Hermione Granger wrapped the wool cardigan tighter around her frame, shivering slightly in the sterile hospital air. Her mother had finally brought her some of her clothes from home, and she was eternally grateful. It felt as though it had been eons since she had been able to dress in her own outfits. She felt a lot more like herself now than she did the last two days since waking up back in her own time. She could already feel Annabelle Paige fading from her identity. That idea in itself was a little bittersweet.
Across from her sat the two Aurors, Williamson and Proudfoot. They had commandeered a separate office just for their interview, and as Hermione looked around the minimally decorated space, she realized it must have been some sort of hospital administrator's private quarters. Dumbledore stood beside her chair, hands clasped behind his back. Williamson, the one with the ponytail that had found her the night before, was smiling at her patiently while perched atop the desk.
In stark contrast to his calm partner, Proudfoot was tapping his quill ceaselessly on the parchment he had spread out on the desk before him.
"Where should I begin?" Hermione asked, cutting through the awkward silence. Why weren't they asking her questions? Wasn't this an interrogation?
"Wherever you feel comf-" Williamson began.
"When you first came across Mr. Malfoy in the Hall of Prophecies," Proudfoot quickly interrupted him, and Hermione assessed the older man. His hair was grey and cropped short in a severe, commanding cut. His stern dark eyes were widely set below bushy brows that were drawn together in a constant state of dissatisfaction. She couldn't help but notice that he resembled an American military commander more than a British Auror.
"I believe Harry and Ron already informed you of that night," Dumbledore spoke up from beside her. Hermione watched as Proudfoot's eyebrow twitched.
"Then... she can begin where they left off," he said, speaking slowly, as if he were moments away from snapping. She could tell that Dumbledore's presence was a burden on their investigation. "You three are lucky that Fudge is no longer in the picture. Scrimgeour is fully prepared to listen and believe you."
Hermione sat for a moment, mouth slightly ajar. What could she even say to that? Of course the Minister Of Magic should listen to them. After all, they had been right all along about Voldemort's return last year! Why did she feel like she was under attack?
"That being said, it does not mean you can omit any information. If I have even the slightest suspicion you may be lying, I will request a warrant for use of the Legilimens spell," Proudfoot said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I can assure you my student is a shining example of honesty and integrity," Dumbledore said, voice clipped. The room dropped several degrees as he spoke. Hermione shivered, glad he was on her side.
"Of course," Williamson soothed. "We're ready to listen, if she's ready to speak."
Several tense moments of silence passed.
"Where did Harry and Ron leave off?" Hermione asked, fidgeting with the sleeves of her cardigan.
"Your friends informed us that you had been dragged into the Time Room by Mr. Malfoy. They heard a tussle of some sort, but when they finally managed to get in, the two of you had disappeared. You were gone for four days. We set up wards to monitor the room, on the off chance of your return. On the fourth night, our wards detected human life and we were sent to investigate. You two were found unconscious, yet with no sign of injury," Williamson explained, leaning forward, his hands on his knees. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "Malfoy was found in Death Eater attire, including the mask… confirming Ron and Harry's testimony."
"So what we need from you," Proudfoot grumbled and stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the stone floor, "is everything in between."
. . .
Albus Dumbledore and Hermione Granger sat in the St. Mungos gardens after the interview ended. The courtyard was quiet, save for the rustling of the trees and a small creek babbling as it trickled behind them. Someone had charmed a protective bubble around the space, creating a moist, warm greenhouse. It felt like a warm summer day, and she was thankful for the change in scenery. They sat in silence for a while, watching the butterflies flutter from flower to flower.
She could have sat there for the rest of the day, resting in the comfortable silence she shared with her Headmaster. Her head was still spinning after having been forced to relay the entire sequence of events– sans the romantic bits, of course. To say she felt tired was an understatement.
"You've been on quite a journey," her Professor finally broke the silence.
"Yes," is all she said in return.
Another quiet beat.
"Wandless magic is quite impressive," he murmured, "but I'm not surprised you were able to conjure it. You are a very bright witch."
"But I couldn't control it," she dismissed, shaking her head, "if I could have maybe I would have been able to stop the sinking."
"Someone so young should never have witnessed such devastation."
"I don't feel young anymore," she whispered, her heart thudding dully in the cavity of her chest. "I failed all of those people. I knew what would happen and I tried so hard to stop it, but I still failed."
More silence. She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on her breathing, listening to the soft trickle of water.
"Now that I'm thinking of it, I do recall there were rumors that there had been wizards on Titanic the night she had gone down... but there were no official records to confirm such allegations," he said, and Hermione looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze.
"What rumors? How?"
"There were quite a few survivors plucked from the sea when the lifeboats went back, almost too many to carry back safely. They had been able to seek refuge on suspiciously large chairs. When the ministry was able to investigate, they found the magical remnants of a growth charm."
"But—all of the history books say—"
"The Ministry of Magic would not have allowed a narrative of possible magic to become so mainstream. The evidence was destroyed. The passengers plucked from the sea were obliviated."
Hermione's eyes blurred with unshed tears. They had managed to save some lives, even if it was only a few. She could feel her frozen heart thawing inside of her chest.
"You did not fail, my child." Dumbledore said, placing a firm, warm hand on her shoulder. "Even just one life saved is a success. You're a hero."
