Chapter Four

She had to fight the urge to burst out in loud, hysterical laughter. How was it possible that she found herself in yet another completely unbelievable, indescribable, insane situation? She should've been forced to wear a sign warning all who came near her that she was nothing but trouble. Hermione pinched her arm once more just to prove she wasn't dreaming. The sharp pain broke the last of her barriers down. Let the world assume she was completely mad. What did she care? Maybe she was.

No longer stifling her laughter, Hermione knew she must look ridiculous. Each second that passed her giggles only grew louder. Draco stared at her with an expression that seemed torn between joining her or calling for the Healers at St. Mungo's to come take her away. Other patrons around the room started to take notice, but she couldn't stop. Not even when Aberforth glared at their table from behind the bar. Everyone seemed keen to learn what the joke was. She would tell them if she could figure out some way that made the least bit of sense.

Maybe it was the fire whiskey. Maybe it was because he could see the humor, dark thought it might be, behind their circumstance. Or maybe he just found the sound of her laughter amusing, but she could see the corner of Draco's mouth threatening to curl up into a smile. Somehow that only made the experience seem all the more ridiculous. How was it possible she was practically drunk and laughing with Malfoy of all people stuck in the past?

"Maybe I should've been a little more specific about how far in the past I wanted to go."

Draco chuckled. It was quiet and over almost as soon as it happened, but she saw it. She heard it. She knew she wasn't dreaming. Somewhere deep inside behind that cruel, cold exterior he always tried to portray, he could see the humor in their desperation too. Hermione could feel the tiniest shift between them. There was a lessening of the pervasive tension that always seemed to exist when they were in the same room.

"You already said that."

"Oh, did I? Maybe I did."

"You're not used to drinking, are you, Granger?"

"Hermione, and no, I'm not. Sorry I'm not an expert like you seem to be."

His pale cheeks flamed red for half a second before he brought himself back under control. Had she embarrassed him? She didn't mean to. Remembering how haggard his father looked the night she was tortured, she wondered if he was reminded of him. It was an unfriendly rumor that the once proud and haughty Lucius Malfoy was little more than a pathetic drunk now. She understood how Draco could be ashamed of him.

"It's my fault we came back this far. I didn't mean to, but I asked the Room of Requirement for too much."

The barrier she felt shift earlier clicked right back in place. There was no longer any time for joking at the absurdity of their predicament. They would need to face it head-on. Terrified of the thought, Hermione gulped the last of the fire whiskey in her glass and reached for the bottle.

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is, Draco. For whatever reason, the castle sent us back to this time. It wasn't an accident and we can't waste valuable time trying to place blame on each other or ourselves. It just is. We need to make a plan, figure out what we're going to do next and how we're going to get back."

Even as she said the words, Hermione knew there was no way to get back. Time travel was tricky and delicate. Their arrival in the past hadn't gone unnoticed. Already they'd made changes that couldn't be undone. Her research on time travel left her with one upsetting reality: they were stuck. Would it be better to tell him the truth and just get it over with? Or should she offer him hope for a little while longer? Neither option was very good.

She felt lost without a decent plan. In all of the years she'd been friends with Harry and helped keep him from being killed by Voldemort, she'd been the one who saw the necessity for having a plan. Ron had the strategic mind who could figure out what they needed to do when they got somewhere, but she was usually the one who figured out how they got there in the first place. Or she rushed behind Harry when he decided to act first without thinking.

Maybe it was her destiny to be trapped in the past with Draco Malfoy. Even just the thought made her want to laugh again. How absurd! Everything that happened to them since they stepped back inside the repaired Room of Requirement was absurd.

"Do you believe in destiny, Draco?"

The wizard laughed at her question but there was no joy behind it.

"Destiny is just rubbish they talk about in Divination class. No, I don't."

On that one point, at least, they could agree. Hermione lifted her glass in a mock toast to him before drinking more. As the evening wore on, the two unlikely companions searched for what they would find at the bottom of the bottle. Answers to all of their questions seemed too much to hope for.

"What if we tried to go back into the Room of Requirement? Maybe it would take us back and it'll be as if this little trip to the past never happened."

There were several parts of Draco's suggestion that were wrong, but she didn't want to argue with him. No matter what happened next, experience taught her it would be better if it wasn't done alone. They were far from perfect partners and Hermione could easily seem them butting heads and losing patience in the future. None of that mattered. In the spirit of trying to remain cordial, she didn't immediately point out all of the ways in which he was wrong like she would've done in the past.

