Chapter Three

June, 1913.

Hermione was a small speck walking on the sidewalk of one of the largest cities in the world. No one cared about her past, not a single soul bothered to look at her as her heels clacked against the pavement, the noise blending in with everything else in the city on her way to the St. Mary's hospital in Brooklyn.

With a glowing recommendation from Nurse Eberhart, Hermione had gotten the position only days after applying, having received her license in the mail. Thankful to be away from waitressing in a local bar to pay her bills, Hermione was glad to be doing something of much more significance than retrieving drinks for and getting harassed by raucous men in the middle of the night. It wasn't a career meant for a lady in this era, and she'd suffered much grief from her peers in the nursing program because of it.

Hermione was certain she'd never get used to being treated like a second rate citizen based solely on her gender.

"Excuse me, sirs," she stated, weaving between men standing in line at a local diner. Hermione often came to a small teashop just a few blocks from her flat to meet with her friend, Isobel, before heading off to the hospital for what she knew would be an excruciatingly long shift.

"Adeline, darling, you made it!" A sharply dressed red-haired woman called, standing from her seat and grabbing Hermione's hands in hers. "After that call last night I thought you may have a bit of a lie in before work this morning."

Hermione smiled and gave the woman's dainty hand an apologetic squeeze. "I'm sorry, I should have reassured you, Izzy. No amount of misogyny would keep me from our breakfast date." She nearly shuddered thinking about her 'gentleman caller' the previous night had been.

He'd spoken excessively about his utter disgust over the idea of women's suffrage, and that there were women who dared to think they should have the right to vote. Then he, poor delusional man that he was, had the audacity to ask for a second date, she was an orphan, after all, and she should be securing a husband to take care of her. Hermione was not amused and found herself on her telephone with Izzy shortly afterwards, complaining about men and how she believed that in the future women would have the right to vote, could take care of themselves, and within a few decades would hold powerful positions in companies and government.

Izzy had laughed. "Of course, dear, and the world won't know what hit them."

They ate breakfast, chatting about Izzy's husband, a doctor who worked alongside Doctor Moore at the hospital, as Hermione grinned at her friend. That was how they had been introduced. Their friendship began strangely. Hermione had been staying late to read the extra medical texts the school offered, as she often did. One night she'd heard voices just outside the library, Doctor Malcolm's wife had pushed the door open and said, "Miss Dubois, you have been spending too much time buried amongst these books." The woman had scolded her with a stern frown that looked out of place on her face. Hermione had been shocked, to say the least, and before she could begin to formulate a coherent refusal Mrs. Malcolm had spoken in a tone not unlike Molly Weasley's. "I insist you join me for dinner down the street."

It had been the start of their magnificent friendship.

Hermione ached knowing she only had a few years' time to spend with this spectacular woman. As a friend, Izzy had been the best she'd known since Harry and Ron, and yet not comparable in the slightest. The trials she faced with Harry and Ron made them irreplaceable in her heart. Still, Izzy was wonderful, and after she had moved on she planned to write to her for several years before her letters would slowly stop arriving, and Adeline Moore would ceased to exist. It was heartbreaking. Isobel was the best female friend Hermione had ever had.

"Oh, darling, you must come with William and I to the theater next weekend, they're performing 'All Aboard.'"

"Of course," Hermione agreed enthusiastically. It had been months since she had last seen a play and this one was said to be sensational.

With a small upturn of her lips, Isobel stated, "I will have Will find you a date."

Hermione's smile faltered.

"Oh stop it, Addie, William would not choose someone you would despise." Isobel cast a charming smile, one Hermione had seen used to both soften and intimidate the woman's prey. "Allow us to set you up, just this this once."

Hermione doubted that. But be that as it may, she found herself at the theater the following weekend clothed in a beautiful silver evening gown borrowed from Isobel. Upon entering the theater, she was swept away by the romance of the atmosphere; a full orchestra at the front of the room played music of the renaissance while guests filed into the upper booths and the floor seats. When she finally made her way through the throng of impeccably dressed aristocracy, Hermione found Izzy and William standing enraptured in a conversation with none other than the illustrious Silas Moore.