"It wasn't just me," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. She thought of Draco as he broke the locks with a satisfying snap. Draco pulling on the stolen sailor's cap, a grin on his face. Draco hoisting her up the steep incline of the deck, encouraging her to keep moving.
"Ah, yes." Dumbledore said, leaning back in his seat. A quiet thoughtfulness settled over him. "Mr. Malfoy."
"He shouldn't be in trouble," she told him, wiping at her tears with the sleeve of her cardigan. "He's not bad. He's good."
"He's a troubled character," Dumbledore mused, staring up at the sky, "but he's never been evil."
Hermione laughed.
"He is a bit of a tosser, isn't he?"
Dumbledore gave her a sad smile.
"That he is."
. . .
That night Hermione was cleared for discharge, and when she received the news, all she could think of was the fact that Harry and Ron had yet to visit her. She bit her lip, apprehension coursing through her. Were they in so much trouble that they weren't allowed to leave school grounds? Or perhaps they weren't even informed of her recovery yet… even then… what was with the secrecy?
"Take it slow," her mother said, packing the rest of her clothes into her suitcase. "Don't push yourself too hard."
"I won't, Mum," she murmured.
"We love you," her father said.
"I love you, too," she breathed. A moment later she was enveloped in a warm hug. She clung to her parents, unwilling to let go. She needed to return to Hogwarts, but Merlin… this was nice.
"Ready?" a voice chimed from the door. Hermione pulled away, turning to find Dumbledore and the two Aurors charged with her care in the corridor.
She took a deep breath.
"Ready."
As the group followed her out, their footfalls sounded heavily in the stone corridor. Hermione couldn't help but crane her neck as they passed the hallway that led to Draco's room. It killed her that he was right there… right there. As she had to turn away and head toward the lobby, her heart was in her throat.
Was… this abandoning him?
Should she have tried harder to get to him?
Without her wand and with the entire ministry rallying against him, she knew there was little she could do. She glanced at Dumbledore, frustration coursing through her. He knew what they had gone through, she had told him how Draco had changed… yet he wasn't doing anything to help him. He was surely powerful enough to apparate past the wards and rescue him from his sedated slumber, but he didn't.
They passed by the fireplace in the lobby and Hermione watched as the floo roared to life with green, flickering fire, patrons arriving and leaving in quick succession.
"We're not going to floo?"
"We have reason to believe the Dark Lord is monitoring the floo network," Proudfoot announced, "we will be escorting you with a ministry-appointed carriage."
That hardly seemed any safer, but Hermione held her tongue.
As the massive front doors swung open onto the streets, a tsunami of flashing lights crashed into them. She squeezed her eyes shut, immediately overwhelmed.
What? What was happening?
"There she is!" someone called.
"Hermione! Hermione!" another voice cried.
Hermione Granger felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder and shove her roughly forward. She kept her eyes closed, bringing a hand up to shield her face. Were these… cameras? The word 'paparazzi' floated through her skull, but the idea of people wanting to take pictures of her was so insane she couldn't even fathom it.
That was Harry's world.
Not her's.
"Out of the way!" Proudfoot barked from beside her.
"Hermione! Spellbound Publications! Are the allegations true that Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater?!"
The world spun around Hermione. Was this really happening?
"Wizarding World News! Where have you been for the last week?!"
"Daily Prophet! Is it true that you fell through time and caused the death of an innumerable amount of muggles!?" a feminine voice cried from above the din, and Hermione cracked open her eyes to see Rita Skeeter grinning devilishly at her through the blinking lights. Hot rage whipped through her. She should have kept her in that bloody jar for the rest of eternity.
"No comment!" Williamson called uselessly, the crowd of photographers and journalists stubbornly continuing on with their ceaseless barrage of questions.
Hermione's heart was in her throat and tears were stinging in her eyes as she realized how far away the carriage still was. Were they really to push their way through such a raucous crowd? It felt eerily similar to the decks on that final night, but instead of clamoring to survive… These people were vulturous, clamoring to peck and gnaw on her very soul for a quick buck.
"Change of plans," Dumbledore informed her calmly. She looked up to find him holding out his arm. She stared dumbly for several moments, and he gave her a wink. Then it clicked. They were going to apparate.
"Wait, Albus!" Proudfoot snapped.
Holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut, she clamped her hand down on his forearm. Harry had tried to explain the sensation of apparition, but words could not do it justice. All the breath rushed from Hermione's lungs as her entire being was pressed and squeezed and condensed into a little straw. She could feel herself being sucked through time and space, the pressure growing and growing. She felt as though her head was a balloon slipping into the depths of the ocean.
As soon as the uncomfortable sensation began, it was over. The chaos was gone, and it took Hermione several moments to understand where they were. Over the ringing in her ears, she could hear the pine trees rustling as crickets sang to each other. Wind whipped at her hair and clothes.
She cracked open her eyes to find them at the top of the Astronomy Tower. She gazed down at the forbidden forest and beyond. Everything was bathed in bright blue moonlight, the hills and the great lake glowing before her very eyes. It was as if they were welcoming her home.
Finally, she had made it back to Hogwarts.
