I had someone ask to kind of clear up what the dates are, so this chapter starts on the morning of Friday, September 29th, 1944 – Hermione and Draco have been here for a week and a half now. So there you go.
Um. So.
I have taken almost every online Harry Potter sorting test there has ever been, and I have always – ALWAYS – come out as a Ravenclaw. And yet I just made my Pottermore account, and now apparently I am a Slytherin. Um…WHAT? Wait! My identity has hinged on being a Ravenclaw for like four years now! I've taken so many tests!
The foundation of my very character has been irreparably shaken. I fear things shall never be the same. Oh, woe, I'm going to lose all of my Ravenclaw friends. I'll be shunned as an outsider. Not only that, but I'm Muggleborn, y'all. I'll be crucified in Slytherin.
I just don't know what to do…
oooo
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. – Edgar Allan Poe
There is no refuge from memory and remorse in this world. The spirits of our foolish deeds haunt us, with or without repentance. –Gilbert Parker
oooo
She wakes up in the dark.
It is cold down here, in this place – wherever this place is – and she pulls her nightgown and robe more tightly around her, shifting on the hard stone floor and blinking rapidly until her eyes adjust to the darkness. She is on her back, still in her nightclothes, which are nearly soaked through with moisture. She tries to sit up, and it takes several attempts before she is successful. Turning her head this way and that to work out the kinks that have formed from sleeping on a cold, stone floor, she squints and pushes her loose, sticky hair from her face.
And then she remembers.
Her heart begins to beat rapidly within her chest as images flash before her eyes. She can feel the aftereffects of the Cruciatus curse, and she shudders as pain flashes across her nerves, rendering her boneless.
She had been captured. Yesterday, her birthday. She had been grabbed from her bed in Shell Cottage, dragged through sidelong apparition until she had landed on a forest floor next to Ron, Seamus, Ginny and Fleur. Bill had not been there. Neither had Colin. Killed? Escaped? Hermione's brain struggles to catch up. How had they found Shell Cottage?
Hermione bolted upright in bed, a sob tearing from her throat. She was instantly wide-awake, looking at the bright, terrified eyes of her four roommates. As she caught her breath, she realized that her wand was pressed into Kat's jugular, and she jerked away, remembering with sudden clarity where she was and whom she was with.
"Hermione?" Sabrina asked, approaching her warily, her pale blue eyes full of concern. Iris chewed on her lip, wrapping her hair around her fingers anxiously. Zuri was staring at Hermione with sharp black eyes. Kat was rubbing at her throat, looking at Hermione fearfully. "Are you all right?"
Hermione felt her stomach lurch and she shot out of bed, barely making it to the toilet before she threw up. Great heaving sobs wracked her body and she clung to the rim of the toilet, trying desperately to ground herself. Her head spun and she leaned forward and vomited again.
She heard footsteps behind her.
"What happened?"
"We heard screaming –"
"Is she pregnant?"
"Maybe we should get Madam Soranus."
"She had a nightmare, you idiots," a voice snapped, and Hermione came back to reality and turned to see Zuri standing there with her arms crossed, glaring at Misty McGill, Lorraine Limpley and Suzanne Sapworthy as they crowded into the seventh years' bathroom. "She's not pregnant. Merlin, look at her, she probably weighs 115 pounds soaking wet. She probably couldn't even get pregnant if she tried. Now all of you, get out. This isn't your dorm, and it's not any of your business."
Hermione wiped her mouth, graciously accepting the glass of water that Sabrina conjured, rinsing her mouth out and gulping down the rest. Kat hung back, looking apprehensive.
"Oh Kat, I'm so sorry," Hermione choked out, closing her eyes in shame and swiping at the tears on her cheeks. "Please, forgive me. I didn't know what I was doing."
Kat scuffed her slipper on the floor and then smiled gently. "It's all right, Hermione. You just scared me, is all."
"You scared all of us," Iris said from over near the sinks, wrapping her arms around her body to fight the chill. "What happened, Hermione? You've never had nightmares before."
Hermione coughed. She decided not to mention that she had nightmares every night, they just didn't usually manifest themselves so obviously. "I'm sorry, I guess I just had a bad memory resurface." She swallowed another sip of water, trying to rid her tongue of the foul taste of bile. Looking around at her classmates, noticing that McGill still hung by the doorway, looking like a greedy, gossiping, red-haired vulture, she felt decidedly uncomfortable. "I didn't mean to wake anyone up. I apologize."
Iris sighed, looking equal parts grumpy and sympathetic. "Well it's six-thirty, so we might as well get up anyways. No worries, Hermione. All of us have bad dreams sometimes."
The girls trickled out, leaving Kat and Hermione alone in the bathroom. Kat crouched down next to her, and Hermione felt tears jump into her eyes when the other girl pushed Hermione's mass of hair off of her sweaty face. Her hazel eyes were kind.
"I think maybe that was more than just a bad dream, wasn't it, Hermione?" she asked gently, helping Hermione to her feet. Hermione simply nodded, her eyes closed, unable to keep the tears from coming.
Oh, Ron. Her Ron.
"Come on, let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"
"Okay," she replied. Her voice was thick with tears. She sniffed. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" she asked, putting her hand against Kat's neck. She gasped as she brushed Kat's sleep-mussed hair from her throat. A small round burn in the shape of the tip of Hermione's crooked wand glared from the fair skin over Kat's jugular. "Oh my God, Kat!"
Kat smiled sheepishly. "I've had worse. Used to play chaser on the quidditch team, you know? Then I busted my hip in fifth year and I haven't been able to fly since, magic or no magic." She pulled Hermione's clammy hand from her neck and gave it a squeeze. "I've had quite a few nasty bludgers thrown my way – and even more nasty Slytherins to deal with. Trust me." She winked. "I've had much worse than a dinky little burn like this."
"Doesn't make me feel any better," Hermione grumbled, guilt swamping through her. She needed to go for a run or something. Anything to get this energy out of her system.
"You know what will make you feel better?" Kat asked cheekily. "A bath. You smell, Granger. Go on. No time like the present."
oooo
Conan Avery was a man of opportunity. He was naturally quiet, good at taking advantage of other people's emotional states. He was what a muggle scientist might call a borderline sociopath – he didn't have much in the way of feelings, and he didn't like people much. He did, however, respect Tom Riddle; and if Tom Riddle wanted the Granger girl spied on, Avery would do it. Tom had already enlisted the help of Avery's great-uncle, who had a seat on the International Confederation of Wizards, and Mulciber's father, who was on the Wizengamot, and Edmond's mother, who was the queen of the gossip network in Wizarding Britain and parts of France, to look into both Granger's and Mallery's pasts. And when Lord Voldemort gave an order, you followed it. Somehow, even the adults knew this; Conan would admit that it didn't sit right with him that his own father and great-uncle were so susceptible to Riddle's charms. Was there no limit to what the boy could do?
