"St. Mungos?" Hermione Granger murmured, and as the words left her mouth, a jolt of realization shot through her. She knew that name.
She craned her neck, forcing her eyes to focus on her surroundings. To her left, a bedside table with stacks of parchment and a bottle of… something.
To her right, she saw a bag of liquid floating in midair. The liquid inside was glowing, and she watched as it dripped down the length of a tube and into her arm. That was why she couldn't move it!
This wasn't heaven. This was a hospital.
She looked at the old man sitting beside her, his blue eyes sparkling with affection and relief. Dumbledore wasn't dead. He was actually there!
"Do you understand what happened to you and Draco Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked. "What do you remember?"
At Draco's name, a million memories rushed into her mind, pushing through the fog and forcing her to remember. They had fallen through time. They had fallen in love.
"I love you, Hermione," Draco murmured, the shadow of a smile gracing his blue visage.
She had died in his arms.
She sat up suddenly, a desperate sense of urgency overcoming her.
"Draco!" she cried, tugging at the sheets on her hospital bed. "He—he and I… we!"
Hermione registered dimly that the Professor was trying to calm her down, but the clamor in her mind was too loud. She had to find Draco! She had to make sure he was okay!
"We died! In the ocean!" she tried to explain, but her mind was moving faster than her mouth could keep up with.
"Miss Granger, please."
"Professor! I have to make sure he's okay!" She looked at him, desperate tears streaming down her cheeks. He stared at her with a mixture of confusion and concern.
"You cannot see him," he told her. "Not yet."
"But I have to!"
"I was under the impression that you two didn't get along," Dumbledore observed, adjusting his spectacles before looking into her eyes.
Her mouth hung open, unable to form a sentence. How could she even begin to explain all that she had gone through? All of the joy, the suffering, the animosity, and the love? Their mission? Their death? There was no way.
"Forgive me for prying, I just thought—"
"I don't," she whispered through her tears, heart thudding dully in her ribcage.
"You don't what, my child?"
"I don't hate him," she admitted, a weight pressing down onto her chest. It was hard to breathe. "I…I..."
I love him.
She wanted to say it, but for some reason the words refused to come to the surface. She stared at Dumbledore, eyes wide, tears carving rivers down her face.
"Was he the one responsible for your fall into the Tempus Camella?
Tempus Camella… Hermione thought to herself, the mystery of their accidental tumble back in time finally having a name. She recalled the word for time in latin, but the meaning of the word 'Camella' escaped her.
"Well, yes… but—"
"And is he not a Death Eater?"
"No!" She exclaimed, rushing to his defense.
"I'm simply recalling what Harry said-"
"I know what it looks like!" she cried, her voice hitching up in panic.
It was then that a knock came at the door, and Hermione looked to find two wizards entering without invitation. They were dawned in official-looking robes, one in red, the other in black.
"I see she's awake!" the one in red cried boisterously, and Hermione noted his sharp eyes and long blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. She looked between the two, overwhelmed with their sudden and unwelcome presence.
"Ah, Williamson. Proudfoot," Dumbledore greeted. "Miss Granger just woke up."
"How is she feeling?" the one in black asked, and Hermione couldn't help but notice the distrustful gaze in his black eyes.
Dumbledore looked at her. She shook her head vehemently.
"I think she's not quite ready to be interviewed, gentlemen. She needs rest."
"I see," the one in red mused, looking her up and down. She looked away, uneasy.
"Let us know when she's ready to talk," she heard the other one say, followed by the sound of the door clicking shut a few moments later.
She looked to Dumbledore.
He gazed back at her.
"We're in trouble?" she asked. It came out no louder than a whisper. Those were Aurors. Why else would they be there?
"They just need to know what happened," he explained. "Time… is a complicated thing."
"So it was all real?" she asked through numb lips, her hands and feet going cold.
"Yes, Miss Granger. It was not a memory, but the actual moment in time," he told her.
"How?" she asked, voice wavering. A part of her knew that everything that had happened had been real, but to hear the truth of it out loud stunned her.
"Time is not linear, my child," he explained. "Our moments fall around us like rain. Sometimes they form puddles, other times they form oceans. If you know the right path, you can… take a swim. So to speak."
She stared at him, uncomprehending. She hadn't been a stranger to time travel after her year with the time turner, but this... This was something else. They were talking about a hundred-year time gap.
