"I killed her," Hermione Granger sobbed, standing in the middle of Albus Dumbledore's office. "I killed her, it's all my fault!"
Dumbledore gazed at her, white eyebrows furrowed.
"What do you mean?" he murmured, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.
"She's dead because I died!" Hermione couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The floor was spinning beneath her.
"Who?"
"Annabelle!" she wailed, "the girl whose identity I took in when I fell back. She was in First Class, she was going to America to get married!"
A glimmer of recognition flashed through Dumbeldore's eyes.
Her hands flew to her hair, gripping tightly at the curls. Annabelle had a whole life ahead of her, and Hermione had snuffed it out. She was a murderer. A killer.
"And Nicholas, too," Hermione gasped, suddenly remembering. "Draco had-had taken over Nicholas's life. Draco died, and that means Nicholas—"
"Ms. Granger—" Dumbledore began but Hermione wasn't listening. She was growing hysterical. It was too much, it was all too much.
Their bodies hadn't been theirs after all! They had only been borrowing a temporary vessel, meant to be returned once they travelled back to their time. They should have been more careful. They should have known that their deaths wouldn't have been their own.
The guilt was too heavy on her shoulders, and her knees buckled beneath the weight. She fell to the floor, hands slapping against the stone. Sobs racked her body as tears spotted the rock below.
Not only had Hamish and Tommy died, but Nicholas and Annabelle had too.
"I was wondering when this would come up."
"What?" Hermione asked, hiccuping.
"I should have told you sooner," he sighed. "That was my mistake."
"Told me what?" she asked, brain churning to a halt. Her tears ceased, dammed by a dry sort of confusion.
"Let me show you," he said, reaching out a hand. She wiped at her face and stared at the offered appendage. What did he want to show her? What could he possibly show her?
Whatever it was, she supposed it couldn't be worse than anything she had experienced thus far.
Swallowing down her apprehension, she wrapped her fingers around his own.
He gave her a sad smile before saying, "hold your breath."
Hermione had only a millisecond to prepare before the floor disappeared from beneath her feet. Her ears rang as her world twisted and spun around her. Despite Dumbeldore's warnings, the air still rushed from her lungs as she was sucked into space. Her ears popped as her head shrunk to fit into the metaphorical tube of apparition, and she clung to his hand for dear life.
Then it stopped. Birds were singing, and a bright ray of warmth hit her face. She could hear the distant sound of waves crashing against rocks. She opened her eyes and blinked as her gaze adjusted.
Merlin, it was so bright.
"Where are we?" She croaked, holding up a hand to shield her face from the bright sun. Why was it so warm? It was November. The breeze was cool, but the sun made up for it. There was no way they were in the UK.
"The South of France."
It was then that her surroundings became clear: they were in some sort of seaside village. The patrons meandered about, baskets full of groceries as they made their way leisurely by. A few of them passed Hermione and Dumbledore weary, confused glances. She supposed they did look quite out of place.
The path they were on winded down at a steep angle, lined with tall, crumbling buildings. The walls were painted bright yellows and oranges, windows open as grandmothers shook out their laundry and pinned them to lines dangling out above the narrow walkway.
From between the buildings to her left, she could spot a sliver of bright blue: the sea.
Hermione looked at Dumbledore, unsure what he was trying to tell her.
"Why?" she asked.
He didn't say anything, he simply motioned for her to follow. They trudged up the path, and Hermione watched as muggle men and women passed by at a much faster speed. Their stamina was impressive, a testament to taking the same path everyday. They had such a simple life in a quaint, beautiful village. They didn't know about magic, or Voldemort, or anything. Hermione envied them.
"Do you know who Eloise Mintumble was?" Dumbledore asked a few moments later, finally breaking the silence. She looked at him in surprise.
She had just read about her during her long week of research.
"She was the woman who invented magical time travel," Hermione recalled easily, "but she got stuck in the year 1402 for a week. When she managed to return, she came back centuries older. Her organs failed, and she died."
"Correct," Dumbledore mused, looking down at her as they walked, "but do you know of Charles Mintumble?"