And so Avery found himself watching her, quite by accident, as she collapsed at the far edge of the lake as the sun rose fully over the mountains. He was out for an early morning walk down by the edge of the forest. Birds heralded the morning, and Conan watched, silent as a stone, as the girl in muggle sneakers and very soft looking pants breathed heavily and looked up at the sky. Her curls were damp, as if she'd only recently bathed, and thrown back into a messy ponytail. It was only when she'd taken off her shoes and socks and buried her toes in the sand that she spoke.
"I can feel your eyes on the back of my neck, and I must say, it's getting rather old," she said, her voice loud and clear. "So why don't you come out here and sit down with me and we can enjoy the peaceful and quiet morning together?"
Conan was not easily surprised, but he was not used to being noticed so quickly, especially when he was making a concerted effort to not be seen. Shuffling on his feet, unsure of exactly how he was to go about approaching the girl that Tom had very clearly told them not to approach, he stepped forward into the sun and came to stand next to her.
While Avery was probably as asexual as anyone could be, he could not help but be entranced with her eyes. They were dark and bright and full of what he would only call mischief.
"Good morning, Avery," she said politely, patting the sand next to her. "Tom sent you out here to spy on me again, I presume?"
Conan swallowed. "Actually, I always go for a walk by the forest's edge in the morning. You just happened to be going for your run at the same time. It's chance that our paths have crossed."
"Ah," she replied, nodding. "What a happy coincidence." Her tone implied that it was anything but. She paused, swiping a loose curl from her face and squinting at him. "But I suppose you would appreciate it if I didn't mention this little meeting of ours to him nonetheless."
He could not help but smile at her perceptiveness. For such a noble Gryffindor, she sure had some Slytherin tricks up her sleeve. "That would probably be best, yes." He picked up a rock and tossed it into the lake. "Tell me, Granger, how is it you know so much about Riddle? You couldn't possibly know that he asked me to spy on you, but you guessed. It just so happens that you guessed correctly. How?"
"Call it deductive reasoning, if you will," she drawled, plucking at a weed that grew up out of the sand. She did not pull it up, however. Just tickled the ends of the leaves with her fingers, as if in a teasing warning: I could yank you out right now, but I'm choosing to be merciful. Next time, though, I might change my mind.
"I caught two of his other cronies trying to spy on me day before last – as you no doubt know by now – and old habits tend to die hard. Riddle seems like the type who has a curious nature. He's like a toddler that tends to investigate shiny new things. And this time I'm the shiny new thing." She looked at him, and while the intensity of her stare should have unnerved him, it only drew him in further. There was something oddly…calming…about her presence. A sort of power that drew him to her. It was very much like what he felt around Tom, but more benign and…older. More experienced. She exuded mystery and grace from every pore. For some reason, he found himself relaxing slightly.
He might compare it to sitting next to a half-tamed lion that he knew had already eaten its fill. Knowing that it wasn't hungry enough to attack, and wanting to touch it, to take the opportunity to run a hand along such a dangerous beast and know that it wouldn't care to kill you for it – at worst just bat your hand away like a pesky fly. You might get nicked by a claw in the process, but it would be worth it just to feel its heaving ribs under your hand, feel its smooth coat and the warmth of its body.
"He just likes to be aware of his surroundings," Conan replied easily. "He doesn't like not knowing things about people. He wants to make sure his classmates and professors are safe."
A smile curved on her lips, and Avery got the feeling she knew that Tom's motives were anything but altruistic. She didn't call him out on the lie, however. "Well, I'm glad to hear that he has the school's interests in mind. However, if it ever does come up in conversation, please do let him in on the fact that a girl just needs her space, you know –"
Her face suddenly went white and her voice died in her throat. She drew her wand, and Conan turned towards the tree line, where her eyes had honed in on a target.
Two men stumbled from the trees, looking entirely confused and like they'd just been put through a meat grinder. Conan stared. One of them was middle aged, with brown hair and watery blue eyes, and the other was huge and blond and perhaps in his early thirties, with hair that hung in golden waves to brush his shoulders and a gaping wound in his abdomen. They both wore black cloaks, and sinister looking masks hung around their necks.
Wisely, Conan stood to the side as the Granger girl scrambled to her feet, holding her wand and staring at the two men that had just spotted her.
"Granger?" the younger of the two said, looking delirious. His bright aquamarine eyes were glazed with pain.
"Hello, Thorfinn," she said smoothly. Her face was impassive and her eyes cold flecks of ochre, but Conan noticed how her hands shook. She turned to the brunette. "Hello, Walden. Fancy seeing the two of you here."
Avery shifted uncomfortably, his own hand clenching around his wand in his trouser pocket, completely unaware of the pair of grey eyes that suddenly snapped open in the hospital wing.
oooo
Hermione stared at the two Death Eaters, trying to keep the horror from her face.
Thorfinn Rowle and Walden Macnair were here. At Hogwarts. In 1944.
This was impossible.
"Where are we, Granger?" Rowle said, looking delirious. He did not have a wand, she noticed. Macnair lowered his wounded comrade down against a tree and shifted his wand in his hand, glaring at Hermione with hatred.
"Hogwarts," she bit out, responding to Rowle's question but looking at his older colleague, tapping her wand against her thigh, a nervous habit she'd picked up during the war. She took her free hand and slowly brought it up to brush Avery's elbow. The boy was no fool. His face was impassive, as usual, but his body was coiled like a spring. "Conan, would you be a dear and go fetch a professor for me? Quick like."
He swallowed and nodded and went to move away, but Macnair's wand was leveled at his chest before he could take a step. "I don't think the boy's going anywhere, Mudblood. Are you, boy?"
Conan was frozen and completely silent. When Macnair's eyes flashed and he sneered, Hermione saw her chance and used his momentary distraction to blast him away from Conan. As Macnair took the time to halt his momentum and land gracefully on his feet, she shoved the junior Knight of Walpurgis in the back. "Go, Avery, run. Run!"
The sixth year did not need to be told twice, it seemed. Drawing his wand, he booked it away towards the school, stumbling once before gaining his bearings and dashing up the path. Hermione sent a Protego at his back as Macnair recovered quickly and sent a stunning spell at his retreating form.
When Conan disappeared over the hill, Macnair swore and turned back to Hermione. "Damn it Granger, what the hell is going on?! What did you mean by get a professor? Where are we really? Is this some sort of trick?"