Releasing Dumbledore's arm and her suitcase, she stumbled away, having lost control of her legs. She sat down on the nearest ledge, sucking down cool gulps of air.
"The first time apparating is never easy. I'm sorry, I should have given you warning."
"It's not just that," she whispered, recalling the crowd of screaming paparazzi. "Why were all those journalists there? Is it really that big of a deal?"
"We all know just how hungry the public can be for scandal."
Hermione put her face in her hands. Did the whole world think Draco was some sort of an evil psychopath who had kept her locked up that whole time?
"You must be hungry," Dumbledore soothed, reaching out a hand and Hermione looked at him. "Come, child. I'm sure there is still plenty of time to have supper with your friends."
He must have seen the panic in her eyes, because he dropped his hand.
"Winky," he called quietly. A loud pop sounded as the tiny elf appeared before them. A scream tore from Hermione's throat at the deafening bang, and she couldn't help but flinch away. She was back on the promenade, Tommy's lifevest exploding in a cloud of white material as Horace's bullets ripped through it.
"—yes, Mister Dumby?" Winky squeaked, and gave a slight curtsy. The young witch brought a hand up to her heart, feeling as it beat wildly in her chest.
You're alright, she told herself. It's not a gunshot. It's just apparation.
Despite her attempts to reassure herself that she was safe, her hands had begun to tremble violently, and she couldn't banish the image of Tommy's lifeless expression from her mind's eye.
"Can you make sure Hermione here has a hot meal ready for her in her common room?" Dumbledore asked, and the small elf looked to Hermione. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates as she realized who she was.
"Miss Hermy is returned!" she gasped, clapping her wrinkly hands together in excitement. "Everyone be so so very happy! Yes!"
Oh, Merlin. They were both looking at her.
The young witch took a deep, steadying breath,
"Winky," she said slowly, standing up. "I'm not quite ready for everyone to know I've returned just yet. I'd like to just go to my room without causing a ruckus."
"Yes, Winky is silent. Winky tells no one!" She nodded seriously, holding her hands up in surrender. She looked to Dumbledore. "Winky takes Hermy to her dorm now?"
Dumbledore looked to Hermione, who shook her head slightly. She could make her way on her own. The last thing the young witch wanted was to have her head talked off by the exuberant house elf before her. After all she had been through, she just wanted a bit of peace and quiet. The only people she could stand to be with were Harry and Ron, but even then she was afraid. Would they look at her and be able to tell that she had been broken into a million pieces? Would they be able to smell the death and destruction on her skin?
"It's alright, Winky," she said, "I can make my own way. Although, there is something else you can do for me."
"Anything! Anything! Winky's here to help!"
"Can you let Harry and Ron know that I've returned?" she asked, bending down to be eye level with the elf. "...Discreetly."
"Yes! Yes!" Winky squeaked before apparating away with a loud POP.
Hermione looked at the spot where the little elf had just disappeared. A sudden sense of unease twisted her stomach, and she looked up at all of the astronomy tools and knick knacks about the room.
She felt strange.
Like she didn't belong there.
The Gryffindor knew that was ludicrous, after all Hogwarts was her home! These ancient halls had protected her and cradled her since her childhood. Was this… culture shock? She hadn't been away that long. How had the Titanic become her new normal in such a short amount of time?
"Are you alright?" Dumbledore inquired in a soft voice. She didn't look at him.
"Yes," she said quickly, flashing him a tight smile. "I think I'm going to retire now."
"Alright," he said, bringing his hands into the sleeves of his robes, "I suppose you'll need this for your classes tomorrow."
Hermione gazed in shock as Dumbledore pulled her wand from his sleeve. She floated towards him, biting her lip.
"My wand," she breathed, taking it gently from his grasp.
"Use it wisely," he told her, looking down at her through his half-crescent spectacles. His blue eyes shimmered in affection and mischief. "No more breaking into the ministry."
The corners of her mouth turned up in a wry grin.
"You don't have to worry about that." She didn't want to enter the Ministry of Magic again for at least twenty years.
. . .
Hermione Granger wasn't sure if there was such a thing as the opposite of claustrophobia, but she was sure that was what she was experiencing then. She floated down the corridors that were once so familiar, but had suddenly become so foreign. The ceilings were too high, the walls too wide. There was no subtle shifting as the school rocked to and fro, no small vibrations as the engine worked below. This was not a ship. It was a castle. She closed her eyes, gripping her suitcase to her chest.
There was too much air. Too much space.
"Don't walk with your eyes closed, you foolish child! You'll trip and fall!" a feminine voice called from beside her. She jumped and whirled around, looking for the person who had spoken. No one was there.
It took her a few embarrassingly long moments to realize that the voice had not come from a living person, but a portrait. A stern looking Witch holding a book was staring at her, nose upturned.
"Children these days get more and more senseless," she chided before bristling and returning to her book.
Hermione released the breath she had not realized she had been holding. A portrait. Of course. She studied the woman. Her tight bun and stiff, time-period clothes reminded her of Annabelle's mother. The thought caused a shiver to run through her body.
She cast one final glance at the older woman in the portrait before turning and continuing her trek down the hallway. She felt as though she had been walking for ages, but in reality, it must have only been five minutes.
She passed door after door, portrait after portrait…
Merlin, how big was this bloody castle anyways?