She nearly stopped dead, her heart racing. She hadn't seen Dr. Moore since graduating. The last time they had spoken, she had asked him whether he would return to the hospital to work after a few years of teaching and recalled clearly that he'd been adamant he would remain at school. It was his chosen profession, one he'd long since decided not to abandon in favor of the more demanding pace of the hospital. He had assured her he would be teaching for the remainder of his life. Keeping students knowledgeable in new medicines as they were discovered was something of a calling for him, he'd explained.

Hermione was under the impression she would never see Silas Moore again.

"Good Evening, Miss Dubois," Mr. Moore greeted, sweeping down to clasp her hand in his and briefly touch his lips to her knuckles.

She had been far too sensible since falling into the past and had, in the decade and a half of being back, not found a man to spend time with. She could continue telling herself it was out of hurt over Ron's betrayal, but if she were being honest with herself, she knew it wasn't that. It wasn't the fact that she was back in time that kept her away either, though it was a large factor in her , it was the fact that should she start anything with a man and grew to enjoy him, she knew she wouldn't want to end it.

And she would have to.

Silas was charming, his work persona left far behind as his true personality began to shine through. He smiled, and laughed; a sound that brought life to their booth. He was knowledgeable about much more than just the medical profession. They debated politics and philosophy, and she delighted in conversing with him. Mr. Moore was a confident and charming man, despite what he seemed to project in his professional setting.

Considering Silas Moore's glittering sapphire orbs that night, as he sat beside her and mumbled intellectual comments about the play, she knew that she was in trouble.

That revelation should have been cause for Hermione to step back, to evaluate the situation and recognize that she couldn't allow this. There was no possible way she could afford to be with this man, no matter how badly she wanted to discuss topics from this so called 'Industrial Revolution,' to whatever else this man had an interest in.

She kept telling herself she shouldn't meet with him, but found herself going to dinner every Friday night anyways.

February, 1914.

"Allow me to ensure I've understood you correctly, Miss Dubois," a plump, elderly man ran his right index finger over his mustache, his sharp eyes observing her curiously. "You wish to invest your savings, over 300 dollars that will be split equally, in Ford and General Electric?" *

Hermione simply with her folded hands resting in her lap. "Yes, sir."

The man leaned back in his chair, fiddling with a small ball that had been sitting on his desk, eyes never leaving Hermione's. She refused to be intimidated by him. The backstory she'd given seemed almost too tragic; an orphan who had come to America with nothing but a dream and her parents' life savings. Hermione made it known that America hadn't disappointed - she'd been able to make something of herself in only a year. Now that she had a stable job and a home, the money left from her parents was hers to invest. Being an unmarried, adult woman and an orphan gave Hermione dominion over herself instead of having to rely on a man.

She was met with some resistance, since the patriarchy was still absolute in this era.

"With all due respect, Mr. Emerson, is there a reason you're hesitating?" Hermione asked sweetly, hoping to move this along. She didn't have all day to waste with this man; she was needed in the hospital.

Mr. Emerson was pulled out of his reverie and huffed. "No, Miss Dubois, I'll fetch the necessary forms."

"Nurse Dubois, the man in room 2B needs stitches, his injury is a lateral laceration to his right peroneal, and a young woman in 5A is ready to be released as soon as she's been given her prescription. After that you're off for the night."

Hermione nodded at the head nurse and set off to work, grabbing release papers and the written prescription from the desk as she made her way from her station into Block A of the hospital. She entered room 5A with a swift knock and a call of greeting, explaining the process of release and the doctor's orders before sweeping out of the room as quickly as she came. She moved swiftly through the halls with a small smile on her lips. Once in Block B, Hermione quickly entered a supply closet, grabbing the necessary items to stitch up the man in room 2B.

She loved her job and the sense of purpose that came with it. Not a day passed in St. Mary's hospital that Hermione thought was wasted, and although she was exhausted and stressed at the end of each day, she was also proud to have spent her energy on saving or improving lives. Every nuisance she dealt with would wash away at the sight of a child's smile after they'd been given stitches, or had had a bone reset.