Hermione shook her head.
"Eloise's husband. He went mad with grief after she passed away. He was the one who invented the Tempus Camella. Charles came up with the brilliant solution of utilizing the magical properties of a pensieve with the time-jumping charms his wife had created. Yet, in his twisted state, he only began to freeze moments of time that involved great death and destruction."
The young witch didn't understand what this had to do with Nicholas and Annabelle, but she remained silent as his story untangled itself. Her tears had dried up completely, though grief still made it hard to breathe.
"If you had not fallen onto the RMS Titanic, you may have fallen back to Pompeii, the Black Plague, or even perhaps Jiajing during the earthquake of 1556."
Hermione listened intently, she hadn't read of Charles Mintumble before. The ministry must have been keeping this history a secret.
"You aren't the first person to go back with a Tempus Camella," Dumbledore told her, "When the ministry found Charle's twisted collection, he escaped back in time before they could apprehend him. When Charles dove in, a disoriented peasant from Pompeii was… spat out, so to speak. He didn't know where he was, how he got there, or even what magic was. He had been randomly selected, by forces beyond our recognition. After all, there cannot be life from nothing. There had to be a trade, so to speak."
Hermione's stomach flipped at the realization. Did that mean Nicholas and Annabelle had been spat out once they had fallen in? Her head spun.
"Energy cannot be created or destroyed," she whispered, stopping in her tracks. Dumbledore stopped too, and they locked eyes. "Only transformed."
"Precisely."
"But Williamson and Proudfoot didn't say anything."
"This is highly classified magic," was all Dumbledore said.
"Harry and Ron—"
"Were told to keep quiet," he supplied simply, clasping his hands behind his back.
"But, even from me?" she asked, looking down at her shoes, "why didn't they tell me?"
"Forgive me if I'm overstepping, but Harry told me you haven't spoken to them about what happened to you and Mr. Malfoy."
Guilt shot through her like an arrow on fire. Her face warmed.
"If you haven't talked to them, how could they tell you anything?"
She shook her head, too ashamed to even look at him.
"You're right," she whispered to the ground. "I shut them out. I'm sorry."
She heard him approach, his shimmering blue robes stepping into her line of sight. He placed a warm hand on her head.
"I'm not the one you should ask for forgiveness from," he told her before turning on his heel. She looked up to see him continue his trek upwards.
Hermione followed along, her heart in her throat. As they walked, the houses grew sparse, replaced with bushes, trees, and gardens.
"The peasant who had been ripped from his time was named Gallio Vitalis," Dumbledore continued, and Hermione had to strain to hear him over the growing sounds of the ocean. They were heading away from the village and up into the hills. "He was monitored for several days, held in a safehouse by the Ministry. It wasn't until the sixth day that he collapsed. He was unconscious for twenty four hours, and when he awoke, he had transformed into Charles Mintumble once again. Gallio had simply… vanished from existence. Charles had perished from the eruption, and in turn, there was no body for Gallio's soul to return to."
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Annabelle and Nick had been experiencing their time, just as they had been experiencing theirs. They walked in silence as she digested the horrible news.
The stone path had long dissolved into dirt, and the sound of their shoes crunching up the hill was almost too loud to bear. Why had he taken her all this way to deliver such terrible news? They came upon a wooden fence lined with green ivy, surrounded by lush rose bushes. Beyond it, an abandoned, crumbling villa surrounded by a swath of Cypress trees.
Hermione gazed at the structure. It was a two story manor, and she could tell it was once very beautiful. The front doors hung off their hinges, allowing a glimpse of the moldering innards. The walls were dilapidated, exposing brick in rough patches behind what must have been a very vibrant plaster back in the day. The tall, arching windows were blown in, and only shards remained, clinging to the window panes.
It looked how she felt. Broken. Old. Tired. Empty.
"So Nicholas and Annabelle just… disappeared?" Hermione asked, voice thick with tears. It was like dying, but worse. A quick and sudden end. Blipped out of existence.
And the worst part of it all? They had done nothing wrong. It was all her fault.
