Carpe Noctem

by APermann

"Remember when I told you I'd read her mind? I saw something peculiar. Bella, I think there's a possibility she could be— she could be a venor floccus." AU, centred around Hermione Granger, a very best friend of Draco Malfoy, back when she was just a fifteen-year-old kid dealing with her inner demons, trying to deny the growing interest in a mysterious Bellatrix Lestrange.

25. Arms To The Ground

CARPE NOCTEM / ARMS TO THE GROUND / CH. 25

"Mom, I'm sorry it took me so long to get back to you but school's been keeping me busy. It's almost the end of the first term and I wanted to get everything in order before I leave for home. Speaking of, I cannot wait to see you and dad. What a shame though, you hadn't told me about America earlier! I've already promised Draco we would spend New Year's Eve together here at Hogwarts. He and his parents haven't been getting along too well lately so he decided to stay here during the holidays. And as much as I'd like to see Blair again, I don't want to let Draco down. We'll talk about it in more detail once I'm home. I just wanted to let you know beforehand so you could cancel my plane ticket if you bought it already. I miss you and dad terribly! Love, Hermione."

Leaning against the wall in the Owlery, Draco finished reading out loud from the daffodil-yellow parchment in his hands and began nodding approvingly. "Cunning, deceitful, persuasive. My compliments, Granger! I particularly enjoy the part where you bullshit your way around the truth. Tell me, when did you become such a pro at lying?"

Hermione, who was shifting on her feet beside him, snatched the letter out of Draco's hands. "I'm not lying," she said, rolling the parchment up. "I'm only adjusting the details. Besides, time's pretty relative so technically, I'm telling the truth that is applied to a slightly different period than the one in which the things had originally happened."

Draco gave her an ironic glance. "You're delusional."

Looking for an owl to deliver her letter, Hermione's eyes paused on a screech owl that was observing them with squinted eyes from the perch above the glassless window. "Well, if you come up with a better idea as to how I can avoid going to America," challenged Hermione as she signalled for the bird to fly down to her, "let me know."

"I already have."

"That is not a better plan."

"It is."

"Is not."

"It is."

Hermione faced him, clipping her hands to her hips as the owl fluttered down on the window sill next to them. "No, it is not! Draco, for the last time, I can't tell my parents I want nothing more in my life than to ask a straight woman twice my age to marry me!"

There was a dull sound of something hitting the floor and both, Hermione and Draco, jerked their heads toward the entry, their eyes landing on a wide-eyed and obviously gobsmacked Lavender Brown with her hands empty and outstretched in front of her. The neatly packaged box that must have fallen from her grip was lying among the dust and mice skeletons at her feet.

In that instant, a revelation washed over Hermione, that life had just taken her virginity. Because she hadn't been just screwed—she'd been positively and undoubtedly fucked.

She heard Draco clearing his throat and utter a bunch of words but her ears were too deafened to detect their meaning. She was staring at Lavender who was staring right back at her, both of them speechless.

This couldn't be happening; it had been barely two weeks since her ordeal with Bellatrix and fortune had decided to turn its back on her again?! Who up there had had it with her that they'd conducted for her biggest secret to fall straight into Lavender Brown's lap?

Hermione watched the blonde girl recover and hurriedly pick up the box from the floor and, apologising, clear off faster than she'd come. Turning to Draco, whose face couldn't have depicted her trepidation more, Hermione whispered a word that had probably never left her mouth before.

"So... " Draco opened slowly. "Should I go and kill her before she tells everyone? No? In that case, I think there's only one thing we can do."

Hermione raised her brows in desperation.

"And that's visiting Sammy for some leftover chocolate cake."

—

Two hours later, Hermione was sitting in a deserted library with an unseeing gaze, the quantity of heavy books on Transfiguration lying open on the rickety table in front of her. She and Madam Pince were the only ones present in the room. The majority of the students had given up on studying altogether and had chosen to spend the remaining days outside, indulging in a growing Christmas spirit. Needless to say, the overall joy of having too much free time had ended up causing more harm than good. It wasn't actually that many days ago when Gryffindors had decided to have a contest on who'd build the most ridiculously-looking Snape-snowman. The fun didn't last long since the furious professor had found out about the competition and had given almost the entire dorm detention. So now, the students were either enjoying the snow outside or disemboweling all kinds of reptiles down in the dungeons with Snape harassing the hell out of them.

And as odd as it might sound, Hermione would swap without blinking twice. She'd much rather torture herself with thoughts on how cruel the exploitation of sentient beings for human profit was, than sit here reflecting on the things that had gone wrong in her life.

She wondered how many people in the castle had already heard the news about her sexuality by now. Knowing Lavender, she presumed at least one third of the students with Professor Trelawney on top (who had, of course, known all along).

Shifting on her chair, Hermione idly flicked the page of the book nearest to her.

Her well-kept secret was just being broadcasted and there was nothing that could be done about it. Honestly, did it even matter at this point? Ever since last summer, she'd done nothing but lied to everyone, herself included, about her growing attraction to Blair and to, damn her but, Bellatrix, too; she'd tried to convince herself it was just a matter of admiration and when that didn't work, she'd tried to scotch it altogether which had only resulted in tears and hurt.

So maybe it was a good thing Lavender had found out. Hermione was slowly becoming sick of veiling her emotions anyway; and the longer she sat here, the more she felt like she didn't actually care that much about people knowing about Blair. Draco's willingness to talk everything through with her and show his support had done wonders to her self-acceptance. Besides, Blair alone had assured her she didn't mind her feelings and that from a higher perspective being gay wasn't any different than being a heterosexual; unlike Bellatrix, who had basically advised her to reserve a room at St Mungo but Hermione wasn't as stupid as to take her comment too personally.

If Hermione was to take advice from anyone on the matter; it would be Blair. She'd always choose Blair. And she might as well choose to face reality. Why deny anything? For the fear of rejection? She'd already been there and survived.

It took her quite a long time but she'd eventually come to understand that this life she was living, belonged to no one but her; that it was too ephemeral to be wasted on pretending to be someone she wasn't just to avoid being judged. She could never please everyone, anyway; Hermione might be the juiciest of apples and still, there'd be someone who'd say they were allergic. She was finally starting to grasp that this wasn't about pleasing others but living up to her own values. Did she want to be happy? Of course she did but it was impossible to achieve sincere happiness through lies and deceit, no matter just how much those fitted into the frames the society had set up.

If she wanted to get by contentedly, she needed to start being so much more tolerant toward herself. It was just recently that the thought had dawned on her; no matter how much she bashed Bellatrix for being a bully, in reality Hermione wasn't any different—regardless of how nicely she treated other people, to herself she was just as mean as Bellatrix was to her. It was so messed up. After all, Hermione was the only one who had stood and would continue to stand by herself through the ups and downs until her last day. So why did she proceed beating herself up like a crazy person? There would always be someone to do that for her so why not become a friend to herself and just laugh everything off? Because no matter how many bad things would happen, no matter how many people would let her down—if she had her own back, she'd always have someone to rely on.

So how about she started treating herself with kindness, respect, and honesty? And while at it, why not be honest with everyone else, too?

Who knew; there might be more girls or boys at Hogwarts who were, just like Hermione, scared of their feelings. Rarely, people were lucky enough to have someone like Draco or Blair by their side to encourage them and tell them that they weren't broken at all; that it didn't matter who they loved as long as they loved.

Moreover, if coming out and being true to herself meant the end of McLaggen winking at her in the corridors, and that Lavender and the Patil twins would steer clear as soon as they saw her, then let the bloody rainbow loose.

Hermione blew out her cheeks.

This was going to be huge. She wasn't being as optimistic as to believe everyone would get it and go on with their lives just like that. She anticipated loads of nasty bullying and weirded out looks, especially from the Slytherins; however, when she thought back to Bellatrix's sledging, she figured that what she was about to face would be just mild teasing in comparison to that.

Flicking another page of her book, Hermione straightened her back, a soft adrenaline rush running through her body.

She was rather proud of herself for standing up to the witch that night in the greenhouse, even though her exaltation had been slightly marred by the entire passing out scene which kind of scared Hermione out of her wits.

Since then, she hadn't seen Bellatrix or heard from her. It was as though she had never even been in Hogwarts in the first place. Hermione wondered where she could have gone and whether she was better off now. She'd noticed already back in Malfoy Manor that the witch didn't lead the healthiest of lifestyles—Hermione had never seen her eat except for drinking coffee or water; also, given Bellatrix seemed to be constantly tired and that the times they saw each other face to face were mainly during the late hours, Hermione presumed she didn't get much sleep either. It shouldn't be that big of a surprise that her body gave out. But then, what if it was something serious? The options were countless; it could be anything from simple dehydration to some, God forbid, neurological condition or heart problems.

However awful Bellatrix might be, however awfully she might have treated Hermione, the girl didn't have it in her to wish bad upon her and hoped that Bellatrix was doing okay—all for Draco, of course; he would be crushed if anything happened to his aunt and Hermione would hate to see him suffer.

Snorting, she looked out of the window.

Six years ago, had anyone told her she would ever care for that obnoxious boy from Slytherin, she would have laughed in their faces. Draco used to be such a spoiled little prat. It was unbelievable how much he'd matured over the years. Where Hermione remembered him being malicious and sneering, he was now emotionally-grown, perceptive and kind and just… the best friend she could ever even ask for.

He, more than anyone, deserved her trust, and so the day after Bellatrix's fainting spell Hermione had decided to tell him the truth. She'd told him about her astral experiences, though still kept the details of Incubus turning into Blair and Bellatrix to herself. She also hadn't said anything about the slap and Bellatrix's passing out, but she'd filled him in on the time turner and her childhood memories; about the venor floccus and the possibility of war and Draco's reaction couldn't have been any more priceless.

He'd forbidden her to talk to Bellatrix ever again, most of all to share the dreams with her because, as he reasoned, one could never know what to expect from her. Draco had also stated that he thought the whole concept of the war was bullshit; that the venor floccus and Bellatrix had concocted the story together and had just played it out on Hermione, trying to arouse some kind of heroic urges in her. He thought the man had figured how much Hermione cared for her family and Blair and used it against her, anticipating she wouldn't say no if she thought their life was in danger.

'It's pretty sneaky, if you ask me; you know how my aunt is. Besides, if there truly was something going on, don't you think there are enough aurors in the Ministry to handle a situation like that accordingly?'

Draco's point of view sounded reasonable and alluring to fall for and Hermione would much rather things were that simple but there were still gaps that not even Draco's clever brain could reason out.

If only Hermione had more information.

The venor floccus hadn't contacted her once since their last meeting. Hermione grasped he must have been serious when he said she would decipher things on her own.

Well, wasn't he mistaken?

Hermione had spent hours perusing books in the library but she hadn't found a word about the mysterious objects called corpus deus he'd mentioned to her that day. Her diary, the only thing that could elucidate her on the matter, was gone together with Bellatrix, and therefore Hermione had no connection to her dreams which were, according to the venor floccus, triggered by this seemingly unimportant item.

Looking back, Hermione felt like an idiot that she hadn't deduced it for herself. Honestly, how come she'd never noticed that whenever she didn't dream about being Harry Potter's sidekick, the diary wasn't anywhere near her? She'd left it on her bed at home when she'd traveled to Greece and she hadn't had a single dream during her sojourn there. The last night at Malfoy Manor when she'd dreamt about Bellatrix, she had accidentally fallen asleep in their library while the diary had stayed upstairs in the bedroom. And that steamy dream about Blair—that day Hermione had given the diary to Bellatrix!

And there she thought she was smart… Snorting, Hermione shook her head.

She wondered whether Bellatrix knew. She must have; otherwise, she wouldn't have kept the diary. The venor floccus had told Hermione that Bellatrix was after the corpus deus; he'd told her right before they'd left the classroom. What he hadn't told her though, was how many of those existed, how many were already in Bellatrix's possession but mainly—what the hell they were.

All Hermione gathered was that one of them happened to be her vintage-looking diary which she'd bought in a paper shop in London three years ago and which had the ability to beget the dreams. How strange, though; Hermione could not understand what such a magical object had been doing, laying around in a muggle shop like that? Had someone planted it there? The same someone who was responsible for the time loop? And if they had, how come Hermione had gravitated right towards it? Surely, she could tell if she had been subjected to the Imperius Curse—Hermione recalled feeling no different than her usual self while purchasing the diary.

And what about those other items? Could they too invoke the dreams, or did each have a different aptitude? Moreover, why did Bellatrix care for them so much? Could it be they were as powerful as to help her carry out her vision—to exterminate anyone whose veins didn't run with royal blood?

The dread crept over Hermione whenever the thought swooped into her mind. She'd already known Bellatrix was wicked but she'd never guessed her to be as deranged as to be capable of killing. And she, Hermione, was supposed to give her a helping hand?! Absolutely not! Often she thought about alarming the Ministry but then… what would she say? She had no evidence except for her word; besides, the Lestranges were one of the most respectable families in the wizarding world; nobody would dare drag their name, moreover without a good reason.

If only Hermione could go to Dumbledore; after all, he was the one who'd told her about venor floccus. He surely must have known about the corpus deus, too, and would listen to what she had to say in spite of her age or her blood status.

The thing was, the headmaster had disappeared in the same way Bellatrix had and Hermione couldn't help thinking that was somehow linked.

The possibility actually provided her with some degree of comfort. If a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore had taken any part in this, what was there to fear? For a split second Hermione thought that perhaps it was him who'd given her the dreams but she quickly shook the thought off. If Dumbledore wanted, he'd sort Bellatrix out in a matter of seconds; he wouldn't need a teenager to do the work he was more than capable of doing instead of him.

"Miss Granger!" Jerking her head up, Hermione's eyes focused on the tense face of Madam Pince that appeared in front of her out of the blue. "It's late."

Hermione drew back in her chair. Right, the closing hours! She leaped to her feet. "Of course! I'm sorry, I'll just put the books back on the shelves and I'm gone."

Madam Pince frowned before nodding shortly and returning to her desk.

Hermione packed her quill, ink-bottle and the bits of parchment with half-scribbled notations into her bag. She stacked the books on her desk and carried them to the correct aisles where they flew out of her arms and placed themselves on the shelves where they belonged; then, with a tightened stomach and a beating heart, Hermione set off through the silent castle toward the Ravenclaw Tower.

She didn't know what to expect; her former confidence started to slacken and she wanted nothing more than to hide away from everyone and everything but she knew she couldn't.

She climbed the spiral stairs and came to a halt in front of the entrance of the common room. She solved the eagle knocker's riddle (tear one off and scratch its head, what was once red is now black instead) and stepped inside. Her eyes scanned the wide, circular room carefully; chatting on the velvet blue sofa across the burning fireplace were Cho Chang, Terry Boot, and Sue Li, and by the window, leaning over a book, Hermione recognised Michael Corner and Lisa Turpin.

None of them gave her any particular attention.

Was that a good thing? Could it mean Lavender's big mouth hadn't reached them yet? Sue had even waved at her.

Legs like jelly, Hermione waved back, heading towards their dorm. Most of the girls seemed to be already fast asleep in their beds when she arrived. Hermione quickly brushed her teeth, changed into her pyjamas and got into hers, grateful for the overall relaxed mood reigning in the bedroom and for the hot water bottle one of the house elves had put under her duvet. Disregarding the girls' chatting, she flopped onto her pillow, her eyes closing; a moment later, they snapped open, a hot flash washing over her. She would have sworn she'd heard Padma's voice murmuring something that very much resembled the word 'wicked'. She listened tentatively but Padma, sleeping three beds away from her, was quiet; and she stayed quiet for the rest of the night.