She didn't know why, but she broke out into a run, panic rising up in her throat like bile. She ran in the direction of the Gryffindor common room, though she didn't want to go there. She wanted to find Draco. She needed Draco.
She realized then that if she was waiting to hold him, she was waiting for an absolution that may never come.
He wasn't there.
She wiped at her face, unaware of the moisture that had begun to spill down her cheeks.
Would she ever see him again?
He was the only person who could ground her to this earth. The only person she wanted— no, needed— to see.
She had spent days wishing she was back at Hogwarts, back in her own time. But now that she was here, all she wished was that she was back on that ship. Back with him.
Even with all the strife, even with all the chaos and the uncertainty, at least they had each other.
It was then that Hermione heard steps running toward her, and stopped. She hovered uncertainty in the corridor. She thought everyone was in the Great Hall for dinner. She looked around, still clutching her suitcase, looking for an escape.
It was too late, two forms skidded to a halt in front of her. She looked away in shame, wiping at her face.
"Hermione!" one cried. Her heart skipped a beat.
"'Mione!" the other breathed. She looked up and blinked the tears from her eyes to see them better.
"Harry? Ron?" she murmured through chapped lips.
She could recognize those trouble-making grins anywhere. They ran towards her, black robes billowing behind them as they approached. Her suitcase clattered roughly to the floor as it slipped from her grasp.
"You're alright! Winky told us you had gotten back!" Harry breathed, closing the space between them in a hug. Hermione allowed herself to be enveloped. She gave herself permission to enjoy this simple comfort. Yes, Draco was gone... But Harry and Ron were here, even if it wasn't the same.
"What happened to you?" Ron asked, wrapping his long arms around them both. Hermione dissolved into tears once more.
"Where did you go?" Harry pressed.
"Did Malfoy hurt you?" Ron questioned.
Hermione shook her head, backing away from their warmth. She looked at them through warbled vision. Her darling boys. Her best friends.
She couldn't tell them.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
"Hermione, talk to us," Harry pleaded.
"Let's just go back," she sobbed. "Before dinner lets out."
. . .
Ron Weasley and Harry Potter stared at her expectantly. She sat on the couch in front of the fireplace, clutching a throw pillow and staring everywhere but her friends' eyes.
"Come on, 'Mione," Ron mumbled from the armchair diagonal to her, "you've gotta give us something."
"They haven't told us a thing," Harry added, "we've been stuck here. We can't leave or we'll be in even more trouble."
Hermione bit her lip, guilt flooding through her. Her suspicions had been right. That's why they hadn't visited her. And to top it all off, the ward monitoring the Hall of Prophecies had been her idea. Everything was her fault.
"We… went somewhere," Hermione offered hesitantly. The images of that first day flashed through her mind. She recalled herself landing violently in the back of that classic car, stepping out to find herself gazing up at the ship of dreams.
"Where?" Ron asked.
"We went back in time," she choked out. She thought of all the decadent meals served on extravagant china. She recalled the corsets and cinched waists, the layers and layers of dresses.
"How far back?" Harry questioned.
"About…" She squeezed her eyes shut, willing all of the intrusive memories away. "About a hundred years or so."
"How did you get back?" Ron's question was innocent, but the images that flashed through her mind were not. Draco's frozen visage came to the forefront of her mind. He had confessed his love for her before she had died.
The reality hit her like a ton of bricks.
She had died, andDraco had died, too.
Yes, they were alive now… but her death hadn't felt like a false alarm. If anything, this revival back into their own time felt a bit like purgatory. It was haunting… and incredibly upsetting.
"Don't cry, Hermione," Harry soothed, crouching down at her side. "We didn't mean to make you upset."
Once again, she hadn't realized she had been crying. Annoyed with herself, she swiped roughly at her face.
"I can't believe that prat is an actual Death Eater," Ron said, changing the subject.
"I can," Harry bit out. "It makes total sense."
He's not! She wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come out.
She was tired. So unbelievably tired.
"I think I need to sleep," she said. Soon dinner would be over, and the room would trickle in with her friends and classmates. The last thing she wanted to do was answer any more questions or have any more reunions.
"Alright," Ron said hesitantly, looking at Harry.
"Are you sure?" Harry asked, still kneeling by her side.
"We can talk more tomorrow," she whispered, squeezing the hand that rested on her knee. She stood, the hand falling limply to his side.
"Okay…"
Hermione said nothing as she retreated away and up the stairs.
. . .
Hermione Granger was a ghost. She floated through her dorm and past her friend's empty bunks before arriving at her own. She stared down at the bed, neatly made and perfectly kept... just as she had left it. It looked familiar, but strangely foreign.
The only thing amiss was the tray of food Winky had made resting atop her blanket. She set it on her trunk. She was not about to eat. She couldn't even if she tried.
She didn't feel real as she pulled off her jumper and the jeans her mum had brought from home. She dropped them carelessly on the floor. It felt as though she was floating above herself, watching distantly from the sky as some weird, sick clone of herself peeled back the sheets and climbed into bed.
She should have put on her pajamas, but she couldn't draw the strength to do so. Once settled in, she worked on pulling the curtains around her bunk closed. She ensured they were shut tight before curling up beneath the blankets.