She thought of her promise to Lottie. She had promised the maid that she would bring back Annabelle, safe and sound. Guilt cut into her like a knife.
"Not quite," Dumbledore said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
What do you—" she began, but the Headmaster was already waving his wand in the air, muttering something she couldn't quite catch.
The young witch gasped as she saw the air rippling around her, and she looked up to watch the shimmering light reflecting and bouncing off of what looked to be some sort of… dome around the property? It was a ward!
Before she could register what was happening, Dumbledore gave her a wink before pushing open the gate in front of them. Once he passed through the gate, he disappeared before her eyes.
"What is going on?" she whispered to herself before stepping forward and through the ward, sighing as the magic skittered across her skin and whispered through her clothes and hair.
Hermione couldn't help but sigh dreamily as she crossed the threshold and into the ward. It was several degrees warmer, as the cool breeze had been banished to remain outside the protective bubble. The rich, sweet smell of honeysuckle and the subtle scent of baking bread washed over her. What on earth was this place?
"Albus!" a woman's voice came. Hermione watched as an older witch, probably around fifty or sixty, approached. She wiped her hands with a cloth before tossing it onto her shoulder, she was watching the Headmaster with kind eyes. Hermione blinked in surprise. Why was a witch living all the way out here in a run down mansion attached to a muggle village? She had salt and pepper hair that was pulled into a long braid down her back. She was willowy and lean, and Hermione wondered if she had been a model when she was younger. Despite her age, her skin seemed to glow.
"Bonjour, Charlotte," he greeted, he bent down and allowed her to kiss each cheek before straightening back up. "C'est Hermione Granger."
"Bonjour, 'ermione. J'ai tellement entendu parler de toi," the woman greeted, and pulled Hermione in to kiss her in the same way she had Dumbledore. Her cheeks warmed at the sudden contact. "Je suis Charlotte, le ministère m'a confié la mission de veiller sur les réfugiés."
Hermione had been studying french for several years, but this woman spoke so quickly and with an accent she wasn't familiar with– or was that a dialect?– and the young witch found that she couldn't quite keep up.
"Vous ne comprenez pas?" the woman asked, tilting her head.
Hermione's blush spread to her entire face before admitting in stumbling, broken french: "Je ne comprends... qu'un peu… um, je ne peux pas parler. I'm sorry. Er—pardon."
"No matter," she said in english through her thick, french accent. The older woman offered Hermione a kind smile, and she was reminded of Fleur Delacour. "You're here for Nicholas and Annabelle, no?"
Surprise rocked through her.
"I—what? We...?" she asked, craning her neck to look at her Headmaster. Was this some sort of joke? He tilted his head in the direction of the abandoned house.
Hermione turned to see that the crumbling villa was actually not crumbling at all. A gasp rushed past her lips as she realized that it had been a trick. The structure was beautiful, standing tall and proud in the mediterranean sun. The white paint seemed to glimmer, and Hermione couldn't help but admire the baroque-style adornment around the double doors and many windows.
"Come zis way," Charlotte ordered, snapping Hermione out of her reverie. They followed a winding, stone path on the side of the house, surrounded by lush gardens. The young witch trailed behind them, her legs moving of their own accord.
What did she mean they were there to see Nicholas and Annabelle? Was she guiding them to a memorial? To a gravesite? What was happening?
As they neared the back of the house, Hermione was shocked to see a young man and woman huddled together beneath the shade of a large palm tree. Their knees were nestled in the dirt as they examined a long line of curious green buds sprouting up from the soil. Their backs were facing the approaching group, so they hadn't noticed their arrival.
Hermione stared hard at the back of their heads, a swirl of emotions rising up in her throat. The girl had gorgeous, dark blonde hair waving down the length of her back, the top half tied back with a white ribbon. The boy had a quaff of strawberry blonde hair poking out from below a flat cap.
Could it be?
The girl had a book in hand, and was reading a passage quietly to the boy. Hermione strained to hear.