"No, what am I thinking? That doesn't make sense. If we were even able to sneak back into the castle and get up to the right floor, which I doubt we could do, it's not as if the Room of Requirement will just open its door, apologize for the inconvenience it caused, and take us back in time for curfew."

Fire whiskey relaxed Draco in an amusing way Hermione didn't expect. While she couldn't stop worrying about the unknown, he seemed to find their predicament funny. She wished she could be as upbeat as he was.

"What do you know about time travel?"

"Quite a bit actually."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

Prepared to defend herself from an attack about her study habits and love for the written word, Hermione started to say something nasty in retaliation. When she saw his smirk and realized he was only teasing, some of the fight leaked out of her. She was too tired to be offended, especially if he didn't mean anything by it.

"It's not a bad thing, you know. Wanting to know all of the answers. I get it."

"I don't like not knowing something. It makes me nervous. If I can find an answer in a book I feel more confident, safe."

The moment her confession was out of her mouth Hermione regretted saying anything at all. She'd never been so open about the reasons why she was so quick to run to a book when she didn't know something. It made her feel like she was at least doing something of value in a tense moment. There was a reason why she spent much of the horcrux hunt with her nose in a book. Other people had their own security blankets and talismans. She had her books.

"So in all of your studying about time travel, was there anything that could help us find our way back?"

All she could offer him was a sad shake of her head. He sighed, took a drink from his glass, and then surprisingly, it was his turn to burst out laughing. Seeing a less arrogant side of the wizard was fun. She couldn't help but like him just a little bit. Of course she also had no doubt that when the fire whiskey wore off and they were both sober again she would find him frustrating and obnoxious.

"Dumbledore is going to think we're both insane and kick us out if you don't stop laughing."

Even as Hermione uttered her warning she smiled. Draco wasn't bothered.

"We should try to make the most of our time in the past, Hermione. Maybe it'll even be enjoyable."

She could hardly imagine it being a good idea to stay where they were. War was coming. Maybe not for a few more years, but it would be there waiting for them when it arrived. Did she have the stomach to go through it again? Even knowing what she knew about the future didn't lessen the twisting knot of dread in her stomach. Could events be changed? Or were they going to be doomed to watch everything tragic happen all over again with no way to stop it?

"I don't know how you can be so upbeat about the prospect of being lost in the past. Won't you miss anything about your life?"

Draco considered her question before offering any sort of answer. As he swirled the amber liquid around in his glass, he stared at the drops around the edge. She knew she hadn't asked him an easy question. His private thoughts were really none of her business. Maybe she shouldn't have asked.

"I miss my mother. So much of what I did that I regret was solely to keep her safe. She protected me when I was a child and I protected her when I became a…"

The ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. Gone as quickly as it appeared, Hermione didn't think she needed him to elaborate to understand. Though on different sides of the same conflict, each of them had to become an adult far sooner than they were ready or prepared for. Except they didn't actually grow up. Even at eighteen and nineteen years old they were still little more than children fighting in a world that was too big for them. Would they ever be able to catch up or were they forever stuck in between two stages of life?

"I protected her as much as I could. Part of me will always miss my mother, but she's not the same. Even if we could go back, she still wouldn't be there. Your parents may have lost their memories, but mine are stuck in theirs."

One didn't have to die to become a victim of a war. Without giving it much thought Hermione reached across the small table to take Draco's free hand in hers. He didn't shrug her off at once, a small victory. For the few moments the touch lasted until she removed her hand, she felt calmer, less afraid, less alone. If she had to be thrown back in time, at least she wasn't by herself.

"Did you bring any money with you? I don't have much with me. Most of it is in my trunk down in the dungeons. Don't think the goblins will let me into my vault fifteen years before I'm supposed to be born."

Draco seemed to find the prospect of having little money funny. Surely as the privileged only child of the wealthy Malfoys he'd never experienced what it was like to not have access to whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it. Did this all seem like a big adventure to him instead of the frightening nightmare it was?

"I have some."

She didn't tell him that she carried every knut she owned with her at all times. After a year on the run she didn't want to ever be caught without something she needed. Hermione kept her beaded bag in her pocket every moment she was awake. Tucked deep inside in a small pocket was her savings. It wouldn't last forever, but she felt confident she had a few weeks at least where she wouldn't need to get a job.

"What's it like to be poor?"

"I wouldn't actually know, Draco. I've never been."

"But your parents are Muggles."

"And do you think all Muggles are poor?"

"Well, yes."

She was tempted to give him a piece of her mind until she realized he wasn't actually being hateful. At least not intentionally. In some ways he was as ignorant about the Muggle world as she'd been about the magical before she got her letter from Hogwarts.