"You can swim," Hermione whispered, the weight of their journey lying heavily upon her shoulders, "or you can drown."
It all came flooding back at once. Hamish was dead. Tommy was dead. Even if Sam and Lottie had survived that night, they were surely dead by now. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the pain, but several memories rushed to the forefront of her mind: Tommy's pale face and empty eyes. The smokestack sinking into the ocean, right where Hamish had been standing. Lottie reaching up and through the night towards Hermione as she was lowered into the roiling, black ocean. Thomas Andrew's empty eyes as she said goodbye for the last time.
Grief choked her, and she couldn't hold back the wave of sobs that overcame her. They tore from her chest as she buried her face in her hands.
No. No. No. No!
How could they have failed so severely? How could they go on living while their friends had died?
She thought of Hamish, how he had a life full of promise and love… it had gotten cut short. And for what? Because she had needed rescuing due to her own harebrained scheme. She should have been dead. Hamish should have lived.
"You need not talk about what you experienced if you don't wish to," Dumbledore told her quietly, cutting through her downward spiral.
"...W-what?" She choked out through her sobs.
"Legilimency," he said simply, and a shiver coursed through her body at the idea of Dumbledore navigating through her mind, her memories nothing more than an open book for him to read at his leisure.
"No," she said quickly, recalling the hour they had spent in the back of that car. She would rather waltz through the Slytherin common room naked before allowing Dumbledore to witness that intimate moment between them.
He studied her for a moment, as if trying to untangle the mystery that she had become in such a short amount of time.
"Very well," he told her, standing up, "we'll talk some more tomorrow."
When Professor Dumbledore left, a chaotic sort of silence settled over her. She could still hear the screams of the passengers echoing in the recesses of her mind.
She thought of her headmaster's words: time fell like rain… Did that mean they were all still suffering, even now? Would they suffer for all eternity?
And what about Draco? Had he woken up yet, or was he still slowly freezing to death a hundred years in the past?
Sorrow wrapped around her like a heavy, dark blanket. She sobbed and clawed at her chest, as if she could rip out her own broken heart with sheer willpower.
How could she go on?
... how?
. . .
When Hermione awoke once more, she cracked open her eyes, expecting to see the familiar lavish room that had been her home on the Titanic. She was shocked to see the bare St. Mungo's hospital room.
She blinked rapidly, everything coming back to her all at once.
"No," she whispered, her hand flying to her face as sobs began to wrack her body once more. "No, no, no!"
It was too much. Tears spilled down her face once again, picking up right where she had left off when she had lost consciousness last night.
"Oh, my darling," a familiar voice came to her right. Hermione looked to see her mother and father perched atop two chairs, eyes worried and hands reaching for her. "You're awake!"
"Mum! Dad!" Hermione sobbed, opening her arms to receive them. They stood up and enveloped her, pressing her into the hospital bed as they all cried and collapsed into one another.
She thought of Annabelle's mother. She thought of Horace. She had suffered at the hands of the worst, and now she was cradled in the hands of the people who actually loved her. She weeped even harder, thinking of Annabelle and all that she had been missing.
How long had she been craving this? How long had she been dreaming of this moment?
"Mum…" she sobbed, clinging to the woman who had given birth to her. "I missed you so much."
They pulled away, gazing at their child in confusion and desperation.
"What happened to you, Hermione?" her mother asked, tears spilling from their identical brown eyes. "They didn't tell us practically anything!"
She stared at them for a moment, her mind whirling.
"I don't know how to tell you," Hermione said earnestly. She didn't want to lie to her parents, but she also didn't think she could even begin to explain what she had been through.
"Are you hurt?" her father asked, taking her face in his big, warm hands.
She shook her head, but after a moment's consideration, she nodded.
"Who hurt you?" he pressed.
"Well—I guess it doesn't matter now," she whispered, her stomach churning uncomfortably as Horace's face flashed through her mind. He was dead. She saw him die. She was 100 years in the future, and he would never hurt her or anyone else ever again. "I'm alright."
"What about that boy?" her mother questioned, tucking a brown curl behind Hermione's ear.
"What boy?"
"That Slytherin boy, the one who used to call you that horrible name. Your headmaster said that you had some sort of confrontation?"