Nothing could compare to the feeling of changing a child's world, or being the reason for the smile to grace their small, innocent faces.

Hermione stepped out of the hospital, thirty minutes after her shift, wrapped in a thick winter coat as she turned towards home. The sun was beginning to rise, starting to trickle faintly through the gaps between the buildings and illuminating the streets of Brooklyn. The city was already alive in these early morning hours as people began their journey to work. Hermione hardly noticed she had worked through the night for the past two weeks, though the lack of sunlight in her life and the depression of the winter months were beginning to cause a certain lethargy to settle in her bones. She had another week of graveyard shifts before the regular night nurse was back from her 'vacation' and she'd be placed back on day work.

If the nurse returned at all, that is. There was speculation that the woman had eloped with a man her father disapproved of. If that were the case she probably wouldn't be returning at all.

"Good morning, Adeline." A voice coming from her left startled Hermione from her thoughts, making her jump, hand splayed across her chest as she whirled around to see who the culprit was.

Deep laughter soothed Hermione's thrumming heart. She recognized that laugh and returned it good-naturedly. "Silas! Good heavens, don't sneak up on me!"

Silas' laughter slowly receded, his eyes still twinkling with mirth. A smile graced his aristocratic features and with the glow of the early morning enveloping him, he looked like a scene out of a romantic comedy. Hermione felt herself become rejuvenated, prior exhaustion seemingly falling away, at the sight of him standing there like a cosmic deity.

"I apologize, Miss Dubois, I had hoped to catch you at the end of your shift and invite you to dine with me this morning."

He was so sincere, his eyes still holding the dark promises she'd seen in them when they'd first met. He stepped closer, and she knew it was dangerous for her to keep seeing him, knew it was wrong to encourage his behavior and his closeness, but, Merlin, it felt so right to be around him.

So instead of saying 'No, thank you,' Hermione wrapped a hand around his proffered arm and allowed herself to indulge in the presence of Silas Moore.

September, 1914.

"Addie, would you accompany me tomorrow morning?" A pair of sinfully sapphire eyes gazed into her's from above, glinting dangerously in the waning evening light.

She glanced over Silas' sharp features suspiciously. "Where to, may I ask?"

The correct term for what she had been doing with Silas, in her time, would have been dating. Silas spoke to her of properly courting, as this was his time and not hers. The rules of traditional courtship where Hermione was concerned were thrown into limbo - which was why instead of seeing men in her family's home parlor or porch, supervised by their parents, like most young women would do in this decade and prior, Hermione was able to 'date.'

It couldn't last, however, she'd already been dating him for over a year and the longer she'd spent with him the deeper her feelings had run until she found herself nearly incapable of stopping herself from seeing him. It was a reckless impulse, and Hermione had been completely resolved to break ties with Silas countless times until she was in his presence and all thoughts of leaving went out the window.

She'd known he was trouble ever since she'd laid eyes on him that night in the theater.

Still, she was intrigued. There were many aspects of Silas Moore that remained a mystery to Hermione. She knew he spent time working for charities and nonprofit organizations in Harlem during the week. She knew his favorite foods, colors, his dreams and aspirations. But he'd never offered an explanation as to what he did with his Saturday mornings, and not for lack of trying on her part. She'd asked him for coffee every now and then,taking an initiative that few women would show in this era. His elusiveness had caught her attention, but she would never ask, as she, too, valued her privacy.

By extending this invitation it seemed as though he was finally ready to show her, even though it was in a roundabout sort of way.

He smiled, flashing two rows of impeccably white teeth, his eyes gleaming with an emotion Hermione couldn't place. "I'd like to show you something, if you'll let me."

"Is there anything specific I need to wear?" she questioned from the steps of her building. She'd been fortunate enough to find a home with a landlord that didn't mind renting to single women. It wasn't unheard of, but it was still unusual for a young woman without family to live alone. Most, like Hermione, would reside in a group complex run by an older woman who ruled with an iron fist. No men allowed. Period. No alcohol, no smoking, absolutely no fun at all and the list would go on and on.