"Depending on the length of your growing season, strawberries grown from seed may actually fruit in the fall of the first year," she read in a twittering, posh accent. Her voice was high and dreamy, and it reminded Hermione of Luna. "Keep the strawberry plants well-fertilized, as they're heavy feeders, and mulch with pine needles to keep the beds weed-free."
"Mulch with pine needles?" the boy asked in a thick scottish accent– the lilt almost identical to Hamish's. "There's no way that's right, Anna. We're using straw."
"Well it says here—" she began, pointing to the text. He snatched the book from her grasp, and she cried "Hey!"
"Listen here, yeh slick city lass," he teased, holding the book away from her flailing grasp. Hermione observed their side profiles and the sparkle in their eyes as they teased one another, "I grew up on a farm, I think I know better."
"Growing potatoes!"
"Even still."
"These are strawberries, it's different!"
"Aw, wee lass is getting worked up!"
She hit his arm, and he gasped in indignance, "That's not very lady-like!"
"Give it back, Nick! I was reading that!"
"Well, I'm going to read it instead!" he said, turning his body away from her prodding hands. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest in response. He opened it up to gaze at the words on the page. After a moment he snapped it shut. "I just remembered that I can't read."
"Very funny," she said and moved to snatch it back out of his grasp. He didn't release the literature, instead using their new link to drag her into a kiss.
It was then that Hermione turned on her heel, walking away before she could be seen. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin their moment. Tears dripped from her chin as she snaked back around to the other side of the house.
A strange mix of relief and jealousy squeezed her heart.
They were in love.
Moreover, they were alive.
How?
"Where are you going 'ermione?" Charlotte called from behind her as she approached the front gate. Hermione stopped in her tracks before slowly turning her watery gaze on the witch and wizard before her.
"Don't you want to say 'ello?"
She shook her head. How could she face Nick after she had been the direct cause of Hamish's death? His best friend had died saving her. How could she face either of them when she had been the reason every single person they knew is six feet below while they were stuck in a strange time in an even stranger place?
"How are they alive?" is all she asked.
"They aren't completely 'alive' so-to-speak. Their physical forms are limited, allowing them to continue living only under several potions, wards, and charms," Dumbledore explained. "This time the ministry had the opportunity to prepare for a potential transfer of bodies, if you will. They also aren't ghosts or spirits, but they live in a 'between' state. We've managed to create a reality in which their souls can continue to exist—"
"—but only within the ward," Hermione finished for him. She looked to Charlotte, who nodded sadly. "That's not fair. What kind of a life is that?"
"Ze alternative is death," she said sadly.
"Will they age?" Hermione asked, wringing her fingers together.
"We do not know," the French witch said, "zis is a new magic. I will oversee their progress alongside my husband and ensure they remain tied to zis plane."
"Her husband is a prominent member of the Ministry. They will remain under tight security, nothing will happen to them," he added. "It may not be very exciting, but they're safe here."
"Is there a way to give them real bodies?" Hermione asked, almost childlike in her naive optimism.
"That's the funny thing about energy," Dumbledore said quietly, gazing at her with sadness as he tossed her own words back to her.
. . .
Hermione's mind whirled with the earth shattering news of Anna and Nick's survival. Dumbledore had apparated them back to Hogwarts almost an hour ago, yet she hadn't found the strength to go far. The young Gryffindor leaned against the cold stone wall just outside his office, head tilted back in thought.
She ought to be relieved– and a fraction of her was– but the looming guilt didn't go away. Yes, they were 'alive' so to speak, but everyone they ever knew was long gone. Because of Hermione and Draco, they were alone in the world.
Well, she thought wistfully, not completely alone.
She recalled their close proximity and the familiarity in which they teased one another. Their kiss flashed through her mind.
Who would have thought their tumble into the Tempus Camella would lead to not just one unlikely romance, but two.
Well, at least they got to be together.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
At least they hadn't died in the open ocean, floating in the terrible wake of their failure. At least they hadn't seen their friends die before their very eyes.
Hermione pushed off the wall, running her hands over her face.