Hermione's heart plummeted into her stomach at the mention of Draco. Everyone still thought that they hated each other. Everyone was under the impression that he had hurt her.
"We did fight," she whispered, the words tasting strange on her lips. How much could she tell her mum? How much would they even believe? "But he didn't hurt me."
"Are you certain?" her father asked, an edge of disbelief in his voice.
"They said he'll be in custody until your disciplinary hearing," her mother added, pursing her lips in righteous indignation.
All the air rushed from her lungs at the news.
"Disciplinary hearing?" She choked out. "Custody?"
Did that mean she couldn't see Draco at all? For how long? How could this have happened? Why did they have to go to court? She felt the walls shrinking in around her, and her hands moved to grip her curls.
She could vaguely register her parents talking to her, but none of the words made sense. Even after all of that time longing for her actual family while aboard the ship, all she wanted now was to be alone.
She curled into herself then, bringing the sheets up and over her head.
"Hermione? Darling?" her mother asked, rubbing her shoulder through the sheets. "Are you alright?"
"Let's let her rest," her father murmured. She felt their weight lift off her hospital bed and heard them step lightly out of the room.
She let herself weep once the click of the door signaled that she was alone once more. She cried for Hamish and Tommy. She cried for Thomas Andrews. For all of the lives that had been lost, for all of the families that had been torn apart forever. All of the devastation and death.. because she had failed. She had tried her hardest and had still failed.
She cried for lost souls that had been relying on her, but above all, she cried for Draco.
She had no idea where he was. Was he even conscious? Were they keeping him in Azkaban already? They surely had an infirmary even there. The thought stabbed into her heart. He wasn't a Death Eater, but they wouldn't believe her. How could they?
How did this happen? She was the brightest witch of her age, she wasn't supposed to fail. Her life wasn't supposed to go like this.
. . .
The next time Hermione Granger roused from sleep, she knew it was no longer daytime. The room was dark, save for the flickering candle on the bedside table and the dim glow from beneath the door. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and sat up, her back aching from lying down for too long.
Even though she had been thankful to see her parents, she was relieved to find that they had not returned. Perhaps they had been sent home. It was probably for the best, she couldn't be the daughter they needed right now. She felt broken. Like the girl she had once been was gone forever. She had ceased to exist the moment they had fallen into the Tempus Camella.
Tears blurred her vision, and she looked down at her hands. She examined her fingertips, void of frostbite or any sign of trauma. She pressed her hands to her ribs, noting dimly that they no longer ached where Horace had crashed his boots into the tender skin. It felt strange to feel so broken and damaged inside, but to have no outward injury. Why did her injuries not follow her back out into their own timeline? Had it all been some sort of weird dream? Dumbledore had said it was real...
After a few moments she noted that there was no longer a tube connected to her forearm, and for that she was grateful. It made moving around finally possible. She pushed the sheets off of her and turned until her bare feet were planted firmly on the cold, stone floor. She shivered, wishing that she had real clothes instead of the flimsy material of the hospital gown.
When she stood, her legs shook beneath her, as if she were a newborn deer having to walk for the first time. How long had she been out? When was the last time she had eaten anything? Her bones felt hollow, and her head spun while she tried to catch her breath.
After a few moments of centering herself, the young witch turned to search the bedside table and began shuffling through the documents and parchment. She opened the drawer to find even more paper and a few medical tools that she didn't recognize. She pushed the contents aside, searching in vain for any of her belongings. Where was her wand? Had it not been found with her body, or had they taken it away? The thought of going even longer without her wand caused a wave of frustration to course through her.
Closing the drawer with a huff of annoyance, she brought her attention back to the tabletop. She pulled up the documents, scanning the scrawled notes in the dim candlelight. The words were strange and nonsensical to her. She wasn't a healer, and she didn't have any frame of reference for the language used.
Placing the papers back down, she studied the room around her. There was a curtain to her left, and when she moved it aside, an empty bed was revealed. This was a room for two patients, but it seemed as though they wanted to keep her alone. The thought made her nervous. Was she in real trouble? If she opened the door to the hallway, would there be security Aurors posted outside? She thought of the two men, Williamson… and Proudfoot? They had tried to interview her, and she knew it was only a matter of time before they would try again. She would need to get her story sorted by the time they returned.
