Hello lovelies!

My emotions are kind of all over the place because of this chapter, and I am sorry for what I have done. I am.

I should also say I am SO happy that so many of you liked the last chapter, and enjoyed seeing Ron walk through Sirius and Remus's memories!

Please leave a review and let me know what you think x

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.

Friday, September 7th, 1979

Potter Manor

The room was cast in muted blue shadows, and sunlight glowed on the distant horizon's edge. The moon had lowered and disappeared some time ago. The witch was seated on the edge of the werewolf's bed, dutifully watching him.

Draco and James had carried Remus's limp and fatigued body from the Orchards into the Manor—with the assistance of magic—and after they'd laid him in his bed, they left.

James and Lily retired to their room, and Sirius tiredly announced he was going back to the cottage in Herefordshire. Riley was meant to leave for another excursion in a few days, and he wished to spend as much time with her as possible.

Hermione wanted to wrap herself around the wizard and stop him from leaving. She wanted to protect him from the future unkindness that would befall him. She wanted to keep him safe. Instead, she waved and smiled and they made promises to see each other in a few days.

Draco'd lingered in the doorway for several drawn-out moments after Hermione situated herself at Remus's side, but with a sombre smile he left the pair alone. The door softly clicked shut behind him.

Hermione was close enough that she could feel Remus's warmth radiate onto her. It seeped past her night clothes and comfort threaded through her skin.

Hermione glanced down at her clasped hands in her laps, and shuddered out a hefty sigh. She doesn't belong here anymore. The thick film of charged—electric—magic that lingered beneath her skin screamed the sentiment.

It'd started with the Dawn. Her left hand was twitching, and her right arm itched for seemingly no reason. She didn't belong here, and time was ensuring she was aware of that fact.

They can't wait until Monday. They have to leave today. A thought that injected dread into her system. She had been mollified with the concept of leaving in a few days. She wasn't ready for today.

Hermione leaned over Remus—not touching him—a hand propping herself up on the other side of him. Her fingers shook as she reached over to brush the backs of her knuckles across his cheek. Dark smudges were under his eyes from lack of fitful sleep, his mouth parted ever so slightly and she could hear his even breaths whistling past his lips.

Hermione began counting his eyelashes but eventually gave up. She was merely delaying the inevitable. She wished to hold on to the moment, drag it out by any means necessary. "Did we love you enough, Remus?" She asked aloud, her voice hollow as it echoed around the deadly silent room. Remus's brow creased for a moment.

Hermione leant down to press a solemn kiss to his forehead, lingering for a few moments longer. Her eyes burned and blurred as she stared at his face close-up. "Until next time, my sweet Moon," Hermione said against his skin. She withdrew from him, and without looking back, she rose from her seated position and left the room.

Hermione found her lover twisted in their sheets, a hand thrust over his eyes. He lifted the limb in order to peek at her after she entered the room. Hermione closed the door and fell back against it in a defeated fashion.

Draco sluggishly sat up, his back curved, one leg bent, his cheek resting on his knee as he stared patiently at her.

"Draco. I can feel it. It's time," Hermione said simply, her gaze jerked to the ceiling. She couldn't look at him. She couldn't do anything to stop this, and it burned in her gut at the unfairness of it all.

"Are you sure?" Draco asked. A lifetime had passed in between the breadth of seconds.

"Why would I say it if I wasn't sure?" Hermione snapped. She petulantly stomped her foot in place, and her fingers dug into the sturdy wooden surface propping her up.

"I'm only asking because your birthday isn't—"

"I've been experiencing weird things for days, but I didn't want to worry you so I didn't say anything," Hermione confessed in a hushed, hurried whisper. Each word felt like a betrayal. The tears she'd fought since she rose that morning in the Orchards finally won, and they stung as they poured down her cheeks. Her legs gave out and she crumpled to the floor.

Draco was by her side in second. He was a blur amongst her tears, but she reached for him. He swallowed her in a crushing embrace. She was cocooned in his protective hold, and she cried.

"It's too soon," Draco said lowly, his voice husky and raspy from sleep. His face was buried into the side of her neck, and the heat of his breath bathed her skin.

"I'm not an expert or anything, but it's time—I'm pretty sure it doesn't care," Hermione blubbered out. "Until this morning—it wasn't that bad, once a day maybe, but now it feels like there's this constant heat under my skin and—" She faltered, unable to conjure her next words. Draco rocked her in his sinewy arms, all whilst making soft, soothing noises.