She was beginning to wonder if Nicholas and Annabelle were really the lucky ones. Annabelle had escaped a dull and dreary life, narrowly avoiding having to marry a man she barely knew. Martha and Horace would never hurt her again. Nicholas didn't have to perish in the icy waters of the Atlantic. Even if he had survived, his life in America would have likely been trying and difficult. The Scottish boy would have had to labor his life away.
At least now they were safe, living together in a beautiful place. They didn't have to worry about anything. The worst they would have to vex themselves about was being bored, but that seemed like a fair trade for being alive.
Her hands fell to her sides, and she took a deep, steadying breath.
At least that was one less thing to worry about. Now all she had to focus on was Draco's hearing, which she still didn't even know when that would be.
She missed him so much her whole entire body ached in longing. It hurt too much to think about, so she pushed the thought down. There had been something sad about seeing the intimate moment between Nicholas and Annabelle. A sweet kind of sorrow.
Hermione found herself wandering through the halls and back down to the main level.
She should probably find Harry and Ron to apologize. The conversation with Dumbledore had twisted her heart with guilt. She hadn't been able to confide in them, and in turn, they hadn't been able to confide in her.
Before she knew what was happening, her feet were carrying her to the Great Hall. The Quidditch game had just ended and it was time for dinner. As she wandered further, a few students began to spot her, but she found that her usual anxiety of being seen and whispered about was suddenly gone. There were bigger things to worry about than petty gossip.
Hermione straightened her back, hardening her resolve to finally tell them the truth.
Harry and Ron were her best friends, and had been for years. There was simply no reason for her to keep secrets.
It had been long enough.
She walked down the stairs, mulling over what she would tell them. Should she confide in them about the reality of their romantic connection? Should she tell them about Hamish and Tommy and how they had died right in front of her eyes?
To her surprise, she rounded the corner to find herself face to face with Harry. He had just made his way in from the outside, evident by his flushed cheeks and frostbitten nose. He blinked in surprise.
"Hermione!" he spluttered, "You're… here!?"
"I am," she said, mustering up a tight smile.
Ron rounded the corner, Lavender on his arm. They froze when they saw her.
"Oh." His mouth pressed into a tight line while Lavender watched on with a guarded expression.
Oh? Was that all he was going to say?
"Hi," she said, mouth going dry. "Um, I was wondering if I could… talk to you guys."
A tense silence twisted the air around them, and Hermione found that it was suddenly hard to breathe.
"Right!" Harry said in the forced optimism he so frequently used when situations were tense. "Yeah! Absolutely."
Another beat of silence.
Hermione looked to Ron before her gaze flicked to Lavender.
"Er, sorry Lavender," she murmured. "I'd like to talk to them alone for just a moment."
Lavender blinked, and then squeaked, "Oh! Alright."
"Sorry, Lav," Ron grumbled and Lavender dropped his arm, stepping away awkwardly.
"Only for a moment," Hermione reassured, "once I'm done he's all yours. I mean—he's always been yours, that's what I'm trying to say. He's not mine. He's yours."
Oh, Merlin. Oh bloody hell. Shut up you bumbling fool!
"Alright!" Harry intervened, guiding Hermione and Ron away, "let's go somewhere quieter."
Hermione allowed her friend to usher her away, feeling foolish and awkward. It felt as though her feet were made of lead... Perhaps this was a bad idea.
They ended up in a cove in the corridor, and Hermione noted how Ron refused to look her in the eye. What was his problem? Sure, she had been absent, but Harry wasn't being so standoffish.
"I'm sorry that I've been so…" she began, mouth full of sand, "... distant."
"We've been really worried about you." Harry's black eyebrows were drawn up in concern. When he noticed Ron wasn't saying anything or looking at her, Hermione watched him elbow the stubborn ginger.
"Yeah," was all he said. It sounded… almost sarcastic?
Hermione swallowed.
"You probably want to know what's been going on," she said, trying to calm her racing heart. Why was this so hard? Why couldn't she just tell the truth? "I'm sure… you want to know the story of what Draco and I did—"
"Nah, not really," Ron said quickly, effectively cutting her off. She turned to gape at him, it was then that she noticed his face had grown tomato red.