Hermione didn't want to think of Draco. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to force all thoughts of him from her mind.
She didn't think of his silver eyes shining in the moonlight. She didn't allow herself to dwell on his sly grin as he danced with her in the third class mess hall. She especially didn't think of the way his porcelain skin met hers as they joined together, grunting and rasping in ecstasy as they–
No!
She clamped down on that memory.
The last thing Hermione needed was to dwell on all of the things she couldn't have. She just needed to go to sleep.
Yet, despite her attempts to think of anything else, her body ached for his. She had gotten a taste of sleeping next to him during that final afternoon, and she would do anything to be back in that moment. Sobs overcame her then, her attempts to remain calm useless.
Falling back in time had been a nightmare, yes, but she had begun to realize that it had also been a dream. She sobbed openly then, seizing whimpers contracting her chest. It hit her all at once: she wished they were still on the ship.
Even with all the trauma, all the loss… It was better to be with him in danger than to be without him in relative "peace."
Tears spilled onto her pillow, and her mouth hung open as she tried to draw in a breath. It hurt so much. It hurt so bloody much. She didn't see how she could go on without him.
To be back at school without him… She couldn't do it.
Wracked with grief, Hermione cried herself to sleep for the third night in a row.
. . .
Nightmares plagued her all night, to the point when she opened her eyes to the garish light of day, she questioned whether or not she had slept at all.
The young witch looked around, head throbbing.
Oh, right. She realized with a dull pang in her heart. She was back at Hogwarts.
She should have felt relieved, but all that coursed through her veins was sharp disappointment.
She sat up, rubbing at her face before looking down and realizing she never changed out of the clothes she had worn out of the hospital.
That was it. It could be put off no longer. Hermione Granger was in desperate need of a shower.
Sighing, the Gryffindor pulled the curtain to the side. She peered around the room, taking note of her sleeping classmates.
The shock of Ginny's red hair poking out of the quilt on the bunk next to her caught her attention, and part of her longed to wake her with a hug. The other, more sensible part, firmly reminded her that it must have been no later than six in the morning, and that she needed to wash up.
Twenty minutes and one shower later, Hermione sat in her robe on the bench beside the dorm shower. She watched as little beads of water crawled down her wet curls before falling to a puddle at her feet.
For the millionth time she wondered if this was real. Was she real? Had she left her actual body bobbing lifelessly in the North Atlantic?
If so… what was she now? Was this her actual body? Or was she some strange, cursed mockery of who she used to be?
Hermione looked at her palms, dripping with moisture and pink from the hot shower.
She closed her fingers, hands balling into angry fists.
Her thoughts turned to Draco, as they always did. Had he woken up yet? Had they discharged him and put him in some barren cell to be interrogated?
She squeezed her eyes shut. It hurt too much to think about.
She longed to send him a message. Any message. Even just two or three words to let him know she was okay, to let him know that she would do anything she could to prove his innocence.
Like a jolt of electricity coursing through her, she realized that maybe she could. After all, she had her wand back! What was stopping her from figuring out a way to deliver a message to him?
With a renewed sense of vigor, the kind that she hadn't felt in ages, Hermione dried off her hair and dressed in her school uniform.
Once dressed, she took a moment to scrutinize her appearance in the foggy, antique mirror. The uniform that once felt so comfortable now felt foreign and ill-fitting. She looked awkward and lumpy.
Turning away, she reminded herself that it didn't matter how she looked in her clothes. The only boy's opinion she cared about was considered an enemy of the state.
The young witch stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door quietly before her. After studying the sleeping figures of her roommates to ensure that they hadn't woken, she padded quietly across the floor to retrieve her bookbag, wand and shoes.
Hermione was almost out the door when she heard a raspy voice say, "Where are you going?"
Her hand froze on the knob, and she turned to find Ginny sitting up, hair amess and eyes half open.
Hermione's breath hitched. She wasn't ready to delve into everything again.
"Library," she whispered.
"Why?" Ginny asked, rubbing her eyes.
"Research."
"Are you researching where you and Malfoy went?" She questioned again. So Harry and Ron had told her last night. She wondered who else knew.
"No," Hermione said quickly, "it's… something else."
"Are you okay?"
Hermione bit her lip, looking away.
"Just… getting used to things again," she explained half heartedly, a lump growing in her throat. "I'll see you at breakfast."
Before Ginny could protest, Hermione was out the door.
. . .
The halls were silent as she walked to the library, the rest of the student body still asleep. Her conversation with Ginny bounced around her skull, and apprehension coursed through her. Why was she lying to her closest friends?
She had even omitted the full truth to Harry and Ron, and she didn't fully understand why. Perhaps it was because she knew they would never believe her, and even if they did believe her, she doubted they would understand.
When Hermione reached the library, she was surprised to find the doors locked. Annoyance flashed through her before she remembered that it was quite early in the morning.
She looked left and right, trying to spot Madam Pince's wiry frame skulking toward her. There was no one, and she supposed there wouldn't be for several hours.
She pulled her wand from her robes, revelling in the way the vinewood rested against her palm.
She pointed it at the lock, summoning her magic.
"Alohomora."
The wood jolted slightly as the lock clicked. She pulled open the door, and the familiar scent of old books washed over her.
There was a dull pang in her chest. So easy.
