Out of Time
By Rurouni Star

Chapter 9 – Time is Not a Banana

"Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana."
-Lisa Grossman

The day felt longer than usual – which was saying quite a bit. Hermione got to the commonroom and set her bag down, ready to start her homework-

Then decided she really needed some sleep instead. It couldn't hurt to take a half hour nap, could it? And besides… she was so tired…

That decided, she picked back up her bag and walked up to the dormitory, ignoring the giggles and hushed voices that were left behind. She'd known this year wouldn't be a walk in the park, after all.

The problem, as she later saw, was not that she took a nap. It was that she slept the night through.

Hermione opened her eyes tiredly, feeling very much refreshed. It was only a moment later she realized it was dark out.

Oh no, she thought in a panic, I must have missed dinner-

The clock beside her bed said three am.

Oh my.

She felt frustrated tears prick at her eyes, but pushed them away and pulled out her book bag. She'd have to get her homework done in record time, but she could do it – she could do it. She had to believe that.

At the point where she realized she had no clue what the properties of the sizzlethroat plant were, it was already four.

Hermione bit her lip. She had to get this done tonight, otherwise she would have just waited until some spare time in between classes (usually lunch). What she really needed was a nice, quiet hour in the library, to get it all done.

The library.

Thompkins.

She chewed her lip for a few seconds before deciding. Hermione rose from her sitting position on the bed, still in her school robes, and slipped silently from the room, moving toward the third year boys' dormitory.

The fire in the commonroom was still crackling merrily, despite the fact that no one was there to enjoy it. It lit up the darkness uneasily, though, as though the shadows were beginning to encroach upon it. Hermione shivered and opened the door to the third year boys' dormitory, trying to ignore the sickening fugitive feeling in her stomach as she stepped carefully to Harry's bed.

"Harry," she whispered. "Harry, wake up."

He shifted, muttering something in his sleep. She frowned and poked him in the ribs.

"-mione, it's too early to get up, I want to play with the phoenix more…"

She stifled a giggle. "Harry, I wanted to borrow the invisibility cloak. Is that okay?"

His eyes were open to slits now, tired and bleary. "Sure, I guess. Want me to come with you?"

Hermione smiled. "No, I'm just getting some references. You'd be utterly bored."

Harry blinked a few times, then rubbed at his eyes. "It's in the bottom of the trunk – here, hang on, I've got the key…" He pulled something from around his neck and handed it to her. The metal of the key pressed into her hand gently, still slightly warm from being against his chest.

She opened the trunk with it, pushing aside the folded robes carefully. At the bottom, just as he'd said, was a silken, silvery material. It nearly slithered from her grasp the first time she closed her hand around it, but Hermione tightened her grip and pulled it out and over herself in one smooth motion. She closed the trunk then and put the key in her robe's front pocket, noticing as she did that Harry was already asleep again.

-----

Hermione decided, as she finished her last sentence with a tired flourish, that one could indeed have too much homework. It was already getting to be near light, and she'd only just managed to get it all done. Bed was calling temptingly, but she knew she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep in time for any of it to matter.

She drummed her fingers quietly on a book, beneath the cloak, letting her mind drift for a moment. It was almost a relief – she'd been so focused on everything lately that having random thoughts seemed almost a privilege. Hermione put her chin into her hand, looking around the library curiously.

Her gaze settled on the restricted section.

"Oh bother," she muttered to herself. "Not going to leave me alone, that, is it?"

And without further ado, she let herself into the section, her eyes seeking out automatically the 'T' shelf.

Thompkins… it's got to be in here somewhere…

It was indeed. Had a book been out of place in Madam Pince's library, even in the restricted section, Hermione would have been very surprised.

Her hand reached for it hesitatingly, not quite touching the worn leather spine, fingers stopped just short of touching it.

Did she really want to know?

Yes of course, something inside her seemed to be saying testily. Why wouldn't I? It can't be all that bad, it doesn't have the caution tag on it.

Thinking this was good logic, but also uncannily certain that she would regret giving in to herself, Hermione closed her fingers around the book and pulled it from the shelf, flipping it open in her hands.

theory states that it takes less total energy for time to meld changes into itself instead of creating a whole new timeline. The book continued from a previous page. This holds up under all experiments implemented to prove it.

Hermione frowned. She knew that already.

However. If this were so in all cases, I should currently be dead. And, obviously, I am not.