"Ron," Harry said, tone warning.
What? What did he say? Hermione blinked, did she hear him wrong?
After several moments of horrible, tense silence, Ron spoke up again.
"No! We don't want to hear how you've let Malfoy wiggle his way into your knickers," Ron said cruelly, face twisting in disgust. Hermione's chest went cold.
Normally she would have a rebuttal, but the icy viciousness of his words sliced into her like a knife. She finally wanted to open up to them and Ron was… refusing to listen?
"Ron!" Harry said, gripping his shoulder. "Seriously. Shut up!"
"What!?" Ron snapped, shoving him away. "You don't want to hear about it either! Why are you pretending?! You hate Malfoy!"
"They're just rumors!" Harry retorted.
Ron looked at Hermione, disdain marring his features. Hermione had never seen such an ugly expression on her friend's face. How had she ever liked him?
"See!?" Ron said, pointing to her. She had been frozen in her spot, shock spilling down her spine like a cold bucket of water, rendering her speechless. "She doesn't even deny it! Cormac was right! She's been slagging around with Malfoy."
Out of all the outcomes she had imagined after opening up to her friends, this hadn't even been on the list. She suspected they would be suspicious and a little horrified to learn of any positive relationship she may have had with Draco, but she hadn't expected to not even get a single word in.
Her hunch had been right. This had been a mistake.
"Let her talk, you git!" Harry was fully arguing with Ron now. Hermione clamped her mouth shut. If her lips could function, she would kindly inform Harry that she wouldn't be talking.
Wordlessly, she spun on her heel and walked away. She couldn't even cry. She was too shocked. It felt as though a bomb had gone off in the middle of the corridor, the shock of the blast causing a ringing in her ears.
"Good riddance." Ron's voice.
"Hermione! Wait!" Now it was Harry's.
She could hear his footsteps chasing after her, but she didn't stop. Although her eyes were functioning, all she could see was black.
She couldn't confide in her friends.
She couldn't confide in anyone.
She would have no one to share her grief with. No one to tell Hamish or Tommy's story to, no one to tell of Sam's bravery in his final moments. Not Ron, not Harry. Not Ginny. Certainly not her parents.
She was alone.
"Please," Harry said, running ahead of her and stopping, arms outstretched to block her escape. "Please, don't run away again. Talk to me."
Hermione stared at her friend, feeling nothing.
"I'm going to bed," she managed to inform him, but her voice sounded far away. His arms dropped down to his sides, and she floated by him. She didn't feel guilty. She didn't feel anything at all.
Her heart was stone.
. . .
In the morning, Hermione didn't even try to rouse herself. She wondered distantly if someone had snuck into her room in the middle of the night to transfigure her limbs to lead. For several hours, she remained in bed, listening to the echoes of her nightmares. The screaming had followed her from slumber and into her ears even as she lay awake. Now Ron had been added to the mix of horrible visions, rowing past them in a lifeboat as their frozen bodies bobbed in the North Atlantic. His blue eyes bore into hers, wordlessly telling her she was better off dead.
She didn't pull back her privacy curtain. She didn't search for a meal from Winky. Instead she let the impossible weight of her grief press her into the mattress.
She slept.
When she awoke from her nightmares again, her body screamed for water.
She had no idea what time it was, or if she was alone. Her maroon curtains had sealed her inside, and she had no intention of opening them. Her bed had become ominously akin to a coffin.
"Winky," she whispered to the air, praying that it would summon the little elf.
The pop sounded and a slight weight pressed into the bed at her feet. It worked.
"Yes, Miss Hermy?" Winky said in her usual exuberant tone, but as she took in Hermione's appearance the house elf seemed to shrink in on herself, her large ears pointing downwards. "Is… Miss okay?"
"Water." It was the only thing she could say.
"Is—um... is Hermy hungry?" she squeaked hesitantly, wringing her wrinkly hands together. "Winky gets Hermy food yesterday. Why is Miss not eating?"
"Water, please," she whispered again. She watched as Winky summoned a glass and waddled over to hand it to her.