"Surely you're smart enough to put two and two together, Macnair," she snarled back, keeping her eyes trained solely on him. Rowle looked like he was about to faint, much less lurch from his place against the tree and try to attack her.
She knew his heart wasn't in it, anyway. Personal experience told her that Thorfinn Rowle wasn't a threat to her any longer.
"I went back in time," she hissed, dodging a stunning spell and blocking a Diffindo. "During the battle. And now…" She paused, swallowing. "Obviously, the fabric of space-time has been ripped, and somehow the two of you ended up here as well. Merlin." She threw up a shield again as Macnair tried to disarm her, and she sent a stinging jinx his way that had him yelping, his shoulder swelling immediately. "Would you cut it out?! We have bigger things to be worrying about than a stupid war that won't even begin for another fifty years!" she hissed.
"No amount of time could dull my hate for your kind, Granger," Walden snarled, sending a barrage of hexes that she all dodged or blocked. "But half a century – how did you manage that?"
"It wasn't on purpose, you fool," Hermione said, Fawkes' heat stirring to life within her chest as Macnair hit her with a slicing hex that skimmed the side of her neck. Another two inches to the right, and she would be dead. So he was aiming to kill, was he? Fine. She muttered a quiet Cerebrumiax that had him diving out of the way, landing hard on his hip with a curse. He recognized the purple spell instantly. It had killed a number of his friends.
He sent a stream of bright blue fire at her, and she identified it as the same spell that had caused the miserable burn on her back. She howled as it caught the back of her wand hand, and she seethed with anger and hate, shouting out two Avada Kedavras in quick succession, making him roll to the ground to avoid certain death.
"Bombarda!"
Hermione threw up a hasty shield and then yelped in surprise as the blue dome fizzled and cracked and rebounded, blasting her wand from her hand and throwing her to the ground. She grunted as she felt two of her fingers snap, and watched in horror as her wand not only skittered away from her, but also cracked right down the middle, shattering with the strain of holding off the force of the blast. She froze. Her pink ivory wand was in her bag, which was sitting, warded, in her trunk. Which was in her room.
Erm.
Macnair smiled. "I'm going to kill you now, Granger. You've been the biggest thorn in the Dark Lord's side for years, besides the stupid Potter boy. Undesirable Number Two. I'll be handsomely rewarded." He raised his wand.
"Don't you get it, Macnair?" she yelled, lashing out at him with wandless magic that he quickly deflected. "There is no Dark Lord here. You're trapped in a time where you don't belong. You won't be getting a reward!"
"Stupid Mudblood," he sneered, once again raising his wand. "There's always a dark lord to follow. Don't care who it is, as long as I get to eliminate scum like you."
Hermione's heart skittered. She thought about how she was about to leave Draco all alone, caught in 1944 with information of the future that could send the world into chaos. She could only pray that Dumbledore would protect him as best he could.
"Avada Ke –"
Hermione watched in shock as a pair of pale arms wrapped around Macnair from behind and snapped his neck with a brutal twist. The Death Eater fell to the ground, his eyes glazed over in death, his neck bent at an unnatural angle.
Draco stood over the older man's body, staring at Hermione, his bare chest heaving. "For Padma and Dennis," he panted, his voice hoarse. He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees, looking pale and drawn, sweating the cold, clammy sweat of the sick. Still, despite this, he looked painfully beautiful.
"D…Draco?" she stuttered, scrambling to her knees and then to her feet. "Draco?"
"Hey, Granger," he said tiredly, and then grunted as she threw herself into his arms, holding him close, crying tears of relief into his neck. He wrapped himself around her, but she could feel how unsteady he was, and she helped lower him to the ground, his white drawstring hospital pants now covered in sand. "Hi."
"Draco, how did you find me? How did you know I was here?" she said tearfully, wiping sweat from his brow and looking into his eyes. His pupils were dilated, and he blinked, his hands tightening and loosening around her elbows, and he was alive, he was awake, and the relief she felt just consumed everything –
"I woke up in the hospital wing, and I just knew…I just knew that something wasn't right. Then I looked out the window and saw that boy running towards the school, and I had to get to you, Hermione. I had to."
"I just…I can't believe you're awake. I can't believe you're walking." She brushed soft hair from his face. "Draco, you need to be resting."
"If I had been resting, you would be dead, Granger," he said cheekily, his eyes flashing with a familiar mischief that made her eyes water with fresh tears. "I've been watching your back for what feels like forever. I wasn't going to fail this time. Can't believe you let Macnair get the drop on you." He looked around, taking in his surroundings. "Oh, by the way, did you realize that we're at Hogwarts, Hermione? And I swear I passed Dumbledore on my mad flight down the first floor corridor. Anything you want to tell me, Granger?"
She laughed. "Yeah, I've got to fill you in." She heard voices, and she looked up to see a troop of people running towards them, Professor Dumbledore among them. "But for now all you need to know is that your name is Draco Mallery, we've been living in China for most of our lives…and we're trapped in 1944, Draco. Merlin." Saying it aloud, it seemed especially surreal.
She saw his eyes widen, and then his gaze snapped over to where Rowle sat against the tree, pale and still and barely breathing. "Rowle," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Care to tell me how my dear cousin and this piece of shit," he continued, kicking at Macnair's body, "ended up here as well?"
Rowle coughed, and Draco glared at him and plucked Macnair's wand from his dead hand.
"Hello, Malfoy," Rowle said tiredly. He looked over at Hermione. "You should let Granger do it."
"Do what?" Hermione asked softly, though as she said it she knew of what he spoke. Blood was pooling around him, sinking into the sandy soil around the tree.
"Kill me, Granger. Don't be a dunce. If anyone in this world never deserved the title of 'stupid,' it's you." He coughed again, spitting blood onto the fabric of his trousers. "If someone's going to do it, I want it to be you. Just…make it quick, all right?"
Hermione swallowed, and pried the wand from Draco's grip with just a little resistance. "He doesn't deserve a quick death, Hermione," her best friend snarled, his hands shaking with anger and exhaustion. "I saw him kill Blaise with my own eyes."
"Draco," she said, stilling his shaking hands and standing, ignoring the pain in her right hand as she clamped it around Macnair's wand. It felt wrong in her hand – too thin, too lightweight, too gnarled – but it would do. "He did me a favor, once. A big favor."
"Don't pretend like you still owe me anything, Granger," Rowle coughed, grimacing. "You repaid that favor. I'm simply appealing to the decency in your heart. I know my cousin wouldn't grant me the same boon."
Hermione swallowed. "Thorfinn –"
"Do it, Granger!" the hulking blond man snarled, his handsome face contorted in pain and misery. "Just do it! Now!"