"Wear comfortable shoes," he advised, stepping closer to her.

He wrapped his right arm around her waist and pulled her into his body so that every part of their chests were touching. His left hand came up to brush away a stray curl, eyes searching hers. Their lips met, not for the first time, but Hermione felt her nerve endings tingle in response to his affections. When he released her, he took a step back, smiling devilishly and inclined his head to her. "I'll be here at seven thirty in the morning," he simply offered, and turned to saunter towards his own flat in Manhattan.

Hermione didn't know what to expect when Silas had come to pick her up that morning, but she had been thoroughly unprepared for what she saw after their twenty-minute walk to the pier and short trip across the river by ferry. Shortly after, they stood outside giant steel doors attached to richly colored red brick walls that surrounded a home straight out of the Edwardian era, waiting for the attendant to open them. Hermione fidgeted nervously as she read the name of the building shaped out in iron above the intricate gate; Blackwell Island Asylum.*

"Morning, Dr. Moore." A guard wearing a thick, black uniform stated after emerging from the nearest building.

"Good Morning."

The man looked over at Hermione, eyes scrutinizing her as he thrust his keys into the door and gave it a swift turn to open it. The iron groaned loudly in protest as it was pulled backwards to allow them entrance. Silas motioned for Hermione to enter first and then followed quickly after. She didn't look back as the gate closed, this time sounding like nails on a chalkboard.

She had heard about this place, read about it several times over the past few years. Inmates and the mentally ill squashed together in one overcrowded facility of depravity and moral ambiguity. Hermione knew this was how many asylums had been run for centuries, but standing at the gates of one was a whole new experience, making it more real than it ever could've been just reading about it in a book.

This was a whole new dose of the past's deplorable reality.

Looking suspiciously at Silas, who gave her a grim smile before offering his arm, she took a deep breath and allowed him to lead her into the building. The guard accompanying them remained silent as they made their way inside. Hermione's eyes darted around, taking in the normalcy of the foyer and the winding staircase that seemed to lead several floors upwards.

Finally, after passing through several halls with their footsteps clacking on the stone floor being the only sound breaking the quiet, uproarious noise could be heard from somewhere ahead, muffled by the distance.

"Hmph, 's feedin' time," the guard grunted, pulling his keys off his belt loop and opened a door to their right. "Best get in there and talk to her now, Doctor, before she get's her breakfast."

His nonchalant comment didn't stun Hermione so much as it disgusted her. The fact that this guard would talk so condescendingly about these people, who were quite clearly suffering, made her sick. She began to prepare a biting rant that would effectively cure his indifferent attitude, she felt Silas' cool hand enter hers and pull her gently through the open door.

"Be back in a bit to see you out, Doctor," the man said before shutting them inside. Hermione was focused on the room she stood in. The only light source was a flickering bulb dangling from the ceiling that illuminated the pale walls. Registering the jingle of the keys outside the door, Hermione began to take stock of the things she had on her person, just in case sweet Silas turned out to be a psychopath. Her wand was up her sleeve, beaded bag in her bra, as usual. She could apparate out of here if need be.

Her thoughts came to a complete halt when she noticed something move in the darkened corner of the room.

"Addie, I'd like you to meet Mrs. Selma Moore, my mother." His blue eyes met hers in the dim light, as if searching for some hidden emotion in Hermione's eyes that wasn't apparent in her posture before he turned away and started speaking gently to the figure huddled in the corner. "Mother, it's good to see you, I'd like you to meet Miss Adeline Moore."

As the woman moved into the light, Hermione saw high cheekbones that would've made Narcissa Malfoy jealous and dark, lifeless eyes. Her hair was a lackluster mop of matted curls that sprung in every direction—a feat her own hair managed to accomplish quite often as well. The woman looked ragged; her dress was torn in odd places and as Hermione got a closer look she noticed scabs running across Mrs. Moore's arms and neck. Not deep enough to leave scars, but enough to have broken the skin and leave bloody marks.

It was then that she noticed the woman's nails; broken and ragged.

She'd been scratching herself.