With only three hours of sleep, Hermione was the first to leave her bed in the morning. She took a quick shower and went down for breakfast to find both Dumbledore's and Bellatrix's seats empty—even Lavender was nowhere in sight. Only ten minutes later, just as Hermione was about to pour herself a cup of fresh coffee, did the girl enter the Great Hall and sit down at the Gryffindor table next to Neville Longbottom.

Stealing a sideways glance at her, Hermione tightened her grip on the percolator before placing it back onto the table.

Should she go and talk to Lavender or better leave her be? Probably the latter. Hermione wouldn't know what to say, anyway. 'Hey, Lavender! Can we talk? Eh… about yesterday…' That was as far as the conversation inside her mind went. Biting her lip, Hermione pointed her eyes on the untouched piece of buttered toast on her plate.

"Morning!"

Draco, who had been flatly refusing to sit at the Slytherin table since he and Hermione had made up, plopped down beside her. "Did you finish the essay for McGonagall yesterday?" he asked in a raspy voice, reaching for a jug with pumpkin juice. "I haven't even started; thought I'd see what you—are you alright?" His scrutinising eyes paused on Hermione's before following their course to the Gryffindor table. A quiet swear word left his mouth. "Has—has Brown ratted you out?"

"No one's said anything, yet," shrugged Hermione. "I'm waiting for Parvati to come down to see whether or not they'd start giving me looks. I'm rather surprised Lavender didn't wait for her in the first place."

"Maybe she was too disturbed to tell anyone," said Draco, pouring himself a glass of juice. "The whole deal is pretty odd, you know."

"Yeah, I'm aware," said Hermione coldly.

Draco looked at her. "I didn't mean it like that," he muttered after a while, apparently realising how offensive his words must have sounded.

"Sure," said Hermione.

"I really didn't!"

"Just forget it."

An uncomfortable silence settled in between them. From the corner of her eye Hermione watched Draco help himself to a honey butter roll and stuff his mouth with it—he hated honey butter rolls.

Hermione slumped her shoulders, her gaze dropping to her lap—she shouldn't have lashed out on Draco; of course he didn't mean for his statement to come out as insulting; Hermione was just too stressed about Lavender's gossiping and had taken all that frustration out on Draco.

Eager to make her amends, Hermione opened her mouth but then she noticed Parvati arriving into the Great Hall. She saw the girl head for the Gryffindor table and fling herself in between Lavender and their quidditch chaser Alicia Spinnet. Hermione grabbed onto Draco's forearm as he was just reaching for something. They both froze, surveilling the girls; they saw Parvati squint her eyes while saying something to Lavender. It made Hermione tighten her grip but Lavender only shook her head before getting to her feet and uttering something back. Her narrowed eyes locked with Hermione's momentarily and Hermione could swear her blood had just stopped running but then Lavender looked away and made her way out of the Great Hall. Hermione's gaze jumped back to the visibly puzzled Parvati. She was staring after Lavender, as if deciding whether or not to follow her but then she turned back to the table and, reaching over, scooped a spoonful of scrambled eggs on her plate.

Releasing a sigh, Hermione removed her hand from Draco's.

"Seems like somebody's been keeping their mouth shut, after all," he noted, taking a sip from his glass.

Hermione regarded him with a baffled look. Lavender Brown and being capable of keeping somebody's secret? Without being asked to? It must have been just as he had implied before—Lavender must have been truly shaken if she hadn't shared such a juicy tidbit even with her best friend.

Hermione's eyes dropped to her toast. "Yes," she rasped. "It certainly seems like it."

—

A couple of moments later in Charms, the sixth-years began sweating tears and blood over their failed attempts to turn the vinegar in the glass flasks in front of them into wine. Professor Flitwick, the head of Ravenclaw's House, was demonstrating over and over the correct wand movements, yet Hermione remained, even after half an hour later, the only one who had managed to perform the spell successfully.

She was shifting at her desk restlessly as she strained to keep the smugness off her face. She looked to her right at Draco and caught him showing his glass an obscene gesture. With both hands.

"Charming," Hermione elevated her eyebrows. "Here, let me help you," she extended her arm with her wand in it, aiming at Draco's cup. "You must keep your arm straight and parallel to the—"

"Straight?" came the whispering voice of Pansy Parkinson. "I'm rather surprised it worked for you at all, Granger."

Hermione stiffened.

"Eh…" she cleared her throat, trying to continue as though she hadn't heard anything. "Parallel to the—"

"Freak!"

Faltering, Hermione felt a cold sweat break out all over her back. She'd noticed Draco slide on his chair to Pansy, who was sitting behind them, but she couldn't understand a word they were saying. But that didn't matter; the only thing that mattered was that Pansy had found out.

As though in slow motion, Hermione turned to see Blaise, who was sitting beside Pansy and, sneering, flouted something on his own.

"Piss off!" barked Draco. The sound came back to Hermione and she realised that as Draco stood up. Willing herself to move, she touched his wrist, noticing a few people had stopped casting spells and were watching the scene.

"What is going on here?" Professor Flitwick came hurrying up to them, his perplexed eyes darting between Draco, Blaise, Pansy, and Hermione.

Zabini ignored him. "Or what," he challenged, standing up as well, facing Draco. By now, everyone was looking.

"Boys—" Flitwick warned them but got thrust aside for the second time.

"Why do you still bother? She won't go out with you, anyway," smirked Blaise. "Haven't you heard?" The tips of his fingers touched his desk lightly, propping him as he inclined forward. "Or perhaps you have." The dark eyes skimmed Draco up and down. "Perhaps you're the same kind of freak as—"

"One more word—!" Flitwick tried to stop the coming disaster but it was already too late. For in that instant, Draco's wand was in his hand, a flash of purple light striking Zabini square in the chest.

Stumbling backwards, Blaise's eyes widened in panic as his cheeks began inflating like two weather balloons. His throat released a nasty gagging sound before belching, making his hands spring up to cover his mouth. It appeared as though he was going to throw up, though when his mouth opened, instead of sick, an enormously long tongue rolled out of his mouth, swinging before continuing to grow rapidly past his stomach. Pansy leapt to her feet, screeching and backing away. The majority of the girls did the same.

"What do you think you're doing?!" shouted Flitwick in the middle of all that chaos. "Put your wand away, Malfoy! Such behaviour! Twenty points from Slytherin and a week of detention!" Pointing his wand at Blaise, he halted the spell just in time before his pink tongue reached the floor.

Hermione glanced at Draco; he looked livid.

Professor Flitwick released a deep breath, smoothing down his robe. "Hospital wing Zabini and another five points from Slytherin for provoking, Malfoy! Off you go!"

Blaise tried protesting but all that came out of his mouth was just a parade of unidentifiable noises. Eyes seething with hatred, he had taken his tongue into his hands, pulling it up so that he wouldn't stumble over it and strode off the classroom. A few students scrunched their faces and turned away as he walked past them.

Professor Flitwick came back in front of the class and climbed onto his stack of books so that everyone could see him. "Unless anyone else feels like earning themselves a detention, I'd advise you to go back to your practice! Thank you!"

Nobody spoke for the rest of the lesson, although Hermione could sense dozens of eyes sticking to her back. She was sitting like a statue with her head bowed and her hands in her lap, while Draco was slumped over his chair, bouncing his legs.

"You shouldn't have," she whispered.

The bell rang at that moment. Draco grabbed his bag and, heaving it over his shoulders, rushed towards the exit.

"I'd like to have a word, Mr. Malfoy." Professor Flitwick's voice halted his steps.

Draco glanced at Hermione first before turning to Flitwick. He strode off to the professor while Hermione, feeling guilty as hell, joined the line of the students gathered in front of the door. She was looking at her shoes the entire time, trying to ignore the whispering which was slowly beginning to wheedle its way into her head.

'It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter.'

Drawing out of the classroom, she set off up the third-floor corridor but had taken barely a couple of steps when Pansy and Millicent Bustrode cut off her way. Hermione paused. She went to sidestep them but Pansy blocked her again. Out of the corner of her eye she'd noticed students around her slowing down.

"Excuse me, can I come through?" Hermione's voice sounded shaky in her own ears. It made Millicent and a few other Slytherins laugh.

"Nah, I don't think so," snickered Pansy. "We need to discuss something, Granger. How come you've never told us you were mentaly ill?"

Hermione was looking into Pansy's eyes without blinking.

"Leave her be!" called out a female voice from behind Hermione.

"Why," Pansy's eyes jumped to the shouting girl. "Are you a dyke too, Bones? I mean, aren't you afraid to sleep with her in the same room? I wouldn't take the risk, wouldn't want to wake up to her groping me or whatever."

More and more voices started to come to Hermione's rescue though they did not discourage Pansy in the least.

"So tell us!" she said, lifting her chin. "Do you fancy girls?"

Hermione noticed a buzz of a word being repeated over and over again among the Slytherins standing behind Pansy's back, though only when their voices amplified did she recognize they were chanting the word 'dyke'.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears; she wanted to make a run for it but as soon as she moved, Millicent grabbed her by her shoulders and shoved her backwards roughly. Hermione didn't fall only because someone behind her had managed to catch her. She was watching the Slytherins in front of her, pointing at her and laughing. And in that very moment, something had changed within her.

"DYKE! DYKE! DYKE!"

"Ewww, now you have to take a cleansing potion so you wouldn't catch the dykeness, too," cackled Pansy with her face scrunched.

"DYKE! DYKE! DYKE!"

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. She looked up, taking a couple of deep breaths before moving from the person holding her and coming face to face with Pansy's vicious sneer.

"DYKE! DYKE! DYKE!"

"Fuck you, Parkinson," barked Hermione and then turned to Millicent. "And you too, Bulstrode!"

The chanting faltered as the entire corridor broke out in surprised gasps, laughter, and cheering. Even the Slytherins seemed taken aback by her choice of words, although Pansy was the only one who wouldn't let it show.

"That's what you'd like, isn't it?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Don't flatter yourself! I'd rather get eaten by a Giant Squid than consider touching you!" snapped Hermione. There was no more whispering or chuckling; everyone was listening with their mouths agape.

"And even though it's none of your business, I'll do you a favour and tell you, since you're so bloody invested in my life—no, I don't fancy girls; I don't fancy you or any other walking ovary in this school!" Pausing, Hermione's mind strayed to Blair. "But damn it, I do like someone a lot; and yeah, that someone happens to be a female! Big deal! Who are you to judge me on that?!—oh, very original!" She rolled her eyes at Crabbe and Goyle who had started to chant 'Dyke' again. "She's got bigger balls then both of you, prats, combined!" She regarded them with a contemptuous look and they fell silent, staring at her stupidly.

"Besides." Her eyes jumped back to Pansy's ashen face. "I'd rather be a dyke than a soulsucking cow like yourself. At least I'm capable of love; you, on the other hand, do nothing but spread hate everywhere you move! You bully and talk about everyone else's lives because your own is empty and miserable! Do everyone a favour and grow up, Pansy!" With those words, Hermione pushed her way through the Slytherins and this time, there was nobody to stop her. Hermione wouldn't care even if they tried—she'd fight right back had she needed to! It didn't matter to her whether or not people understood now. Because finally, she had the validation she was looking for this entire time—the validation from herself.

"Hermione, hey Hermione! Wait up!" She heard an urging voice calling after her but before she had a chance to turn, a girl of long rose-gold curls jumped in front of her face.

Halting, Hermione folded her arms. "Proud of yourself, Lavender?"

"Wh—no, no! Of course, not!" The girl shook her head vigorously, playing with the cuffs of her sleeves. "I want to explain! You must think I've told everyone but I haven't, I swear! Can we talk somewhere in private?"

Hermione considered her for a moment before shrugging. Lavender led her back through the mass of the Slytherins who were whistling and laughing at them; Pansy didn't look at Hermione once as she passed her by.

"Here," Lavender showed her to a small deserted classroom three doors away from professor Flitwick's office, which consisted of nothing but a chalkboard and a couple of desks. Hermione walked over to the closest one, leaning her back on it and waiting.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione" Lavender started lowly and really looked it as she sauntered forward and sat on a neighbouring desk. "I didn't mean to tell anyone, trust me! I was bent on keeping it to myself but Parvati—she started asking me all these questions; she said I was acting weird and kept on pestering me about what was going on," pausing, Lavender bowed her head, pointing her eyes on the ragged flooring below her swaying shoes.

"She cornered me in the girls' bathroom today. I told her I couldn't say anything 'cause it was none of my business!" Her eyes flashed Hermione's direction. "I really did want you to have the freedom of sharing it with whoever you want and whenever you want—but Parvati was so persistent and I swear, Hermione, I checked the stalls in that bathroom, I kneeled down to see if we were alone before I told her that—that I'd heard you say you're in love with a girl. I told her I didn't know who and asked her to keep it to herself but then—" Lavender actually sobbed and the bewildered Hermione reached her hand to pat her arm.

"It's okay, you don't have to apologise!" she said and meant it but Lavender went on as though she didn't hear her.

"Then Pansy came out of one of the stalls and there was nothing I could do!" she whispered. "I'm so so sorry!"

"Lavender, don't cry." Leaning towards her, Hermione tried for a soothing tone, perplexed at Lavender acting so upset. "It's not that big of a deal."

"It is to me!" she cried, locking their eyes, hers full of tears. A single hiccup drew out of her throat before she fell completely silent; it seemed as though the whole eternity had passed and that the shadows on the walls had moved more to the west when she spoke again.

"I had an older brother… Nux was his name, you know after Nux Myristica, the magical plant. My parents are potion brewers, hence both of our names. Anyway, Nux was...well, he wasn't able to do magic and so he used to go to this muggle school in town."

As quiet as a mouse, Hermione was listening to her, her stomach tightening.

"He got bullied really bad because he...liked a boy. Somebody nicked his diary and outed him," pausing, Lavender had taken a moment before moving on. "He passed away when he was sixteen; I was eight at the time. He did it himself… because… because he just couldn't bear the hate. It was already too late when I wanted to tell him I accepted him the way he was..." rasped Lavender, more tears escaping her eyes before they darted to Hermione. "Oh, you must think I'm a mess..."

"No…" whispered Hermione.

"I don't even know why I'm telling you all this... perhaps… perhaps, I was just hoping that I could let him know by telling youthat I get it—because I really do; I wanted to tell you so earlier but I was just too... It all came crashing down on me and I…" Lavender cleared her throat, wiping her eyes—at that point, Hermione's very own became watery. "I just don't want anyone going through the same pain he had to, you know?" There was a long pause. "I really didn't mean for it to happen... but I want you to know, Hermione, that I've got your back, I promise I do—even if nobody else does."

"Oh, Lavender…" Hermione shifted and they both hugged each other at the same time.

"Your brother would be so proud of you," she whispered into her shoulder. "And I'm sure that he knows, whenever he is, he knows that you'd be there for him!" Hermione let go, wiping her tears into the sleeve of her robe. "And when it comes to me, don't worry about it! If anything, I'm grateful!" Hermione put on a small smile. "It nudged me to finally tell the truth and I… I feel great about it; so stop apologising, Lavender, it's not your fault that Pansy is a hopeless case with zero tolerance."

"You've really put her in her place, you know," Lavender smiled through the tears.

"Well, I wouldn't be able to do that if it wasn't for you finding out," said Hermione. "Thank you," she added, bringing Lavender to tears again.