Hermione closed her eyes and pointed the wand. "Avada Kedavra."
Macnair's wand, used to such magic, was eager to do her bidding. Panting, she forced herself to look at the body, taking in the way those pretty teal eyes were now devoid of life. She dropped the wand, her hands suddenly shaky.
It was different; killing someone who she thought didn't quite deserve it as much as they normally did. It felt wrong. Shivering, she looked away.
Conan Avery stood on the path, looking at Rowle's body with cold, sky blue eyes. His nose twitched, but otherwise he looked unfazed. Hermione wondered if he had ever seen anyone die before. If not, the first sight of a thestral would no doubt send him for a loop. Dumbledore quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the grizzly sight. Madam Soranus stood behind him, wringing her hands and looking lost, and Slughorn placed a hand on Avery's shoulder and turned him away, looking at Dumbledore for permission to take the boy back to the castle. Dumbledore waved them off absently, and Hermione caught Conan's eyes one last time before he was escorted away. She thought she saw a glimmer of respect in those pale blue irises before they were turned from her gaze.
"What happened here?"
She'd never heard Dumbledore's voice so hard. He did not look angry with her, per say, but disturbed at the image before him.
If ever he had thought her to be an innocent schoolgirl, that image was completely dispelled from his mind, now. Hermione had tried to get him to understand that the world in 2002 wasn't as it was now, and that she was not what any girl in this era was expected to be, but seeing someone's memories and seeing something in reality were two very different things. Besides, she was unable to show him all of her memories, only bits and pieces, so there was no way that he could really know just how bad things had gotten and the seriousness of the measures she and others had taken to try to stay alive.
"These two men are – were – people we knew from…back home," she said quietly, aware that Madam Soranus was still standing there, looking down at Macnair's twisted body like she'd never seen a dead person before. Perhaps she hadn't. "They attacked Mister Avery and me while we sat and talked this morning. I was able to buy Conan enough time to get away and run back up to the castle for help. Draco woke up and saw him through the window and just – well –"
"I had a feeling, sir," Draco said, each second looking more and more like he needed to be in a bed. "Hermione and I have been looking out for each other for a long time. I saw that boy running from the lake and I just had a feeling. If I hadn't gotten here in time, she would have been killed."
"And the man that you just struck down in cold blood, Miss Granger?" Madam Soranus said shrilly, looking at the girl in horror. "What about him?"
"Alfidia –" Dumbledore began, raising his hand. Hermione interrupted him.
"He was gravely wounded, Madam," she said softly, looking over to where Thorfinn's body still sat slumped against the tree. He looked oddly peaceful; like a living statue of a Roman god, something you might find in an ancient city in Europe. For some reason, it comforted her. She imagined that if Achilles had looked like anyone, it would have been Thorfinn Rowle; and she imagined that Rowle would have been pleased at the comparison. "He – he asked me to ease his passing." She swallowed. "He wasn't a good man, Madam Soranus. But I'm sorry that you had to see me cast the killing curse like that. It's not what I wanted." She looked back to the mediwitch, pulling her eyes away from Rowle's still-warm corpse. "But he also didn't deserve a slow death. He was hurt badly, ma'am. You can see that from his wounds. With the amount of blood he'd lost, he never would have made it to the hospital wing."
Hermione stood, and helped pull Draco to his feet. "I can dispose of the bodies, if you wish." Her eyes fluttered closed and then back open. "I've done it before. I don't mind. First I need to get Draco back to the hospital wing, though. He's not well."
Madam Soranus sniffed. "I'm surprised you made it down here so quickly in the first place, Mister Mallery," she said stiffly, looking at them with slightly softer eyes. "It's a wonder you didn't collapse as soon as you set foot out of your bed."
"What can I say, Madam?" Draco replied deliriously, joking even in the face of exhaustion. "I can't stand missing out on the action. I get bored if I sleep for too long." His eyes slipped closed.
Hermione leaned in close to his ear. "Remember what I told you, Draco," she whispered. "Just…don't say anything if anyone asks you questions, all right? Trust Dumbledore if you have to, but no one else. I'll be up to see you shortly."
He barely had time to nod before he slipped into unconsciousness.
Madam Soranus levitated him away, shaking her head sadly, and then Hermione was alone with her professor, feeling more awkward than ever.
"I'm sorry," she said, sighing. She made herself meet his eyes. "Even if I could have saved him, I couldn't risk him telling the world our secret. He knew this." Dumbledore nodded his head and sighed, his eyes tired but accepting. She kicked Macnair in the boot. "Meet Walden Macnair," she said sourly, and then went over to Rowle's body and shut his eyes gently. "And Thorfinn Rowle."
"Both prominent English pureblood names," Dumbledore said, watching her carefully as she brushed a piece of loose bronze hair from Rowle's forehead. "Both families with children in this school right this very moment." He paused. "And though you say that this Rowle character was a very bad man, you seem to hold some level of regard for him."
Hermione did not answer for a moment, a memory of her time at Malfoy Manor resurfacing. A gentle hand on her shoulder, a muttered "Don't mention it," and the clang of a cell door closing. She looked up at Dumbledore from her position at Rowle's side and gave him a tight smile. "He saved me from an undesirable fate once. And perhaps really truly introduced me to what it means to live within a shade of grey." She stood. "I used to always believe that everyone had a choice. Always. It took me a while to realize that some people are sometimes born trapped into a corner with no way out. Everything was different after I came to understand that. Sometimes the choices that you do have are impossible. Thorfinn Rowle was, indeed, a bad man. But not all bad. Sometimes the world is not so black and white."
"Indeed, Miss Granger," he replied softly, looking at her with eyes as bright as the sky. "Indeed."
oooo
Dumbledore insisted on dealing with the bodies himself, and as Hermione didn't really want to hold Macnair's wand again if she didn't have to, she watched on gratefully as he incinerated the two dead men, amused when Dumbledore's nose wrinkled at the smell. She breathed it in.
At the end of the day, the scent of death was still the most familiar thing in this unfamiliar place. Besides Draco, now that he was awake.
Oh, and another thing: how was she supposed to tell her best friend that he was dying?
"How did they end up here, Professor?" Hermione said, feeling dreadfully uncertain about her fate and the fate of the world as a whole. "There must have been a drastic rip in space-time. I noticed that Macnair had a fresh cut underneath his left eye." She paused. "I gave it to him right after he gave me that nasty burn on my back; just minutes before Fawkes transported Draco and me back here. Which means that though it's been days since I've arrived in 1944, it translated into hours, or just minutes, in 2002. Which means that time is still running in the future. I'm having trouble making sense of this."