It had been the way Silas had treated his mother that had invoked this feeling within Hermione. How he gently spoke to her, telling her of his day and how his work was going while acting as though he were completely oblivious to his mother's unseeing eyes focused on him. He reminded her of Neville Longbottom so heart-wrenchingly that Hermione's emotions swelled to an almost unmanageable level as they took the ferry back to the city.

They'd walked, silently, hand in hand along the sidewalks. They'd gone for a quick meal, making small talk while they ate. The air between them was full of unspoken thoughts, and it seemed as though Silas was feeling out her reaction before he brought it up. She admired his patience.

When they'd finally reached her building at sundown, she realized why he never had time for coffee on Saturdays. He'd spent most of his day at the Asylum with his mother, talking to a hollow shell of the woman who had raised him.

"Thank you for taking me to meet your mother, Silas," she said softly, staring up at him from where they stood at the top of the stairs." I enjoyed it. Truly."

He raised his right hand to her face, brushing gently along her jawline. "I wanted there to be no secrets between us, Adeline. My mother, she's been clinically insane for many years. My father had her committed after… well, after she stabbed him in the leg two years ago. I plead for her, but the courts overturned my appeals and called me foolish. Since then, I have been funding activists that are attempting to have legislation passed for the fair treatment of the mentally ill."

His normally jovial features were cast in shadow, burdened by misery and she realized the feeling she felt when she was with him was more than just fondness and loyalty. The aching of her heart, her inability to let him go, and the emotions that washed over her like a tidal wave weren't something she'd ever felt before. Hermione pushed the thought down to be revisited later. Right now, Silas seemed heartbroken.

She should turn tail and run, he might have been giving her the opportunity to do so.

Hermione brought her left hand to rest on his right cheek and drew small circles with her thumb. "Come inside, I'll make tea."

He seemed to come to his senses because he took a step away from her then, eyes morphing from their previous glowing sentiment into a questioning glance. "Are you sure?"

There would be no taking it back. The question was universally acknowledged, asking a man inside was far out of the realm of propriety. Her mind was screaming that she shouldn't get more attached than she already was. That love was something she couldn't afford to feel when the endgame was guaranteed to break the hearts of both parties. It would be too cruel.

But selfishly, Hermione decided to take the chance. "Of course, Silas."

They hadn't fallen into bed right away. She'd truly tried, going so far as to brew the tea. But her efforts were in vain as the brew was left to cool after it had been made. As soon as she'd returned with the tray and set it down on her humble coffee table, Silas' arms had snaked around her from behind, his delightful lips attached to the dip between her neck and collarbone and his teeth dragging tantalizingly across her flesh.

Her arms raised, hands sliding back to bury into his soft hair. It had been years since she'd been touched like this and she relished in the feeling of his lips on her body, the warmth and pressure of his chest against her back. His hands worked their way up from her waist, dragging slowly along her ribs until they met her breasts and squeezed gently. She moaned softly, feeling his erection swell against her.

The sound seemed to light a fire in Silas, and he dropped his hands to her hips, spinning her around so she was facing him. Her eyes shot open, not realizing that she had closed them in the first place, just in time to see the hungry, dark look in his eyes as he captured her lips with his. The sensation was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. A tingling ran across her entire body, electrifying her and causing her to moan into his mouth which Silas used to deepen their kiss.

Hermione hadn't registered that he was backing her up until she was pushed against the wall of her living room; their lips separated long enough to draw in much needed breaths. When their eyes met the world seemed to spin around the two of them for just a moment. Hermione could see the unrestrained want in his features, undoubtedly mirroring her own.

"Bedroom?" she questioned through swollen lips, panting in tune with her wildly hammering heart.

He surprised her by making a deep, masculine, growl-like noise in response before wrapping one arm around her back. He lifted her easily, her legs automatically wrapping around his hips as he moved them to the back of the living room towards three doors.

"Last on the left," she whispered, her lips attached to his neck as he strode confidently through her flat and into her bedroom, flipping the light switch as he went.

"No," she said clearly, "I have scars, Silas, please no light."

