything you require?' he stepped away from the bed and turned round when he was near the door that led out.
'Yes. Is Professor-?'
'Yes. It seems our Lord has something in mind, miss Granger. No off with you. I would recommend you sleep.' with a swish of robes and crack of wood, he was out the room and once again she found herself alone, staring at the ceiling and battling what felt like impending madness.
She looked around. The room was quite small, more of a broom closet actually than anything else. The walls were of stone and the floor as well, one very small window was barred. The makeshift bed consisted of a metal frame and a rather lumpy mattress. There was a small table beside it and a chair. Yet there were no chains on the wall nor anything else that would give the impression of Malfoy dungeon, slash, prison. It was daytime, a faint light entered the room via the window. She took a deep breath and felt the all-familiar pain in her side, she shifted and felt the stitches, but she was alive and the air, though slightly damp, was quite fresh and smelled of no burning nor was it pierced with screams of the dying. Her present? past? self would probably be sweating with trepidation at her surroundings, while her future? self considered the whole affair pleasant.
Anything was better than that battlefield and the oh-so-beautiful missile of fiery death. Even an avada from the Dark Git (she chuckled once again) would be quiet lovely.
At some point she must have drifted asleep.
Walls of stone and marble hall covered with blood. Running. Up the staircase and faster, the EMP blasting and guns roaring, debris in the air. Wand, useless - a stick to take someone's eye out - tucked into the back pocket of her jeans. 'Must get a gun.' The howl. Narcissa Malfoy, bleeding profusely in tow.
'Go, Hermione! Leave me!'
'The fuck I am.' grabbing the blonde by arm, pulling her, but they are too slow and the OPs are so close she can almost see them.
'Surrender! Drop your weapons! Hands in the air! Now! Now!' male voice, distorted by helmet, as he points his gun at them.
Powerful blast, plaster flies from the ceiling. The man down, tumbling down the stairs. Ginny, advanced pregnancy and a Kalashnikov in her hands.
'Move, for fuckssake!'
'What's the noise?' she asks Weasley, sorry, Malfoy and once again there's this blast and plaster falls from the ceiling, they duck behind a statue.
'They're blowing this place up!' she answers.
'Draco?' Narcissa is panting, sweat and blood on her forehead.
'Leading backup. We need to move!'
They run. Up the stairs. OPs not so far behind them. The giant hallway, huge window.
'Jump!' Ginny yells and empties an entire mag at the OPs 'I'll cover!'
She pushes Narcissa forward, the woman covers her face with her elbow and smashes the window and jumps, she's about to follow in her wake, but there's this bullet that hits Ginny.
Headshot. Kalashnikov comes crashing on the ground as the girl collapses, all is happening as if in slow motion. When she hits the floor she's already dead and Hermione's yelling something and picking up the gun and reloading and firing and firing and the enemy takes cover, but they fire back and she has to go, so she swallows her tears and jumps.
She hits the ground, rolls and -
-she's awake and sweating.
'Bad dreams?' Draco drawled, standing beside her bed, his blond head cocked and eyes troubled.
How does one tell someone they've just witnessed their love's death, she asked herself almost immediately and chewed on her lower lip, trying to calm down.
'Imagine.' her answer came out in low growl, almost aggressive and the boy took a step back, wand up and pointing at her head.
'Don't be daft, mudblood.' he snorted and she realized that this boy is not yet the man who has loved and fought and died beside her, so she simply cocked her eyebrow at him and refused to dignify that statement with an answer.
'Anyway, mudblood, Snape was supposed to come and fetch you, but he's busy, so I'm in his stead.' he explained in his cold voice, trying and failing to sound dangerous or offhand or the two at the same time. 'Come on, you are going to meet the Dark Lord. Again.'
She forced herself to sit up. Of course, they would not be kind enough to let her heal even a little bit. Since her life was not in imminent danger anymore, she was as ready as ever to speak to the Dark Git. She threw her legs off the bed and tried to stand up. She felt a little lopsided, probably the same way Harry had felt when Lockhart removed bones from his arm so many eons ago.
'Draco?' she said it out of custom and saw his eyes go round with confusion 'Do I get any clothes? Or do you want me to prance in that lovely shift?'
Someone changed her clothing. She was now clad in some terribly ragged white nightgown, probably looking like a very Muggle White Lady, the legendary specter that was supposed to haunt abandoned castles, for all sorts of different reasons depending on the local folklore. Most of those reason, however, had something to do with love either scorned or forbidden. And with that she realized that unless she managed somehow to get a grip on her train of thoughts, she was very likely to talk nonsense all day long.
Night. She looked at the window and it was black. Night.
'Yeah, I guess.' Malfoy shrugged 'Your gear isn't that damaged. Nelly!' he exclaimed and with a soft pop a creature with huge eyes and big ear appeared.
A house elf. She had not seen them for a long time. They had shared a fate even worse than their masters. And that reminded her, albeit, vaguely, of S.P.E.W. and life that used to be much simpler.
Simpler, until the Dark Git had gone and done an apocalypse because he was too stupid to realize that odds of a thousand to one are not good. Even when the one had magic.