The Gryffindor girl understood that she would have to tell the truth, but there were certain things she knew she couldn't disclose. The last four days of her life had been the most chaotic and traumatic she had ever experienced... yet they had also been the most romantic and intimate. To have to tell these complete strangers what she had been through, what she and Draco had shared. Even just the thought was overwhelming.
The first few steps she took were shaky, but her confidence grew with every inch. Once she passed the foot of her bed, she saw a door to her left. She made her way over to it. When she pushed it open she saw what had to be a lavatory.
The dim candlelight didn't allow much visibility but she was able to make out a washbasin to her right. After placing the candle on the lip of the sink, she turned the knob and a rush of cold water spluttered out and into her open palms.
She splashed the tap water onto her face, and the cold felt good on her skin. It wasn't nearly as cold as the water they had fallen into once the ship slipped below the surface, but it was a refreshing, crisp temperature.
When Hermione looked up she found herself staring at a pale girl with wild, untamed curls. She studied her reflection, the contours of her face flickering ominously in the candlelight. She noted the dark circles beneath her eyes, and that her cheeks had lost the flush roundness that they had once possessed. She no longer looked like a child.
She looked older. Thinner… almost gaunt.
Ugly. The word rose like bile, and she couldn't swallow it back down.
Ugly. Ugly. Ugly.
How did Draco ever think that she was beautiful? Had he just been fooling himself? Had she been fooling herself?
She shook her head, trying to clear her troubled thoughts. She needed to focus if she wanted to find Draco. Maybe he was being kept somewhere inside of the hospital, and the thought of that made her heart rate quicken. She wanted to see him. She needed to see him.
She needed to hold him in her arms and know once and for all that they were okay. That their troubles were over.
. . .
Thankfully, the door to her hospital room was unlocked, and when Hermione pushed it open– slowly, so slowly– she prayed to Merlin that no one was posted on the other side.
When nothing happened for several moments, she poked her head out to find an empty, stone corridor. She breathed a sigh of relief. There were a few chairs lining the hallway, but no one sat in them. She wondered distantly if Ron and Harry had tried to visit her yet.
The idea of seeing her friends again felt oddly nerve-wracking. She worried that they wouldn't recognize her, or perhaps she wouldn't recognize them. After all, Hermione Granger was no longer the same girl that had gone with them to the Ministry that night.
Those four days might as well have been a decade of time passing.
She stepped out into the hallway, scanning for any nurses or nightguards. To her right she could see the entrance to some sort of lobby, and to her left she could see that the corridor forked off into two paths.
She listened for a moment, holding her breath and straining to hear any sign of human life. The only sound came from the crackling torches lining the walls.
The coast was clear… for now.
The young witch knew time was of the essence, and she wasn't about to waste possibly her only opportunity to look for Draco. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of her room and down the corridor to her left.
Her bare feet padded lightly on the cold stones beneath her, and goosebumps rose on her skin. She wished she had her jumper, or at least a pair of slippers.
She paused at the end of the hallway, pressing herself into the wall and peeking around the corner. The view of another empty corridor greeted her, and she bit her lip in chagrin. Turning her head, she glanced the other way.
There. Two forms standing at the end of the other side of the corridor. They were tall and … shiny? She squinted through the darkness, trying to make out the strange shapes flickering in the torchlight.
The Gryffindor wasn't sure what they were, or who they were, but she figured it was a good place to start. Fear gripped her moment, what could she possibly say to get past two guards? But then she remembered herself: she held the world's largest ship up at gunpoint. She could talk to a few measly Aurors.
Steeling herself– and ignoring the fact that she was clad in nothing but a flimsy hospital gown– she stuck her chin in the air and rounded the corner. Her mind was racing, thinking of all of the excuses and reasons why she should get through that door. Draco might not even be behind it, but it was the only door with guards. So by process of elimination…
"Excuse me," she announced her arrival, nearing the end of the corridor.
The two forms came into focus then, and Hermione realized with a gasp that they were… two men in suits of armor? Why would Aurors even bother with such heavy chain mail? Her mind scrambled for an answer, but she didn't falter.
"I must get through that door."
They stood still, not even looking at her, making no indication that they heard her. Hermione fidgeted, wondering what to do.
"Let me in!" she barked, her voice cracking from lack of use.
Still nothing.
Were they ignoring her?
