Author's Note: Depending on your thoughts on certain characters, you will either hate or love this chapter lol.

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Girl Talk with Oliver Wood

"You're here again," the speaker at Malfoy Manor crackled.

"Yes, I'm here to see Phobos," Hermione said gamely, though of course Narcissa knew that.

"He's in the back gardens," Narcissa said after a pause so long Hermione was sure she was contemplating how to tell her to fuck off and get away with it.

"Thanks," Hermione forced herself to say, and she made her way around the nearest topiary. A leafy Lucius was riding a bull. His ridiculous hair streamed in the nonexistent wind. He was shirtless for some reason.

"Gross," Hermione said, "and also, inaccurate. No gratuitous pimp cane, for one."

She realized suddenly that she was talking aloud again. She'd managed to hold it in when meeting with Kingsley and the French Minister, and Riddle had not seemed to realize it was an accident when she did it around him, but perhaps one of the things Sticks and Stones and Broken Bones could do was figure out a potion for someone who'd gone a little unhinged and developed a number of weird habits.

"I'd pay good money," Hermione muttered, "or at least in sugar free snacks." She walked around a fountain that had a stack of twirling house elves vomiting out water. She grimaced.

Where the hell was the back gardens? Malfoy Manor's grounds seemed an endless hellscape of tacky shrubbery and bronzed slaves captured in statue form.

"Phobos!" Hermione suddenly shouted, throwing caution to the wind, "where are you?" She paused next to a cherry blossom tree, squinting. Was the closest statue supposed to be Audrey Malfoy? The hair was the right length, the sneer was the same Hermione remembered from the first time they'd met, but this Audrey was half naked and surrounded by baby zebras.

"Uncanny, isn't it?" Phobos said suddenly into her left ear, and Hermione shrieked, her wand out, and Phobos was flat on his arse in two seconds flat, petrified.

"Oh," Hermione said, "sorry. It's just…. you really shouldn't attack a veteran of a war, you know. I'm a little jumpy. Finite."

Phobos sat up, cracking his neck, his green wool robes covered in nature. He was sure to hate that.

"This looks like butterfly dung," He said sourly, picking at his left sleeve.

"Er, how would you know that?" Hermione said, "and while I'm at it, is butterfly dung an actual thing?"

"Well it's some kind of feces," Phobos said, flicking a tiny brown speck.

"Or dirt," Hermione said, "I know you're so rich you haven't seen it much, but—"

"Speaking of laying in filth, you look better," Phobos said, looking her over as he got to his feet. Hermione turned red, like a thirteen-year-old girl who'd been complimented for the first time. Even though the mirror had protested repeatedly, she'd not gone another round with a bottle of Slekeazy's, and the red lipstick had gone back under the sink. But she had done some charms to her face, to make her skin glow more, to make the dark circles and bags that had been under her eyes disappear. She'd attempted to wrestle her curls into something nice, failed of course, but at least attempted. She was wearing jeans and a jumper, but they were of nice material and colors and fit her well. It had taken her far too long to decide what to wear.

"Thanks," Hermione said at last, after a little awkward cough.

"This all for me?" Phobos said, raising a pale eyebrow, "or did you do the deed and taunt Riddle today, like we discussed?"

"Yesterday," Hermione admitted, "and it wasn't to taunt him. Not really." Phobos didn't need to know how alive battling wits with Riddle had made her feel. It was just more of her current insanity, that was all, and she was trying to fix that, wasn't she?

"Pity," Phobos said, "I do enjoy taunting him. It's been great, not having him around, soaking up everything like the leech he is, all while he's attempting to destroy our world."

"How have things been?" Hermione asked, as Phobos made a face at the statue of Audrey and the baby zebras.

"Let's go for a walk," Phobos said abruptly, steering her toward a maze that looked like it was from The Shining.

"Okay, but if Jack Nicholson comes at me with an axe I'm leaving you to die," Hermione joked.

Phobos didn't respond. Hermione deflated a little.

"I said—"

"Oh, you deliberately said that out loud?" Phobos said, as their boots crunched on the gravel, "sorry. I assumed you were muttering again and was trying to leave you some dignity."

"Thanks," Hermione said, her face even redder, as they made their way into the maze.

"Also, it sounded like you were speaking gibberish," Phobos added.

"I forgot you wouldn't get that reference," Hermione said, and that forgetfulness alone was alarming. Of course Phobos wouldn't know The Shining. For one, it was a Muggle movie. For two, it hadn't even been released yet in his world.

"So how are things?" Hermione demanded again as they walked past what looked like Bellatrix in topiary form whipping a giraffe she was riding, "and how high was Narcissa when she created these grounds?"

"Extremely," Phobos said, "I think she's out of her mind most of the time. She called me Draco last night and tried to rock me to sleep in her lap. Then in the middle of the night she burst in my room and tried to fuck me."

"What?" Hermione shrieked.

"Shhhh, keep your voice down," Phobos said wearily, "she's already half mad." They walked past a statue of an angel playing a harp that was clearly meant to be Narcissa as if to underscore his point. "Yeah, it was a mistake. She got drunk and thought I was Lucius."

"You don't even own a pimp cane," Hermione muttered, appalled.

"I don't know what that is," Phobos said, "but I'll trust you on that."

"It's a—never mind," Hermione said, for she'd said that crack about the pimp cane out loud by accident, of course.

They walked in silence for a bit, Phobos glancing around as if he thought Narcissa was going to burst out of the bushes and rip off his clothes at any moment. Hermione felt like she was going to explode. They'd talked the day before, but mainly about her little conundrum with Riddle ruining her life, and Phobos had delicately probed about Blaise, but that was all. She hadn't admitted how much of a mess her life had become. Phobos had been tight-lipped about anything to do with himself.

"Enough is enough!" Hermione said suddenly, and Phobos jumped, staring at the nearby fountain of a naked Lucius and Narcissa fornicating, water jetting from her nipples.

"Yes, that is enough," he agreed, "this is far beneath a Malfoy. I though the Blacks were the classy ones, and they thought us the jumped-up new trash?" he gestured at Narcissa's twin Narcissas which jutted out like a ship's prow. "But look at this! She's a Malfoy by marriage I suppose, but she's really a Black, isn't she?"

"Time's change," Hermione said, thinking of Number Twelve, where Harry had inexplicably taken up living…after gutting the whole place and painting every room a different shade of neon and decorating like a teenager from the seventies. Brigitte was rumored to stay in the bright pink room on the top floor from time to time as a platonic guest, just like Hermione occasionally stayed in the bright purple room on Ron's anniversary and other horrible dates. But Hermione thought it more likely Brigitte was camping in Harry's bright red room across the hall. In non-platonic ways, of course.

"That they do," Phobos said enigmatically, pushing back his hair, leading them down a path to the right.