"Time is as fickle and cruel a mistress as the moon it would seem."

"Our plan needs to go into action. Now," Hermione asserted through her tears. She gulped in lungfuls of air, trying to regain her composure.

"Most of our things are packed, but—" Draco pulled back to look her in the eyes, and she crudely swiped away her tears with the backs of her hands.

"But?"

"You need to go say goodbye to them," Draco instructed.

"I can't—besides how do you propose I do that anyway? Oh hey Jamie, remember me? Your sister? Well, I am just going to leave for no apparent reason, never to return. You okay with that? Didn't think so." Hermione muttered out the hypothetical exchange with a bitter bite.

The look Draco fixed her with sent her stomach plunging downwards, and she swallowed thickly. It was an openly scathing stare that betrayed his inner thoughts. "Hermione. You will regret it for the rest of your life if you don't say goodbye in some way." She nodded numbly, averting her gaze.

Draco heaved out a sigh, the darkness bleeding from his face. Resignation drew down his features, and he smiled tightly. "It's the last time I am going to see them too."

"You don't know that. You could come back and see them after…"

"I won't. It would be grossly unfair if I got more time with them," Draco said, adamantly shaking his head. His arms lessened their hold on her—his hands unwound from her person—and in a cautious manner, his hands slid up her arms, across her shoulders, up her neck and halted on her cheeks. A burning trail of warmth was left in the wake of his touch.

"Look at me," Draco demanded gently. Hermione cleared her throat before hazel met liquid silver. "Where's that Gryffindor bravery you've been gifted an overabundance of?"

"It's taken the day off."

"Go hug your brother and sister, Hermione. You don't even have to actually say goodbye, but at least have one final moment with them while I gather our things."

"What about you?" Hermione asked, reaching up to grip his wrists. "It wouldn't be right if you don't get to say goodbye as well."

"I'll come join you shortly."

Hermione's sobbing had ceased, her tears were drying, but she knew her face—red and blotchy from crying, and leaking many fluids— must look horrid. Her mood remained unwaveringly abysmal. "It's not that easy, Draco. I can't…say goodbye—knowing I'll never see them again."

"I know, my love." Draco said, his smile wretched with woe, and his eyes doleful. "But you must."

Draco muttered a stream of profanity under his breath as he rushed around Hermione's room. All of her clothes, photograph albums (unlike most of the Pack, she'd organised the pictures they'd taken over the years), jewellery, books, and other possessions were thankfully already packed into her chest. The only thing that remained was a small pile of correspondence strewn across her desk. She'd meant to burn some of it—as there were a few letters she'd written and never sent—but she'd run out of time.

Draco used one arm to sweep the letters off of her desk into his anticipating one that was cradled against his chest just below the lip of the desk. Once he'd gathered all of them, he trotted over to Hermione's bed where her chest awaited him. (He was in such a frenzied state of mind he forgot he could simply use magic for the simple task.)

Draco gracelessly dropped the armful of letters into the chest. It was a pity considering how neat and ordered the contents had been before. Hermione would be able sort through it later. Draco didn't have time to worry about tidiness.
In his haste however, a single piece of correspondence that Hermione had written in a fit of frustration escaped his grasp and slipped underneath her bed. Draco was blissfully unaware of that fact. Years later, two canines would sniff it out in their search for clues, but presently it laid—unassuming—on the hardwood floors, out of sight; waiting.

Hermione's heart was in her throat when she knocked on James and Lily's bedroom door. She waited several moments before her knuckles rapped against the wooden surface once more. A groggy reply came this time. "Come in."

Hermione's palms were clammy and slick with nervousness. She hastily wiped them across the front of her black, sheer outer robes. She'd thrown them on over her satin, emerald slip. The doorknob was frigid to the touch, and she hissed lowly at the contact. She turned it counter-clockwise and pushed open the door.

Hermione stepped inside, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. James was half-tangled in his sheets, sitting up and blearily looking at her. His free leg was over the side of the bed, his toes almost brushing the ground. His glasses were pushed up awkwardly as he rubbed the sleep out of his left eye.

"Mornin', why are you up at this ungodly hour?" James asked, his voice gravelly—deeper than usual—and thick with sleep.