He looked down at her quizzically. "I won't judge your scars, Adeline, but if you insist?" He looked to her for confirmation and she shook her head; no lights. His lips met hers once again, eyes closing as she heard the light being flipped off and he moved towards the bed.

He gently deposited her on the mattress and brushed a hand across her wry curls. Eyes not leaving hers as he removed himself from the position. He was gone for a few seconds longer than she expected and she raised onto her arms to question him, but paused when she noted what he was doing. She felt her left shoe slide off, followed by her right. Silas' hands smoothed up her leg and under her dress, tugging down her nylons and undergarments, nails lightly dragging across her skin as he removed them.

"You'll have to excuse my enthusiasm, sweetheart," she heard him say, his voice husky and thick with lust, "but I've wanted you this way since I first saw you in school. You were tantalizingly determined, undeterred, and unlike any woman I've ever met."

Her heart was hammering violently, as if trying to escape her chest, as Silas kneeled on the bed and spread her legs. Instead of removing her dress, he simply rolled the skirt up, his fingers gliding across her thighs. Unable to stand the amount of fabric between them, Hermione leaned up and pulled the offending garment over her body, and threw it onto the floor. He chuckled while taking off his own shirt and tossing it to tangle with hers on the floor, crawling on top of her to kiss her once again.

He worked his way across her jawline, down her throat, and then he was gone. Her eyes popped open, wondering what happened, before she saw him move down the bed to settle between her legs. His eye caught hers in the waning evening light. "As I said, you'll have to excuse my enthusiasm," he said as his head dipped between her legs to slide his tongue over her wet folds and suck on her clit.

Her body betrayed her and she arched her back in response. She'd never done this before, two whole years with Ron hadn't been nearly this adventurous.

She'd been missing out if this was what oral sex felt like.

Pressure built within her as she writhed under his ministrations in wild abandon. Her climax wracked her body, legs shaking as though she'd just come off a broom and was frightfully aware of how close she'd come to dying. She met Silas' eyes as he wiped his mouth across his arm and kissed his way back up her body; attaching himself to her neck.

She was no inexperienced virgin, but Silas clearly knew what he was doing. A surge of power filled her and she wrapped her right leg around his hip and pushed him onto his back. He understood the move, because his arm connected with her side to sweep her up on top of him. The motion was fluid, as though both had practiced it and she began dropping kisses all over his chest, raking her nails across it. She gazed into his eyes and swirled her hips, grinding her center into him, making him hiss and groan at the feeling.

When she lined him up with her entrance, he impatiently bucked his hips and surged into her. "Silas!" she gasped at the feeling of being filled for the first time in a decade and a half.

Silas maneuvered them suddenly and Hermione's back met with the mattress again. He gave her a moment to settle into their new position before he eased out of her with a soft groan, and surged forward. His vigorous thrusts stroking her sensitive flesh felt like absolute euphoria. She clasped his shoulders tightly with her fingers to steady herself as they fell into a quickened rhythm, spending no time on savoring the moment.

They were panting in tandem, puffs of hot breath mingled together as Silas' thrusts became erratic. Unable to meet his pace, Hermione wrapped her right arm around his neck and dragged him down until their lips crashed together. She felt her body tense with the pleasure and cried out, their lips separating. Silas' movements became impossibly quick, slamming into something deep within her until she came with a shattering moan, collapsing to the mattress as Silas growled his release.

"Fuck." Silas mused, his arms seeming to give under his weight and fatigue. Dropping a chaste kiss to her lips he rolled away from her to keep from crushing her.

No words at all were needed that night. Hermione snuggled into Silas' left side with his arm wrapped around her shoulders as they fell asleep listening to each other's heart beats.


*300 dollars USD then is more like 8k now. Also, I looked into the stock market for this era and there was quite a bit of fluctuation, the DOW actually shut down for a few months following the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria on 28 June 1914 in Sarajevo, but it seems Ford and General Electric did well - even through the Depression in the 30s. Disclaimer: I'm not an expert. I went off what I read on Forbes.

*Blackwell Island Asylum was a real place