"But I wasn't talking about Narcissa's lunacy," Hermione pressed, "I want answers. Where have you been? What have you been doing? How is everyone? Why are you back now? How old are you?"

"We've been over this," Phobos groused, "I'm here to help. We don't need to talk about—"

"But we do," Hermione insisted, "I need to know why."

"Why what?" Phobos said, avoiding her eyes.

"Why everything!" Hermione said, throwing up her hands.

"Well, hold onto a shrub," Phobos said, "this is going to be long, and I don't fancy catching you mid faint."


"I need girl advice," Hermione said desperately for the second time in two days, "right now."

Katie, who had answered the door to Oliver's quarters in Hogwarts in a towel, ushered her inside.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked, plucking a robe off a hook and tugging off the wet towel.

"Really?" Hermione said, "do you two think you're being subtle?"

"You heard about the topless snogging," Katie sighed, tying the belt tight, and pulling out her wand to spell her hair dry, "who told you?"

"Everyone," Hermione said regretfully, "buck up, though, Oliver's cute. Everyone likes him."

"Thanks!" Wood called from the tiny kitchen. He was topless and eating a cranberry and orange scone, only a tiny pair of boxers on.

"We're having girl talk!" Katie called over, as Hermione tore her gaze away.

She didn't even like Wood that way. But it had been so long since she'd done anything other than a drunken snog with a random Muggle, and now she was picturing what Phobos might look like only in his underpants. Or was she remembering Blaise? He'd gotten even more fit since he'd dumped Hermione, while she withered away. Perhaps it had been him keeping up with the model girlfriend. Or had she been imaging Riddle shirtless and lounging about with the vapid Contessa? One of Rita's breathless puff pieces about Riddle had included pictures of him vacationing with Contessa in Hawaii on a beach, leis around their necks. Riddle's body had gotten the exact look Hermione preferred in a man, muscled but lean. Contessa, of course, was the epitome of female perfection by practically anyone's standards. She'd stared at the picture and article about the Minister's hard working second in command (Rita often pretended Percy didn't exist) taking a well-earned break, thrown it in the rubbish bin in a rage, fished it out, looked at it again, and wondered if Riddle had deliberately gotten photographed going to Hawaii and wearing a lei with another woman as a not so subtle fuck you to Hermione. She'd even started writing him a scathing letter about being obsessed with her, before she'd come to her senses. It was surely a coincidence. He'd forgotten all about that conversation after Hermione and Blaise had come back from Aruba. He'd acted like Hermione was no one to him for almost three solid years now. She was being paranoid, as usual. She needed to sleep. But sleep was when her nightmares came.

"Oh good," Wood said obliviously, belting his own robe, "I've got scones. I made them myself!" He brought over a tray and plopped down between Hermione and Katie on the couch.

"Oliver," Katie groaned, "I said, girl talk."

"Yeah, and I've got three older sisters," Oliver said indignantly, "I'm great at girl talk!"

Hermione gratefully took a scone, cramming it into her mouth so she could avoid weighing in. Wood was perhaps the least judgmental person she'd ever met. Maybe he could help. Or maybe he'd tell the twins everything, and then everyone would know Hermione's business, the twins being such horrid gossips now and all.

"Beat it," Katie said, shaking her wand ominously, "go find George and Fred and get a pint or something."

"Fine," Oliver said, looking wounded, "should I leave the scones?"

"Yes!" Hermione and Katie said together, Hermione through a mouth of scone.

They waited until Oliver left, chatting aimlessly about the Harpies until the door finally shut behind him.

"So, are you shagging Riddle?" Katie said at once, and Hermione choked on the second scone she'd already started scarfing. Who knew Oliver was such a good baker?

"Or are you back with Blaise?" Katie said, as Hermione continued to choke and couldn't answer, "did he dump whatsherface finally? She's so daft, Hermione, seriously. No one can figure out how's it lasted this long."

"She's gorgeous and rich?" Hermione said after a last painful swallow, "also, she's well connected and pleasant and not a nutcase like me?"

"You're not a nutcase," Katie said at once, "don't say that. Do you want tea?"

"Yes," Hermione said, "this might take a while."

Katie began clattering around the tiny kitchen. Hermione hadn't ever known the Hogwarts professors had such voluminous quarters. What was the point in having your own kitchen when you had an army of enslaved happy creatures that lived to fulfill your every whim?

"Have you talked to Brigitte?" Katie said, "or Morag?"

"No," Hermione said reluctantly, "I don't…think they'd understand."

"What about Evelyn?" Katie said, "she won't judge you."

"No," Hermione blurted, imaging the look on Evelyn's face if she went to her with Riddle trouble. The only person she knew who had a more complicated relationship with Riddle then Hermione herself was Evelyn Sanders. And Belinda Harper, of course.

"Fleur?" Katie said, "she's the girliest girl I know."

"When," Hermione demanded, "has Fleur Delacour ever had girl trouble?"

"I see your point," Katie nodded, "but…why me, Hermione?"

"I guess," Hermione said, "you…well…I trust your judgement. And I know you won't think badly of me."

"Neither would any of those other girls," Katie said gently, bringing back a pot of tea.

"Listen, if I'm bothering you I can leave," Hermione said, lunging to her feet.

"No!" Katie said at once, "No, don't! It's just, we were close, around when…well, when everything happened, my seventh year. Your sixth. But then you left to save the world, and you came back and you were so different, Hermione. And I've been trying to be your friend for ages, you know."

"I know," Hermione said guiltily. It was more than she deserved, having a friend like Katie.

"But you kept pushing me away, so I assumed you had your new friends," Katie shrugged, pushing at her long blonde hair before picking up a teacup, but Hermione had seen how hurt she had looked, "so I figured you were spending your time with them."

"I'm not," Hermione said, "I've been avoiding everyone."

"But why?" Katie protested, "you saved the world, Hermione!"

"No," Hermione said, "that's what everyone says. But it's a lie."

"So what happened?" Katie asked, "what happened to you when you were gone, Hermione?"

"Well," Hermione said, and then she started talking. And she didn't stop for the next five hours.


Hermione walked through the door of Sticks and Stones and Broken Bones with a jingle of a bell, feeling unaccountably nervous. When had she last stepped foot in the place that was technically 70% her company? Two months ago? Four? And how mad would her partners be?

"Long time no see," Morag yawned as she stirred a cauldron slowly, "can you pass me some toenails, Hermione?"

"Heard we got the new Ministry contract," Ernie whooped, thumping a book closed and raising his arms in triumph, "guess we can afford to hire on Chris and Byron and Edith now?"

"And Kyle," Evelyn added as she tapped a box with her wand, "don't forget Kyle."

"Stebbins hasn't graduated Hogwarts yet," Hermione said, "hang on, has he?"

"A few months ago," Morag said, adding in the toenails Hermione had handed her, "you went to his graduation party. Remember?"

"No," Hermione admitted.