"Winky gets Dumby," she said, "Miss is not well."
"No," Hermione croaked, sitting up. Her back cracked unpleasantly. She downed the water in seconds before handing back the glass and laying down once more. "I'm just tired. Thank you, Winky."
Sleep had already taken her by the time Winky left.
When she awoke again, someone was shaking her. Hermione cracked open her eyes to see Ginny gazing down at her, red eyebrows drawn up in concern. She had opened her privacy curtain and a beam of ugly, garish light was streaming in. It made Hermione's head throb.
"When was the last time you ate?" she asked, and Hermione rolled over and away from the light.
She didn't want to eat.
"Hermione, please," Ginny pleaded, voice cracking. "You're really scaring me."
Silence.
"I'm sorry about what my brother said to you," she said, and Hermione dimly registered that she was crying. She should have felt guilty, but she just felt tired.
"I'm sorry about what I said to you, too." Ginny laid a hesitant hand on her shoulder. "I shouldn't have fought with you."
Hermione wasn't really registering her words. She just wanted to sleep.
"I believe you," Ginny said through her tears. "I believe that Malfoy is good. Please, just get up. Please. Harry is really worried about you. Everyone is."
She didn't know how long her friend had sat on the edge of her bed, attempting to rouse her. The dark curtain of sleep had drawn back up over her.
Nightmares continued to tear through her mind, ripping her memories to shreds. Hermione was no longer sure of what was real and what was a false narrative her disturbed mind had conjured up.
It was static. It was madness. Her memory was a muggle VHS tape that had been damaged. Her brain no longer could make sense of what she had seen.
Yet, in the middle of the chaos, her mind suddenly went quiet.
No dreams.
No thoughts.
Just black.
Hermione was finally able to sleep peacefully. After what felt like years of hell, she was suddenly and inexplicably floating in the night sky, the twinkling stars the only thing keeping her company.
The young witch did not know how long she slept like that. It could have been hours. It could have been weeks.
But eventually, she did wake.
She didn't know who had done it, or how she had not been disturbed in the process of it, but when she finally opened her eyes again, she wasn't in her bed.
At first she had the confusing thought that someone had so rudely removed her privacy curtains, but as she registered her surroundings she realized she wasn't in her dorm at all.
She was in the infirmary. And to her shock, she found she actually felt... okay.
Hermione sat up, looking around blearily. It was dark, the only light source a bit of blue moonlight peeking in from the arching windows. As her eyes adjusted she noticed Harry and Ginny had pulled up a few chairs and were resting against one another, fast asleep. The table beside her had become cluttered with potions, it was almost comically overstocked. Was that really all for her? Hermione recognized some: a few different replenishing potions, a strange-looking elixir, and a bottle of dreamless draught. Well, that explained why her nightmares had suddenly stopped.
It felt oddly similar to waking up from being petrified by the basilisk in her second year.
Once again, her dry mouth signaled that she was dehydrated. Thankfully there was a pitcher and glass on the stand on the other side of her. She sat up and grabbed the glass, but when she tried to lift the pitcher, she found she was too weak. It clattered as it sat back down.
She heard a stirring.
Hermione looked to see Harry and Ginny sitting up and rubbing their eyes.
"You're awake!" Harry said suddenly, standing up with an ecstatic screech of his chair.
"Hermione!" Ginny cried and stood up too, looking close to tears.
"Good morning," she rasped, her voice weak. "Or good night. I don't know."
They stared at her for several moments, as if unsure if she was really there. It was like they were stupefied at her sudden wakefulness.
"Can you help me?" She held up the glass.
The spell was broken. Ginny nodded quickly and ran around the foot of her bed to assist her. Harry was by her side.
"I'm so glad you're alright," he said, reaching for her other hand. "You weren't waking up."
"How long was I asleep?" Hermione asked, looking to Ginny who handed her a now-filled glass of water.
"Four days," Ginny informed her, and shock rocked its way through Hermione's body.
Four days?!