Hermione shrugged jerkily, glancing down at her feet.

James heaved out a sigh and fell back against his bed, his hands thrust languorously over his head. "C'mon then. In you get."

"What?"

"If there's nothing wrong, then I would like to go back to sleep because I am tired. And I am telling you to climb in bed with us."

Hermione spotted Lily's crimson hair buried amongst the mountain of pillows—the pillow cases were the palest blue with the pink outline of Chrysanthemums printed across them—on her side of the bed and their thick, white duvet. She warily crept over to the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible.

James patted the space between him and his wife, indicating that there was room for her in their king-sized bed. Lily's face peeked out, and her eyes were pried open a fraction; the bright green orbs languidly tracked the movement around her.

"Hermione?" Lily asked, her name rumbling in Lily's throat. Lily patted the pillow underneath her head, burrowing into her mattress. She smacked her lips together as her eyes inched open. "Something wrong?"

"No, nothing like that," Hermione lied effortlessly. She climbed over her brother into the bed; the soft mattress dipping underneath her hands and knees. With some effort she managed to tuck herself under the duvet.

James removed his glasses, discarding them on his bedside table. Consequently, he tucked himself fully under the sheets and duvet. He snuggled into his sister, his head on her shoulder and he linked their arms. "Let's go back to sleep. Just for a little while."

Lily hummed in agreement, and she encompassed Hermione on the other side, her face was right beside Hermione's. Every breath Lily exhaled through her nostrils tickled against Hermione's cheek. Hermione's eyes squeezed shut and she trapped all the emotions welling up inside of her in her throat. She mustn't let them escape, she mustn't let them know that in fact, everything was wrong.

"It's a Potter sandwich," Lily murmured, smiling to herself as her eyes fluttered shut. She leaned in to press a chaste kiss to Hermione's cheek. The witch threw a leg over Hermione, effectively trapping her in place. Hermione never wanted to leave.

James and Lily lost consciousness moments later—their breathing even—their faces smoothed over with sleep. Hermione opened her eyes, tucked her chin to her chest and swivelled her head to the left and right twice to ascertain that they were both asleep. Satisfied that they were, she spoke in a low, barely audible whisper.

"I have to leave now. I don't want to, in fact it's the last thing I want to do. But I don't really have a choice in the matter." Hermione's head gently fell to the side, her chin brushing the top of James's. "Thank you for being my brother, for always fighting for me, for your unconditional love."

Hermione swallowed abruptly, the words caught on her tongue. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and with a shaky breath she continued. "Once, I never would have dreamed of pranking people. I actually used to scold two gingers about that quite often…" Hermione wasn't sure where she was going with this line of thought, but she pressed forth.

"I've learned to take life and myself less seriously because of your influence; you don't give one shite what other people think of you, you never have. I enjoy and appreciate every moment more because of you. You inspired me to be bold, you laugh with your whole body, and you always share your Pumpkin Pasties—your favourite sweets—with me even though I know you don't want to. I love you, Jamie."

James was not the sole reason why Hermione had changed, but he'd played a big part in it. The family she'd found in the past was mostly responsible. The knowledge that her time with them was finite had pushed her to be more appreciative of the moment whilst she was in it. She was in no hurry for the future to come, she revelled in the present. Because if she blinked, she would miss it.

"Lily Potter. You're the kind of person who spontaneously decides to chop off all your hair simply because it was getting in your way whilst brewing, and you wanted a change. You rail against injustice and stand up for random people if you see them being unfaired. You can't hold your liquor, and the result is always a riot. You hum all the time, you dance while you work, and you see the good in most everyone. I love you, Lilypad."

"Before—you were Harry's parents—a handful of stories—and it was evident from the way people spoke of you, that you were loved. I, however, had no real attachment to you, but that's of course changed drastically. You are more than just a few stories. So much more."

Hermione didn't know how to continue aloud, so she thanked the stars that she'd been gifted with these two marvellous people even if it wasn't for as long as she wanted. The burden of today's pungent emotional warfare finally caught up to her, and like her companions, she fell asleep. She dreamt of a world where she did get to keep them, one where they all survived the war.

Draco had finished most of his packing the day prior. Along the way he'd recalled that he could use magic to aid in his venture, and he levitated the remainder of his clothes into his chest. Hermione and Draco's rooms were bare, devoid of anything noteworthy. None of their possessions left behind; the only thing to tie them to the spaces was their lingering scents and residual traces of their magic embedded in the fabric of the rooms.