"Zabini tried to win you back and then you ended up pouring a goblet of wine on his head," Ernie prompted.

"Oh," Hermione said, "yes. That."

Blaise had still been delusional about their relationship at that point, thinking Hermione needed something to awaken her, romance perhaps, grand gestures, and then she'd be back to normal. When that hadn't worked, he'd started heavily flirting with the girl who would later go on to because his current girlfriend, Emile the leggy auburn-haired model, to make her jealous. Hermione couldn't quite remember how that had led to the wine on Blaise's head. She'd been too drunk to remember, but Blaise had still somehow taken it as a sign that she cared about him and had shown up at her father's house with a bouquet of roses the next day. That had ended even worse.

"Well let's wait until we actually have more money," Hermione said, remembering what Ernie had asked. It took her longer then it should've. Hours of mind-numbing conversation with Phobos and then Katie had burnt a hole in her already damaged brain.

"But we need more help," Ernie protested, "if we're creating a line of potions and charms to help with mental health and looking for ways to fortify Azkaban. There's only three of us, after all."

"Four," Hermione corrected absently, still thinking about what Phobos had told her, what she'd confessed to Katie, what Katie had advised while Hermione cried on her shoulder. She didn't even notice the warning looks Morag and Evelyn shot Ernie.

"Three," he repeated, "me, Evelyn, and Morag.'

That jolted Hermione back. "and me," she said, "that's four."

Ernie, for all of his good qualities, loyalty chief among them, which was demonstrated by the giant locket of Millicent he still wore, the way he had refused to date for ages after her death, had never been accused of being tactful.

"Yeah, but you're never around," he said, and now Hermione saw the faces Morag and Evelyn were pulling at Ernie in the background, "so it's really like there's three of us, you know?"

Hermione felt like she'd been slapped. She kept up with the payments, didn't she? She only took a small portion of the profits, giving the rest to her partners. She had secured a lot of the jobs they'd received with her fame and connections, like the order the Quidditch teams had placed for anti-jinxable brooms. She got all the press for their company off her alleged war heroine status. So why did she feel so guilty?

"You're right," she said stiffly, "hire some help, I suppose. We got the contract out of Ministry hands, at least." And she turned once more for the door.

"Hermione, where are you going!" Evelyn said, alarmed, "you just got here!"

"I've got things to do," Hermione said, as she heard Ernie stammering an apology to her back, "Not to worry! I'll be back tomorrow."

"Dammit, Ernie!" she heard Morag's muffled shout as the door closed, "she was looking like herself again, finally!"

Hermione started running down Diagon Alley, and made a sharp left, just in time. She heard Evelyn calling after her, but she was hidden, out of sight.

If she went home, Brigitte had been trying to talk to her for days. She'd shown up for an awkward dinner where her father did all the talking while Hermione sulked. If she went to Malfoy Manor, she'd have to face the fact that Phobos Malfoy had moved on with his life, moved on from her, just like she'd thought she wanted for him. If she went to Hogwarts, she'd have to hear Katie tell her that she deserved to be happy, when she knew she didn't. If she went to Remus for advice, he might be snogging Snape. If she went to the Ministry, she'd have to see Riddle glaring at her and probably plotting his revenge, and then they'd bicker and Hermione would feel invigorated, and that was beyond frightening, to think Riddle could draw that out of her when no one else could.
Hermione took out her wand and Apparated away to a rubbish strewn square, and marched over to the front door of Number 12. There was only one person that could help her now.

"Hello Kreacher," Hermione said, "is Harry home?"


"So let me get this straight," Harry said, as they sipped at their mulled butterbeer courtesy of Kreacher in the neon green drawing room, blacklight posters all over the walls, the most prominent one of a trippy black dog surrounded by psychedelic spirals, "Phobos Malfoy is back, to I dunno, catch up and gossip or whatever, he's convinced you to deal with your Riddle problem by ruining his life and stealing all of his jobs and Ministry clout, and then once he helps you destroy Riddle Phobos is going to faff back to his own reality and leave you to deal with the fallout from a murderous psychopath?"

"That's what I wanted," Hermione lied, "for him to move on. His mum set up an engagement for him."

"To who?" Harry said, arching an eyebrow, "anyone we know?"

"Does it matter?" Hermione said, trying to keep her face neutral, and not the petulant pout she really felt like showing.

"Well, not to me," Harry shrugged, "but you look like you're going to cry."

"He can't ruin his whole life for me," Hermione said, "he's got a brother, and cousins, and parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles, friends and—"

"I wouldn't come back either if I were him," Harry said, raising his hands in surrender, "for one, we've barely even got a functional magical community. For two, Riddle's here." They both grimaced.

"I thought you liked him now," Hermione said, more than a hint of bitter sarcasm in her voice. She knew Harry didn't like Riddle. But at least he could interact with him without violence or yelling, unlike her.

"I tolerate him at work," Harry shrugged, "he backs us up a lot. The Department of Defense, I mean."

"I bet he does," Hermione said snidely.

"But I don't forget who he really is," Harry said, "or who he could be, anyway."

"Who he is," Hermione said firmly.

"Well, he is pretty different then Voldemort," Harry said, picking up a coconut biscuit from Kreacher and examining it, then shoving it whole in his mouth, "you've got to give him that."

"I suppose," Hermione said stiffly. They'd seen the memories, after all, from Hagrid and others, from Riddle in their reality. She'd seen what Riddle would grow to as the twenty-one-year-old Voldemort in their reality. And he wasn't that. Not yet, anyway.

"And Phobos said Dumbledore has tanked Riddle's reputation, in their world?" Harry snickered, "is that true?"

"Well, he says it's true, and I believe him," Hermione said, "Dumbledore discovered some, er, mysterious new evidence that Riddle was behind the Chamber of Secrets opening and the attack on Myrtle, not Hagrid."

Harry leaned forward eagerly, "so has Hagrid been un-expelled?"

"I don't think that's a word, but yes," Hermione said, grinning with Harry, "and Riddle's also been blamed for the murder of his parents. I mean, I have no idea how they didn't figure that out to begin with, the Aurors. It's literally his father and grandfather, and there was a witness spotting him! They knew the Riddle's were killed by magic, even."

"Well wizards don't care about Muggles," Harry said, his grin dropping, "we know this. If only they knew three Muggles helped take down Voldemort in the future, eh?" As always when Harry referenced the Dursleys he looked constipated. It was most likely because he was both proud and disgusted by them.

"For that matter, I don't know how the Muggles didn't figure it out," Hermione said, "if they'd done any real investigating, they'd know Tom Riddle Senior had a son he abandoned in an orphanage who was the right age for the boy Frank Bryce said he spotted."

"Muggles don't like loners," Harry said, "speaking of prejudices. They wanted to blame Frank."

They both lapsed into moody silence.