"Hello?" she asked, waving her hand in front of one of their faces.
No movement… and then it occurred to her: they were empty!
A wave of embarrassment swept through her. How could she be so foolish? Of course they were just decorations. Was she really so sleep-deprived?
Rolling her eyes, she moved to turn the knob—
A sharp screech of metal on metal rang out—Hermione jumped back just in time to narrowly avoid having her hand sliced off by a massive sword. She gaped up at the armor in shock.
"What in the bloody—"
"Miss Granger?" someone called behind her, and she whirled around to find the Auror in red blinking at her from down the corridor, wand clasped in his outstretched hand. He blinked in surprise, his arm slowly lowering. "What are you doing?"
Bollocks, Hermione cursed inwardly.
The young witch had thought that the suits had just been for show, but in reality, they had been charmed to stand guard. How could she be so naive?
As the Auror approached, Hermione fidgeted with the bottom of her hospital gown. She shivered in the corridor, the realization that she was in actual trouble slowly sinking in.
"I didn't know you were feeling better!" he said, eyes roving her up and down. It wasn't a vulturous look, but a concerned one. When he spotted her bare feet, he gasped. "Bloody hell, you must be freezing!"
She resisted the urge to step away from the man as he drew closer, unclasping the top of his scarlet cloak. She knew he wasn't Horace. She knew he wasn't there to hurt her, but Merlin… Even just his presence unnerved her.
"I never got the chance to introduce myself. My name is Robert Williamson. I'm an Auror. I've been assigned to your case alongside my partner, Proudfoot." As the wizard introduced himself, all Hermione could think about was how this was the man who wanted to prosecute Draco. If he expected her to be friendly with him, he would be sorely disappointed.
The Gryffindor looked away as he pulled the cloak from his shoulders and placed it over hers. Her shivers quelled immediately.
"Thank you" she murmured. Even if she didn't trust him, she wasn't that rude.
"What are you doing out of bed?" he asked quietly.
"I had to see him," she said, voice clipped.
"Draco Malfoy?"
The name sent an excited shiver through her body. Yes! She had been right! He was beyond that door. He was so close… So close it felt as though she could sense his warmth even through the brick and stone and wood. Longing tugged at her chest.
If only she could get through. She needed to hold him in her arms once again.
"Yes."
"Why?" he asked.
Hermione's heart jumped. Should she lie? Studying the man before her, she realized that she didn't sense any overt ill-intentions coming from him. Though it would be better to air on the side of caution, since he was probably one of the wizards determining their punishment.
"Because I want to make sure he's okay."
He scratched his head, sighing.
"Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley told me you all hated him," he said, shaking his head in bewilderment. "We thought you would be pleased to see him locked up."
She could feel her throat tighten and tears begin to burn behind her eyes. No. She didn't want to cry again. She had wasted too much time letting her emotions get the better of her.
"I don't hate him anymore," she told him, tilting her chin into the air.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy's condition is stable," he told her, voice calm.
"I want to talk to him."
"You aren't allowed to."
"Why not?!" she snapped.
"Direct orders from the Minister. Draco has been deemed a dangerous man. A spy for the Dark Lord."
She clenched her fists, hot anger coursing through her.
"He's not on their side," she stressed, "he's good."
He studied her, as if trying to solve a puzzle.
"I'm telling the truth!" she cried, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I believe you," he soothed.
"Then I can see him?"
"Not yet, I'm sorry." He shook his head. "Even if you could you wouldn't be able to talk to him. He's sedated."
"I thought you believed me!"
"It's not about whether or not I believe you. You'll have to convince the Wizengamot."
She swallowed. Harry had stood before the magical court before, and she knew that he had escaped a guilty verdict by the skin of his teeth… and that was for casting a measly Patronus charm. Draco would be tried for treason.
"Are you ready to tell us what happened?" He murmured, "We'll need to make a full report. The sooner we do it, the sooner you can see him."
Hermione Granger nodded in understanding, her resolve hardening. She knew she would have to play the game in order to see him again. She would talk. She would tell them what they wanted to know.
A/N: I know this chapter is a little short, but this felt like a good place to stop it. I liked telling a Titanic story, but MAN do I love Hogwarts. I'm so excited to bring this story back to the original world.
Let me know your thoughts! I bet you guys can tell where we're going from here :)