Draco shrunk his chest—as he'd done to Hermione's as he departed her room—and pocketed it. They were the size of matchboxes. He didn't dilly dally, and made for the exit.

Draco closed his bedroom door, and before he made his way to James's bedroom, he stopped by their Potions room to ensure that it was locked. Satisfied that it was, he continued on his way. Draco's footsteps were light, but they thundered against his eardrums. He could taste his heartbeat thrumming on his tongue.

James's door was ajar and Draco easily slipped inside. His heart stuttered at the serene sight he'd stumbled upon. Hermione, Lily and James all tangled together, slumbering peacefully. One of Hermione's hands was intertwined with Lily's. Draco strode over to the bed, and stifled a gasp when he noticed one of Hermione's fingers momentarily flickered in and out of existence. He blinked and she was whole again, but it only confirmed Hermione's earlier sentiments. They had to leave.

Draco squared his shoulders, and raised his chin high as he walked into the room. His movements were uneven and his gait was jerky and erratic as a result. Draco paused beside the bed, and with as much care as he could muster, he leant over James and gently shook Hermione awake.

James and Hermione simultaneously stirred from their slumber, bleary eyes taking him in. Complex ponderance drew James's brow together as he gazed up at his brother. James rolled onto his back, and rubbed at his eyes. The hazel in Hermione's eyes swarmed with amber and copper, the only indication of the inner turmoil she endured: her face was carefully expressionless, not a crinkle by her mouth, a line on her forehead nor a wrinkle by her eyes.

"Draco?" James asked.

"I was just grabbing Hermione so we could go get Breakfast," Draco lied. The words uncharacteristically fumbled awkwardly past his lips, and he winced at the blatant falsehood. Hermione's left eye twitched. James dragged his hands down his face, smacking his lips together.

"I'm famished. Give Lily and I a minute. We'll come join you."

Draco couldn't say no, there would be no reasonable explanation for it. So he clenched his jaw and nodded curtly. James may not be able to see clearly without his glasses, but even a blind man could tell that Draco was hiding something. "See you in a few," Draco said.

James rolled out of bed in a smooth motion, and slipped on his glasses. A hand was underneath his black t-shirt—having pushed it up and out of the way—and he was scratching absently at a spot along his ribcage. His boxers were black, and fuzzy yellow socks covered his feet and stopped halfway up his shins.

With an enormous amount of effort, Draco helped Hermione untangle herself from the two lions, and clamber out of the bed. She leapt into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist, her face buried in his shoulder and her hands gripping at the fabric of his jumper right above his shoulder blades. (Hermione's slip bunched up around her hips and barely covered her modesty in the process.)

"You go ahead, it may take a few minutes for me to wake Lily up," James yawned.

"I'll let Mipsy know to make all our favourites," Draco smiled tightly. James nodded sleepily, but his brow puckered when he saw Draco's black, Italian leather shoes. Draco didn't give James a chance to inquire about his footwear. He turned and fled the room, as if flames were chasing his heels. (Draco rarely wore shoes inside the house, much less at this hour.)

Draco was on the second last step of the grand staircase when James's voice echoed and twisted down the hallway after him. Draco tripped on the bottom step, but caught himself before he and Hermione tumbled painfully onto the Foyer floor. Draco picked up the pace as he sped across the Foyer. James knew something was wrong, of course he did.

Once he reached the front door, he held Hermione with one arm, and with the other he flung the door open; he stepped backwards with the force so it didn't slam into him or Hermione.

The morning air was crisp and dewy, and the breeze whipped through his locks as he marched forward.

"Draco!" Came from behind the pair. A jagged knife was plunged into his chest at the desperation trapped in James's tone. Draco descended his second set of stairs with far more grace, and the grass was damp and slippery underfoot as he strode out onto the front lawn.

Hermione whimpered in his arms, tightening her hold on him. "I know, love," Draco murmured into her curls. Her body shook and jerked as she attempted to hold herself together; to stop herself from crying aloud despite her wailing soul.

Draco took several large steps before he stopped abruptly. James's feet slapping against the hardwoods had been muffled by his socks, but Draco heard him cross the threshold onto the front porch. Draco carefully placed Hermione down beside him, her bare feet sinking into the damp grass. She shivered as Draco drew her into his side.