"So, what you're saying is, Riddle's reputation is nuked?" Harry asked.

"Obliterated," Hermione said with some satisfaction, "they even took away his Order of Merlin. Of course, everyone is wondering where exactly he is…. they think he started some sort of gang with Evelyn and Brigitte and they're off doing evil like Charlie's Angels or something." The Tarts, Phobos had assured Hermione, were all devasted, and in denial. There was apparently a large conspiracy theory involving Riddle being an innocent pawn in Dumbledore's evil game.

"Great," Harry laughed, "he can' t ever go back there, then. Stupid bastard. Dumbledore is a genius."

They both grinned together, and then slowly, the same thought passed through both heads, and their grins dropped in unison.

"He can't ever go back there," Hermione repeated, horror struck.

"Dumbledore is a genius," Harry said, even more glumly.

"Fucking hell, we're stuck with him!" Hermione said, punching the vinyl pink chair she was sitting in. Harry had informed her when she sat on it that it glowed when he switched on his black lights.

"We can always kill him," Harry shrugged, "if he gets out of line. Have Uncle Vernon punch him. It will be funny."

"Morgana's law," Hermione said gloomily, "remember?"

Harry shrugged, "I'm sure it only applied to the other version of him," he said, "but this version shouldn't even be here."

"Maybe," Hermione said, thinking she'd have to borrow that book from the Malfoy's library to be sure.

"So, what's the problem with Malfoy being engaged?" Harry said, looking at Hermione closely, "and you said he isn't staying? You're not thinking of jumping dimensions again, are you? If so, let me know and I'll talk Blaise into shagging you in Aruba again."

"You will not," Hermione said, feeling that stab of pain that was only for Blaise, "he's with whatsername. Emilie."

"Oh, bah," Harry said, waving a hand about, "he'll ditch her in seconds for you and you know it."

"He dumped me," Hermione said, pointing out for the millionth time since the destruction of their relationship what everyone seemed to forget.

"He regrets it," Harry said, "if you would just give him a chance—"

"No I'm not jumping dimensions," Hermione said loudly, cutting him off, "and I guess I just…wanted to ask your advice. On my plan to take the dementors and the mental health initiatives from Riddle."

"Haven't you already done it?" Harry pointed out. There were no less than three different colored lava lamps blazing behind them, and what appeared to be a weed pipe on the table.

Hermione blinked at it. Had Harry become a pothead without her noticing? Was she that bad of a friend?

"Yes," Hermione said, "for now I've got the initiatives, at least…but you don't think it's a bad idea?"

"Bloody hell, no," Harry snorted, "Riddle shouldn't be near prisoner reform or young wizards and witches with a twelve foot wand."

"Oh, good," Hermione said, relaxing a bit, "that's nice to hear."

"And besides," Harry said, as the disco ball overhead turned on and started twirling, "It's good to see you back, Hermione."

"Back?" Hermione said, "I never left."

"You know what I mean," Harry said, "back to yourself, more. That look on your face. It's like you just thought of S.P.E.W, you know? Like something matters to you again.

Like you've got a purpose. Something to excite you, to make you want to get out and do things."

"Yes," Hermione said, thinking of her plotting with Phobos at the Malfoy mansion of nightmare inducing topiaries, "that was the idea."


"So, you've got the contracts," Phobos said, pacing in the Malfoy family library, "and you took away the project he was obviously going to use to make himself Minister. Can you imagine the campaign?" Phobos put on an obnoxious voice, "vote for Riddle for Minister, the man who punishes Death Eaters. Give me a bloody break. More like the man who made Death Eaters. Speaking of, how is he keeping his followers from revealing who he really is? The ones who are alive in Azkaban?"

"They prefer to deny reality," Hermione said, "then they'd have to admit Voldemort is half Muggle, don't forget."

"A fate worse than death," Phobos drawled, "clearly. So now all you need to do is get Riddle involved in some horrible scandal, really destroy his career, and then he'll get shunted into some stupid department no one cares about, like Muggle Liaisons."

"Watch it," Hermione warned.

"You know what I mean," Phobos said, still pacing, "what can we get him for? Inappropriate charms with grindylows? An affair with a man?"

"Phobos," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, "it's 2001. No one will care if he's having an affair with a man."

"Oh," Phobos said, blinking, "that's good, I suppose. Progress and equality and love and all that. An affair with a unicorn?"

"I don't know if I'd call bestiality an affair," Hermione said, "plus, unicorns have taste."

Phobos snorted.

"Stealing of funds?" he suggested, "an affair with Shacklebolt's wife?"

"Kingsley is married to a man," Hermione said, arching a brow, "also, you seem fixated on this affair thing."

"Stealing, then," Phobos said, "that would work. He's so broke, it would make sense."

"I see you're still a snob, then," Hermione sighed. It was probably good Phobos was reminding her of his flaws. She needed something to cling to, when she was alone and unloved in her bed with only Crookshanks as company.

"I'll never change that, Granger," Phobos said, catching sight of his slightly crooked robes in the mirror and straightening them, "or apologize for it. So, we're going with stealing, then?"

"One thing at a time," Hermione said, feeling a weird sense of unease. "Let's take the initiative and-"

"You've already done that," Phobos pointed out, "in record time, too, bully for you Granger. So let's move on to scandal."

"You sound like Narcissa," Hermione grumped, "and I've got to succeed at the initiatives first, Malfoy. That will take some time. Years, maybe."

She'd started plotting out the course for their work. Ernie was right, they had to hire more help. The charms and potions alone for young witches and wizards was a full-time job. It might take a lifetime to figure out how to treat mental health alone.

"I can't stay years," Phobos said carefully, and Hermione turned away at once to the tea set the Malfoy house-elf, Blindi, had brought in to pour herself a cup. "I'm engaged for one."

"Yes, I heard you the other day," Hermione said, proud of herself for how unaffected her voice had sounded.

She had never wanted Phobos to stay, not really. No matter how well they might work together as a pairing in another time, they couldn't work now. Either Hermione would have to leave her father and friends, or Phobos would have to leave his, and whichever one did would one day wake up, realize every annoying quirk of the other person they'd universe jumped for, and be resentful forever of the sacrifices they'd made. If Hermione still sometimes fantasized about it anyway, of jumping back to see the Forty Alt Heroes and Other Dumbledore and Bowers and talk to Dippet about Muggle movies, of leaving this world where all she was reminded of was death, well who could blame her? If sometimes her fantasies were about Phobos coming here, them running off together, was that a crime? If lately her mind had wandered and made up a world where Phobos Malfoy, not Draco, had been her classmate, and what could've been between them all these years at school, was there any harm in that? If she thought idle thoughts when she was lying awake at night, afraid and guilty, was that so bad?

"Insomnia," Hermione muttered, "that's the first potion, for sure."

"Er, dreamless sleep?" Phobos pointed out.