—

A couple of days later, the term had officially ended. For the first time since the grand exposé, the occupants of the castle had found something else to talk about other than 'Granger is gay' and 'Granger called Parkinson a bitch'. Slumped lazily over the comfy chairs in their common rooms, they'd been drinking steamy hot butterbeer and chatting about their plans for Christmas. Some of them like the Weasley Twins had been trying out Professor McGonagall's patience by rehearsing a strange ballet routine on the frozen Great Lake and had lost their house twenty points, both. Meanwhile, Hermione and Draco spent the remaining days before their departure for home huddled in the library, trying to dig up some information about corpus deus but without any success.

"If by any chance my aunt decides to stop by and drop some Christmas presents, I'll ask her," sputtered Draco one evening at dinner while stuffing his mouth with pieces of chocolate muffin.

Hermione, sitting beside him, tightened her grip on her fork. "You're joking! She'd be capable of hunting me down and murdering me for telling you; heck, even I'm not supposed to know! I wouldn't want to die in front of my parents at the Christmas table."

"Fair enough," shrugged Draco. "I wouldn't want to do that to your family either—your mom is an angel! I still think it was really nice of her to invite me over for Christmas to join the family trip to America as well," he said, referring to the letter Hermione's mom had sent by return owl, urging her to 'bring the poor boy along so he wouldn't have to spend Christmas alone. "I'm seriously considering changing my opinion and starting persuading you to go, after all. You know, we could get Blair a little jealous and stuff… I'm quite curious to see what's all the fuss about, anyway."

"No you're not; I'll bring you a picture of her after Christmas." Hermione raised her brows, straining not to smile—it felt so good to talk about Blair openly without hiding or whispering, moreover as though she, Hermione, had any chance at making her jealous. It was at least a small comfort after learning about her new relationship. "Besides," she went on, "you'd change your mind the moment my mom asked you to beat the batter for her special Christmas cake."

Smirking, Draco reached for the last chocolate muffin nested in the bamboo basketry in front of them, nicking it from under Ernie Macmillan's outstretched hand.

"Aren't you supposed to sit somewhere else?" grumbled the frowning Ernie as he waited for the basketry to fill up anew.

Saying a blatant no, Draco turned back to Hermione. "So what's the plan again? I'm supposed to be a mess and you're supposed to come back so that I'd have a shoulder to lean on?"

"Pretty much," said Hermione. "My mom will chide me for not bringing you along but—"

"Hey Hermione." It was Luna halting at her side and saying: "Professor Dumbledore asked me to give you this." She handed Hermione a piece of rolled up parchment. Hermione's eyes darted to Dumbledore's seat at the teacher's table but found it still empty.

"When did he give you this?" she asked hastily.

"Just a couple of minutes ago; met him on the corridor on my way here," explained Luna, sitting down between Draco and Ernie.

"Did he say anything?"

Shaking her head, Luna brought a solid slice of the custard pudding onto her plate. "Nothing beside asking me, very politely, to hand it to you."

"Right, thank you Luna!" said Hermione and turned to Draco with a significant look. Rolling out the parchment, she moved closer to him so they both could read its content.

Miss Granger,

I'd like to ask you to come to my office as soon as you finish your dinner.

Yours sincerely

A. Dumbledore

P.S. Tooth-Splintering Strongmints are my favourite at the moment.

"Why is he telling you about his favourite candy?" whispered Draco. "He truly is going senile."

"No, he's not! That's the password," said Hermione, sparing him a quick look before getting to her feet and, leaving her dinner half-eaten, setting off out of the Great Hall.

Five minutes later, she was being carried by a moving spiral staircase up to the poplar door leading into Dumbledore's office. She took a couple of deep breaths before willing herself to knock and had counted two seconds before Dumbledore's calm deep voice called her in.

Heart beating wildly, Hermione turned the doorknob and stepped inside. She'd never been to the headmaster's office before and it was certainly everything she'd ever imagined it to be: a magnificent circular room with a plethora of silver instruments perched on top of tiny octagonal tables situated all over the room. The portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses were hanging side by side on the walls, leaving but just a tiny space in between them from which Hermione could tell that the walls were painted alabaster-white. On top of a small staircase right across the door reigned Dumbledore's desk which was, just like those countless tables, covered with instruments of which Hermione recognised barely two and that was a rotating tower and a magnification device. But what made Hermione's breath hitch the most were hundreds and hundreds of books in shiny bindings embedded in builtin wall shelves all the way from the floor up to the ceiling. She almost moaned in frustration as the revelation dawned on her that she'd never be able to read any of those.

Tearing her eyes from the books, she searched the area before her some more, hoping to spot Dumbledore, but the headmaster wasn't anywhere to be seen. She turned and let out a small gasp. Behind the door, from a golden perch, a divine phoenix was watching her every move. Hermione had never seen an animal more glorious than this mythical creature of crimson feathers and intelligent eyes. She knew from her dreams the other Dumbledore had him too, and wondered whether the name of this one was—

"Fawkes." Hermione heard from behind her. Giving a start, her eyes landed on Dumbledore, dressed in a dark blue attire with golden stars sewn along the rims and sitting behind his desk as though he had been there all along. "Hello, Hermione."

"Good evening, professor Dumbledore," she said, a bit surprised at him addressing her by her first name. Taking an unsure step forward, she added: "You wished to see me?"

"Yes. Please, take a seat." He gestured to the chair opposite him. Hermione climbed the little staircase and, sitting down, cleared her throat.

"How have you been?" asked Dumbledore, smiling.

"I've been fine, thank you, sir," she replied, hesitant as to ask him the same.

"Very good! I've met professor Flitwick today and he seemed to be very impressed by your recent display of magic, to say the least. Very impressed!"

Looking at her knees, Hermione couldn't help the blush from creeping into her cheeks.

"However." Dumbledore's tone changed a bit. "I can't say the same about professor Lockhart."

Caught off guard, Hermione parted her lips—was this the reason why she was here? Not because of the venor floccus or the corpus deus but because she had stopped attending the advanced DADA lessons that were useless, anyway? She inhaled hastily, ready to explain as to why she'd quit but Dumbledore went on.

"I've heard you had an accident during the first lesson."

Pressing her lips together, Hermione took a moment before replying. "Yes, sir, I did."

"I've also heard that Madame Lestrange took an exceptionally large amount of effort to help you. I suppose she walked you to the hospital wing to Madame Pomfrey?"

Hermione's eyes strayed to the window on her left.

"Is that right?" asked Dumbledore calmly and as Hermione willed herself to look at him, she saw him peering over his half-moon glasses at her in a way that suggested he knew exactly what was going through her head but out of respect wanted to leave the decision of telling the truth up to her.

"Not quite, she took me aside and healed me herself," said Hermione quietly.

Dumbledore leaned in. "What a selfless act of her. Not many are as fortunate as to say Bellatrix Lestrange volunteered to give them a helping hand."

Hermione said nothing.

"I've known her since she was an eleven-year-old girl." He drew back into his chair. "She has always been a handful; never done anything without getting a huge benefit from the situation. And I don't think I'm mistaken when I say there was something bigger behind this act of kindness as well."

"She needs the dreams," admitted Hermione, inwardly deciding to fully cooperate. She felt like there was no point in beating around the bush when clearly, Dumbledore already knew everything about the matter and was just polite enough to let her tell him her side of the story. "I've spent a couple of weeks of the summer holiday at Malfoy Manor. That's when I met Madame Lestrange for the first time. She came around the same time I did and we didn't really… well, she didn't seem to be particularly fond of me and made sure to let me know about her feelings very openly. After a couple of days, she claimed to have reconsidered her views and as compensation for her behaviour, she offered to teach us—me, Draco Malfoy, and Blaise—Occlumency. That's when she found out about my dreams although at the time, didn't really express any interest in them and quickly returned to her old ways. I had some run-in with her in autumn at Three Broomsticks but I refused to talk to her for obvious reasons; I think that's why she signed up to be professor Lockhart's right hand in the first place—to gain access to me and my dreams," finished Hermione, feeling the heat in her cheeks intensify as she mentioned Bellatrix's interest in her.

"Sir, can I ask you something?" she added after a while and without waiting for his answer went on. "How come you know about this? How come you knew about venor floccus and—"

"I'll explain later, Hermione, I promise, but for now we need to focus on questions that are far more important in the grand scheme of things," Dumbledore said kindly before moving on. "What happened when Bellatrix took you aside?"

A bit disappointed, Hermione shrugged. "She told me about the multiverse and clarified what my dreams actually mean—that they allow me to see the events that are happening in the alternate universe," she explicated, flattening her lips. "But she didn't say anything about how I got them or the reason why they're here."

"But now you're aware of their purpose, I presume," said Dumbledore.

"Well… I have a general idea." Hermione frowned her eyes. She couldn't understand how come this man knew about everything, yet still acted as though he had no clue by asking her all these questions. Still, she decided to play along. "After I agreed to tell her about my dreams, she arranged—"

Dumbledore raised his index finger. "I'm awfully sorry, but I need to interrupt you here," he said. "What did Bellatrix say why she needed to know about your dreams?"

Hermione felt her stomach sink. "She didn't say."

"I see." Dumbledore's quiet voice pierced through her stomach. "But she had to tell you something that convinced you to tell her about the dreams. What was it?"

The blush that had evaporated from Hermione's cheeks bounced back in a matter of milliseconds. She felt unbelievably stupid. How could she even admit that she had agreed to help with something she had absolutely no clue about and which had later turned out to be a carnage of innocent beings and all for distorted views? Until now Hermione hadn't even thought of that. It might have even started—maybe that's why Bellatrix disappeared. What if someone had been murdered already? Hermione would be an accomplice then, she would be responsible for someone's death! She—

"Hermione?" Dumbledore's voice brought her back to reality.

Eyes widened in despair, she shook her head. "She didn't say anything; I don't know—I don't understand why I..." She looked at the headmaster and to her enormous surprise saw his lips curling into a proud smile and he no longer prodded her about her reasons.

"What happened then?"

"I…"

"You were saying Bellatrix had arranged something."

"Oh, right," Hermione cleared her throat, deciding to leave the getting drown in her guilt and the analysis of Dumbledore's strange reactions for later. "She arranged a meeting with a real venor floccus and I—" She blushed again, recalling her Incubus encounter and hoped for dear God that Dumbledore didn't know about any of that already. "And he showed me through hypnosis how it happened."

If Dumbledore knew she skipped a detail, he didn't let it show. "So what did you ascertain?"

"While using a time turner in a parallel universe, the past and the present version of myself saw each other while at the same time I used the time turner professor Flitwick had lent me here in our universe. From what I understood of the venor floccus' explanation, someone, he guessed someone from the other side, had arranged this to happen to disrupt time. It made it modifiable and a time loop could be created, which planted the sixth area into my mind."

"Interesting," Dumbledore's fingers began drumming against the only free space on the table in between them which happened to be a tiny square before his chest. "I won't torment you anymore—after that, I suppose he regaled you on corpus deus. Am I right?"

Hermione brought her head back and only after the passing of the initial wave of her shock, replied. "Not quite."

Dumbledore's fingers stopped drumming. "Well, if you're not against me giving you a clue, I—"

"Of course not!" Hermione cut him off and immediately placed a palm over her mouth, but the headmaster dismissed her embarrassment by smiling.

"Alright but before I start, Hermione, I'd like to ask you a favour, and that is to allow me to tell you the full story without any interruptions. I'm an old man and I might forget about the important parts when I get distracted. You'll have enough time to ask all the questions you want after I finish," he tipped his chin down, his eyes sparkling with wit.

Nodding, Hermione knew damn well the headmaster wouldn't forget about anything, only wanted to let her know politely to keep her mouth shut and not to ask questions because sooner or later he'd get to answering them all nevertheless.

"Well, if that's settled," he straightened up, moving closer to his table. "Let's start from the beginning."

Hermione let her perspiring hands rest in her lap, her eyes focused solely on the blue ones.

"Bellatrix wasn't mistaken in her guesses, we truly do live in a multiverse—each possibility that wouldn't work out here would always work out somewhere out there; the Infinity," opened Dumbledore. "Its cornerstone is a concept of yin and yang—there can't be evil without any good but also the other way around; no good without evil. There's an equal ratio of universes with a fortunate or less fortunate fate that mustn't be altered. Some things are bound to happen, no matter their nature, and no human should interfere with the laws of the universe he or she doesn't belong to.

"However, some of us are too blinded by power or the rest of the shallow temptations to know where the boundaries lie.

"The universe you have the privilege to visit in your dreams is the one with a fortunate fate—which happens to be quite inconvenient for a few individuals—which is the reason the time loops, not one but two, were created in the first place," said Dumbledore before pausing as though to test Hermione's ability to hold her tongue, that was practically itching from not being able to ask the dozens of questions that had begun springing inside her mind since the headmaster had started talking, but she kept biting her inner cheek as to prevent herself from asking.

"But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself with this one," Dumbledore went on. "I assume it would be wisest to go all the way back to the Gaunts, first."

Hermione's head nodded mechanically. She recalled reading about the Gaunts in the Pureblood Directory in her first year. The family belonged to the sacred twenty-eight and its members were direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin. It was known they prioritised marrying within their family to 'keep the blood pure' and retain their ability to speak Parseltongue.

"I suppose you know all about their history," said Dumbledore. "From the famous Salazar Slytherin to Gormlaith Gaunt and Isolt Sayre, one of the founders of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The ones I suppose you don't know that much about are their last descendants, Marvolo and his children Merope and Morfin."

Except for seeing their names written on a family tree in the book, Hermione truly didn't.

"Allow me to shed some light onto them for you, then." Dumbledore nudged his glasses further up his nose. "The versions of the last three members of the Gaunt family that existed in our dimension did not differ in the least from the versions of the other. In spite of living in squalor, in a small dirty cottage that carried nothing of the Gaunts' former glory, both families remained proud, arrogant, and prejudiced, assuming their blood made them superior to everyone else. Marvolo and Morfin were violent in nature. Both were rarely, if ever, seen leaving the house except for daring to take several steps outside their garden. Merope, she was different. Being a woman, she had no equal place in the house and was treated like a mere slave. And while both versions of Merope never cared for the splendor of their name or their status, the Merope from another side made a decision thanks to which our own universe was created. The universe, where she never acted on her disastrous idea."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Merope fell madly in love with the squire's son, Tom Riddle."

Hermione's stomach turned and she had to use all her willpower not to gasp. The headmaster had tipped his chin down knowingly before continuing.

"The dear girl, however, due to the years and years of inbreeding, didn't have the looks to catch the attention of the charming Tom. It was a sad unrequited love until… until a series of accidents happened and Merope, free from the watchful eyes of Marvolo and Morfin who had to serve some time in Azkaban for attacking a Ministry worker one summer afternoon, could work her magic." Taking out his wand, Dumbledore charmed two china teacups full of steaming amber liquid, one in front of Hermione and the other in front of himself.

Murmuring a quiet thank you, Hermione glanced back at him.

"She applied for a job as a maid at their mansion," Dumbledore went on after he'd taken a sip from his tea. "I'd bet my year's salary her hand slipped over his cup the first day and the poor man drank up a love potion instead of his morning coffee. They eloped the same day. Soon after, with Tom still under the influence of the potion, they conceived a child. I must assume now but I don't think I'm that far from the truth when I say the enamoured Marope, wishing for a true love without the use of magic, while hoping that Tom would never leave a woman who was carrying his baby, stopped feeding him the potion. Unluckily for her, as soon as Tom sobered up, he left the pregnant Merope and returned back to his fiancée and his family to Little Hangleton.