"I believe, Hermione, that it might be more complicated than just the future and the past," Albus replied, pocketing his wand and turning away from the ashes of the two Death Eaters' bodies. "You mentioned space-time. Space, Miss Granger. I think, perhaps, that we may be dealing with something more along the lines of several timelines that run parallel to each other. I think Fawkes pulled you from one and into another, and I think it unbalanced something in the process, and I fear that those two men wandered through a black hole of sorts." He paused and looked at her. "We can discuss these things later, however. There is a more immediate concern that I have, at the moment. Now, Mister Avery was here when these men first showed up?" Albus asked as they walked back up the path towards the castle. "Did he hear anything that mightn't make sense to him that he could repeat that would potentially get you in trouble?"
"No, I don't think so," she said uneasily, playing through the confrontation in her mind. "I called Macnair and Rowle by their first names for precisely that reason." She froze, her eyes widening in sudden panic as she came to a realization. "But Macnair called me a Mudblood in front of him. Albus, I have to get to him before he tells anyone else –"
Dumbledore laid a hand on her shoulder. "He can't have gotten far. He should still be with Horace. I'll send a patronus and have him escort Mister Avery to my office." He waved his wand and a spectral white phoenix shot from the tip, swooping through the air and flying towards the castle gracefully.
Hermione could only hope that it reached him in time. To have Tom Riddle – or anyone, really – know of her blood status this early in the game could be disastrous.
Luckily it was still early enough that not everyone was up, and most that were awake were at breakfast, but there were still a few people that lined the halls as the strange pair made their way to Dumbledore's office. Hermione avoided the stares of the students and teachers that had heard the commotion and come to look. She clapped a hand to her neck, trying in vain to cover up the cut that Macnair had made there; but blood had already trickled down to soak through the collar of her regrettably white half-zip long-sleeved rash guard. Unfortunately witches didn't really exercise in the 1940s, and when they did it was only for quidditch - which was only newly opened up to women within the last couple of decades (sometimes Hermione wondered how England could be so behind the times - MCUSA had had a woman president in the 1920s!). So she'd had no idea what to wear to go for a run. She'd ended up just putting on some of her least-out-of-place muggle clothes, which included the shirt, a pair of black sweatpants, and sneakers. The girls in her dorm had looked at her a little oddly when she'd left after her bath that morning, and people were looking at her oddly now, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. They seemed to be whispering more about the fact that she had been at the middle of an attack more than about her choice of wardrobe. Magnus Macdonald stepped towards her, seemingly about to ask after her health, but she looked away from him and kept moving forward, avoiding interaction.
Much to Hermione's relief, when they reached the Transfiguration office Slughorn and Avery were already there. Unfortunately, so was Headmaster Dippet.
"Albus, you should have called for me immediately!" the headmaster said, looking flustered. Dumbledore did not seem in the least bit concerned; but then again, Armando Dippet was not a very imposing man – indeed, Hermione thought she might not even see him in a crowded room.
"I'm sorry, Armando, but there was no time, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said wearily. "Come, I will walk you to breakfast and fill you in," he continued, putting a guiding hand on Dippet's elbow and steering him out of his office before the old headmaster could bombard Hermione with questions. Albus winked at Hermione, and they were gone before the ancient wizard could utter a word of protest.
Alone in the Transfiguration office with Slughorn and Avery, she looked to her Potions professor.
"Professor, might I have a word alone with Mister Avery?" she asked gently, giving him her most charming smile. "I'd just like to speak with him about what happened this morning. Try to put his mind at ease, you understand."
Slughorn's gooseberry eyes softened. "Of course, my dear. I suppose that is a good idea. I'll just wait right outside, shall I?"
"Certainly, Professor, although I'm sure this won't take long…are you sure you wouldn't want to head on down to breakfast?" she asked sweetly. "You must be starving. I know I am."
Though Horace Slughorn was clever and generally smarter than people gave him credit for – Hermione knew this, for she had known him rather well, in her time – he also had a blind spot when it came to his favorite students. He would never think himself able to be tricked or manipulated by anyone he saw as a child. Hermione hated herself a little for it, but she took a page out of Tom Riddle's book and used this, playing her professor like a fiddle.
"Oh, well, I am feeling rather peckish, now that you mention it," he said, rubbing his large stomach. "Just make sure you two make it down to the Great Hall in time to get a bite to eat before the elves clear it all away. And of course, if you need anything at all, just send word and I'll be here right away."
"Of course, Professor," she said with a bright smile. "Thank you for looking after us so well. It's good to have an adult around that we can trust to keep us safe."
Slughorn chortled and blushed, patting her on the shoulder. "Yes. Well." He cleared his throat. "Do make sure to get your neck and hand seen to, Miss Granger."
"Oh!" she exclaimed, looking down at her wand hand. "Yes, I'd almost forgotten. Thank you, sir."
He beamed at her. "Such a tough young thing. All right, children, I'll see you after a while."
As soon as the door closed, Hermione whirled around and reached out with her left hand and, with some effort, managed to snap her fingers and disarm Avery right as he was pulling his wand on her. She winced. Her left hand was not accustomed to doing magic, and it took a lot of energy to channel it wandlessly.
His eyes narrowed. "Give me back my wand," he said. His eyes were still unnervingly flat, but he was showing as much emotion as she was likely to ever see from him.
She locked the door using his wand: black walnut and unicorn hair, if she was not mistaken. "I think, Mister Avery, I would rather have this discussion on equal footing," she said quietly. She twirled the thin twig between her fingers and then tucked it behind her into the waistband of her trousers. "Regrettably, my wand was broken in the struggle a few minutes ago; therefore, I would feel more comfortable if you did not have one either." She held her hands up. "Don't worry, I don't plan on hurting you. You're far too smart to piss me off, Conan, especially since you know exactly what I did to your friend Mulciber."
She saw him swallow, but his face did not change. He did, however cross his arms and sit down in an armchair. Hermione followed suit.
"So now what?" he asked, looking completely unreadable. If Hermione wasn't mistaken, this kid was better at schooling his feelings than even Riddle was. Perhaps she was just more attuned to Tom Riddle. She'd known him in a previous life. She knew absolutely nothing about Conan Avery – if she remembered correctly, he'd died before she was even born, and his son, Avery Junior, had died in the First Battle of Hogwarts, killed by Arthur Weasley.
"Now you tell me exactly what it will take for me to ensure that you never tell another soul of my blood status." She paused, searching his face for any sign of movement. His eye twitched, but she did not know how to interpret it. "I know you heard what he called me."