"Drawbacks," Hermione said, a line between her brows, "you can get a dependency. Eventually the lack of dreams leads to psychosis."

"I won't ask how you know this," Phobos said, "or why you just muttered insomnia, that's the first potion in response to me reminding you of my engagement."
Hermione put the tea cup down with a loud rattle. What was the point, in pretending she still had dignity? She didn't. She hadn't for ages. Everyone suspected she was a crackpot. The French Ministry had only given her the contracts because Hermione Granger, heroine of the wizarding world, becoming a reclusive nutcase was a closely kept secret in the British wizarding world out of honor for her heroism. But eventually they'd find out too.

"I'm a little upset about you being engaged," Hermione said, "I guess I'm jealous. Tell me, she's rich, I guess?" she forced herself to look at Phobos, who had taken his turn to look away from her, his face uncomfortable.

"Not particularly," he mumbled, "the Rowles are a well-known family, though. Well thought of."

"How old is she?" Hermione said, "eighteen?"

Phobos pulled a face. "Don't be disgusting, Granger, she's only a year younger than us. A lot older than you, I suppose, in a way. I know you were busy when you were at Hogwarts with me, but she was there, in fifth year."

"You never mentioned her," Hermione said stiffly.

"Yeah, well," Phobos sighed, "I had no intention of marrying her, did I?"

"So why are you?" Hermione said. She took a sip of scalding hot tea and coughed.

"I've got to marry somebody," Phobos shrugged, "and she turned out all right. She was quiet in school. I barely noticed her until recently."

"What made you notice her?" Hermione said, putting down the tea.

"Direct as always, Granger," Phobos said, pushing back his hair with a little laugh, but Hermione saw that he was all flushed, "I forgot how...different you are."

"Yes, I'm very unladylike," Hermione said, picking up a biscuit and shoving it petulantly in her mouth.

Her loud crunches were the only sounds in the room for some minutes.

"She reminds me of you," Phobos said abruptly, and Hermione choked on her third biscuit, "If you really want to know."

"A pure-blood Slytherin reminds you of me?" Hermione said, her mouth still half full of biscuit.

"She looks like you," Phobos said, picking up a random book and then putting it down again. It occurred to Hermione that he was just as unhappy and uncomfortable as she was and for some reason, that cheered her up considerably.

"She's got crazy hair?" Hermione said, picking up her tea again.

"No, but it's brown and curly," Phobos said, "she's smart. She doesn't take shit. She's not as violent as you though, nor as prone to...etiquette gaffes."

Hermione snorted. "I'm sure you prefer that," she said acidly.

"No, actually, I prefer those hideous blue shorts of yours that looked like they were fraying to pieces,' Phobos said, "and your shirt about rotting pumpkins. I prefer you slapping people that anger you. I prefer your swearing and your shoving food in your face like a glutton, instead of sitting completely upright, legs crossed at the ankle, eating air. But I can't have you, can I?"

Hemione swallowed the rest of the biscuit and tea painfully, her eyes on Phobos, who was picking up other books at random now, his back to her.

"Do you love her?" Hermione asked, "are you happy?"

"No, and no," Phobos said, "and I know she doesn't love me either. But it makes our mothers happy. Do you want me to tell you what's been going on?"

"You told me," Hermione said cautiously, "Dougal finished Auror training. Dumbledore has been Headmaster for the past year. Audrey is recovered and engaged to a Muggle boy who loves her. She's best friends with Ginny, who your parents have basically adopted as their only daughter." That detail had cheered Hermione up considerably.

"Marlene is an Auror now too, she's partnered with Dougal. In er….more than one way."

Phobos twitched. It was rather a plot twist that Dougal Malfoy had turned into the disappointing rebel of the family, second only to Audrey, who was dating a Muggle and going to Muggle university and arguing with the Ministry for Muggle reforms loudly in men's trousers. Phobos Malfoy being the respectable one by pureblood standards was unexpected, at best.

"Ethelinda and Patrick have gotten married," Hermione continued, "Belinda is in Azkaban. Riddle's old followers are being watched, but so far are just showing signs of being rich boys who spend money and do nothing much of anything else. Wyatt and Richard are engaged, not to each other. Moody is in the Aurors as well, no surprise there. Marion is dating Herbie Longbottom. Dorcas was buried and awarded another Order of Merlin posthumously."

Hermione felt a lump in her throat. That was another thing that haunted her at night. Dorcas in her time had at least gone out like a hero, fighting Voldemort in her forties. But because of Hermione, the other Dorcas Meadows had died at sixteen without anyone even noticing. It was only Belinda showing up and confessing after her capture that had revealed where Dorcas's transfigured body had been left.

"Brock and-"

"No," Phobos cut in, "do you want to know what's been going on with me?"

"I told you I did!" Hermione said, indignant, "about twelve times! All I got out of you was that you are engaged to Victoria Rowle and that you're twenty-one, same as me. Well, I guess, I mean I don't know if I should count the time in your reality or not-"

"Well I'm not miserable, not quite," Phobos cut her off again, "but I'm not happy like I should be either. I can't figure out what to do with my life. Dougal is rebelling, and mother and father are upset about it. Audrey is the ultimate family shame now. Abraxas is at least not following Riddle's creed, but he's a pompous bigoted arse all the same. Lucretia has two kids she's already raising to be monsters. I agreed to marry Victoria because she's the closet witch I've found to you, but really, she's just a pale imitation. There's no one like you, Hermione."

It was her turn to look away, flushing. It was everything she'd wanted to hear at night, in those wild fantasies, at least the ones with this alternate reality Phobos. The ones where she fantasized about Phobos being in her year usually ended with him being best friends with her and Ron and Harry, and him noticing her as a girl at the Yule Ball when she went with Victor, and them snogging fifth year, and upgrading to shagging in sixth year, and then-

"Getting married," Hermione muttered, "pathetic."

"I know it's pathetic," Phobos said unexpectedly said loudly, and Hermione jumped, dropping the teacup with a clatter, spilling on the rug. "But what am I supposed to do? I can't come here."

"You'll grow to resent me," Hermione nodded.

"Exactly," Phobos said, "I can't ask you to come to me."

"I'll grow to resent you," Hermione agreed.

"Plus you'd never leave your father and your precious Potter," Phobos said, his voice bitter, and Hermione knew that was true too.

As much as she thought about Phobos, especially since the demise of her relationship with Blaise, and certainly not because thinking of Riddle instead was a horrible idea, she knew she couldn't leave her father or Harry, no matter how much she wanted to run.

"No, I can't," Hermione sighed.

"So what are we supposed to do?" Phobos asked.

"Clearly, get engaged to other people," Hermione said.

"You're a bloody hypocrite," Phobos snapped, "how long were you dating your boy, huh?"

"We've been broken up for ages," Hermione mumbled, looking away again.

"So Narcissa said," Phobos said, "I waited four years to come back for a reason, you know."