Straining not to cry, Hermione quickly took a swig from her tea, barely tasting its chamomile flavour. The whole situation of unrequited love was all too familiar to her and despite the morals of the situation, she could feel a certain amount of sympathy towards the woman.

Dumbledore was tactful enough to glance out of the window while she hastily wiped her eyes. Then he went on. "In a desperate need of gold, the abandoned Merope sold a family heirloom, the Slytherin's locket, and got just enough galleons to get her through the pregnancy. When she was due, she staggered across a Muggle orphanage where she gave birth to a healthy baby boy who she wished to be named Tom Marvolo Riddle. Within several hours she was dead."

Gulping the lump in her throat, Hermione's first thoughts were that Merope's death could be easily prevented with a bit of magic but then thought of the possibility that the grief from being left behind might have been as grand as to block her abilities—given Merope had used magic her entire life, its lack must have made her struggle to survive twice as difficult.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Neither the Gaunts or the Riddles went to search for their heir and the boy was left to be brought up in the orphanage, knowing absolutely nothing about his origins beside an unusual middle name he was given at birth."

Hermione wondered whether Marvolo had ever learnt about being a grandfather to a half-blood but she didn't ask, thinking Dumbledore would get to that part later on, anyway.

"Since a very young age it was clear Tom inherited the best from each of his parents," he continued. "The good looks of his father and the magical abilities of his mother. When he reached a proper age, the other Albus Dumbledore personally visited the orphanage where Tom lived to deliver him a letter of his acceptance to Hogwarts. He learnt from his guardians that Tom was a very troubled child without any friends, for the other children feared him."

Losing himself in his inner thoughts, Dumbledore fell silent. Hermione didn't dare say anything and waited quietly until he began talking again.

"When Tom enrolled in Hogwarts, he quickly gained popularity and got surrounded by students admiring him for his charms and grand magical abilities. Classmates, professors, they all loved him. It seemed that he finally found a place where he belonged and halted his love for bullying the weaker."

"But he didn't," the words slipped from Hermione's mouth.

Nodding, Dumbledore set his teacup aside, closer to the unidentifiable hexagonal item on his left. "He only took extra care not to get caught but I—the other version of me, was keeping a close eye on him during all the seven years," he framed. "Just before his graduation, Tom asked Professor Dippet, who was the headmaster of Hogwarts at that time and held a deep sympathy towards the boy, for a teaching job, but Armando refused on account of Tom's lack of experience and suggested that he reapply after a couple of years. Taking the advice, the graduate Tom left the country and no one heard of him until several years later.

"Meanwhile Armando retired and the other Dumbledore took on the post of the headmaster. Tom came to visit him and asked again for a position of a teacher—DADA teacher, to be specific—but he too turned him down, although for a completely different reason." Dumbledore's wrinkled forehead narrowed ever so slightly. "You see, the other Albus Dumbledore, just like the one you see sitting in front of yourself, share a mutual talent, I dare to say, to perceive the true nature of people no matter how hard they try to hide it. And he noticed—had already seen it in that small boy sitting in a shabby orphanage bedroom all those years prior—hat he had a love, so passionate and so dangerous, for dark arts, which he wished for no teacher at Hogwarts to hold onto and impart into the young, easily misled minds of children." Dumbledore's tone grew cold and he took a small pause before continuing. "Needless to say, Tom wasn't pleased with the decision and didn't part ways with Dumbledore on good terms. In a matter of days, he received countless, much more lucrative job offers from the Ministry, but he, shockingly, took on the post of sales manager at Borgin and Burkes."

Hermione almost snorted. She wasn't surprised in the least; of course, Riddle had taken a job that could bring him closer to dark magic.

"A year passed and just like after his graduation, Tom left the job and disappeared, although for a much bigger period than the last time. And that is, dear Hermione, where the story truly begins."

Heart skipping a beat, Hermione shifted in her seat.

"But again, the old fool is rushing too forward—forgive me," Dumbledore said softly. "I consider it necessary to take you back one more time to the year 1942 so you can get a better understanding of what I'm about to share with you," explained Dumbledore. "As I've already mentioned, Tom was loved by many but professor Horace Slughorn, the head of the Slytherin faculty and the Potions teacher, had taken a particular interest in him. He was someone who had a nose for people with a grand future waiting ahead of them and he liked to keep them close for personal benefits. Within the four walls, he used to say Tom was a son he had never had and the young man didn't claim any different, although his feelings, I don't doubt, were never sincere. Being conceived under the influence of a love potion, I think you have already guessed, Tom wasn't capable of any deeper feelings," said Dumbledore and Hermione nodded.

"However, he knew it was beneficial to get on Horace's good side and truly, he made some use of it during the mentioned year 1942. Knowing he could confide in Horace, knowing he would never betray him and go on rambling about their private conversation to anyone, he used all his flattery and charm to extort a piece of information from the naive professor that changed the fate of the entire wizarding world for good."

"What did he want to know about?" blurted Hermione in spite of her promise to keep quiet. Dumbledore bore his eyes into hers.

"Horcruxes," he replied slowly.

Frowning, Hermione tipped her head to the side. Never in her life had she heard about anything called Horcruxes and it oddly bothered her, for she'd had a look at almost every single book in the Hogwarts library.

"Never you mind about having no idea what they are," said Dumbledore, as though reading her thoughts. "There aren't many who know about them. Horcruxes aren't something that should be brought to attention or be known about at all. They're the nastiest, the most obscure items of black magic any human, insane enough, could ever create," he added slowly, making the hair on Hermione's arms stand up. "In order to make a Horcrux, a murder must be committed, followed by a repulsive act which, forgive me, I'd prefer not to share with you to spare you the nightmares." Dumbledore stood up from his desk and ambled to the window, channeling nothing but sheer darkness. Hermione turned on her chair to face him.

"Sir?"

Dumbledore gave her a sad look before continuing: "Murder is the ultimate act of evil, that's what tears the soul apart… Horcruxes are the objects the pieces of a split soul are embedded into in order to achieve immortality. Tom Riddle marred his spirit countless times, however, he chose seven, the most significant murders to create seven Horcruxes—" he said flatly and Hermione's stomach turned upside down. "He chose his victims carefully… Along the way of trying to find objects worthy of carrying the pieces of his soul."

Taking a deep breath, the headmaster turned to her fully. "Tom had always feared death and would do anything, no matter how dark the act necessary, to attain immortality. I guess surviving was his primal goal; however, by mutilating his soul so many times he became even more prone to dark thoughts and became obsessed with overruling the world just because of his passion for causing pain, the only feeling he'd ever known. There was no conscious in his mind, and he committed an incredible amount of crimes on his way to power—alone or with the help of, at first, a small circle of followers—the followers Bellatrix Lestrange belonged to as well ever since she was only seventeen years old.

Hermione felt sick as she started to put one and one together.

"She was his most loyal servant," Dumbledore went on. "Like many others, she fell for his agenda—the promises of the world where wizards came out of hiding and purebloods became superior again. He promised to put muggles and half-bloods in their rightful place and make them inferior to the 'dirty house-elves'. Of course, never once, did he mention his own blood status; even if he had, I don't think Bellatrix would have cared," Dumbledore paused before regarding Hermione with a look that seemed almost sympathetical.

"She fell in love with him."

Hermione's stomach twitched with sudden pain.

"Her love, however, wasn't organic," Dumbledore went on. "It was obsessive and unhealthy; she did terrible, terrible things for him even though he could never return her feelings. However, in spite of being incapable of any emotions close to love or friendship, Tom valued Bellatrix's loyalty very much. He taught her magic so dark even I can't bear thinking of," said Dumbledore as he slowly returned to his desk and sat back onto his wooden chair.

"I assume you're familiar with the rest—the first wizarding war and the story around little Harry Potter; you must have learnt about it through the other Hermione," the wizard gave out a weak exhale before moving into further explanation. "During his attempt to kill the baby Harry, Lord Voldemort, as he began to call himself, underestimated the power of motherly love and, hit by his own backfired killing spell, disappeared and was considered dead by the entire wizarding society. That marked the end of the war. The majority of Voldemort's followers, including Bellatrix, got arrested. While many of them blamed their crimes on the influence of the Imperius curse, Bellatrix stood proudly behind her actions and never denied her loyalty to Voldemort even in front of the authorities. She was sentenced for life imprisonment in Azkaban together with her husband Rodolphus. The immurement weakened her sanity, which made her lose all of her boundaries and by many, she became as feared as Voldemort himself once—" Dumbledore suddenly halted his monologue. "Oh, but I don't suppose you've already seen that far."

"Once—," rasped Hermione before clearing her throat. "Once what? What happened to her?"

But Dumbledore shook his head. "You'll see for yourself, in due course. It's time for us to move on to the part where both of our worlds clashed together."

Hermione considered arguing, but eventually dropped the idea and leaned into her chair, straining not to frown or fold her arms; it was stupid to care about Bellatrix, anyway. What did it matter whether or not she died in Azkaban, right? Alone, surrounded by dementors…

She deserved it.

No, nobody deserved such treatment.

She did.

No—

"After Voldemort's defeat," Dumbledore's voice interrupted the argument happening inside Hermione's head, "what remained of him was but a mere shell of a ghost, kept alive through his Horcruxes. Later, when he regained his body through darker magic, he no longer wanted to rely solely on Horcruxes for the fear of getting back to the miserable life he had had to experience once before. He dug deeper into black magic and found out about our famous corpus deus."

Moving on the edge of her seat, Hermione could feel her heart pounding madly inside her chest.

"Corpus deus, Hermione, are the equivalents of Horcruxes," explained Dumbledore. "The exact copies of objects existing in a parallel dimension, still free from the magic. They were created at the same time as their twins and only those could serve as a potential portal for the pieces of one's soul."

Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. "Are you trying to say that… Voldemort, that he's trying to get into our dimension?"

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "He'd spent many years searching for the right universe using dark magic so foul that it marred the remnants of his soul even harder and I'm afraid he had managed to find the perfect one. He needed the universe where he had never existed. Where his mother, Merope, never gave Tom Riddle senior the love potion and where she'd died of a broken heart alone in her old shack."

Hermione needed a moment to absorb the terrifying news. "So then… Bellatrix… is she helping him?"

"In a way," Dumbledore tipped his head to the side. "Though not directly—I can only guess, but I think she's getting the orders from a third party—it's unlikely she has any idea who's truly behind the agenda; regardless, she's dedicated her life to finding all the corpus deus in belief she'd help build a new world—the exact same world Voldemort promised in his own universe."

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand before blurting: "But we must report it! Right this instant, if she—" her words fell silent as soon as she realised how stupid she sounded.

"We could, Hermione," said Dumbledore patiently. "But I presume the Ministry wouldn't think much of our statements. You can't forget Lestrange is one of the most respectable names in the wizarding society. Our word against theirs would never suffice, considering there's no tangible evidence."

"But there has to be something that could be done!" demanded Hermione. "What if we found all the corpus deus before her and—oh no!" Both of Hermione's hands raked into her hair, eyes widening in horror.

"What is it?" asked Dumbledore.

"She already has one," blurted Hermione desperately. "I gave it to her! She wanted to know about my venor floccus dreams and so I gave her my diary where I kept writing every related dream down! Only the day after did the venor floccus tell me that the diary was one of the corpus deus!" The tears began coming into her eyes. "What have I done—now Voldemort—"

"Hermione," Dumbledore held out his hand. "The transition is only possible with all the eight—yes, eight items put together. One, or even seven could never let him pass. You've done nothing wrong, quite the opposite," he smiled and the confused Hermione wanted to ask him how come he knew about the exact number of the items and what it was so great about helping Bellatrix to the manslaughter but didn't get the chance.

"And when it comes to your diary being a corpus deus, it must be the twin of the one Tom Riddle possessed in his universe—the diary which Harry Potter stabbed with a basilisk fang in his second year."

Hermione bit her lip. "But how come I, from all people, stumbled upon it? And why was a diary, manufactured decades ago, offered to buy in a practically modern shop?" Pausing to take a breath, her eyes lingered over Dumbledore's wise face for a second. "This can't be any coincidence."

The headmaster regarded her questions with a mere twitch of his lips. Silence fell over them during which Hermione drank up the cold remainings of her tea and, scrutinising Dumbledore's face, drowned in her own world. Could it be it was the headmaster behind both time loops? Could he—

"Let me ask you something," Dumbledore started anew just as she set the teacup back onto his desk. "After you gave the diary to Bellatrix, did the dreams stop?"

"Yes, sir."

"Naturally." He scratched his head. "I'm sure they would reappear the moment any of the corpus deus got to your close proximity."

Shifting, Hermione asked: "Do all of the objects do the same? Trigger the dreams?"

"I suppose so."

Biting her lip, she fought with herself a bit before asking. "Sir, do you know—do you know who created the time loops?"

Somehow, her question made Dumbledore's face falter. "I do," he replied slowly.

Stomach twirling, Hermione's hands curled into her robe. "Was it you?"

A sorrowful smile settled on his face. "You are a very clever witch."

The indirect confession knocked the breath out of Hermione. "Why? Why did you do it?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Don't be mad at me, Hermione," said Dumbledore with a voice full of guilt. "I have my reasons."

"I don't doubt that, but why me?" Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "I'm just a kid, I wouldn't stand a chance against Voldemort or Bellatrix!"

"Oh but you stand a big chance!" Dumbledore said firmly.

"How?"

"Do you trust me, Hermione?"

"After learning about this, I'm not so sure," she retorted before she could stop herself. It made Dumbledore laugh.

"Alright, I deserved that." Nodding, he adjusted the glasses on his nose. "But do trust me on this, I knew what I was doing when I chose you."

"You're a venor floccus, too, aren't you?" Hermione more stated than asked. Then her eyes widened as she put another piece of the puzzle together. "And the Albus Dumbledore from the other side in addition."

"I don't think I've ever been that impressed by any other student before."

Hermione wasn't able to remain seated and leapt to her feet. "I better be dreaming," she let out, feverishly running her hands through her hair. "How did you—?"

"That's a very complicated process to explain and we, I'm afraid don't have that much time."

Sighing, Hermione shook her head. "Why do these things keep happening to me? Forgive me if I'm being too bold but I don't think you knew what you were doing at all! I mean, what am I supposed to do?! I can't even perform non-verbal spells while Bellatrix probably knew how to cast Fiendfyre since she was twelve!"

"Fourteen," Dumbledore filled her in. "I personally witnessed that."

"Great." Hermione threw her hand into the air.

"Just hear me out," he said conciliatorily. "I'm only asking for ten more minutes of your time to explain the rest."

Hermione hesitated before sinking back into her chair and hugging herself. She had no idea how this other Dumbledore was going to justify his actions. She'd always thought he was the smartest man alive but what he had done was a huge—huge mess she had no idea how to get out of.

"Thank you," he said, stealing a glance into her frowning eyes. "While you may be right about being a bit less experienced than Bellatrix in terms of magic, remember that war isn't all about power."

"What then?" snorted Hermione. "About being smart? I can assure you, sir, Bellatrix is far cleverer than I am, no matter how much it pains me to say that. Besides, nature as cruel as hers gives her another advantage. She doesn't care about how many people will get hurt along the process—I, on the other hand, do; I'm scared for my family and my friends… There's nothing to me that would make me get ahead of her."

"There are certain attributes that give you the advantage, trust me," noted Dumbledore.

"And that is?"

"That is being good-hearted, trustful, and perceptive—no, don't laugh at me, let me tell you, those will get you further than an ability to cast Fiendfyre since a very young age."