Her eyes widened slightly, and she found herself leaning forward over the book, reading more avidly. By the admission of myself, I did not remembering cursing my future self, and yet had gone back in time and been cursed by me. Such a strange sequence of events seems to indicate that I did not originally curse myself and yet have now done so. What is more, my future self faded away mere moments after telling me this, instead of staying and living through the time between timeturnings, as is usually done.

My future self was a year older than I, yet I still have not gone back in time, and it is ten years to the day since that ultimately strange event. I've been told I must be imagining things, insane, but I cannot believe it.

Hermione shut the book numbly, mind whirling. No, this couldn't possibly be- no. Because it would mean, of course, that this man had somehow changed time – truly changed it. And that was impossible.

The clock began to chime, and she realized with sudden panic that it was now of a time that Madam Pince would be getting up to come to the library. Hermione flipped through the book quickly, but found that the entry was just what she'd seen. It had been transcribed from a journal, what little could be made out of it, because it had been stained with blood…

She pushed the thought from her mind and ran for her things, picking them up, shoving them into her bag beneath her cloak, realizing that she'd most likely miss breakfast again to take Harry's invisibility cloak back to him. Not that she was incredibly hungry anyway – she seemed to have lost her appetite, a sick churning in her stomach stealing it from her.

Hermione pushed out the door breathlessly and began to run toward the dormitory. Hopefully, Harry would trust her, but what if he thought something had happened…

She blinked as she heard hurried footsteps from the other direction and looked up from her pondering – her eyes went wide as she dodged a furtive figure, bent over a sheet of parchment and running directly toward her.

One hand reached out to snag the cloak, and she found herself staring, horrified, at Sirius Black.

"You- you were under the cloak-" he managed, shocked. Then – "No matter, it's Malfoy- coming this way, he's got his father-"

Hermione furiously assimilated this information, glancing at the Marauder's Map. She realized then that the dot labeled 'Sirius Black' would most likely not have a fun meeting with Lucius Malfoy and his son.

"Under the cloak," she hissed to him. "Now. I'll take care of this."

Sirius opened his mouth to argue – the cloak was made for an adult, it wouldn't accommodate both of them in a hurry – but she didn't allow him a chance. Hermione threw the thing over him quickly, then slipped the map underneath the hem. "And stay quiet!" she told him.

There was no answer.

She was satisfied.

Up until the point that a clear and slightly delighted voice called, "Ah, Miss Granger!"

A shiver went down her spine as she turned to face the owner.

The first person she saw was Draco Malfoy. He was looking at her with surprise, and… alarm? Her eyes traveled up his form, to his slightly frightened face, to his platinum blonde hair - to the man that stood behind him.

"How strange," Lucius said with a pointed smile. "I should think all students would still be getting up around this hour."

Hermione put on a cool expression, but shifted her bag beside her uneasily. "I should think you'd be working at the Ministry right now," she said. "Ron's father did say you worked with him… or was I mistaken?"

Lucius' expression turned icy. "I do work for the Ministry," he told her. "I do not work in the same department as Arthur Weasley." His emphasis on the last name made it clear just what he thought of such an insinuation.

"You ought to run along, mudblood," Draco hissed. "Before something accidental happens."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying not to show that his barb had sunk in. "Dumbledore is not an idiot," she said quietly. "He knows what goes on in his own school." She moved to leave anyway, taking it for a chance to get away without incident.

A word was hissed, though, and she felt herself freeze. A light, floating sensation overtook her – her bag was tumbling from her arms, but there was really no problem with that…

"Draco seems to think you've better things to do than talk to us," a voice said from somewhere in front of her. "I beg to differ."

She was blissful. Somewhere inside, Hermione knew she wasn't supposed to be standing quite so still, awaiting orders…

"Oh dear. My shoes are seeming slightly dirty. Perhaps you should shine them, like a good little mudblood."

Hermione moved, feeling an incredible urge to oblige, but something stopped her. She felt, somehow, that she had done this before, and resisted.

Shine my shoes, a displeased voice was saying tightly inside of her head.

And she bent down, taking the edge of her skirt and rubbing it over the older man's shoe leather…

"What are you doing?" a shaky voice was saying, just outside her awareness. "You can't- Dumbledore- you'll go to Azkaban-"

"I dearly hope my own son is not questioning me, or my ability at memory charms. Or-" slyly now. "Perhaps you were wanting to try something yourself, Draco."

She looked up with a detached curiosity as Lucius raised an eyebrow at his son. "Dear Hermione," he said, without looking at her. "I think my son would like to have a little fun. You will oblige him, won't you?"