"What's that?" Hermione asked, afraid of the answer.

"I assumed it would take you ages to get over Riddle," Phobos said, "and then I got scared, thinking I'd find you with him when I came back."

"I've never loved Riddle!" Hermione shouted, lunging to her feet in a sudden rage, stepping on the teacup, "Ow!" she hopped around, her foot bleeding.

"Sit down," Phobos said, vanishing the cup and the shards, and yanking off her shoe, looking at her bleeding foot. He whispered a charm, and the cut healed. "I've passed the time by training to be a Healer," he said at last, "I decided a month or two ago."

"Oh," Hermione said faintly, watching the blood drip from her newly healed foot, "that's good. But I've never loved Riddle, Phobos." In truth, Hermione was not sure she'd ever loved anyone but her parents, Harry, and Ron. She didn't know if she was capable of loving anyone else.

"The way you screamed about it was convincing," Phobos said dryly, "but that wasn't my point. I thought I'd come back right away, you know? Then Patrick pointed out to me that I needed to let you get over Riddle."

"Patrick?" Hermione said, "Patrick Black?"

"Yes," Phobos said stiffly, "we've become close. Us and Richard Potter."

"What?" Hermione said, shocked.

"So I listened," Phobos said, "then I thought, so much time has gone by maybe she's forgotten me, and I considered coming back to an earlier point, not keeping time with how much time had passed in my world. But then that would make me a bit of a creep, wouldn't it? Coming back when you were what, seventeen? Eighteen?"

"You're not a creep," Hermione said. That was the problem, wasn't it? She had been so sure that Phobos was just like Draco, when they'd first known each other. But he'd proven her wrong. So had Dougal.

"So I made sure I was engaged, just in case I caught you married to Riddle," Phobos said, "but I come here and find out you've been shagging your other boy this whole time. And you have the nerve to be mad at me?"

"I'm not mad," Hermione said honestly.

"I've never shagged Victoria," Phobos said, "so you don't get to be mad, Hermione."

"No, I'm sure she's the perfect virgin," Hermione said bitterly, "and I told you, I'm not mad!"

"Oh really?" Phobos said.

"I'm jealous, and sad," Hermione said, "since we're being honest."

"You shouldn't be," Phobos said, "haven't I told you I'm not in love with her? I'm not even shagging her!"

"I'm not jealous of you," Hermione said, surprised she was having to spell this out, "I'm jealous of Victoria Rowle."

"You want to be in a loveless engagement?" Phobos retorted, "to a man who's marrying you and pretending you're someone else?"

"Don't be obtuse," Hermione snapped, "she's got you, doesn't she? That's what I'm jealous of."

Phobos, it seemed, was that obtuse, judging by the look of surprise on his face.

"But she doesn't have me," he said slowly, "that's what I'm telling you."

"She has you more than I do," Hermione pointed out, "and she gets to keep you. I've got you for how long? A week? A Month? While you…do what? Help me torment Riddle for fun? Then when you're bored, you'll be gone, and I'll be alone again with a pissed off Riddle."

"I didn't come back to help you torment Riddle," Phobos said, looking away from her again.

"So why did you come back?" Hermione asked.

"Now who's being obtuse?" Phobos said, his smile wry, "I couldn't stand not seeing you anymore. I tried and I tried, but the longer it went on the more it hurt. We had our engagement party a few days before I left. Everyone important was there. The finest food and china and champagne. The whitest and blandly pink flower arrangements. Mother cried with happiness. But Victoria made a face that made her look like you when the cake was brought out. It was a ridiculous cake, even for a wedding, and this was just an engagement party. Five tiers of whipped creams and flowers, covered in pink frosting and golden flakes. It was molded in a very unfortunate diamond shape. I could just hear you making some crack about it, saying it looked like a golden pureblood vagina or something."

Hermione snickered. It had sounded like a golden vagina.

"So when Victoria made that face," Phobos continued, "I assumed she was going to say it looked like a golden vagina made out of cake. I could hear it. But of course, she would rather die then say something like that. She probably hadn't even thought it looked like one. She made a face, but then she said 'look at this lovely cake my mother got us from Paris, Phobos. Isn't it divine?' And I wanted to grab Dougal and shove him face first into that cake and make an obscene joke. Instead I smiled and said it looked divine and ate my cake in tiny bites and left half of it on the plate, like a good fancy rich boy."

"You're not allowed to eat either?" Hermione jested, "I thought that was just pureblood girls."

"Both," Phobos said, "eating is so gauche, after all. Just starve and die, like the classiest people do."

"That explains Narcissa," Hermione mused.

"So I realized I needed to see you," Phobos said, "it was way past due."

"No," Hermione said, "I think you realized you need to break off your engagement and not get married."

Phobos grinned.

"What?" Hermione said.

"I think that's the jealousy talking again," he said smugly.

"No," Hermione corrected, "it's the common sense talking. You don't even like this girl!"

"I do," Phobos said, "I just don't love her. But that's not a problem for a pure blood. No one expects me to love her. Hell, Victoria doesn't even expect me to love her."

"Romantic," Hermione said.

"But I don't know if I love you, either," Phobos said baldly, "I like you a lot. I think about you constantly. I want you. But is that love?"

"Probably not," Hermione said, but it did sound an awful lot like how she felt for Phobos as well.

"Does it?" Phobos said, taking a step closer. She must have been talking out loud again. "Which part is how you feel for me as well?"

"The part where I think about you constantly and want you," Hermione admitted.

"But you dated your Slytherin boy for years, Narcissa said," Phobos said at once, "right after I left, even, Hermione! It was the talk of the wizarding world."

"So, four people?" Hermione said sourly. "everyone else was dead. Again, I'm not the one who is engaged, here!"

"Did you really think about me?" Phobos said, "or only after you got dumped?"

"Ouch," Hermione said, "and for your information, I thought about you all the time. When we went to Aruba, I floo'd Harry and asked if you'd come back yet. But you didn't. I knew I had to move on, that you weren't coming back." Phobos looked away from her. And Hermione took a deep breath. Forced herself to say what she had to say. "And I knew that was for the better," she said.

"Yeah," Phobos, said, "it was. You're right. I should dump Victoria and move on to someone else. I'll go back tomorrow. I saw you like I wanted, I got closure…and I helped you screw over Riddle again. Not in the way he wants, either."

"Great," Hermione forced herself to say, "you saw how we're doing, and gave me an update. You helped me get a leg up on Riddle. You told me how he can't go back to your time because of Dumbledore. You should go back to your life." Something twisted in her guts. She couldn't look at him. She supposed it was back to staring at her ceiling and wondering what it would be like if the universe had swapped Draco and Phobos Malfoy's existences. Then again, if the universe had swapped them Phobos would've died his sixth year in a plot by Voldemort.