"That's absurd!" Hermione shook her head. "In every war, kindness is the first thing that gets cast aside."

"Maybe that is the reason why wars happen in the first place," remarked Dumbledore.

Burying her face in her hands, she had to take a couple of deep breaths before glancing back at Dumbledore. "So your suggestion is to just stand there smiling and saying I forgive you while Bellatrix tries to hit me with Avada Kedavra after I helped her get all the corpus deus, which is, as the venor floccus told me, my number one priority?"

"Except for the first part, yes."

Hermione was looking at him as though he had lost his mind—at this point, she wouldn't even argue. "You cannot be serious!"

"I am very serious!" Dumbledore reassured her. "I chose you, Hermione, and I'm sorry it happened without your consent but believe me, had it not been for Tom meddling with time, I'd never have purposefully interfered with your destiny, which would have been altered nevertheless since he disrupted time long before I did. And while I may not tell you why and how I know you're the right person for the job just yet, I want you to trust me when I say that you just are."

'As always! Nobody says anything, yet expects me to jump to their tune!' said the voice inside her head.

"I think you're overestimating me, sir. Besides, there are surely hundreds of other witches and wizards with the same kindness issue as me," noted Hermione. "Why not choose them?"

"You will understand one day. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but you will. I'm giving you my word."

Hermione let out a deep exhale. "I'd like to hear, sir, what you propose then—how is my helping Bellatrix going to prevent Voldemort from getting here? It doesn't make any sense. If I truly had to do something, why not search for them on my own or with you? I think you know far more about them than Bellatrix."

"I'm flattered," smiled Dumbledore. "However, this world is not mine to save."

"What about the real professor Dumbledore then, I mean, the professor Dumbledore from my world?"

"His endeavor would complicate things more than you can imagine," he explained, shifting and leaning forward. "Now, I don't think I have much time left so I want you to listen very carefully to everything I'm going to say next. If we want to prevent Lord Voldemort from crossing the worlds, there's no way out of this other than you doing as I say. When you come home tomorrow morning, I want you to start packing. There will come a day, I don't know when, may it be a week from now, a month or perhaps whole years, but Bellatrix will eventually contact you again. You need to hear her out!"

"No! Please sir, don't make me see her again!" begged Hermione but Dumbledore ignored her.

"Pack anything; your savings—both the gold and the muggle money—your ID and passport, potions, books, clothes, tent... things for every occasion, condition, and weather," pausing, Dumbledore leaned in even closer. "It's very important you have this prepared, Hermione!" he emphasised firmly. "And when she actually contacts you, I want you to say precisely what I'll tell you."

—

"Other Dumbledore my ass! He's a crazy gaffer, that's who he is!" snapped Draco. "If he wants to take down some lunatic then why won't he do it himself? He's literally manipulating a teen—his own student, on top of that—into doing the work that should be assigned to the authorities instead. That's a flat-out offense and you know it." Draco raised his brows. "Don't fall for that crap of your family being in danger! You're not obligated to do anything, alright?"

Biting her tongue, Hermione turned to their compartment window, watching the stream of snowflakes pass by quickly as the Hogwarts Express rolled toward London, taking them home for Christmas.

She had spent the last hour of the journey filling Draco in on everything Dumbledore had told her yesterday and his sole response was to attack the headmaster's sanity, while at the same time gloss over the part regarding his auntie Bella as though Hermione hadn't even mentioned her. It wasn't like she would have minded, though; Hermione alone felt uncomfortable having to refer to Bellatrix in front of Draco in any kind of context, anyway. Fortunately, the row about whether Dumbledore was or wasn't unstable had lasted until they reached the station so they had no more time to talk about anything other than the strategy as to how to leave the station.

"Let's go through it one more time," said Hermione, getting to her feet and heaving her ridiculously heavy backpack over her shoulder as the train began slowing down. "I'm going first. You wait three or four minutes and then you go. Meanwhile I'll do my best to get my parents out of the station."

"How exciting," pointed Draco caustically while gathering his own stuff and smirked as Hermione gave him a look.

"My mom cannot see us together!" she tried to emphasise, gesturing with both of her hands. "I know her—she would certainly try dragging you with us home or worse, demand meeting your parents. And that's not happening. Ever!" finished Hermione firmly, balancing as the train came to a stop with a jolt. She took her coat from a hook by the door and, folding it over her left forearm, turned back to the now smiling Draco.

"Merry Christmas, Granger," he said.

Sighing, Hermione slouched her shoulders. "Merry Christmas to you too, Draco," she smiled. Wrapping him in a tight hug, she could feel his hands brush against her waist and she squeezed her eyes shut as she caught herself wishing it was someone else in her arms right now.

Stupid.

Pulling away, she gave Draco's bicep an awkward pat before letting her hand slide down and without looking at him further joined the crowd of the merry students oozing out of the train towards their families waiting for them outside the misty station.

Hermione's eyes dropped to her boots as she shuffled forward reluctantly. She felt unbelievably anxious about reuniting with her parents; after learning about her mom abandoning her at some point in life and her dad making a pass on Blair she didn't dare expect her own reaction; moreover, when she thought of just how many lies she must feed them to ditch the family trip... How on earth was she to look into their eyes?

This was a bad, bad idea! She shouldn't have gone anywhere; she should have stayed at Hogwarts!

But it was too late now. The crispy wind on the rainswept platform had barely had a chance to ruffle Hermione's hair before she wound up in a crushing embrace of a woman smelling familiarly of jasmine.

"Hermione, darling!"

"Mama..."

In that very moment, the untold concerns that were holding onto Hermione during those long weeks dissipated like flimsy clouds. She was home. It didn't matter what had happened in the past, it truly didn't. Her mom loved her now and that was what mattered the most. Hermione's arms moved, curling over her mother's trench coat, returning the hug just as eagerly, the incredible amount of weight lifting off her chest.

"Oh my God, I missed you so much!" heard Hermione and as her cheek flattened under the weight of a kiss, her eyes strayed to her left and tripped over none other than the nearby standing Narcissa Malfoy, watching them with the most invested expression she'd ever granted Hermione with. Of course, the moment was only ephemeral; as soon as Hermione locked their eyes and sent a hesitant smile her way, the witch averted her gaze. Her pale face acquired its usual contemptuous look and, pretending as though she hadn't even seen Hermione, peered over the heads of the people rushing off the train.

Hermione remembered she needed to hurry up.

Widening her smile and feeling oddly glad that Narcissa Malfoy had witnessed the moment of her being loved by someone rather than humiliated, she hooked her arm through her mother's and began dragging her away from the station as quickly as the crowded platform allowed her to.

"Why aren't you wearing your coat, dear? You'll freeze to death!" said her mom with concern, while tugging at the duffel coat draped over Hermine's forearm.

"Well the parking lot is not far from here and since it's gonna be warm in the car anyway, I didn't feel the need; besides, I'm famished, so come on!" said Hermione, pulling her away with more fervour. "I was too excited to eat earlier and now I feel like I haven't eaten in days!"

It was exactly what made Jean Granger fasten her steps.

They made is safely out of the platform to their charcoal-gray Vauxhall Firenza where, dressed in a Chesterfield coat and a Gatsby ivy cap, her father was waiting. Grinning, Hermione ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist while he put his around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.

"Inside; both of you!" Hermione's mom ordered, breaking their hug and ushering them into the car.

They set off through the rainy streets of London, looking for a restaurant along the way so that Hermione could have the meal she didn't actually need and only after a persistent wave of protesting from her side did her mom give up the search, bringing up Draco's situation instead.

"So he's there all alone, poor thing! I still don't understand why he didn't want to come along; there's plenty of space in the house!"

"It's not like Draco wouldn't want to come," clarified Hermione, feeling her face redden. "He thought it was really sweet of you to invite him over but see, he's still underaged. In order to go somewhere other than his own home, he needs signed permission from his parents. And believe me, if he even breathed a word to them about wanting to spend Christmas with us rather than them, they'd probably burn his name off the family tree and forget they've ever had a son.

"That's ridiculous; I seriously doubt they would give up on him like that..." The auburn curls of her mom's hair bounced off her shoulders as she shook her head. "Personally, I think he should have asked. Perhaps his parents would have realised how serious the situation was and would have wanted to make their peace; especially now during Christmas. And poor Draco—"

"Why are you two ladies so invested in that boy, may I ask?" Hermione's dad cut in, giving his daughter a stern look through his front mirror. "He's not your boyfriend, is he?"

Hermione saw her face obtain a warmer shade of red in the same mirror.

"Because if so, then I'm sorry but you'd have to break up with him!" He raised his brows. "First, Blair ditches me for some Puerto Rican and now you?! Not happening, missie!"

Hermione's body went numb. Had her dad truly said what she though he had said? Hearing laughter, her eyes darted to her mom, who had clearly taken the remark as a joke. Hermione, remembering the memory she'd relived a couple of weeks ago, wasn't as quick as to let it slide that easily, though.

"He's not Puerto Rican, John," clarified her mom, sounding amused. "He's from Florida. And he is unbelievably charming!" Winking, she turned to Hermione whose face formed something that, she hoped, at least resembled an honest smile. "Oh, I cannot wait to tell you all about him!"

Hermione let out a fake laugh that eased the tension building up in her stomach at least partially. In no context, other than Blair breaking up with him, did she want to hear about that bloke from Florida but knew there was no avoiding it. She would have to suffer through it while smiling and saying how happy she was for Blair.

"Handsome, huh?" said her dad. "No changing the subject until I hear that that Draco is no boyfriend of yours, Hermione," he demanded as he turned left off the highway and was driving up the Cranbourn street now.

"Draco's my best friend, is all," said Hermione, seeing him squint his eyes playfully in the mirror.

"That's usually how it starts!"

Perhaps for straight people, she wanted to say but bit her tongue. "Don't worry dad, I'm not interested in him like that."

"Brilliant!"

"Oh, please!" Hermione's mom gave him a look, trying not to smirk. "She's not your little girl anymore, John! Sooner or later, she'll find herself a good boy and then—"

"La-la-la..." he started singing loudly, trying to outshout his wife.

Hermione had to laugh. Wasn't it great to be back?

—

Four hours later, Hermione and her mom were standing at the counter in their cinnamon infused kitchen with tears of laughter in their eyes. They were cutting out gingerbread cookies from the second chunk of dough that they'd had to make from scratch after John Granger, trying out a raw piece of their first attempt, realised they had put in salt instead of sugar.

"So uhm, where was I?" rasped Jean, still smirking as her eyes walked her sour-looking husband, who was singing 'So this is Christmas' in a very disappointed tune, out of the kitchen. "Oh, yeah—" Her face hardened. "This is simply outrageous! You're twice the witch any pureblood could ever hope to be!"

Before Hermione's dad came in for a taste test, Hermione and her mom had been talking about the reason Draco and his parents hadn't been talking to each other lately. Hermione had tried to put it as gently as she could, filling the blanks with as few lies as possible but for her mom, even a hint of hostility towards her only daughter was enough to turn her into a ball of anger.

"It's just the way they were brought up, I guess," shrugged Hermione. "They've been brainwashed like that for generations; it would be foolish and ignorant to expect them to change overnight."

"Stop defending them, Hermione, they're grown people," objected her mom, reaching for a piece of parchment and covering the baking sheet with it. "Now, I really hope you were telling the truth earlier, that Draco's just a friend," she added. "I wouldn't want you to end up with a family like that."

"First of all," began Hermione, raising her brows and fixing the little gingerbread guy's arm that she had cut out a bit clumsily. "I was telling the truth; I don't see him like that and second—the moment Draco would run to his family announcing he was going to marry me, he would wind up disinherited so even if I was to be with him, which I swear has never even occurred to me, I would have nothing to do with his family, whatsoever."

"Good," said her mom as she started putting the little gingerbread blokes onto the parchment. "Although," Hermione looked at her. "Tell me... does Draco see it in the same light as you do?"

To lie or not to lie? That is the question... Shakespear á la Hermione.

Deciding to say nothing, she went to help her lay the cookies onto the parchment.

"He fancies you, doesn't he," her mom went on. "And you fancy someone else."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "Oh yeah?" she said, feigning amusement. "And who that might be?"

"Well," turning to her daughter, Jean leaned against the counter. "I thought you'd met someone special in Greece. You were looking so heartbroken when you came back last summer but you didn't say anything even though I kept asking every single day what had happened. So, forgive me, I had to do what every mother would do and that is to ask the last person you had been with. I asked Blair when I came to visit her last month."

Sweet mother of God!

"At first she didn't want to say anything—"

Hermione felt as though she'd never been closer to a heart attack than right now.

"She said she'd pay me a thousand bucks if I shut up but I didn't so after a little while she admitted that you might have had a tiny crush on someone but it was of no importance and that she was sure it would pass in a matter of days. Then she said she was done with me and that it wasn't her place to say anything anyway... that I should just wait for you to tell me yourself."

Hermione was standing there, feeling her stomach knot grievously. She couldn't express how hurt she felt after hearing what Blair had said. No importance? Forget about her in a couple of days? Did Blair really think Hermione's feelings were as shallow as that? Her hands trembled.

"Are you alright, sweetie?"

No, of course she wasn't. Hermione really felt like saying that the next time her mom saw Blair, she better tell her that just because Hermione's young, didn't mean her feelings were superficial; that they were still painful and still growing and that if Blair— Hermione fell silent in her own head. She needed to tread carefully now. She couldn't just flip out when her mom's body was possessed by the same spirit of gossip that possessed Lavender Brown, forcing both to share their innermost thoughts with their best friend—meaning, in a couple of days, Blair would hear word by word everything Hermione was to say now. And no matter how much a part of her tried to provoke her into saying that her heart still hurt, that she still yearned for her so-called crush with every fibre of her being, so that Blair would know that Hermione was still there, hoping that someday... someday what? Blair might turn gay for her?

She felt pathetic.

"I'm fine!" Hermione forced out a smile. "And uhm... Blair got it right, I guess; I had feelings for someone but they didn't feel the same way. I admit it was a bit harsh at first but I came to realise how foolish it was—I don't mean my feelings were foolish but hanging onto them was."

Hermione thought it was for the best to put things that way. Blair was the sweetest of the sweethearts and Hermione knew, she'd be upset if she heard that Hermione was still heartbroken over her. And she didn't want that. She wanted Blair to have a lovely time on New Year's Eve even with that boyfriend of hers.

Her mom curled her arm around her shoulders. "My baby; why didn't you tell me earlier? We could have talked about what a nasty piece of work that bloke was to have rejected such an intelligent and gorgeous girl..." Brushing a curl out of Hermione's eyes, she smiled. "Honestly, I don't even understand how it's possible that you get more beautiful every time I see you."

"You're saying that just because you're my mom." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Blair said so too and she's not your mom!"

"What did she say?"

"Same thing—that that someone you fancied was a stupid potato for not reciprocating your feelings and having no taste in women."

"Did she really say that?"

"Yeah! Well, she didn't say exactly 'stupid'," admitted her mom. "She used a word that I have no idea where she got from but I'm sure is not allowed in at least twenty-five states."

Hermione felt her eyes water as a small laugh escaped her mouth. She put the last gingerbread men on the baking sheet and shoved them into the oven to earn some time to suck her tears back. "You know what?" Straightening her back, she rubbed her eyes as though from the heat radiating from the cooker and turned to her mom. "Tell Blair that just because someone doesn't want me back, doesn't mean they're stupid; just extremely unlucky for missing out on a lot."