"They're not. They're just like wizarding families. Some are poor, but there's a wide range. Some Muggle families are even so wealthy you would be impressed."

"Oh. Fascinating."

He asked no further follow-up questions. Yet again she wished she could read his mind. What other sorts of misconceptions lurked within? No doubt he possessed a myriad.

"We're going to need to find somewhere we can stay while we're stuck here. London would be better than here. Easier to blend in."

Hermione couldn't agree with his assessment more. While the thought of needing to consider long-term plans for their new reality filled her with dread and a nervousness she couldn't shake, he was right. In Hogsmeade they would only attract more suspicion. Everyone knew each other in the village. Staying too close to Albus Dumbledore also made her uneasy. His presence and curious eye were complications they couldn't really afford. Much of her opinion about the Headmaster changed since his death and learning more about the part he really played in Harry's life.

The Hog's Head slowly began to empty out of its colorful collection of patrons, but neither Hermione nor Draco made any mention of leaving. They'd been seated at the same table for hours drinking the fire whiskey down to the bottom of the bottle and whispering their plans. Aberforth kept a close eye on them. As the night wore on he continued to glare at them, vainly hoping they'd follow the others outside. Just after midnight when they were the last two left, he approached their table.

"I'm closing. You need to get out."

Hermione was ready to leave the dingy tavern behind. Too many memories of the first Dumbledore's Army meeting and the night they snuck into the castle through Ariana Dumbledore's portrait forever tainted the location. She doubted she would ever be able to fully relax there again.

"Do you have any rooms upstairs available for the night? We're just visiting the area and it's really not safe to Apparate after drinking so much."

The urge to kick Draco under the table was strong. What was he thinking asking to stay the night? She could only imagine what Aberforth must've been thinking about his request. His blue eyes narrowed. She half-expected the wizard to turn them out into the streets. Only when he sighed and offered Draco a stealthy wink did she start to calm down.

"I'm not so old that I've forgotten what it's like to be young and in love."

When she opened her mouth to contradict the wizard, she felt a tight squeeze on her leg underneath the table. Even with a smile on his face she could read Draco's silent request to shut up. Of course it was the least suspicious of reasons for a young couple to request a cheap room in a rundown inn. As uncomfortable as it made her to even contemplate spending the night alone in the same room with Draco, Hermione didn't argue.

"There's one room upstairs ready for guests. First door on the right. It's… ahem, charmed to provide privacy."

Hermione's cheeks must've been bright red. Even without a mirror she knew she was blushing at the insinuation that they might require the use of silencing charms in their room. Draco accepted with a soft chuckle.

"Let's go, darling. I'm very tired."

All the way across the main room and up the rickety narrow staircase Hermione wanted to curse the cretin. He was playing the part just a little too well. Once inside the too-small room with the door shut behind them, she gave in to the urge to punch him in the shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt, it only made him laugh.

"Don't get angry with me, darling. You were the one who said we had to do everything we could to keep from appearing suspicious."

It annoyed Hermione that he was correct. Pretending to be sneaking around as lovers certainly made them seem less dodgy than time travelers stuck in the past with no suitable plan. No doubt Aberforth was all too familiar with secretive lovers coming to his tavern. A glance around the filthy room with that thought in mind only served to gross her out even further. Did the wizard even bother to clean the room between illicit rendezvous? She wished she still had the tent in her beaded bag. After they were captured by the Snatchers during the war they never saw it again. Even with the faint smell of cats that never went away she would've been more comfortable.

Yet again that evening Draco seemed to find her discomfort funny. She wasn't sure if it was the filthy condition of the room or the fact they had to share it that made him laugh more.

"I thought you were a spoiled little rich boy. Shouldn't you be more afraid of dirt?"

He laughed. Everything was a joke to him. Did he really find their present situation amusing or was he merely trying to pretend like he wasn't bothered? She couldn't shake the feeling he was every bit as terrified as she was.

"And I thought you were Muggle-Born. Shouldn't you be used to living in filth?"

"You have a lot to learn about Muggles if you seriously believe the lies about them all being little more than livestock."

The smile fell off his face. Draco shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes, I suppose I do have a lot to learn."

In an effort to change the subject and prevent any further uncomfortable discussions, Hermione turned her attention back to the accommodations she was expected to sleep in. More than just a bed to her relief, she was pleased to see a dingy, faded sofa pushed up against the wall. It looked terribly uncomfortable but thanks to magic she was able to get it clean and add some more cushioning to it. Draco was impressed.