"I'll go tonight, even," Phobos said, his voice strained, "I don't want to linger. It will make things harder."

"No," Hermione said, "lingering is a bad idea." But she had taken a step forward. When she looked up, so had Phobos. He was right in front of her. He'd gotten taller, a late growth spurt, and it was clear up this close.

Hermione never would know who made the first move, but someone did, and then they were kissing in the Malfoy family library, next to the frilliest tea set and a platter of biscuits made for ten people.

"I don't want you to go," Hermione said between kisses as she shoved the expensive robes off Phobos.

"I don't want to go either," he groaned, yanking her jumper over her head.

"We can't be together," Hermione said as Phobos kissed her neck, biting lightly at a spot on the side.

"I know," he said into her skin, licking back up to her mouth, their tongues sliding together. His hand was behind her, fumbling at her bra, and Hermione took pity and twisted it off herself, Phobos groaning when she placed his hands back on her.

"I'm not coming back with you," Hermione warned, shuddering, as Phobos's mouth trailed back downward again.

"I'm not inviting you to," he said, mouth on her breasts, hands on her jeans, yanking in frustration at her button.

Hermione obliged.

"I don't love you," Hermione said, as she kicked off her pants and stood in only her knickers, "I don't think. But I don't think I love anyone."

"I know," Phobos said, kneeling at her feet, kissing her stomach and her hipbones, "I don't know if I love you either. But I miss you."

"I missed you too," Hermione said, feeling tears behind her eyes of all horrible things, "I missed you more than you know."

"I don't think so," Phobos said, pulling down her knickers, "I missed you so much I felt ill. I couldn't sleep. I'm engaged to a girl just because she looks a little like you. Dougal said if you were drunk and had sustained a Liberi Loqui from Avery you could mistake Victoria for you."

Hermione blinked down at Phobos, who was still almost fully dressed and kneeling at her feet while she was naked in the Malfoy library. A portrait of an old lady piled with pearls was gaping at her. Oh well. At least she hadn't fled to get Narcissa. Not yet, anyway. Though if Narcissa came bursting into here looking for a fight, Hermione had been dying to give her one for years.

"That was an insult," Phobos said, "because Avery is so bad at spells."

"Oh, I got it," Hermione said, "all he was really good at was staring at my tits. Listen, why are you still dressed?"
Phobos reached for his shirt buttons and then paused.

"What?" Hermione said, and then a weird suspicion bloomed. Hadn't he said he hadn't shagged his fiancé? "Are you a…have you done this before?"

"Done what?" Phobos said, his hands still frozen, and Hermione blinked. Was this going to be a repeat of that long-ago sex-ed talk with Estelle?

"You know," she said, feeling like she was a thirteen-year-old girl again all of a sudden, "it."

"Are you asking if I've had sex, Granger?" Phobos said, surprising her.

She should've remembered he was nothing like Estelle, in many ways.

"Estelle?" Phobos squawked, "why are you thinking about Estelle right now-never mind. It wasn't Estelle, are you mad? She's engaged to Logan Parkinson."

"What?" Hermione yelped. Prolonged contact with the air of Malfoy Manor, with no clothes on and no warm human touch was making her break out in goosebumps. "She's engaged to…but she was so against the idea!"

"Well," Phobos said, his expression turning dark, "girls often protest a lot when they like a bloke and are trying to hide it, don't they Granger?"

"Meaning?" Hermione said, crossing her arms. She couldn't believe they were arguing while she was naked.

"Yeah, I can't either," Phobos said, "let's skip all that and have sex, yes?"

"I want to know what you meant," Hermione said stubbornly, but she knew, didn't she?

"Of course you know," Phobos said, "are you talking out loud by accident again? You look surprised I said that."

"No," Hermione lied, the part of her that was genuinely concerned with her own mental health sounding an alarm and then brutally silenced.

"So who did I mean, then?" Phobos said, sitting up on his heels, his shirt half unbuttoned, revealing the thinner white shirt beneath.

"Riddle," Hermione said sullenly, "you were making a jab at me about Riddle. I don't want him, though."

But she did. Didn't she? Hermione was chewing her tongue to be sure she didn't keep talking against her will, and she knew she'd succeeded. If that last thought had been aloud, Phobos would've stopped all activity, no matter how much he wanted her.

"Sure," Phobos said, making to button up his shirt again.

"If I wanted him," Hermione said pointedly, "don't you think I could've had him by now? Easily? Repeatedly?"

Phobos paused.

"Don't tell me you didn't ask Narcissa right away if I was with Riddle, or if I had ever been with him," Hermione chided, "don't lie."

"I did ask," Phobos said sullenly.

"I bet it was the very first thing you asked," Hermione taunted.

"No, it was third," Phobos snapped, "I had to ask her how she was first, didn't I? for manners? That took a solid three hours of wailing and lamenting about Lucius and Draco. Then I asked if you were okay. When Narcissa said 'well that depends on your definition, her hair is still looks like cat hairballs and she never washes her face,'I asked if that meant you were with Riddle or not. She then gossiped about you with some vigor for the next hour, and I found out about whatshisface."

"Blaise," Hermione said unnecessarily, "his name is Blaise."

"Blaaaaise," Phobos said sarcastically, "my apologies."

"You. Are. Engaged," Hermione snarled, her blood pumping hard. This is what she needed. A guy to wake her up again. She'd been too long a zombie in her father's home, everyone coddling her.

"I know you need me," Phobos said hotly, "but what are we supposed to do? I'm not giving up my entire life for you."

"And I'm not giving up my life for you," Hermione said stubbornly. Her life was a train wreck of epic proportions right now, true, and she'd give it up in a heartbeat if it was only her, but Hermione was many bad things right now: flighty in her romantic affections, moody, sullen, mean, antagonistic, borderline hostile, useless, but she was not selfish. Not really. She'd proved that in many ways. And only a selfish person would leave her father and Harry and Brigitte, and all the others who needed her, even if they didn't need her as much as they needed Old Hermione, the loyal, kind, intelligent one with a zest for life and a mania for doing the right thing at all times. This budget version of Old Hermione was what they were stuck with, but for some reason, they still needed her. And she couldn't forget that and hop a reality again. What if something went wrong, and she got stuck?

"Right then," Phobos said, "back to plan B. Let's have sex and get it out of our system. Find out if it's only lust or not."

"Agreed," Hermione said, "but if I hear one word about Riddle, or Blaise, this is off." She uncrossed her arms, and Phobos's eyes drifted down from her face. He started unbuttoning his shirt again.

"You're a cheater, you know," Hermione said, "so I don't want to hear you whine about me fooling around with anyone again."

"I'm not cheating," Phobos snapped, shrugging off his shirt and making to rip off the undershirt, "I'm breaking it off when I get back. I told you." His last shirt came off, and Hermione brazenly stared.

"What?" Phobos said self -consciously.