Hermione frowned. She wasn't entirely sure what he wanted her to do, if he'd tell her specifically-

Someone nearby was moving. She knew she ought to know who, but it was sort of hard to think underneath this mind fog… it wasn't very sensible, was it? Hermione absentmindedly began to clear it away, then pushed a little harder as it turned out to be harder to shake than she'd first suspected. There was something she had to understand…

"Don't, father," Draco whispered, pale white now. "You don't know Dumbledore- he'll have a way of finding out-"

The fog disappeared.

Hermione gasped in indignation and anger, reaching for her wand- humiliating – he'd used an Unforgivable, didn't he know the consequences-

"Expelliarmus," Lucius said lazily.

Her wand flew away, and she stared up at him, hair now mussed.

"Perhaps we should try for something more extreme," he said with a slight smile, taking her in. "A bit of pain- yes, that always does one good- would you oblige, Draco?"

Draco was looking at her with alarm, as though it had never occurred to him that he'd be asked to do something so stupid. "Father-"

"The Cruciatus leaves unusual side-effects," Hermione whispered. "You can't."

Lucius looked amused by her response. "True enough. It's really too bad I can't frighten you properly – too many books, I'd imagine."

"Obliviate!" was the last thing she heard.

Hermione gasped as something seared through her head, burning, hissing, destroying as it went-

-----

"Where am I?" Hermione croaked as she woke up to an awful headache. "Did I – did I pass out during class-"

"Shh," someone told her, pushing her back down. She recognized the voice.

"Sirius?" she said, surprised, blinking away spots. "What happened?"

He didn't say anything, but she felt his arm behind her back, helping her to sit up. "Here, drink this," he told her tightly. "It should help with the backlash."

"What backlash?" she asked blankly.

She remembered coming out of the library, walking down the hallway… but then…

Hermione's brow knit and she struggled at this point. It all became a blur… and her headache was getting worse now, the longer she tried to concentrate on it, becoming a fire in her brain. She felt her head drop into her hands as she moaned in pain.

Sirius' hands moved to her wrists, pulling her hands away and pushing her back against a pillow (Pillow? Where the hell was she?). He was pulling some covers up over her and placing something over her eyes.

"Don't try to think about it," he told her quietly. "It'll only make it worse."

Hermione sighed at the feel of the hot towel on her eyes, despite the worries rushing about her head. "Class-" she protested weakly.

"-will wait for you, I should think," he told her seriously. "You've got a few hours to go before it starts."

Something about this seemed wrong, but she just couldn't think what it was as his fingers smoothed back her hair gently.

"Now," he said, jerking his hand back as though in surprise at himself. "Do you think you can manage to drink a bit of this?"

Hermione murmured something that might have been a yes. She supposed he took it that way, as he tilted her head up to receive a cool glass against her lips. Something bittersweet slipped into her mouth and she swallowed with difficulty. Her headache eased just a little, but she knew it would take a bit longer to hit her fully.

"Can you please tell me what's going on?" she begged him as he let her down again. She'd never felt so powerless before- she couldn't remember-

"Jump onto the desk."

Harry frowned, and she felt a little hitch in her throat. He wasn't doing it!

"I said, jump onto the desk, Potter."

His slightly dreamy face faltered at this – it screwed up into a grimace as he both jumped and refused to do it at once.

Hermione glowed at his success, but inwardly shivered at the thought that she would have to try too…

Another memory, one that couldn't possibly have happened – Harry had never been put under the Imperius, and she would've done quite a deal more than just stand there and watch proudly as he fought it off…

"What's happening to me?" she whispered, agonized.

Sirius' hand, which had moved to pat hers reassuringly, closed on it tightly.

"It shouldn't have," he said angrily. "If only I weren't- that bastard deserves so much more-"

She wanted to ask what he was talking about, but found that her body was no longer functioning quite the way she wanted it to. Instead, the pain was diminishing from her head, and her limbs were turning to lead. Hermione felt herself falling into sleep even as she realized he had (quite ingeniously) added a sleeping potion to whatever he'd given her.

"Don't worry about it, Hermione," he told her quietly, smoothing back her hair again. "You'll be fine. He just overdid it on purpose…"

Hermione murmured something tiredly, not even sure what she was saying anymore. Honestly, he probably needn't have even added that- she was so tired as it was, and she couldn't sleep lately… Hermione absentmindedly pushed her timeturner deeper into her shirt.

"You're welcome," he told her, surprised. She realized she must have thanked him.

The world went black.