'Get this mudblood's clothes.' the boy ordered, much back in his pre-Voldy quality.
'As you wish, Young Master.' the elf bowed and disappeared with another pop.
'Nothing changes, eh?' she asked the boy, feeling a little bemused at his antics.
'What are on about, mudblood?' he scowled.
'Nothing, really. I'm just not used to the new - I mean, old, you.' she scratched her nose and looked him in the eye 'I much prefer your future self.'
'So, I die in your timeline, yes?' when he spoke, his voice was very small.
'Yeah. But you die a change man, Draco. You die, actually, a bloody hero.' she smiled at him.
'Why do you do that?' he took another step back 'Don't forget we're not equals. Or friends-' with that he opened his mouth very wide and looked at her with wonder 'Are we?'
'Sorry to break that to you, but the next autumn we're thick as thieves.' she shrugged.
'Oh.' he squealed almost like a girl but then the elf reappeared, her gear across its outstretched arms.
'Thanks.' she mumbled to the elf, unable to look it in the eye 'You're Nelly?' realization hit her like a hammer.
'Mistress should not speak Nelly's name. Mistress should not address Nelly. At all.' the elf exclaimed nervously and banged her head against the wall, probably punishing itself for either talking to her disrespecting a human.
'Go, Nelly.' Malfoy sighed and then advanced at her 'What was that, you want to steal me another elf?'
'First of all it was Harry. And second. She'll save your life. Twice. And she'll take a knife for you.'
'Oh.' his jaw dropped and then he swallowed with visible difficulty 'Well' he recomposed himself and spoke with indifference 'it is, after all, part of her job.'
'Ginny'll be devastated, though.' the words were faster than her thoughts.
'What's a Weasley got to do with that?'
'Oh crap.'
'What?' he almost roared, his brows knitted together.
'Sorry to break that to you, but you'll marry her.'
And that left him gob-struck, so she ushered him outside and took off the preposterous nightgown.
Her new gear - the one that she used to wear for the last two years - did not belong to this world. This still was a world of pure-bloods and their bloody ethics, of a certain dress code (robes, robes and once again robes), of diners and families and all things so homely and unlike to her. It felt out of place to put on those black leather pants, that were like second skin. Or knee high boots with a pronounced heel and many buckles on the side. Or that corset-kind of vest that was made of Kevlar mixed with dragon hide. Or the dragon leather jacket, that was now torn in two places. Or the belt around her waist with two holsters at the side. With a faint giggle she realized, that the elf had not removed her Berettas, probably considering them to be part of the garment.
She checked the mags and grinned. Had something gone terribly wrong, she would be able to shoot her way out; they were both full. And since she had her vest on, no spell could actually harm her.
They also had researched. Charlie Weasley had given the idea of dragon hide, a Polish Muggle-born of Kevlar, some Wizard from Prague who had a Muggle wife (who was a chemistry professor at the local university) and three Wizards (one from Vatican - he was a member of the Swiss Guard which guarded the Pope -who, oddly as it was, had been a man who instead of condemning the Wizards, condemned those who attacked them, stating that all life was sacred. But then the pope had been assassinated, probably by a CIA specialist and a very strict Jesuit was chosen on his place and the whole line changed- one from Bucharest and one from Berlin) had worked on the formula. The vest was bulletproof to some extent and, what came as a surprise of sorts, fully magic-proof.
She walked to the door and smiled at Draco, who was pacing around nervously.
'Granger' it was the first time he used her last name 'Are you telling me truth?' his face was flushed.
'I have no reason to lie, Draco. I'm twenty one and have fought in a war for almost five years. Please, don't think I'm in the mood to trick teenagers.' she sighed, slightly exasperated.
'How does Mother die?' he breathed in an instant.
'I'm sorry.' she swallowed. She grew to like the woman. 'She-she. She commits suicide when she learns of the-'she broke off 'Draco, the Muggles will find a way to disrupt any spellcasting. When we lose our magic, many give up. And she didn't want to...undergo one again.'
'Undergo?' he paled.
'Draco. She will be captured by them. And tortured. Badly. We'll spring her for a facility in London. But-' she broke off once again and cleared her throat 'This timeline, my timeline. It's vile and ends with a catastrophe. It must not happen. Even if that means there's two of us, two of me, rather, in England at the same time.'
He was pale like a ghost now.
'How?' his voice was merely a breath.
'We must stop him.'
'How?' he repeated, this time his voice on the verge of cracking.
'He must die.' she whispered back at him.
'Draco?' another voice spoke from a distance and he jumped away from her, staring with panic at the stairway which led up 'What's with the tardiness? The Dark Lord does not like to be kept waiting.'
'Coming Mother.' he answered, and she heard his effort to stay calm.
'Steady, Draco. Steady.' she murmured at him 'Lead the way. And remember. As of now, I'm still the mudblood you despise.'
He nodded and then drew his wand out.
'Sorry.' he looked very sheepish and led her up the stairway, to the waiting Lord Voldemort.