"I've just thought about this a lot," Hermione said honestly, "I want to remember this."

Phobos went a little pink. She liked that he still could. Riddle had eradicated almost all of his boyish blushes and flushes and smiles. But why the hell was she thinking about Riddle again? He'd be angry of course, if he knew. Angrier then about Blaise, that was for sure. Phobos had ruined Riddle's plan to get Hermione, after all. Hadn't he? Her tongue was clamped firmly in her teeth again, so she wouldn't mutter this without realizing it like the total lunatic Hermione Granger had become.

"Me too," Phobos said, "I mean, I've thought about this a lot too."

He reached out hesitantly, wrapping his hands around Hermione's legs. She felt the Malfoy crest as he ran his pale hands up her bare legs.
"Who did you sleep with?" Hermione blurted out as he leaned forward, still kneeling.

Phobos paused, his hands on her hips.

"Does it matter?" he asked.

"Yes," Hermione said, "what if it was my grandmother or something?"

Phobos's face twisted with revulsion.

"Stop reminding me how old I am here," he said, "also, even if I had, it wasn't your grandmother, was it, Granger? Not really."

"Neither of my grans look anything like me,' Hermione warned, "you would've been wasting your time."

"Granger," Phobos groaned, dropping his head forward in irritation, but as he was kneeling, his head hit her crotch area, and distracted her greatly, "are you trying to duck out of this? You can just say so, you know."

"No," Hermione said, "I'm just awkward and on the path to crazy cat lady." Also, it had been ages since she'd had sex.

"Funny," Phobos said, "me too."

Hermione turned bright red at her brain's continual attempts to humiliate her, and then redder as Phobos leaned forward and tentatively kissed her hipbones, her stomach, and lower.

"So who was it?" Hermione persisted, "let me know who to be jealous of, at least."

Phobos sighed. "you don't want to know," he said, "trust me."

"Unless it was your own cousin, I won't care," Hermione insisted.

Phobos mumbled something into her lady parts.

"What?" Hermione snapped, "did you just say…"

"I said it was Marion Hinsley, okay?" Phobos said, "now shut up and let us enjoy this."

"Marion Hinsley?" Hermione half shrieked, and the gaping portrait covered her right ear in one hand and left eye with the other. "Oh, piss off!" Hermione snarled at the portrait, who genteelly pretended to faint.

"We were both really drunk, let's not talk about it," Phobos said, "we both pretend it didn't happen. Er, any of the times."

Hermione briefly closed her eyes. She really didn't want to be imagining how it was possible that Marion Hinsley, who was engaged to Herbie Longbottom and would spend her entire life as an eighty year old woman no matter what her age, had actually fucked Phobos Malfoy repeatedly for fun.

"Get on the couch, then," Hermione said at last, opening her eyes again, "that's how I pictured it. Me in your lap."

"Funny," Phobos said, "I always pictured you under me in my bed."

"At home, or in the dungeons?" Hermione asked, curious.

"Both," Phobos shrugged, standing up, "but I'm a generous guy, Granger. I don't mind obliging." He removed his trousers and sat on Narcissa's golden flouncy couch; one pale eyebrow raised in challenge.

"Challenge accepted," Hermione said, half launching herself. There was no time to be coy. She'd wanted this for years, and it had been so long since Blaise.

"I should've known," Phobos sighed, as Hermione settled into his lap, his skin warmer than she'd expected, his hands going to her waist. "I should've known you would want to be in charge."

"I like being in charge," Hermione said, "because I always know what I'm doing." She slid down on Phobos without warning and sighed, like she'd scratched an unbearable itch.

"Bloody hell," Phobos hissed, "that was out of nowhere, Grang-" he gave a weird shudder, and the portrait was peeking at them from her fake swoon.

"Might as well give her a show," Hermione said, rolling her hips.

"I don't know who you mean," Phobos grunted, "and I don't care. Just don't stop doing—fuck!"


They had ended up clambering upstairs, Phobos had informed Hermione that Narcissa was often in a wine induced stupor for the latter half of the day, and even the beginning of the day as well, then would sober up around midnight, take a draught of dreamless sleep, and be zonked until the next morning. It had sparked an idea in Hermione's brain, but then she'd been distracted by the thought of more shagging, and then they'd taken a turn fulfilling Phobos's wish of having Hermione in his bed, after they'd ascertained the bed had never belonged to dear old Draco. As depraved as Hermione felt she was becoming, this was too far for even her.
Afterwards, they lay in bed, sweaty, Hermione's head on Phobos's chest.

"Well?" Phobos prompted after a solid twenty minutes of silence, "you didn't fall asleep, did you?"

"No," Hermione said.

"This is the longest I've heard you go without muttering something weird since I've been back," Phobos told her, "was it that good?" he hesitated, "that bad?"

"I'm thinking," Hermione said.

"Thinking about if it was good?" Phobos said, but there was a hint of something strange in his tone, like he desperately needed reassurance.
Hermione took pity.

"I loved it," she said, "I'm giving you time to recover and then I'm climbing on again." Phobos's arms tightened round her bare shoulders. "I'm thinking whether I'm going to do something stupid and reckless again or not."

"Well, as long as what you're thinking doesn't involve you being the one to inform Victoria our engagement is off due to the fornicating," Phobos said.
Hermione was silent.

"Granger?" Phobos said, alarmed, "that wasn't what you were thinking, was it?"

"Well, I wasn't going to say fornicating," Hermione said, her mind turning. It would be selfish beyond belief to risk time traveling to another reality and getting stuck just for her own selfish sexual needs, her own gaping loneliness, her need to see that she'd made another world better. But there was something else in Phobos's universe that Hermione needed.

Phobos's breath caught.

"What about 'I can't leave Potter or my dad?'" he asked, as they both stared up at the grey silk canopy in the Malfoy guest room. Even in a lesser room, it was still covered in ornate silver, rich velvets and silks, and ridiculous snake designs. Hermione could only hope his actual bedroom looked different.

"Well," Hermione said, "that was before I realized I needed to confront Marion Hinsley for sleeping with you."

Phobos snorted. "She doesn't want me," He told Hermione, "she's made that clear. It's okay, I didn't want her either. I just wanted to…well, I thought you were with Riddle."

"You wanted a distraction," Hermione said, "I get it." So do I, she thought, but for once she kept that thought inside successfully. She could return right away. No one even had to know it happened. But she had to know. She had to find out.

"What's the real reason you want to come back with me?" Phobos asked after another few minutes. The fire crackled merrily, even if the mantlepiece had a ridiculous snake sculpture with emeralds for eyes on it. "It's not because of me, so don't lie."

"I wasn't going to," Hermione said, "let's just say, I haven't finished saving the world yet. And I want to earn that statue they are building of me."


End Author's Note: Alas I've been very busy/stressed lately and will be starting a second job soon, so hopefully updates will not slow too much!