Smiling proudly, her mom stroke her cheek. "What a smart young woman you are! But do tell finally, who is that someone? I'm dying to know!"

Saying nothing, Hermione went to place the used dishes into the dishwasher but her mom waved her wand and they started to clean them up on their own.

Shrugging, Hermione sighed—she would love to tell her mom about everything but she couldn't—not because she'd be embarrassed; no, she was just afraid of her getting the wrong idea. What if she didn't understand and blamed Blair for everything, thinking it was all her fault, thinking that when they had stayed alone in Greece, she might have been acting inappropriately which was the complete opposite of what she'd done. Besides, Hermione couldn't tell her right before their vacation. It would spoil everything.

"Does it matter?" she said as casually as she only could. "I mean, it's ancient history and I'd rather focus on the present rather than the past."

"You talked about it with Blair, so why not me?" objected her mom. "Come on, it's your first love! I want to hear all about it!"

"What would you want to know? Tall, blue eyes, smart and funny, easy to talk to..."

"You're describing one half of the population; I want details!"

"What's the point? It's not relevant anymore," lied Hermione. "Seriously mom, I can hardly remember what those feelings were like... I promise you, once I fall in love for real, you'll be the first to know!"

Her mom looked like she wanted to protest, but ultimately she resigned. "Promise?"

"You have my word," nodded Hermione, inwardly dancing with relief.

"I'll hear about it before Blair, mind you!"

"Sure," she nodded. "I'm not even in touch with her, so..."

Jean gave her a searing look. "You miss her," she stated more than asked. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"

"I am," said Hermione firmly. "I mean, I'd love to see her, but as I've already said, I want to be there for Draco."

Taking a quick glance at the cookies baking in the oven, her mom took her time before saying: "I love you Mione and everything but be careful with that boy."

Hermione looked up, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it would be unbelievably hard to fall out of love with you."

—

It was nine in the evening when Hermione crawled into her bed. Two hours later she was lying on her stomach with her legs kicked up. Her face hurt from the fake smile that she had to maintain as she listened to her mom, who was sitting beside her and going on and on about Blair's boyfriend, Maxim.

Hermione had learnt that he was originally from France and that he was a new choreographer in the theatre Blair had a contract with.

"Maxim says, it was love at first sight. It was his first day and he accidentally walked into her dressing room while she was changing and saw her half-naked."

"So he likes her just because of her body?" asked Hermione without joining her mom in laughing and trying her best not to raise her brows.

"No, of course not!"

"How can you know?" she demanded, forgetting all about being careful.

"Because he's got that look on his face—it's obvious that he sees her as more than just a pretty face."

Hermione said nothing. She ran her nails along the printed sheets she was lying on. "Don't you think it's a bit odd that Blair has started seeing someone?" she asked after a while. "As far as I know, after divorcing Bill, she wasn't interested in dating at all."

"Well yeah, ever since that happened, Blair hadn't dated anyone properly but still... she'd had a couple of flings. I think she'd always been open to a new relationship but there just wasn't anyone that she'd really want to see for more than just a few nights, I mean... "

Hermione swallowed painfully, trying to suppress the mad jealousy forming in her stomach. She knew exactly what her mom meant.

"But then she met Maxim and he's been so considerate and respectful toward her the whole time. I feel like he's exactly what she needed to regain the happiness she'd lost to Bill."

"I don't think I can agree with that," said Hermione coolly before she could stop herself. "I don't think that a woman's happiness should be dependant on a man. And the other way," she added quickly. "Neither does a man need a woman to become happy. Just think about it, if we as people stop relying on everyone else to make us content, and if we find balance within ourselves, we wouldn't feel lost once the relationship's over. I mean, people put their whole identities into their significant others and when they break up, they suddenly no longer know who they are... " Pausing, Hermione bit her lip. "It's foolish to look for happiness in others or get into a romantic relationship just for the sake of feeling less lonely. What's going to happen if Blair and that Maxim break up? She'll get back to being hurt and upset all over again!"

"Sweetie, that's not how it works," said her mom, a bit surprised. "Relationships are risky, yes, but good or bad, they make us grow. People we meet bring something into our lives and clearly, he has something to offer and the other way around. And if they break up, they break up. She's not a little girl, she knows how to handle it. Although, I don't think this would be the case, Maxim seems like a really nice guy with pure intentions."

"That's it—seems!" Hermione sat up. "What if he breaks her heart?"

"I wouldn't worry about that," smiled her mom. "Dear, Max is set on marrying her."

Hermione raised her brows. "After only four months?"

"He's been asking her every single day since their first date."

Shifting, Hermione ran her hand through her hair. "What does Blair think of that?" she asked.

"She tells him to dream on." said her mom, chuckling. "You know, after that fiasco with Bill, she'd sobered up pretty quickly. She thinks a marriage without a child is just pointless."

"Does Blair want a child?" asked Hermione.

"I don't think so. Perhaps later if the relationship lasts," shrugged her mom. "Maxim, on the other hand, would like to have one right now, followed by four other later."

"You're joking, right?"

"Not at all."

"Can you imagine Blair with five kids running around her?"

She laughed, but Hermione stayed straightfaced.

"Do you really think that he loves her?" she asked softly. "I mean, truly loves her? That he's not with her just because he's infatuated with her beauty now and later, when she gets older and he notices her first wrinkles, he'll leave her for someone younger? I mean, look at what Bill's done... I'd hate to see that happen to her again."

The chocolate eyes of her mom softened. "Darling, you're sweet to worry but trust me, Maxim is ten times the man Bill could ever be and he cares for Blair deeply," she gave her a scrutinising look before continuing. "Look, they are both grown people looking for something perspective; and Blair's not twenty-five anymore, it's about time for her to start a family. Don't tell me you wouldn't be happy to have a little 'cousin'!"

What was Hermione supposed to say to that? The corners of her lips lifted. "Yeah... so happy."

—

The next morning after Jean Granger had left for work, it was just Hermione and her dad, eating chocolate pretzels and playing Monopoly in the warmth of their living room. They were having a lovely time which Hermione hated to ruin but she knew that this was her one and only chance at bringing up the memory that had been lingering in the back of her mind for weeks now.

"Dad, can I ask you something?" she said after collecting one hundred fake pounds from him for landing on her property.

"Sure, go ahead."

"You know back at Hogwarts," started Hermione hesitantly, rolling the dice. "I had an opportunity to try out hypnosis."

He drew his head back. "Oh... okay; was it a part of any of your classes or something like an after-school activity?"

"The latter," she replied, moving her token forward one space and landing on her own Euston Road. "I thought it would be a great experience so I signed up and uhm—during my hypnosis... I saw something peculiar and I—I'd like to ask you about it."

Reaching for another chocolate pretzel, her dad froze with his hand half-way to the bowl placed on the sofa, next to his knee. He gave her a perplexed look. "What did you see?"

There was something in his expression which made Hermione panic.

"Mione, what did you see?" he repeated.

"I... " she began desperately, knowing there was no way out. "I saw my mom leaving me when I was little," she said finally, watching his eyes change as he realised what she was talking about. "I didn't want to ask her directly about it, I mean... clearly it wasn't her fault but I don't feel—"

"We really shouldn't be talking about this," he said quietly.

But Hermione couldn't stop herself. "It was postpartum depression, wasn't it?

He gave her another surprised look.

"It's okay, you can talk to me about it."

Hermione's dad stayed silent for a long period of time before confessing. "Yes, it was postpartum depression. Your great grandmother had had it too but not as severe as your mom as I learnt later on. I don't want to go into detail as to what had been happening but those times were one of, if not the hardest moments of my life."

Hermione pulled her knees to her chin, hugging them with both of her arms.

"I was trying to tell Jean that she needed help but she didn't listen; kept saying that she had everything under control. The moment she left you, however, changed everything. She finally realised how serious her condition was and agreed to get admitted to St Mungo the very same day."

"Then Blair took care of me..."

Nodding, her dad rubbed the nape of his neck. "She was an intern back then and was going to stay in London for a couple of months, coincidentally exactly when we needed her. She was brilliant." His eyes unfocused into the distance. "Looking after you the entire time Jean was away. I needed to maintain a job to pay the mortgage so I couldn't really afford to stay home with you," he said apologetically and Hermione nodded—she could never blame her dad for anything like that.

"But she took care of you as though you were her own, even though she was so young and had a lot going on in her own life... She was there for Jean and us in spite of everything anytime we asked her. And you really got attached. You even started to call her mom at some point. I remember you wouldn't leave her side for a second. She was so understanding and once Jean was back, she helped her through everything."

Hermione's chest and stomach were immediately burning with emotions. The way her dad was describing the things Blair had done for her made her want to pack her bags immediately and go to the bloody America with them to see her and hold her and tell her how grateful she was.

'Snap out of it Hermione! Did you forget? There's much more to the narrative.'

"So you got on well with her, I see," she said.

"Oh yes, she was funny and kind and when I was losing hope, she quickly made me sober up and stop feeling sorry for myself."

He rolled the dice, moving five spaces ahead on the board.

Nodding, Hermione went on: "And have you ever thought of her..." she paused in the middle of the sentence, realising too late how blunt her question was.

"Thought of her what?"

"Uhm..."

It took him a while. "Oh goodness, Hermione, no!"

She felt her cheeks heat up. "But I saw... Nevermind."

"Saw what?" asked her dad, looking bewildered.

"Nothing."

"You want to know if I ever felt something for Blair other than friendliness, am I right?"

Hermione's eyes locked with his, her cheeks burning twice as much.

He drew a deep sigh. "Listen Mione, I've never felt for her what I feel for your mom," he said slowly, making her stomach twist in unease. "There was a time though when I thought I was starting to see her differently, I admit that, but it went away immediately... I was just a confused mess with confusing feelings. I certainly hold a great deal of respect for Blair and I'm certainly breaking that Maxim's bones if he breaks her heart but other than that..." Pausing, he closed his eyes momentarily. "I'd never do that to you and your mom; I love you both too much, Hermione."

"So nothing ever happened between you and Blair?"

"Nothing!"

Hermione wanted to believe him so much; she had to believe him. Her eyes strayed to the Monopoly board. "Alright... Now pay up, you're on my property again." Holding her palm up, a small smile spread across her face.

—

Around lunchtime, Hermione muttered she was going to read something, to which her dad replied that she should have a look at the attic, that he'd brought a lot of books from his parents' house he thought Hermione would fancy reading.

All too happy, she rushed upstairs and up the iron ladder to the attic where she found them stacked next to huge cardboard boxes marked with numbers from one to eleven. Curious as to see what was hiding inside, she dusted off a big black trunk hiding behind the box marked as one and sitting down, carefully removed the tape.

Her lips curled into a smile. She'd found mostly baby clothes in white and pink that were so small Hermione couldn't believe they could have ever fitted her. The second box contained more of the toys—a shape sorter house and a couple of plush animals, also the first picture books! Hermione went from box to box, grinning at her first drawings and coloured-pencil creations but it was the box from when she was six that made her truly emotional.

On top, she found the usual—books, toys—but at the bottom, there rested her very first diary.

Hermione picked it up and abandoning her trunk, she sat onto the dirty floor beside the box. The very first page read: The diary of Hermione Jean Granger. The words were written in blue ink and looked pretty neat considering they had been written by a six-year-old. Hermione turned the page.

'Dear diary it was my first day at school. I made one friend. Her name is Mina. I liked the class very much.'

Hermione's eyes slid to the line below.

'Dear diary, Mina said she would like to come over tomorrow but she has to ask her parents first.'

Upon turning another page, the glossy paper slipped through her fingertips and the diary opened right in the middle where a preserved headband made of daisies rested on the double-page spread. At the bottom of the page, it read: Blair made this for me.

She rummaged through the diary back and forth but found nothing written about Blair other than that single sentence.

Hermione's heart clenched and she tried her best not to cry. She ran her fingers over the dead flowers gently, trying to recall the moment but couldn't. She stayed staring at the headband for a couple of moments before putting the boxes to their place and, taking the diary with her, ambled to her room.

She sat at her desk, placing the diary on top and drawing a sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen from the cabinet. Her eyes lingered over the blankness before letting her hand sink to the paper.

Dearest Blair,

I'd hate to be a cliché and begin this letter by saying how much I miss you but I guess there's no hope for me. I miss you. I miss you more than I can comprehend. You've promised me that time would help me forget. It's been a hundred and twenty-seven days and none would have gone by without me thinking about you.

If I wasn't sure before, I certainly am now. I love you. I love you and I still don't know how to stop. Perhaps it's the little girl in me that cannot let go of you. The one that remembers how much you loved her when she needed to be loved the most.

Being around you was the happiest I've ever been even if it was just me making you laugh at two a.m. when drunk, I tried to eat the tassels off your jacket thinking it's spaghetti all the while you were driving us home. I remember looking at you, thinking your smile was the most magical thing my eyes had ever seen. And I wish, my God, how I wish I could tell you so every single day. I wish you could feel how much love I carry underneath my skin and that it is you I want to take all of it for. I know I'd love you like no one ever has before. I know I could. All I'd need would be a chance.

But that's something I could never ask of you. Because even though I long for your presence just as much as my lungs yearn for air, there's one thing that I want more than anything in the world. And that is your happiness. I could offer you my all yet I know that for you, it would never be enough.

Love takes two. And I'm the only one in mine.

You share that special feeling with someone else. And even though it hurts like dying, all it takes to ease the pain is the simple thought of you being loved and happy. So as long as you are, I have no reason not to be happy myself.

I'm grateful even for that little taste of heaven of you smiling at me. For the butterflies in my belly and the tingles all over my skin.

I have loved you my entire life, Blair. I

Hermione had barely had a chance to finish the letter 'I' when she heard knocking and upon turning, she saw her mom entering the room.

"You're home soon," she blurted, snatching the letter from her desk and folding it in half. Her pen fell onto the floor but she didn't bother picking it up.

"Soon? I stayed for two extra hours!" Chuckling, her mom sauntered forward, eyeing the paper in Hermione's hands. "Who are you writing to? Draco?" she asked. "We could send him some of the gingerbread cookies we made yesterday if you like. I'll go pack them. Then we can go to the wizarding postal service; I was planning on driving to town anyway. We've run out of milk."

"Sure but... the letter's not for Draco."

"Oh, who then? Grandma Eleanor?"

"Actually," began Hermione slowly. "It's a letter to myself." Folding it two more times, she slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans. "I needed to sort some things out so I tried writing them down..."

Her mom's lips curled into a small smile. "Did that help?"

"Yeah," said Hermione, sitting back down and smiling herself. "I think it did."

—

From then on the days went by as quickly as though somebody was purposefully spinning Earth faster. The Christmas morning dawned and Hermione woke up to her bed full of presents and a thin layer of snow outside her bedroom window. Yawning, she sat up, pushing the mess of her hair out of her eyes. It was starting to become inconveniently long.

Eyeing the tower of presents scrutinisingly, she reached for the thick red parcel nearest to her, carefully unwrapping the gift wrap. It was a very old, although very well-preserved first volume of Oscar Wilde's work with a Santa card inserted in between the first pages. Touched, Hermione picked up the card. In shaky handwriting, it was written: Merry Christmas from grandfather & grandmother Watson.

Hermione put the card to her chest, smiling. Her grandparents lived in Northern England so they rarely saw each other but anytime they did, Hermione loved the time spent with them. Both of them were in their late seventies and Hermione would really like to visit them while she still could. Maybe she could go during her Easter Break...