"Mudblood." It was said without malice, or even contempt – only a sort of cold boredom. "Yes, I heard."
Her lips quirked up. "And tell me, Mister Avery: what do I have to threaten you with to ensure that you don't tell my secret? These are dangerous times for a poor little Mudblood orphan like me."
His lip twitched, as if he was surprised that she would use such an ugly slur to describe herself. He cleared his throat and looked away. "I believe, Granger, that you are, perhaps, anything but a poor little Mudblood orphan. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm going to hazard a guess and say that there aren't many witches or wizards in this school that pose much of a threat to you."
She smiled coolly, too logical of mind to be flattered by the truth. "Only a handful. Though underestimating anyone is always a bad idea, in my experience; you never know who might surprise you. There is only one person in this school, however, that worries me. Can you guess who that might be?"
"Riddle," he grunted, his eyes boring into hers. "You're afraid of Riddle."
Hermione smiled, amused. "He worries me," she corrected. "I'm not afraid of your little boss, Avery, no matter how whipped he has the lot of you." Normally she would have taken perverse pleasure in the color that might rise to a man's cheeks at such a comment; however, Conan Avery just stared at her blankly, his face as pale as ever. He was completely unaffected. "I'm not afraid of much of anything anymore. I don't have much to lose at this point, you understand."
"Tom will always find something to hold over your head," he said, his eyes flashing with something that she couldn't quite put her finger on.
"And that's how he got you to join his little group, isn't it?" she asked softly, suddenly understanding his motives for joining Tom, though she didn't know the specifics. "You don't actually give a fig about blood prejudice, do you, Conan?"
He stared into her face. "A little. It's hard to escape its pull, when you grow up having it drilled into your head." He looked away. "But no, not really. That's never really interested me."
"What does interest you?"
He flexed his hands. "What's the point of this conversation, Granger?"
"I'm merely trying to get a better sense of what makes you tick, Avery," she replied, steepling her fingers. "And, once again, I need to ensure that you don't go about blabbing my secret to everyone. I might just have to Obliviate it from your memory. I understand that Riddle has a penchant for reading minds."
His eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"
"I know a lot of things," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "The question is, how good are your Occlumency skills?"
"Better than Riddle's Legilimency skills, at least so far," he answered, and she was surprised at the honestly in his voice. "He's good. I'm better."
She knew it was rude, but she had to be absolutely sure. "Legilimens," she said, twitching the middle finger of her wand hand as best she could while it was broken. She ignored the pain.
She grunted in discomfort as her mind came up against the equivalent of a smooth metal wall. Try as she might, she could not get past it. Exhaling, she withdrew her attack.
"That was unkind," Avery said stiffly.
She grinned. "Sorry. Still, you have very good defenses. However, does he not become suspicious when you don't let him into your brain?"
"I do let him into my brain," he replied, cracking his knuckles. "I just don't let him see everything."
She hummed. "You're that good?"
"Yes," he answered. "Riddle is a scary good Legilimens. But he's only been at it for a couple of years now. My mother started teaching me Occlumency before I even got my wand at Diagon Alley. By the time I entered Hogwarts I was already well on my way to becoming a good Occlumens. By my fourth year, I was a master at it."
She leaned forward in her chair, staring at this odd child. How extraordinary! How useful!
"That's very impressive, Avery," she said, watching him with interest. "I've always struggled with Occlumency, myself. Legilimency, not so much."
"I can see that," he said dryly, his eyebrow quirking up.
"Perhaps you'd like to learn?" Hermione asked. It was a proficient carrot, she thought, to offer him something that Riddle would undoubtedly avoid teaching his followers. He wouldn't want anyone attempting to rifle through his head the same way he liked to rifle through theirs.
"Are you…bribing me, Granger?" he asked, leaning forward and mirroring her pose.
She shrugged. "Would it be exchange enough to keep you from telling Riddle that I'm muggleborn? I'd prefer to not have to Obliviate you. Besides, trying to take that one tiny piece of the memory of the attack this morning and not accidentally alter the rest of it would be difficult. He would sense that something was off. And I don't want to use your wand to perform such delicate magic, either. I find that some wands tend to have a hard time being used against their owners. I would rather not tempt fate."
Conan stood, and she followed suit, cocking her head to the side.
"Deal," he said, sticking his hand out.
"On your magic?" she hazarded, unwilling to take anything less than a Wizarding Oath when it came to keeping secrets with a Slytherin. Especially one who spent so much time around the young Lord Voldemort.
"On my magic," he said, his voice blank but for a small tinge of reluctance.
She shook his hand. "Of course, I promise to uphold my end of the bargain as well. On my magic."
"Don't make me regret this, Granger," he said in warning. "I'll protect your secret from Riddle, but you have to watch my back, too."
"I didn't think people usually needed protecting from their friends," she ventured, knowing full well that Tom Riddle did not have friends, but not knowing how much Avery knew about his own leader.
"Riddle isn't my friend," he said curtly, pulling his hand away. "And he's not yours, either, no matter what he might try to make you believe." When his eyes met hers, she was surprised to find them full of sincerity. Not feeling, mind you; Hermione was beginning to understand that Conan Avery didn't feel a whole hell of a lot. But his eyes were honest. "Don't play his game, Granger. I don't know what his fascination with you is, but don't get sucked into it."
She smiled at him and gave him his wand back. "I appreciate the advice. I'm glad we've come to an understanding. And tell me: have you ever seen anyone die before today?"
Conan cocked his head. "No. This was the first time."
Hermione nodded. "And you are unaffected by it?" she asked. She didn't think it bothered him, but she had to be sure. It had been she who'd laid the killing blow, after all.
"I'm unaffected by most things," he replied, and his voice was flat and devoid of feeling. His eyes mirrored it.
"Good," she said, cradling her wounded hand against her stomach. "That's good. Just don't freak out when you see the thestrals for the first time. Other people will look at you like you're crazy."
His eyebrows drew down. "Thestrals?"
She grinned and patted him on the arm. He didn't seem to know how to react to the display of what might be construed as affection. It tickled her. "Don't worry about it. Go ahead and get down to breakfast – I'm going to run up to the hospital wing to check on my friend and get myself patched up."
He shrugged and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway. "Just so you know – I wouldn't have told Riddle your secret anyway. I mean, without you promising something in return." He shrugged again. "It's not my business. It's not his, either."
She snorted. "I appreciate it, but you're a Slytherin, Avery. If you'd done a favor like that for me for free, I wouldn't have believed it. It's better this way."