"I think I'll take the sofa. Be a proper gentleman and all."

"No, I don't think so. Use your own magic on the bed. I think I'll try to be brave and see what the shower looks like."

The bathroom wasn't as horrifying as Hermione expected it would be. Before she dared to touch anything however, she cast deep cleaning spells on every surface. Disappointed that the water trickling out of the shower head was only lukewarm and impervious to spells after countless decades of use, at least she could be happy that she had plenty of her own soap.

As she scrubbed away the day's dirt, she let her mind wander to her next moves. If they truly were stuck, they would have to make up their minds. When nothing came to that instilled any confidence within her, she decided to give up until morning. Perhaps the answer would come to her in a dream or at least when she was sober again.

She scrubbed the inside of her left arm. It still pained her to look at it even months after the crazy bitch carved the scar into her flesh. Usually she just tried to ignore it, pretend it wasn't there. A moment of madness made her look down at her arm to see the hateful mark. Expecting to feel the powerful sense of shame she always felt, she was shocked to see nothing but creamy, soft skin. Certain she was drunker than she thought, Hermione rubbed her eyes and looked again.

There was no sign of Bellatrix's reminder of her 'dirty blood'. She reached up to brush her fingertips across the other scar the bitch gave her that night with her cursed blade. It too was gone. Had she gone completely mad? How could her scars on her arm and neck just disappear? Fleur and Bill both tried every spell they knew to remove them. None of them worked. Knowing they'd tried for months to clear up the scars Greyback gave him, she was confident they knew what they were doing.

Further investigation of her body proved she had no scars of any kind. Not the one on her chest from the spell that almost killed her in the Department of Mysteries. Not the one on her knee when she fell off her bicycle when she was seven. Not even the one on her hand where her knife slipped during potions in fourth year. The more she checked, the more she was certain she was losing her mind. Maybe she'd been more injured in the Room of Requirement than she realized. Maybe she was never even in the Room of Requirement to begin with. Was she dreaming? In a coma? Petrified all over again?

Her mind was so preoccupied and her reflexes so slow thanks to the alcohol that when she tried to climb out of the shower, she slipped. Screaming all the way down to the hard tile floor, she was amazed she didn't crack her skull on the side of the bathtub on the way down. The door flew open.

"Hermione, are you all..?"

She wanted to die. Draco took one look at her naked and sprawled on the floor before spinning around with a bright red face. As much as she could appreciate him running in at the sound of her scream, she was sure she'd never been so humiliated in her entire life. For several seconds she could only lay frozen wondering how she'd gotten to such a low place in her life.

"Are you all right? Do you… need some help?"

Draco sounded as uncomfortable as she felt. Knowing she couldn't lay naked on the bathroom floor for the rest of her life, Hermione pushed aside her shame to get up. She wrapped a towel around her body to preserve whatever was left of her modesty.

"My scars are gone. All of them."

He spun back around with a scowl. At once his eyes dipped down to look at the arm he knew his aunt mutilated. She held it out so he could have a better look. There was no sign of any damage.

Without saying a word, the wizard spun back around so his back faced her again. He carefully lifted the left sleeve of his jumper. Through the mirror over the sink Hermione could see it all. Where his Dark Mark should've been was only pale, flawless skin. Sighing softly in relief, Draco pulled his sleeve back down. He didn't look back as he went through the open door.

"Try to be more careful. Next time you could kill yourself and I don't have the time to explain that to the authorities."

The bathroom door slammed shut behind him. Wishing to give him the opportunity to calm down alone, Hermione took her time getting dressed in her pajamas and brushing her teeth. Worries about the future were pushed aside temporarily to revel in the joy at the fact that they'd both been essentially given a blank slate. She wasn't held back by the slur on her arm she could never get rid of and Draco wasn't held back by the Dark Mark she knew he didn't even want. The Room of Requirement gave them both the chance to start over in a time no one knew them. Could they save their loved ones from making the poor decisions that ruined their lives? Or could they just start over entirely as new people?

As she left the bathroom, Hermione started to tell Draco it was free if he wanted it. Before a word could be said, she saw him already laying in a cleaned bed. His back faced her and if he wasn't actually asleep, he was doing a good job making it look like he was. Clearly he didn't want to talk. She could understand and would respect his wishes. Tomorrow would be there soon enough.

After such a bizarre day, Hermione expected to have trouble falling asleep. It surprised her that within moments of laying down on the sofa and covering up with a blanket from her bag, she couldn't keep her eyes open.