Magic was so easy.
She thought of the night she had been locked up in the ship's infirmary as the ocean rushed in. A locked door had been a matter of life and death. It hadn't been simple to try and open it, it had taken all of her physical energy and the resilience of being able to think clearly in the freezing water.
Yet here she was, with all the creature comforts of magic. She felt rotten, as if she didn't deserve it. All of the muggles who had perished that night would have likely survived had they been witches or wizards.
Then again… Sam's face floated through her mind. She didn't know whether or not he had survived. Had he managed to find his wand in the end and seek refuge, or had he perished in the water with them?
The thought squeezed her chest, making it hard to breathe.
There was no need to dwell on that; even if he had survived, he surely would have died of old age by now. Just like Lottie.
Shaking her head, she tried to push the thought of her dead friends from her mind.
It was easier said than done, because as she walked through the library, past the shelves and shelves of ancient books, she wondered if Sam had walked in her exact footsteps, just a hundred years in the past? Had he graduated by the time she had met him? Or had he merely been a sixth year, like her?
Hermione stopped in her tracks, eyebrows furrowing. It was then that she realized he never told them which house he belonged in. They really knew next to nothing about the Native American boy.
A sudden thirst for clarity gripped her, and instead of moving to the "Communication Spells and Transportation Charms" section of the library– as she had originally intended– she headed for the History section.
Perusing the shelves of books specializing on Northern Ireland and Hogwarts, she ignored "Hogwarts: a History." After all, she had read that book back to back multiple times and it rarely mentioned past students unless they had gone on to become historical figures. She surely would have recognized Sam if she had read about him previously.
Not to mention, she thought darkly, if he had died he would not have had the chance to make something of himself.
Eventually she landed on a section of books with nothing but dates imprinted in gold, glittering lettering on the spine. She followed the line of books until the years got lower and lower.
"1940… 1930," she whispered to herself, fingers tracing along the spines. They became more worn and moth-eaten the further along she traveled, the gold type fading to a burnt rust.
There!
"1912," she breathed. With shaking hands, Hermione pulled the top of the book out and gently gripped the body. The material of the cover was moldering, and a moment of fear gripped her. Would it fall apart beneath her touch?
The young witch extracted the book from its place, cradling it in her hands and gazing at the cover.
HOGWARTS: 1912
Taking a shaky breath, Hermione took the relic back to the nearest table. She laid it flat and delicately pulled it open. Merlin, this thing was old.
Right on the first page was a letter from what must have been the headmaster at the time. She passed by it without reading, eager to find what she was looking for.
There was no table of contents, much to her chagrin. So she would just have to flip through page by page to find him.
The first thing that struck her was the fashion: what once seemed so foreign and stiff-looking, now felt so familiar. Tears pricked in her eyes as she studied the sepia pictures. Despite their age and the relative newness of camera technology, wizards and witches had still managed to enchant the pictures to move, just like modern day ones… Only a tad more blurry and hard to make out.
The women, when not pictured in long, stiff Hogwarts-issued dress robes, dawned dresses eerily similar to the kind she had worn while aboard the Titanic. Page after page, Hermione eagerly drank in their appearances: hair gathered in voluminous buns and extravagant braids, waists cinched into gorgeous, flowing dresses. She longed to have Lottie comb through her curls and tame them into an elegant updo before wrangling her into a corset and gown one last time .
Her heart squeezed, and she forced herself to keep flipping through the book.
She passed by class after class, house after house. Rows upon rows of smiling, sepia faces. They all felt so familiar, yet she knew they were perfect strangers. Had any of these students known Sam? Had they been his friend? Had any of these girls been his first kiss?
Her heart was in her throat as she kept flipping the pages.
As the students got older, she slowed down her search. Most of the students were white, so when she turned the page and saw a boy with dark skin, her focus zeroed in on the photo.
"Sam!" She gasped aloud.
It was him! Her breath hitched, heart pounding in her ears.
Hermione wasn't sure why her body was having such a visceral reaction. Perhaps it was because this was the first tangible piece of evidence that their journey had been real… That they had actually fallen through time and met people who were no longer around.
The moving picture didn't do him justice. In this photo his smile was tight and formal, his hair slicked down the middle in an unflattering style. She recalled him in real life: a charming American boy with a relaxed atmosphere, black hair thick and loose.
Tears blurred her vision as she watched the Sam in the photo grimace awkwardly, looking left and right, obviously uncomfortable in front of the camera. She wished she could reach through time and talk to him, tell him she was sorry for failing him. She wished she could see Lottie, Tommy and Hamish like this, too… but she knew finding photos and remnants of the three muggles would be much more difficult.
With her finger carefully tracing the page, she moved left until she found the row of names next to the house they belonged to. "Sam Murphy - HUFFLEPUFF"
A manic, tearful laugh escaped as a short stab of joy flashed through her. Sam was a Hufflepuff! She recalled his easy smile and kind demeanor. Of course he was.
As the young witch stared at Sam's face, she felt the heavy blanket of sorrow lie heavily upon her shoulders once more, the momentary joy of discovering his Hogwarts house being smothered instantly. She had seen him just a few days ago, young and full of life… Yet a hundred years had passed by in the blink of an eye.