Mechanically, she unwrapped the next present, addressed from Draco. Hermione drew her head back in surprise, looking at it with raised eyebrows and smirking. It was a photograph of him looking profoundly serious. She burst out laughing as soon as she turned it around and read: I didn't know what to get you so since I'm already a gift to the world I knew I couldn't go wrong with this.

Just joking (not really). I got you another present—two actually. The first one is of course a book. I know you'll be getting tons of them but I hope this one specifically will help you with that suicidal mess you're getting yourself into. I know I've said screw it but I've been thinking about it and I respect your decision to kill yourself. I mean, I know you're not changing your mind so this is the best I can do.

And to the second gift—since it's our family that's actually got you into this situation. I wanted to redeem us a bit and so I freed Ailey from her servitude. I gave her my shirt and a couple of Galleons to start a new life wherever she chooses. Honestly I thought she would feel lost having the job taken away from her but she seemed genuinely happy. Not my dad, though. When he found out I thought he'd have a stroke. He's well now; told me I'm grounded until I'm dead; was worth it though because of all that Astoria business. Anyway, Merry Christmas Granger.

Draco.

The photograph dissolved in thin air and Hermione, trying her best to stop the threatening tears in her eyes, felt a sudden weight of something on the top of her knees. Looking down, she saw a book "Improving your dueling skills. Exercises, spells & tips.'

Hermione couldn't help letting out an 'awwww' and thinking Draco Malfoy must be the most considerate boy that had ever walked this Earth. That gesture with Ailey had left her feeling overwhelmed. If he was here, she'd probably kiss him out of the pure gratitude and happiness. Now more than anytime she wished she could love him back...

Flipping through the book briefly, Hermione saw that it was going to come in really handy. Her stomach clenched as the idea of her eerie future started to dawn on her. She tried her best to ignore it; needed to enjoy the peace while she still had a chance. Placing the book on top of Oscar Wilde's, Hermione began opening the rest of the presents. Most of them contained books, but she also found a pair of ice skates, new quills, hair cosmetics, and winter clothes.

Throwing her blanket aside, Hermione heard something fall from her bed. She crawled through the gift wraps and peering over the footboard, saw a small emerald-green parcel lying by the front leg of her bed. Hermione picked it up and, staring at it, sank back onto her bed. She knew it was from Blair. She just knew. And she knew she couldn't open it.

For about fifteen minutes she remained sitting on her bed and gripping the unwrapped present before leaning over and opening her nightstand. She hesitated but then placed the parcel to the very back of the drawer and closed it. She stood up from her bed and with a heavy heart headed for her bathroom.

It was only a gift, of course, Hermione thought while brushing her teeth, but she knew, just as she knew that the snow outside would melt, that if she opened it, for some reason it would be like taking a step back.

Hermione had promised herself to move on and she would move on. For the next couple of months, she needed to erase Blair from her mind and rather focus on the task Dumbledore had given her. She really needed to start gathering all the things she would need. Bellatrix might contact her any day from now on...

After she had a shower, Hermione went down for breakfast, finding out from her mom that her dad had left for work but as he promised, it was only for thirty minutes.

"I knew this was too good to be true," said her mom angrily as she paced around the room, bringing this and that onto the table. "Thirty minutes, of course. If he comes back before noon, I'm going to eat my arm. Honestly, I'm curious to see what they're going to do when he's in America!" she seethed. "Speaking of!" Her tone softened a bit. "I just came off the phone with Blair. I wanted to wish her Merry Christmas and tell her that you weren't coming with us."

Why why why did her mom have to bring up Blair anytime she and Hermione were alone and cause the entire storm to sweep through her belly. How wonderful, she was going back to Hogwarts in a couple of hours.

Pouring herself a cup of green tea, Hermione acknowledged the information by bare nodding.

"She said she completely understands and that if she were you she'd choose a handsome stunner over her mother's best friend, too."

"Oh really," said Hermione probably a bit too harshly, but she couldn't help herself. Joke or not, this cut deeply. She'd never choose anyone over Blair and she—damn it! She needed to stop thinking about her!

Seeming not to notice, her mom went on. "She also said that I should stop trying to change your mind because you knew what you were doing. So... I'm gonna stop," she added before falling silent.

Hermione began counting in her mind. One... Two... Three...

"I'm just going to ask you one last time and I'm done, I promise!"

"Mom..." Hermione shook her head, smiling. "I'm not going."

"We spend hardly any time together," she objected. "Most of the time you're at Hogwarts!"

No, this emotional blackmailing was not going to work! At all.

"Look, you spend hardly any time with dad, too!" presented Hermione, taking her hand. "Just go and have a great time! It's going to be an amazing vacation even without me there, I know it is! And when you're there, tell Blair that..." Pausing, Hermione drew a deep breath before continuing. "Tell her that I miss her and that I'm very happy for her."

"Oh sweetie, of course I'll tell her," said her mom lovingly.

"And seriously, keep an eye on that Maxim!"

"You and your dad are cut from the same cloth! He told me the same thing yesterday."

"Well." Hermione blushed, remembering their previous conversation. "He cares about her."

"Oh I know, sweetie. He has been platonically in love with her since I can remember."

Hermione couldn't have heard that right. Did her mom just say that her dad—?!

"He cares about her very much," she went on, catching Hermione off guard. "And that is not a bad thing; is fascinating really—that border—not entirely love, but neither friendship," she paused to stir her coffee. "You know, loving without needing anything in return. I don't even think that he fully understands that..."

"Mom, don't say that... I know that dad loves you more than anything," whispered Hermione.

"You can love two people at the same time," said her mom. "But regardless—what he feels for Blair is very innocent."

"And... you're alright with that?" asked Hermione in disbelief. "Aren't you jealous?"

"No. And you know why? Because I trust him."

—

Ever since that conversation happened, many days and many months had passed. Hermione had returned back to Hogwarts and begun preparing for the task Dumbledore had put on her shoulders. He had entrusted professor Prewett, their DADA teacher and Ronald's uncle, to give Hermione private lessons in Defence Against the Dark Arts and he had agreed under the impression that Hermione was signing up for some trainee program (that he had never heard of before but apparently Dumbledore had explained everything) for future Aurors in America and needed to work on her technique. Hermione felt awful, having to lie to professor Prewett, who had been nothing but kind to her during all the six years, but she had no choice.

On top of that she had to keep up with school and train for the Apparition exam which due to her age, she was to take in summer instead of May, like the majority of her classmates. She had tried asking professor Dumbledore if there really was no way to pass the test together with them in spite of being sixteen still; given the circumstances, she presumed it was necessary she had a licence but Dumbledore said it would be much better if she didn't. Strange answer but when it came to Dumbledore, she had learnt not to ask.

And so time went by, month after month until it was summer again. By now Hermione hadn't heard a word from Bellatrix and naturally, neither had she had any dream linked to corpus deus. Slowly she began loosening up and expecting the witch to turn at her door at any time of the day was no longer a frightening possibility overtaking her mind but something she had learnt to wait for with composure.

Since Dumbledore had asked her not to travel anywhere abroad, Hermione had to give up the family trip to France and stay home alone, keeping herself busy with reading, walking around London, and exchanging letters with Draco who was, according to him, having his worst summer ever. He had been forced to spend a couple of weeks at Astoria's to 'get to know her' since his parents were still pissed about him freeing their house elf. Draco said he regretted nothing even though he had sent Hermione a fake twenty thousand galleons and a letter asking her to kill him so he wouldn't have to go through this experience.

Hermione sent him a reply, saying that unfortunately she couldn't do anything for him since she was still underage and wasn't allowed to do magic outside the school and added that she felt like by the time she was seventeen, the killing wish would be no longer relevant but just so in any case she was keeping the money.

She received no reply.

And so without the joy of Draco's sarcastic letters, the hot summer days had become ever duller and tedious. Hermione had nothing to do beside listening to the annoying sounds of London traffic as she strolled along the scrawny willows in the streets or wandered through the shops, buying anything she thought may come in useful later on.

The monotony of those days felt maddening and Hermione was positive she'd lose her mind altogether if she had to sit through one more afternoon doing nothing remotely productive. She also knew that she was the only one that could do something about it.

Hence Hermione scooped what little was left of her verve and got off her ass.

She took on a part-time job in a local bookshop and spent the time researching the new materials for the store, helping customers pick out books and reading during her breaks. After a discussion with her parents, she also signed up for driving lessons and during the evenings took muggle self-defence classes.

And while it seemed like just the right amount of fresh thrill in her life, Hermione went just a little bit further. She changed her wardrobe for something less prim and had her hair cut; it wasn't anything that radical but Hermione considered it a welcoming change since her hair had reached the small of her back and she'd been slowly mistaking herself for Hagrid anytime she had passed the mirror. It went something below her collarbones now and was much more manageable too.

Hermione thought that the overall transformation grazed with her confidence boost was a positive one because never before had she felt as content as she did now. Besides, she'd got eight menasking her out in the period of two weeks. Obviously, she'd turned all of them down—she still hadn't figured how to erase Blair from her mind, however ridiculous it was at this point.

It wasn't actually that long ago when her mom brought up going to Greece again, saying Blair would get a couple of days off and that it would be a perfect opportunity for Hermione to finally meet Maxim, who, as Hermione concluded, must have been a really nice man since even her dad had grown to love him.

'Honestly, he is alright; I think you'd really like him.'

But she didn't feel like liking or meeting him just yet. Hermione knew she wouldn't look at him objectively, and so she'd argued her way out, saying she couldn't go because she was needed at work and that also she couldn't skip any of her driving lessons. Besides, she had promised Dumbledore she wouldn't go anywhere abroad so even if she wanted to, she couldn't just disappear for a week.

But it was only yesterday when her mom had come to her with the news Blair would be coming over and of course, Hermione reacted with 'what a great surprise' but internally panicked and on her way to her work paused at the magical postal service to send a letter to Draco, asking him what to do. He replied to her by return owl telling her to come and stay at Astoria's and hang out with them.

Oddly enough, it seemed that those two had somehow really hit it off. The time they had spent together paid off, which literally nobody had seen coming. From the letters he had sent to Hermione, she concluded that he might have changed his views on the girl quite a lot.

Hermione presented the idea to her mom, saying that she'd just received an owl from Astoria inviting her to come over to Ireland but unfortunately the days she was to spend there clashed with those Blair was supposed to be here. The conversation didn't go smoothly—no, she really couldn't go another time, because shortly after, Draco was to return home and there really might be no other opportunity to spend some time with them both; no, of course she wasn't angry with Blair, how could it even cross her mom's mind? That she seemed to be avoiding her? Rubbish! It was just a stupid coincidence. She loved her for God's sake and next time there was some getting together happening, Hermione was definitely going to be there!

Finally, the interrogation was over with a simple 'fine, go if it's so important to you' and Hermione rushed to her bedroom and with her heart threatening to tear her skin, collapsed onto her bed, torn between feeling both heartbroken and relieved that she wouldn't be seeing Blair once again.

—

"Mom, dad! I did it! I've passed my driving test!" cried Hermione as she belted into the living room one July afternoon and practically collapsed onto both of her parents who were sitting in their living room watching the news on television.

Laughing, they squeezed her in a bone-crushing embrace. "Congratulations, sweetie!"

Hermione pulled away and sat beside her mom, smiling so wide her cheeks began to hurt. "Thank you! I can't believe it! I thought I'd done at least five mistakes but Mr Harrington said there were none!"

"I knew you'd do just alright!" said her dad proudly.

"Thank you," Hermione hunched her shoulders up happily and, leaping to her feet, added: "Alright, I better go pack now, I don't wanna forget anything tomorrow!"

"You've been packing the entire week!" called her mom after her but Hermione wasn't listening and she rushed to her room.

Tomorrow, she was leaving for Ireland and she really needed to make sure not to forget anything—books, sweaters, long-sleeved t-shirts, jeans, wooly socks, wellingtons and her thick jacket—Astoria advised her to bring something warm to wear, for it was getting windy over there in Carlingford.

After going through her bag and finding she truly hadn't forgotten to pack anything, Hermione zipped the flap shut and remained sitting on the floor, smiling. It was going to be great to be with Draco and Astoria again and to see what their friendship had blossomed into.

It had actually been a year since the ball now. Smirking, Hermione recalled Draco's face when he'd had to waltz with Astoria for about four minutes—she bet he wouldn't protest as much now.

Her eyes stumbled over the alarm clock on her nightstand. It was half past four and she had her self-defence class in an hour. Standing up, Hermione had barely had a chance to take a few steps to the bathroom when she heard a soft thumping sound coming from her window. Upon turning around, she saw a spectacled owl with black and white feathers waiting outside the glass with a small scroll of parchment attached to its leg.

Hermione drew her head back. She'd received a similar owl from Astoria a week ago. What did she forget to tell her? God, Hermione hoped she wasn't cancelling—she'd be forced to stay here and meet with Blair and she couldn't do that; she just couldn't.

Already thinking about the worst case scenario, Hermione dashed to the window and opened it to let the owl inside, but it stayed on the window sill, only lifting its right leg. Hermione quickly untied the scroll and the owl instantly took off.

"Hey! I might need you!" called Hermione after the bird but to no avail. Frowning, she let the window open, welcoming the soft evening breeze and, leaning against her desk, unscrolled the parchment which contained just a single line scribbled in slanted letters.

It's been a while muddy; tomorrow, 10 p.m., Knockturn Alley.

Hermione's stomach turned around and her heart seemed to be having a temporary seizure as it stopped beating for a couple of moments before getting back on track and galloping three times as fast as if trying to make up for the lost time.

Petrified, she kept staring at the little piece of parchment, reading it again and again. Then she kneeled down and, opening her drawer, took out a piece of parchment and wasting no time with quill and ink, grabbed a disposable ballpoint pen; with a cup in between her teeth, she wrote a quick note addressed to professor Dumbledore asking him what to do. She snatched her purse from the padded armchair in the corner and practically sprinted out of her room and out of the house, ignoring whatever it was her parents were calling after her.

She dashed to the nearest bus stop and found that she had missed her bus by two minutes and that another one would be leaving in about fifteen minutes. Frustrated, she really felt like kicking the bulletin board filled with flimsy posters behind her but thought better of it and rather flopped onto the bench, flattening her back against the dirty glass of the bus shelter.

Breathing hard, Hermione crossed her arms, digging her nails into her elbow. She could do nothing but wait. The centre was about thirty minutes by bus and the wizarding postal service around ten on foot so she had no chance to be there sooner if she walked all the way. Hermione really needed to get herself an owl.

Why from all the days did Bellatrix have to choose tomorrow, she thought desperately. Why? Now Hermione was totally missing her self-defence class and she could even forget about seeing Draco and Astoria; and what about her Apparition exam? and her birthday? She had a strong feeling these wouldn't be her happiest.

If only she had a choice...

Hermione's eyes unfocused. She went back seven months ago to the circular office where it all started:

"Why would you think that, sir? Bellatrix doesn't care about my family," said Hermione.

"She cares about revenge," explained Dumbledore cautiously. "After your friendship with young Draco came to light, you cannot imagine what the Malfoy family had to go through. Public humiliation of such proportion—that's one of those things Bellatrix will neither forget nor forgive," pausing, Dumbledore gave her a long, searing look. "I don't mean to scare you in any way, Hermione, but I must speak the truth as it is. Plain and horrible. If Bellatrix completes her task, she'll be unstoppable and she will have her revenge. As it happens, she believes you tore her family apart and..."

"...and she aims to do the same to mine," whispered Hermione.