Hermione and Draco turned to look at James Potter with heavy hearts. James hesitantly crept forward until he was at the top of the short staircase. Mere feet separated the siblings, but it might as well have been an ocean.
"Hermione? Draco?" James asked. His hands tucked under his armpits to keep them warm, and he shivered as the wind whipped against him.

The simple utterance of her name forcibly shattered what little control Hermione had wrangled over her emotions. Fat tears burst from her eyes, carving rivers down her cheeks, and her expression crumbled. "I love you, Jamie," Hermione mouthed.

"What's going on?" James asked, his voice brittle and small. His eyes are pleading for an explanation, but neither of them can give him what he wants.

"I love you, James Galieus Potter," Draco said in a tone akin to his brother's. He was holding Hermione up but was also leaning on her for support, his knees trembled and he wouldn't be surprised if they gave out at any moment. "Thank you for being my brother."

"What—" James started, but Draco didn't hear the rest as he closed his eyes and with a thunderous crack apparated Hermione and himself away.

Wednesday, September 19th, 1979

Undisclosed Location Along Wales's Coastline, UK

Hermione Granger's Birthday

The wind cruelly clawed at Hermione's curls. "Where did it all go? Where did all the time go? I'm not ready, Draco. I'm not ready to leave. I haven't had enough time, it's not been enough, I can't go yet!" The words spewed from her in a never-ending, anguished stream. She had barely taken a breath. Hermione clutched her chest, and she sank down into the sand.

Draco was standing behind her, in front of the modest, A-frame, cream coloured tent he'd pitched on the beach; at the bottom of the bluff. Close to the winding, dusty path cut into its side.

The tent had enough room to house their chests (at their original size), a small end table on which a copper, cold-blast, kerosene lantern resided, and for Hermione and Draco to comfortably sleep.

Hermione had used several quilts and thick blankets as makeshift bedding from their combined collection. They'd each brought a pillow.

For the past twelve nights they'd weathered the unforgiving rain and howling wind in that tent, clutching at each other in the darkness. Both haunted by the crestfallen, perplexed expression on their brother's face.

During the days they tirelessly laboured on Riley's future cottage. Hermione wanted to make as much headway before she left. It was a welcome distraction from her traitorous thoughts. She was the one to suggest they didn't use magic unnecessarily as they worked. Draco begrudgingly agreed.

After several days, the pair got into a comfortable routine. They woke with the dawn, worked on the structure at the top of the bluff, and retired to their tent with the setting sun.

The main adjustment Draco had to get used to was the 'bathroom' Hermione had cobbled together. They'd been reduced to a chamber pot to the left of the tent, and a bathtub Hermione had fashioned out of a stainless steel bowl she'd enlarged. They used magic to both fill the bathtub with water, and to heat its contents.

Thankfully stasis charms existed, otherwise by the time they got into the water it would have cooled off completely due to the bitter wind. Every day their environs grew colder and colder, until a drastic dip occurred overnight on the sixteenth. Hermione was not pleased by the development.

Draco eventually looked forward to the manual labour; it was therapeutic. He also figured out how to use a hammer—not until he'd hit his fingers several times, and sworn colourfully as a result—and found it highly rewarding putting his new skill to use.

For the past twelve days Hermione and Draco hadn't spoken much. They addressed one another when they needed help with a task, or needed a consultation on how one set up supports whilst building walls. Otherwise comfortable silence settled over them.

Draco never commented on the moments where Hermione's limbs flickered and became translucent; it seemingly did not physically affect whatever she had a hold on. The witch stared blankly at her flesh whenever it happened, but made nary a peep in reference to it. She would hastily resume her work after a few harsh blinks.

And so almost two weeks had passed in what felt like moments. Time slipped through their fingers like sand, and in several hours Hermione Granger was to be born. Hermione tossed restlessly for hours last night before unwillingly slipping into unconsciousness around three in the morning.

Presently, Draco warily approached her, crouching in the sand beside her, his hands hovering over her quaking shoulders. There were no words of comfort that came to mind, so he cautiously enveloped her in his embrace and hoped that was enough.

Moments later, Hermione's hands are twisted in his hair and her mouth was on his. She poured all of her agony into a physical format, and her magic exploded out of her. It sought out his; it sought out the comfort that only he can provide.