"I'm so sorry for what Ron said," Harry told her, not allowing her to dwell on the amount of time she had spent unconscious. "He's being a right git. Ginny thinks he's just jealous."
"I know he's jealous," Ginny corrected him, crossing her arms over her chest.
Hermione shook her head.
"Why would he be jealous?"
"Because he likes you! He's just too bloody stupid to even recognize it," Ginny informed her, but something in Hermione had already come to that conclusion.
"He thinks you've done it to get back at him for Lavender," Harry said. He pursed his lips before continuing, "he thinks you want to hurt him."
Hermione shook her head in bewilderment, the petty games of lovesick schoolchildren were so far removed from her current reality she barely even had time to give them a thought.
"Well, I never wanted to hurt him," Hermione said, pausing to take a drink of her water. "Not everything is about him."
"We know," Harry said, still squeezing her hand. "I just want you to know that we're here if you still want to talk. No judgement."
Hermione smiled sadly at her companion. Despite his proclamations, she doubted that very much. Draco had broken Harry's nose on the first day of school. They had been enemies for years.
Ron's words echoed through her skull: "You don't want to hear about it either! Why are you pretending?! You hate Malfoy!"
She placed the glass on the end table beside her.
"I'm sorry for scaring you all," she told them both, a little embarrassed, "I didn't mean to fade away like that. Honestly I don't know what got into me."
"Don't be sorry," Ginny said quickly, "Mcgonagal and Pomfrey said it's likely depression."
Hermione blinked, could depression really be so severe that she had been rendered completely bedbound? She looked at the potions on the table. One of them must have had antidepressant properties. That's why she felt so… normal. It was the most normal she had felt since before she had even fallen into the Tempus Camella.
"It looks like they were right," she responded quietly. Maybe she should have gone to Pomfrey sooner.
"I'm sorry for not believing you," Ginny said, "I should have listened last week. I have been such a horrible friend."
"It's alright," Hermione murmured, guilt flooding through her. "You're not a horrible friend. I'm the one that shut you all out."
"You don't have to explain anything if you don't want," Ginny continued, saying it all in a rush, "what you've been through is probably too much to bear, and we don't need to know if you don't want to tell us."
"We just want you to feel okay." The way Harry was gazing at her made her heart squeeze.
She wasn't alone. Not really.
It was then that she began to cry.
"I want to feel okay too," she whimpered, face crumbling in grief. "I want to tell you guys everything, but—I don't know."
Now should be the time. She should say it.
Come on Hermione, just come out and start your story.
Yet, all she could think of was Ron's horrible snarl and the way in which he had insinuated she was nothing more than a slag. She didn't think she could handle any more heartbreak if Harry felt the same.
So she clamped her mouth shut.
Even if she wanted to tell them, the sequence of events had become fully jumbled and confused due to her incessant nightmares.
Had Draco been shot by Horace? Lottie had fallen off the deck and tumbled into the black night below… or had she gotten on a lifeboat? Had Hamish really died in the water, or had he been there as they sought refuge on the rails of the bow pointing ominously into the black sky?
… Had they even actually fallen in love? Or had it all been a dream? The thought caused a shiver to run down her spine.
"It's alright," Ginny told her as if being able to hear her turbulent thoughts, placing a hand on hers. "Just rest. We can talk more in the morning."
"Or not!" Harry added, grinning.
For the first time in weeks, Hermione laughed.
A/N:
Please don't be mad at me. Next chapter …. Draco sighting … I promise! I'm not trying to torture you. I have a narrative I'm tryna build. We'll get there, I promise. I want to make sure it's as satisfying as I have planned! When it comes … it's going to be oh so good
I hope you enjoyed the bit with Nick & Anna, that little plot bunny has been in my head since the dawn of time. Sorry if it seems a little rushed or confusing, the logistics of time travel soul swapping is something I made up with my last two functioning brain cells.
Also! Idk french, I used google translate. If the grammar is wrong, have mercy.
Hopefully, the new update will be up soon, just like this one was! I'm starting to feel like I'm an avalanche, The momentum is building! I just get faster & faster the more reviews and readers I get.