She thought she saw what might have been a smile cross his face before he turned and walked away.
oooo
"So let me get this straight: we've gone back in time to 1944…Voldemort is Head Boy…Fawkes is somehow living inside your body…Dumbledore thinks we're caught up in a parallel universe…you just made a deal with one of Voldemort's inner circle…the fabric of space-time might be irreparably damaged…and Aunt Bella's curse is slowly killing me. Am I leaving anything out?"
"Avery isn't in Riddle's inner circle. He's not as close as Mulciber, Nott and Lestrange."
"Whatever. Fine. Anything else I need to get straight in my mind?"
Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. Draco reached out to pull it from between her teeth, as was his habit, and she batted his hand away, as was her habit. "Cut it out," she said absently, her mind caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. "You're being awfully cavalier about this, you know. Dying."
Draco sighed and looked out the big bay window of the hospital wing. He still looked so weak and tired. "It doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would," he said quietly. She reached out to take his hand, and he squeezed it.
"It bothers me," she responded, struggling to blink away tears. She was largely unsuccessful. A few fell onto her cheeks and raced down to her chin. Harry would have wiped them away and murmured niceties. Draco just looked at her and quoted a playwright.
"'Even at our birth, death does but stand aside a little. And every day he looks towards us and muses somewhat to himself whether that day or the next he will draw nigh.'" His eyes were steady and grey, and Hermione hated him for it. She wanted him to cry and scream and throw things. Because that's what she wanted to do.
"Don't quote Robert Bolt to me right now, Draco," she said, swiping at her tears angrily. "I can't lose you. I can't, Draco."
"Of course you can, Granger," he returned evenly, still frustratingly dry-eyed. "You've lost everything and everyone else. One more isn't going to hurt you any more than you're already hurting."
Hermione sobbed and laid her head on the edge of his bed, unable to stop the tears from coming. "I hate you sometimes, you know that?" she said, her voice partially absorbed by the mattress. "You can be so cruel."
She felt his hand stroke over her hair and rest on the nape of her neck. "I know, Hermione," he said softly. "I know. I'm sorry."
"No you're not," she said, speaking into the bed coverlet. "Malfoys aren't sorry as a rule. You told me that once. Malfoys don't do regret."
She felt rather than heard his chuckle as he continued to lay his hand on her hair. "That was a lie, Granger. To save face. I think you know by now how sorry I am about a lot of things. There's no shortage of regret when it comes to my past – especially when it comes to my past with you."
She raised her head up and met his eyes. "You don't owe me an explanation, Draco," she said softly. "You don't owe me anything. We've already forgiven each other a thousand times over for anything we've ever said and done to each other."
He sighed. "I know. Besides, I'm a Mallery now, remember? Those rules no longer apply to me." He smiled and looked away for a moment, and then he met her eyes again, looking uncertain. "You never told me about Rowle."
She swallowed uncomfortably. "It wasn't something I cared to talk about."
"You told me everything else about your time at the Manor," he said, the corners of his mouth turning down into a frown. "Why didn't you tell me about him? I didn't even know you'd ever interacted with him at all."
"I…" She sighed. "I didn't want to think about it. Rosier and Selwyn, they –" She stopped, taking in the snarl on her friend's pale face. "They didn't do anything, Draco – Rowle interrupted them. And he…well, he made sure that no one cared to try again, you know? He made it so that I wouldn't be…wouldn't be violated. I don't know how he did it. And then Goyle got me out, and that was that."
Draco's jaw ticked, his eyes hot with anger. "He said you repaid the favor?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "I let him go once, when we were fighting in Snowdonia that following April. I could've gotten him. Caught him, killed him, at least wounded him. But I let him go. And that was that. A life for a life."
Draco frowned and cleared his throat. "I won't pretend I know what it's like, being a woman captive –"
"Then don't try," she interrupted, not in the mood for a lecture. "Don't even try, Draco. You promised me a long time ago that you would never judge me. We promised each other. Don't question a decision I made over two years ago. I made a judgment call. And yeah, it was stupid, fine, I'll admit that. I let an enemy live to fight another day, to kill our friends, and it was stupid, stupid, stupid, and I'm sorry. But I noticed after that fight near Tryfan that Rowle never targeted me. I saw him multiple times out on the battlefield. His heart just wasn't in it, Draco."
Draco looked reasonably mollified, but fire still flashed in his eyes. "He killed Blaise."
She stared at him, taking in the angular, square planes of his face and the cool pewter of his eyes. "I'm trying to determine if you would not have done the same thing, if you'd been in his position: encountered with a traitor in your midst, under the thumb of the darkest wizard of all time and surrounded by comrades that might kill you for any sign of hesitation – and unlike you and Blaise and Pansy and Goyle and your mother, Rowle didn't know that anyone might feel the same uncertainty he felt; he didn't have a network of spies, and he didn't have family to trust." She paused, taking in Draco's sullen expression. "We all like to think we'd have acted differently in a situation like that. But you and I both know that life doesn't work that way. War doesn't work that way. I'm sorry about Blaise. I didn't know him like you did, and I know he was killed for doing the right thing. I do, however, know exactly what kindness Rowle showed to me once, and I will always – always, Draco – be grateful for his intervention on my behalf. Blaise or no Blaise, Rowle stepped in to keep me from being raped when he could have just stood by and kept his head down, or even joined in and participated. You have no idea the absolute terror that he saved me from. You didn't see…" She swallowed, looking away. She stared at a tile on the floor. "You didn't see what they did with Fay Dunbar. Or what was left of her afterwards. So don't you judge me, Draco."
She felt his hand on her shoulder, and she turned to look at him, unable to keep him from seeing the tears that shined in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't know."
His eyes were sincere. Of course they were. Draco was always, always honest with her. She smiled and grabbed his hand. "You should get some rest," she said. "Dumbledore wants to see us both this evening in his office, if you're up for it. We need to get some things ironed out between the three of us. We're playing a dangerous game." She stood. "Now that Madam Soranus has bandaged up my hand, I need to go back to my dorm and get ready for class. I also have to grab a new wand."
His eyes widened. "What happened to your wand, Hermione?"
"It broke in the struggle this morning," she answered, stretching and cracking her back.
"It just…broke?" he clarified, looking suspicious. "How did you manage that?"
"I…it's complicated," she said, shrugging. "Let's just say that Fawkes wasn't a huge fan of Bellatrix's wand, and it stopped working as well for me. Bloody bird seems to think I should whip out the pink ivory wand and use it on a daily basis."
"And he's right," Draco said, looking at her seriously. "That wand was fated for you, Granger. And while we might not be in direct danger here like we were back home, we're still in danger. Hermione, Tom Riddle sleeps just a few floors away from you. Only one floor away from me."
"I can handle Tom Riddle," Hermione said defensively, crossing her arms. "We already have a bit of an understanding."