Hermione, for the millionth time since waking up back in her time, began to weep. She felt suffocated by grief, and she wondered distantly if she would ever feel okay again. The witch knew she could never bring her friends back; she never would return to the Ship of Dreams. As she sat there crying, the Titanic lay on the ocean floor, rusting and collapsing into itself as the North Atlantic ate away at its skin and bones.
Her head fell to the desk, tears seeping onto the old oak wood of the table top. She was thankful no one was around, because they would surely think she had gone insane.
The Brightest Witch of her Age had lost it, absolutely and irrevocably.
The entirety of her soul mourned for Sam, Tommy, Hamish, Thomas Andrews, Molly Brown and Lottie.
The worst part of it all was that there was no one she could share her grief with… well, no one that would understand at least. She supposed she could confide in Harry and Ron, maybe even Ginny, but they could never even begin to understand the loss and trauma she had experienced. The only other person on the planet that could understand her pain was Draco, but Merlin knew when they could see eachother again.
Dumbledore said something about their Disciplinary hearing being held in a week or two, but with the chaotic state of the ministry, it could be even later.
"Now, what do you think you're doing?" aharsh, vulture-like screech came from behind Hermione, and she jolted upright.
Wiping at her face, she twisted around to find Madam Pince glaring down her beak-like nose at her. Hermione saw recognition flash through the librarian's face, sharp expression immediately softening.
"Miss Granger?" the older woman asked, adjusting her wire-frame glasses. "I was unaware that you returned."
"I got back last night," she croaked.
"How did you get in?" Pince questioned, looking to the door.
"It was left unlocked," she lied easily, "I'm sorry. I didn't think it would be a problem."
"That's quite strange, I thought for sure I had locked it…" the librarian said, suspicious eyes pointing to the door in thought. She shook her head before continuing: "Nevermind that. I'm glad you're back safely. The library hasn't been the same without you."
Hermione offered her a tight smile, still feeling heavy with grief. Madam Pince didn't like many students, but she had always had a soft spot for Hermione, and she was thankful for that. It made it easier to get away with checking out more books beyond the limit, or asking for a glimpse of books from the restricted section.
"You look miserable, child," Madam Pince declared, and Hermione sniffed humorlessly. "Why don't you go have a spot of breakfast with your friends?"
She blinked, how long had she been there, combing through the yearbook?
"Yes, Madam Pince," she said, turning back around and taking one last look at Sam's face before closing the ancient book softly.
The librarian must have been looking over her shoulder, because a moment later she mused, "never in my fifty years has a student ever bothered to peruse that far back."
Hermione just shrugged, brushing the flecks of dust from the cover.
"Would you like to check it out?" she asked softly, and Hermione turned around.
"Really?" she asked, her heartbeat quickening. Normally the library's older artifacts weren't allowed to be brought out of those walls, but it seemed as though Pince trusted her enough to release it into her care.
"I expect it back in tip top shape."
"Yes! Yes of course." She stood up, gathering her book bag and shoving her wand back into her robes. She picked up the yearbook and held it delicately to her chest, like cradling a precious child.
"I hope you have a good first day back," Pince said, offering her a rare smile.
"Thank you," Hermione responded, curtsying slightly before making a bee-line for the exit.
She was almost out the door when the Librarian's voice interrupted her once more.
"Oh, and Miss Granger?"
Hermione whirled around to find a large, brass key floating towards her. She stared in shock before plucking it from the air and looking at the older woman.
"No more breaking in. Am I understood?"
The young witch cracked a small, hopeful smile. She clutched the key in one hand and the yearbook in the other.
"Understood."
. . .
As Hermione neared the great hall, she slowed, heart hammering wildly in the cavity of her chest. She could feel her head beginning to spin as she got close enough to hear individual voices laughing and talking. A few students were milling about, having just finished eating but were in that strange state of limbo between break and class. As she approached, one noticed her, a Ravenclaw boy, and he nudged his friend.
She could feel the group of Ravenclaws staring, and she turned her eyes to the floor.
"It's her," one whispered.
"Yeah, but where is he?" another asked quietly.
"Maybe she ended up killing him."
They snickered cruelly and Hermione quickened her pace. She wasn't ready to face the judgement of her classmates.
After a few more moments of spiraling, Hermione remembered herself. She stopped in her tracks right before the Great Hall's grand archway. Squeezing the book tightly to her— drawing strength from the one bit of proof that her journey hadn't been just some magic-induced fever dream— she tilted her chin in the air.
She was Hermione Granger. Brightest Witch of her Age. She had survived a basilisk encounter at twelve. She had held her own against death eaters when she was fifteen. She had fallen back in time and aboard the RMS Titanic. She had endured Horace's abuse. She had held an entire ship up at gunpoint. She had endured the North Atlantic's freezing temperatures. '
Surely she could endure a little breakfast.
Her heart ached at the thought of Draco. She should be walking into the Great Hall holding him, not some one hundred year old book. They should be striding confidently in, hand in hand, ready to take on the world together.
But they weren't. Hermione Granger was alone.
Tilting her chin in the air and steeling herself, Hermione turned the corner and walked in.
Students didn't notice her right away, chatting with their friends until she heard a younger student call: "There she is!"