Their magic intertwined and tangled as the pair divested each other of their clothes. Draco was fully nude, sitting on his crumpled shirt—trying to avoid the sand as much as possible—when Hermione crawled into his lap.

Hermione's nipples pebbled into hard buds as the cold wind assaulted their bare bodies, and Draco held her close, trying to impart some semblance of warmth onto her. Hermione broke their kiss and pressed her forehead against his.

"Regerminating potion," Hermione breathed, the corners of her lips twitched upwards. Draco frowned, his concentration was waning as Hermione rolled her hips forward. His cock was in between her nether lips, and her slickness was coating his length as she moved.

"I'm sorry?" Draco asked, hissing as Hermione continued in her teasing. Her hands relinquished their grip on his hair and slid down until they landed on his shoulders; her fingers were bent in a loose cage, the tips brushing against his neck. In spite of the frigidity surrounding them, his skin was ablaze.

"It's what we were arguing about in that corridor all those years ago. Before we were thrown back in time," Hermione said with a wet laugh. Her eyes glistened with tears as they continuously proceeded to spill down her cheeks. Her curls were being tugged in every direction imaginable by the wind. She was breathtaking in the bleak morning light; even as she bawled her eyes out.

"Regerminating potion," Draco echoed. He reached between their bodies to line his hard cock up with her entrance. Hermione's head fell back as he entered her. She was impossibly warm, and her inner walls squeezed around him.

"Of all the bloody things to get in an argument about."

"At least it was somewhat intellectual," Draco allowed.

Hermione's laughter sputtered out of her, but cut out abruptly as Draco snapped his hips up to meet hers.

They lost themselves in the moment. They forgot that their time was limited, they forgot the cruel twist that fate and magic had deemed appropriate, they forgot about everything. They moved in sync and gave into their instincts. Magic crackled across their flushed flesh as they toppled over the edge together.

"It isn't goodbye, it's just—see you later," Hermione said. A couple hours had passed, and the pair had cleaned up and headed up the winding path to the top of the bluff. They were standing a few feet from the edge, holding each other, staring out at the vast, dark ocean before them.

They both blinked in surprise when they spotted a pair of Arctic Terns not too far away from their bluff. Draco watched their long angular wings flap twice as they glided down to the ocean. Most likely in search of food. Their black caps, red bills and red legs distinguished them as the breeding variety.

"I'll see you soon," Draco promised. He tore his eyes away from the birds and gazed down at the person he loved most in the world. The witch who had unexpectedly flipped his life upside down without warning.

Hermione was fading, her body was disappearing before his eyes. Hermione whispered sadly, "the spell, Draco."

Draco bent down to kiss her soundly, one final time before she went. They held each other, and they sombrely began to chant the words of the ancient spell they'd altered to suit their unique demands; the spell they'd reworked and created together. A peculiar, white glow emitted from Hermione, but Draco ignored it.

"Tempus…" Hermione repeated the chant for a fourth time, but her voice died in the middle. Her lips were moving, but nothing came out. Panic burst into her eyes. The witch's entire body was translucent, and she was effervescent in his arms. Draco continued the chant for her. And when he finished, white tendrils of light exploded from both of them.

Draco gasped sharply, everything was on fire, and a blinding, stark whiteness took hold of his vision. His lungs restricted, and he was no longer in his body. A breath later, and he snapped back to reality. His limbs infinitely heavier, breathing more laborious, and bright spots danced across his perceived world.

Hermione was solid again, but only for a moment. "I love you, Draco Potter." Her smile was forced, watery. He was holding mist in his arms, she was teetering on the edge of existence.

He didn't get a chance to say it back, because he blinked and she was gone. She'd disappeared. She slipped quietly into non-being.

They'd finished the spell, thus setting everything in motion. The beginnings of the spells have been firmly cemented into place: the memory spell would activate once Draco left the past, and they should both be ferried back safely to their original time. Draco swallowed, his head stuffed full of cotton, and his tongue scratchy.

The magic they'd dabbled in carried a great toll, and therefore left him magically drained; it'd strained every last drop it could get out of him.

Draco stumbled backwards a few steps, and blackness overtook his senses. Draco crumpled to the ground, and hardly noticed the impact. And thus the clock hands continued to move. Tempus fugit; time flies.