"Don't underestimate him," Draco warned, looking stern. "I know you. Don't be foolish. Teenager or not, this is still Lord Voldemort we're talking about. Don't get it into your head that he's somehow different just because he hasn't made his third horcrux yet."
"He is different," she said, throwing up her hands. "I'm not denying that he's a monster – he was born a monster, Draco, I think we both know this. But he's also still a man. A boy. He's still sane."
Draco looked uncomfortable. "We'll agree to disagree on that one, Granger."
"I'm not afraid of him, Draco," she said hotly.
"You should be!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "Merlin, Granger, don't be an idiot!"
"And why should I be, Malfoy?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips. "What exactly does he have to scare me with? Hmm?"
Draco deflated after a moment, considering her question. "Nothing, really. Still, Hermione. Even if he has nothing to threaten your safety with, be careful that you don't get sucked into his charisma; while your person might not be at risk, your mind might be. Even as the monster he was in our time, he was still persuasive. He knows how to seduce those around him."
"Even so, I'm not in the business of being seduced," Hermione said drily. "The wizards of this era are mostly a bunch of sexist jerks, I've found, and Tom Riddle is included in that. He doesn't take me seriously, and he has zero interest in women."
Draco patted the chair by his bedside, urging her to sit back down. She did so with a huff, crossing her arms. "What?"
"Hermione…what's the one thing that Voldemort is interested in?" he asked softly, his eyes solemn and grey.
"Immortality," she said impatiently.
"Other than that," he said, waving her answer away.
"I don't know," she replied, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Glory? Kingship? Wearing the skin of his victims as trophies? Please, enlighten me."
"Power, Granger," Draco said, his face deadly serious. "And what's one thing that you have in spades?"
Hermione gulped. "I'm not –"
"You are," he interrupted briskly. "You are, Hermione. And if he hasn't noticed it by now, he will eventually. And having Fawkes inside of you has…changed you. You somehow look different, brighter; you carry yourself differently…you even smell different. If there is one thing that I bet will catch Tom Riddle's eye, it's power in a pretty package."
She wanted to argue with him. But he was mostly right. She'd already thought about these things – she'd just hoped he would disagree. "Trust me, Riddle hardly notices how pretty women are."
"He'll notice how pretty you are," he argued. "If Tom Riddle has functioning anatomy, he notices attractive women. He just has more important things to worry about: like gaining power. And guess what? Now there's a witch at Hogwarts who's not only pleasing to the eye, but also powerful. Put two and two together, Hermione. You told me that he seems to be mildly interested in you. You told me that you were considering how to use it. I'm dying, Hermione. I'm literally not going to be here come New Years. You will be on your own. You have to start thinking about what you need to do to keep yourself safe in this timeline. If Dumbledore is right, and we are currently trapped in an alternate timeline, then that means you have the power to shape the future. This future hasn't happened yet. You have the chance to make a life here for yourself; don't waste it, Hermione."
Hermione swallowed. He was right. "What do you think I should do?"
"I think you should settle in here," he said, leaning back against the pillows and staring up at the vaulted ceiling. "I think you should accept the fact that you're stuck here and make the best of it."
"I don't belong here, Draco," she whispered. "That all sounds lovely, but I accidentally hurt somebody this morning because she got too close while I was having a nightmare. I feel like a hawk masquerading as a sparrow. It's awkward. I've done a good job of faking it so far, but it's painfully obvious that I'm out of place. Besides, I can never make true friends here. I have an entire past that I can't share with anyone. Dumbledore knows the gist of things, but not everything. It's too dangerous to let anyone in on my secrets. So even if I stay here and move on with my life, I would be alone, Draco."
"You're already alone," he said. His eyes were cool and detached, but still hazy with sleep and pain. "You need to get used to it. All you can do is try to forget where you came from and construct memories for yourself from this life as best you can. People will eventually stop asking questions, and you can just start over."
She gaped at him. "And how am I supposed to just forget, Draco?" she hissed angrily. "Hmm? How am I supposed to let memories fade away or morph into something else when every damn night I see Ron's face in my dreams? How do I forget the images that are etched into the back of my eyelids? I have an eidetic memory, remember? There's nothing that I've seen that I can't still picture vividly in my mind's eye. Besides, this morning there was a giant rip in space-time and two of our old foes wandered through the hole and ended up here. What if Harry walks through next? Do I tell him to just forget, to start over? What if Greyback shows up in the Great Hall during breakfast, hmm? Do I hand him a plate of eggs with a cheery 'good morning'? What if Lord Voldemort walks through, red eyes and all? What then, Draco? How the fuck am I supposed to just move on?"
She stopped, breathing hard, and realized that Draco had slipped back into unconsciousness. Furious and sad and confused, Hermione stood and stalked from the hospital wing, squeezing her injured hand through the bandages, hissing as the pain grounded her, brought her back down to earth.
She needed to go change clothes, and go to class. She had missed her opportunity to go to Muggle Studies, but Transfiguration with Hufflepuff started at 10:45, and it would help clear her mind. She'd have to use that bloody wand, but at this point, she didn't care. Everything was going to hell in a hand basket anyway. So what if her wand was shiny and pink and flashy? So what if it just made Tom Riddle even more interested in her?
What motivation did she have anymore to care? As Draco had pointed out, she was already alone. He was all she had left in this world, and he was dying. She had nothing left to lose.
Except, perhaps, her sanity.
oooo
Just in case you'd been wondering about it, Hermione does have a singular bad experience at the beginning of the war that tips the scales and pushes her into darkness. I will be hinting at it throughout the story, referring to Hermione's time at Malfoy Manor and the death of Ron, and more information will be revealed as time goes on. So if you ever find yourself scratching your head and saying "Wait…what?" when an allusion is made to a previous event that I haven't fully written in yet – well, don't worry, because everything will be explained in due time. Hence the use of flashbacks at the beginning of some of my chapters. There will be a recurring dream, one that Hermione will conveniently wake up from right before it gets to the bad parts, just to leave you hanging. You're welcome.
Also, someone asked me the other day why Draco was handsome in my fic. They asked if that was somewhere in canon, or a personal preference…so. Here's the deal. I am a hardcore shipper of Dramione, and the Draco I have pictured in my head is a hot piece of ass. So there. That about sums it up. Nowhere in canon does it say Malfoy is attractive. But he is in my head, and he is in my stories, and I think you'd be hard-pressed to find more than a handful of people on Harry Potter fanfiction that don't agree with me. There are like 50 times more Dramione shippers than for any other pairing in the HP universe. Am I right, or am I right?
Giraffe :)