All conversation ceased, the entire student body turning to watch her walk by. She heard the crinkling of papers and the soft, incredulous whispers. Her footsteps were easily the loudest thing in the room.
Well, besides her jackhammering heart.
She looked to her regular spot at the Gryffindor table, and sure enough, she found Ron and Harry gazing at her, nervous grimaces on their faces.
She approached them, faking a smile in return.
"Good morning," she breathed.
"Morning," they chorused. Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley were there, too.
"Back from the library?" Ginny questioned from across the table, looking at the book in her grasp.
"What is that?" Ron asked.
Hermione moved it behind her back before placing it haphazardly into her bag, shrugging.
"Nothing," she dismissed quickly.
It was then that she realized that the entire length of the table was covered in newspaper. She blinked, leaning in closer to see. It wasn't rare to see the odd Quibbler or Daily prophet during breakfast…. But there were so many. Her heart sank, having a sneaking suspicion what it was.
"What is that?" she threw back at him.
"Nothing," Ron said, standing up quickly. "Shall we go on a walk?"
Everyone in the hall was staring at them, and she knew she had to remain calm.
"No, I want to see it," she demanded.
"I don't know—"
"Oh for goodness sake Ronald, she's not a child!" Ginny snapped, "just show her!"
Slowly, Ron turned and gathered the newspaper, holding it out face down.
Hermione took it with shaking hands, turning it over to see:
"HARRY POTTER'S WITCH CLASHES WITH DEATH EATER DRACO MALFOY IN DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES"
Below the bold, garish letters lay a moving picture of her. Hermione watched dumbly as Photo-Hermione was jostled about by the Paparazzi, eyes half shut, trying to block her face from the wall of photographers. Proudfoot and Williamson flanked her, trying in vain to quell the rambunctious crowd. She cringed inwardly.
Was this how Harry felt all those years?
Ignoring how horrid and tired she looked in the picture, her gaze roved downwards.
After seven painfully quiet days since her disappearance, Hermione Granger, sixth-year student at Hogwarts and best friend of Harry Potter, finally emerged from St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries Wednesday evening at half past seven. Looking frightfully skinny and pale, the so-called "Brightest Witch of Her Age" refused to make a statement before apparating away with Albus Dumbledore. We can only guess the ordeal she has undergone at the hands of former Hogwarts Student turned Death Eater Draco Malfoy. It is unclear where he took her, but there are rumors of possible time travel—
She stopped reading, a spike of anger shooting through her body like an arrow on fire.
"It's rubbish!" she snapped, crushing and balling the paper up until the words disappeared. She dropped it to the floor.
"What do you mean it's rubbish?" Harry asked quietly. "We thought—"
"He's not a Death Eater!" she said, loud enough for the entire Great Hall to hear her. "Draco is good! He didn't hurt me!"
As she spoke her hands began to tremble, face aflame as adrenaline burned inside of her.
Whispers broke out, everyone looking at her as though she had gone mad. She supposed it was common knowledge that the Golden Trio had a long-standing and vicious rivalry with Draco since their first year.
"B-but… you hate him!" Neville said, and Hermione turned her glare on him. He flinched away.
"Hermione, maybe we should go talk about this somewhere else," Ron said quietly, taking a hold of her forearm. "I think you're confused."
"Let go of me!" she shook him off. "The only place I'm going is class! And you two should as well!"
"I know how you feel," Harry said softly, standing up with hands raised in surrender. "But you need to stay calm—"
"Oh, shut it, you two," she hissed, glaring daggers at the boys before her. "Stop telling me what to do and how to feel. You don't know what I've been through."
Tears warbled her vision, and she felt her lip beginning to tremble. Oh, Merlin. She was about to cry. She had to get out of there.
"Nobody here knows what Draco and I have been through," she whispered, ugly, hot tears making their escape.
Hermione Granger whirled away, walking quickly out of the Great Hall. No matter how hard she had tried to steel herself and prepare for whatever would come… She was simply too volatile. Everything had happened so fast, and she had barely any time to register what she had been through… yet now she had to return to school as though nothing had happened!?
She had tried to be calm and cool and collected, but she couldn't. And she hated herself for it.
The second she crossed the threshold into the corridor, the crowd of kids erupted into excited, speculative conversation. She gritted her teeth in anger.
Her and Draco's trauma was nothing more than this week's gossip.
It made her feel physically ill. She didn't know how she could continue on with her education like this.
For the first time in her academic career, Hermione Granger considered skipping class.
A/N:
Surprise! Early update & quite a long one at that! I've been getting so many reviews that fill my heart with such warmth, and honestly it inspires me so much to update quickly! You guys are really the best.
Also a few things: I know it isn't likely that Ginny was her roommate, but it makes for good storytelling. She also cries a lot in this chapter, but we have to remember this poor girl has PTSD. I'm trying to be realistic with her grief, and I'm sorry if it feels mopey & repetitive. ALSO! This is sixth year, but instead of Draco becoming a death eater right away, he had that pesky little prophecy to get rid of. (Just wanted to clarify for those asking.)
Thank you guys so much for sticking with me till the end. I know this may feel tiring that they aren't together yet, but I'm trying to write this ending in a realistic way with accurate pacing.
As always, let me know what you think! or if you totally guessed that Sam was a Hufflepuff, hahahaha.