"It was bound to happen," said Dumbledore apologetically. "Even without my endeavour at making you the venor floccus... Now we've got at least a slight advantage."

"What advantage?" asked Hermione. "Forgive me, sir but I can't see it. Bellatrix is looking for corpus deus to bring a dark wizard into our world. By enabling me to see those objects in my dreams and therefore knowing where to look for them and passing that information onto Bellatrix—aren't you actually helping Bellatrix achieve her goal?"

Dumbledore let a small smile form on his face before replying: "You don't understand, yet, Hermione... but you will. In time."

"And if I don't?" she blurted desperately. She felt like the headmaster was being profusely careless about the whole situation considering how serious it was. "What will I have to do after she gets all the corpus deus?"

"Don't let that bother you. By the time she comes for the last one, you'll have everything figured out."

The bus pulled up, bringing Hermione back to reality. She quickly got on and sat in the back, with her knees against the seat in front of her. She spent the entire way going back and forth between everything Dumbledore had said to her that day, fearing that his plan was based solely on the hope that while helping Bellatrix, Hermione would somehow manage to befriend her and that the witch would miraculously stop feeling like helping Voldemort from then on.

As soon as the bus pulled over, Hermione got off and sprinted to the postal service. After quickly scribbling another note for Draco, explaining she wasn't coming tomorrow, she dispatched both notes. With a sharp pain in her ribs, she rushed back to the bus stop and caught the bus that took her back by a hair's breadth.

She wasn't expecting to get a reply from the professor the very same day and so when the majestic Hogwarts owl tapped on her glass at eleven p.m., she almost dropped the teacup with steaming chamomile tea she was squeezing in her hands, onto the floor.

Immediately, she let the bird in and untied the scroll of parchment from its leg. The owl, just like Bellatrix's, didn't wait for her response letter and took off into the night.

Closing the window, Hermione plopped onto her chair, reading:

Hermione,

I hope you have everything ready just as I asked you to. If not, get it in order by the time of your meeting and be there! This is what we have been waiting for! You cannot leave Bellatrix's side from now on. Tell her what I've told you to and in no scenario let her negotiate!

You don't have to inform me about anything that will be going on from now on. Just be present, mindful and most importantly careful.

P.S. The second letter attached, is for your parents. It's the acceptance letter for an exchange program at one of the smaller universities in Ireland that we discussed in spring and which, I presume, you've already mentioned to them.

P.S. Good luck, Hermione, I'm relying on you!

Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore

Hermione unscrolled the other parchment. During the spring, she and Dumbledore had had another conversation debating what would happen if Bellatrix contacted her during her remaining school years. Dumbledore told her that in that case, she was to leave Hogwarts and pretend she was joining an exchange program at a small but prestigious university in Ireland. Dumbledore had said he had already arranged everything with their headmaster and all Hermione had to do was to mention it to her parents—that the university was thinking of opening a class that specialised in politics in terms of magic and that if there were enough applicants they would include a whole course into their learning program.

Hermione couldn't believe Dumbledore had asked her to lie but also understood she couldn't tell her parents the truth. When she actually had gone to them with the news, they had seemed a bit skeptical, saying that they hadn't had the slightest clue Hermione was so into politics but if she was serious about it, she should definitely apply.

Tearing her eyes from the acceptance letter, Hermione placed it onto her desk. She was too stressed to deal with it now. She'd talk to her parents tomorrow.

Body pumping with adrenaline, she walked to her wardrobe and fished out the purple beaded purse that she'd placed an undetectable extension charm on when she was still at Hogwarts. She tried to think of all the things that were already inside and what else she should add but didn't come up with anything that she could get her hands on this late at night.

There was actually nothing that she could do beside waiting. And so she waited, terrified and anxious, curled under her blanket until the dawn, crying in between the morning hours, thinking of how nothing was going to be the same from now on.

And it wasn't fair! It wasn't how her life was supposed to be...

At around seven a.m. Hermione slowly stood up and went down to the kitchen, showing the letter to her mom, who she found standing in front of the stove and frying eggs.

"Hermione, sweetie, but that's brilliant! Congratulations! When do you have to enroll?" she asked, dropping the spachelor and giving her a big hug.

Hermione hugged her too. Tightly and needily, knowing she wouldn't be getting these hugs from her anytime soon. "Well... today," she said slowly.

Her mom frowned, drawing her head back in surprise. "Today? They sent you a letter the very same day you're required to enroll without any prior notification? What kind of school is that again? Besides, it's summer holiday—put this onto the table, will you darling—" she handed Hermione a plate full of toast. "And what about Astoria—honey, don't cry!"

"I'm just feeling overwhelmed is all." Hermione placed the plate onto the table and wiped away her tears. "I know it's still summer holiday but it's actually a really good thing: I'll have a whole month to adapt. Anyway, they don't follow the common school system rules... I've already told you all about them in spring. You surely must remember!"

Her mom shrugged guiltily.

"And when it comes to Astoria, I've already sent her an owl."

"Right... so today..." her mom murmured to herself before turning to Hermione again. "How exactly are you supposed to get there? By train? We could drop you off on the way to the airport."

Crap! Hermione had almost forgotten that Blair was coming today! She couldn't see her! She couldn't have a single memory of her in her mind! If Bellatrix found out what she meant to Hermione, at the end she'd be the first Bellatrix would go after!

"Floo powder," replied Hermione promptly. "I'm supposed to get to Diagon Alley and meet up with professor Dumbledore. I'm traveling with him," she lied, pretending to be scrubbing the nonexistent spot on the shirt she had been wearing since yesterday.

"So you've already talked to Dumbledore?"

"Well," she played for time, scrubbing the spot even harder. "He knew before I did. They must have sent him a copy of the letter. So right after this letter, I received another one from him, congratulating me and explaining the next steps."

Nodding, her mom turned back to the eggs that seemed to be half-way done. "I'm so happy for you," she said, smiling. "But also sad we won't be spending more time together."

"So am I mom..." said Hermione, looking at her back, the sadness in her chest overpowering. "So am I."

After drinking a glass of orange juice that her mom had insisted on, for Hermione wasn't leaving without getting something into her system first thing in the morning, Hermione went straight to her work, announcing to her boss she needed to quit right this instant. It earned her an uncomfortable chiding from her, but there was nothing Hermione could say to properly explain her reasons and so her boss let her go with a cold 'you'll receive your salary by the end of the month' and an even more dishonest 'Have a nice day!'.

Hermione returned home around lunchtime. Knowing Blair was supposed to get there in about two hours, she gathered her beaded purse and decided it was for the best to say goodbye now. She tried fighting the tears but they let loose as soon as her parents pulled her into their joined embrace.

She remained holding them for a good two minutes and they laughed with love in their throats as she still wouldn't let go.

Finally, she pulled away and grabbing a handful of Floo Powder, she stepped inside the empty fireplace. Taking one last look at her parents—at the smiling faces of her mom and dad, at the pride in their eyes, she was doing this for them.

With voicing the name of her destination and letting go of the powder they were gone and Hermione knew that from now on, she was on her own.

Spinning, she landed in one of the many fireplaces in Diagon Alley which was packed with mainly older wizards, going on their daily routine. Hermione's eyes ran through them. Having had to spend the entire night awake, she had had just enough time to figure out what to do. She rented a small room in Leaky Cauldron which cost her twelve galleons and ninety-five sickles; and while she didn't want to spend her money recklessly, she needed a safe place to stay until the meeting.

In the quiet of the shabby bedroom, Hermione then killed some time by pacing back and forth, talking to herself and rehearsing how she might react to different turns of the conversation but it hadn't lasted her long and she found herself seated on the bed, hugging herself and bouncing her legs.

She felt like exploding from all the anxiety building up inside her. There was nothing to do. Being sixteen still, she couldn't even practice any of the charms and spells Professor Prewett had taught her; and reading was too calm an activity at the moment.

How she wished she had squeezed a boxing bag into her little purse: at least she would've been able to get the frustration out of her by beating the hell out of it—the instructor in her self-defence class had said that, despite being just a beginner, she was getting the real hang of it.

Finally, the sky outside her window turned coral, followed by deep purple until it became ebony-black. By now Hermione had bitten her lips into bleeding and marked her arms with little crescents from digging her nails into her skin every other second. Meeting up with someone this sinister, planning to do so much evil... seemed somehow unimaginable now—Hermione should leave and move with her family somewhere to Africa and live among Maasais in a pretty little village and never come back. But then her mind strayed to Blair. Blair and all the innocent people she had a chance, at least Dumbledore believed that she had a chance, to save if she 'sacrificed' herself for the greater good.

She had to try, no matter how much it terrified her and how much she thought she had no chance at succeeding.

It was ten to ten when Hermione with her legs like jelly returned the key of her bedroom at the reception desk and slowly made her way from the inn into Diagon Alley and to the Knockturn Alley, the place that was bloody dangerous even in daylight, let alone at this hour. With slow, deliberate steps she moved further into the dark alley, turning to all sides and pushing the hair out of her eyes as to not to miss any movement. She tried ignoring all the weird sounds and noises, telling herself she had nothing to worry about for she was capable of defending herself in case of need even without magic.

A cold wind swept through her hair. Hermione paused, looking to her left and then right. Bellatrix didn't say where exactly she wanted to meet with her so Hermione had no other choice but to keep ambling back and forth until the witch decided to make an appearance. Putting her arms around her body, she took a careful step ahead. She heard the rustle of clothes as if coming from between the two shops in front of her but upon listening more closely concluded it must have been just her mind playing tricks on her. Hermione glanced behind her but instantly jerked her head back.

She saw a silhouette walking toward her and there was no doubt in her that it was exactly who she was waiting for. Striving to appear braver than she felt, Hermione herself moved ahead and stopped only when she was face to face with the dark witch.

Bellatrix didn't seem to have changed. She looked just as sick as Hermione remembered; with dark circles under her eyes and hollow cheekbones she appeared almost deathly in the lamplight shadows, which even added more character to her frightening aura.

"I knew you'd come," she said in a taunting voice and smirking, came to a halt in front of Hermione.

Blinking rapidly, Hermione cleared her throat. "You wanted to see me, madame Lestrange?"

Bellatrix pouted, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. "How formal, Muddy, what is it with you? Seems like your love for me has run cold!"

Wasting no time, Hermione decided for a counterattack. "Were you meaning to give me my diary back?" She noticed that now, she was taller than Bellatrix. It gave her a false sense of confidence to say the following:"Or are you running low on ideas where the next corpus deus could be?"

Bellatrix's face faltered. "Where did you learn about those?" she asked slowly after a moment of silence.

"I'm not stupid," replied Hermione, glad that her voice wasn't shaking.

"Yes you are, if you think I'd believe that!" barked Bellatrix, inching closer. Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "Tell me now, mudblood! How come you know about them?"

"I've already—"

"Don't lie to me! I'm not here to play games!" Bellatrix's wand was suddenly pointing at her chest.

"It was the venor floccus," said Hermione quickly, eyeing the tip of the wand. "Right after that session. He told me everything and I... I want to help you."

Bellatrix drew her head back, looking astonished.

"I know you contacted me because you want my help," Hermione went on quickly. "I don't have any idea why you're looking for them," she lied. "But honestly, I don't care; I'm willing to cooperate no matter the circumstances." Hermione couldn't believe she was saying this. "But only—only if you let me search for them with you."

Bellatrix's arm fell back to her side. "Are you mad? Why would you want that?" she asked, tilting her head. "You want to go on the romantic treasure hunt with me, hoping we'd become friends? Oh—" She raised her eyebrows. "I almost forgot who I was speaking to—hoping we'd become more than friends?" Snorting, she shook her head. "Get help, filth!"

"That's not the reason why I'm here," said Hermione coldly, feeling herself blush. "For the record, I'm not into this whole worn-out look," she clapped back, her eyes running up and down Bellatrix's body with distaste. Her heart was galloping like crazy, especially after Bellatrix's expression hardened. Hermione knew she was digging herself a grave but she had to keep going. "Anyway, that's not the point... Since we didn't get a deal, good luck with finding another venor floccus to help you."

Hermione turned her back to Bellatrix and began walking away but had taken barely a couple of steps when she got shoved into the wall. Bellatrix's face came inches from hers.

"You can't walk away from me like that, you insolent little brat!" she hissed.

"I just did," said Hermione bravely, despite feeling mortified. She inched forward to Bellatrix's ashen face herself. "You need me!"

"Fuck you, mudblood!" yelled Bellatrix, backing away from her. "I don't need—"

"Yes you do! That's why you're here—that's why you always come to me!" Hermione let out passionately.

Bellatrix scrunched her face in disgust before barking. "Shut your mouth, mudblood, shut your mouth!"

But Hermione raised her voice too. "I want to go with you because I want to learn! I'm applying for a trainee program in a year and I need to gain some experience. You... you were the best teacher I've ever had. I thought we could help each other out. It's your call now—either I'm going with you or you can forget about the dreams."

Bellatrix's jaw flexed and Hermione could practically see her brain working and reviewing and coming to the conclusion that she had no choice, other than to kidnap her and forcibly get her to talk, but she hoped Bellatrix wasn't past the stage of this level of psycho yet.

"Fine; have it your way," the dark witch gritted through her teeth finally. "But I'm warning you mudblood! You breathe a word about this to anyone and I'll crucio you into insanity!"

Gulping, Hermione nodded, noticing the muscles in Bellatrix's jaw were twitching.

"Right," she said finally. "I'll send you a letter next time I—"

"No, no! I think I didn't make myself clear enough," Hermione cut her off, shaking her head. "I'm going now. I'll be there every step of the journey."

"That's absurd!" seethed Bellatrix.

"No it's not! I want to learn as much as I can!"

Bellatrix ran her hands through the wild locks of her hair.

"Now do we have a deal or not?" Adding, Hermione lifted her chin, unbelievably impressed with herself. Usually she was the one in a tight corner here.

Bellatrix grabbed a hold of her shirt at her chest and pulled her forward a bit. Hermione's stomach turned as her eyes dropped to her dry, plump lips. "You have no idea what you've got yourself into," she whispered and before Hermione could say or do anything, she spun, knocking the breath out of Hermione's lungs as she apparated only Merlin knew where. In a split second they were standing again but then Bellatrix pushed her away from her, making her hit the gravel path beneath their feet hard. Hissing, Hermione tried to ignore her scratched arms and feelings and swiftly stood up. She looked around, taking in a tremendous manor she could not see properly due to the depth of the night.

"Now, this is where you sleep," said Bellatrix sweetly, nodding at the spot where Hermione had fallen.

"But—"

"Ts ts ts; It was your smart idea to be near me, wasn't it? Well, get used to it! Because this is as close as you're ever going to get," she added before disappearing soundlessly into the entrails of the house.

Dumbstruck, Hermione didn't know whether this was a joke or not but after waiting for about fifteen minutes, realised that there was nobody coming for her. She sat down onto the lawn that was already wet with the droplets of the evening dew and leant against the outer wall of the mansion. She fell asleep with tears pouring out of her eyes and squeezing the blanket that she'd packed months ago and that still smelled of her lavender-infused home. Her mind strayed to Blair and her parents, imagining them laughing in the comfort of their garden and wishing for nothing else but to be able to leave and laugh with them too.

---

A/N: So uhm... Merry Christmas?

I know that this was a lot to read and take in but I really hope you enjoyed it nevertheless! I promise you that from now on, I'll try to make the chapters shorter!

As always, thank you for being patient, kind and so so sweet to me! You have no idea how much I appreciate every single one of you!

All my love to you!

AP