"Why are you lingering? Do you want to get yourself killed?" Snape snarled, dragging the blond teenager into his potions work room by the collar.

"Was that necessary?" Draco drawled.

"Yes," the Potions Master responded shortly. "Well? Did you bring what we discussed or did you just come to put both of us at risk?"

Draco rolled his eyes and handed over a bright red and gold scarf—it would have been an eyesore, really, if it weren't Hermione's. As is, he was reluctant to part with it. "Will this work?"

"Yes, of course. I already explained to you what will work." Snape had been in an especially bad mood lately. His mother said it was because he felt guilty for not following Dumbledore's wishes, but Draco could not get himself to care about what the old goat wanted. When Snape first told him that Dumbledore had sent Hermione back in time based on some vague prophecy and lied to her about him being dead—even using a fucking boggart as his dead body—Draco had felt nothing but cold fury for his late headmaster.

"Did you figure out how long it will take?" Because apparently going back in time fifty-five years had its consequences—creating an additional timeline, according to Snape—he couldn't simply go back in time to find Hermione. He had to somehow make it to the new timeline. Snape had found a potion that achieved that task, but it only allowed him to make the same time jump as Hermione had, so by the time he arrived, she would have had to spend more time than he liked with the teenage Dark Lord. Draco just hoped he wouldn't be too late. The fact that she couldn't even affect their time period just made Draco angrier—what was the point of sending her back? Snape said that Dumbledore hoped for another timeline free of Voldemort's reign. It wasn't good enough, but then no reason would be good enough for what Dumbledore had done.

"It's a complicated potion. Near the end of January." Three. Fucking. Months. Brilliant. Hopefully young Voldemort didn't kill Hermione by then.

"What about this one?" Lyra asked in a sing-song voice. Her and Hermione were shopping for dresses; it was the beginning of December, and the ball was only a couple weeks away, so they had decided to use the Hogsmeade weekend to shop together, an experience that was proving to be interesting.

"Well… it's nice." Better than the last one. Lyra had taken Hermione into an off-the-wall dress store that was a bit off the beaten path. The dress Lyra currently had on did look beautiful on the dark-haired witch; it was a shiny silver mermaid-cut dress with moving beaded turquoise fishes.

"You don't like it."

"It's just… it's very pretty on you, the fish are just a bit distracting."

Lyra smiled. "Oh, I like the fish. I think it will make dancing more lively."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "I think you're right on that one."

"But you haven't tried anything on." Hermione looked around the room, catching the eye of a dress that gave off the impression of a planet with rings orbiting around it.

"I think I'm going to check out the dress shop we passed on the way. It's a little more my style."

"Suit yourself. It's a bit of a rip off, really." Although Hermione hadn't had enough galleons initially, when she told Tom she was going to wear a dress she had worn to Slug Club to the ball she suddenly found herself in possession of many galleons that certainly weren't from the orphanage. Arguments would have been futile, and out of all the things Tom did, stealing money from his followers was really the least of Hermione's concerns.

Surprisingly, Lyra was a wonderful shopping companion. Despite her strange personal taste, she had an eye for what worked and what didn't, and was very blunt in expressing it.

"No," she said simply as Hermione walked out of the dressing room in a light green dress with a very full skirt. Hermione walked back in and sighed as she changed into a tight bronze dress Lyra had insisted upon, probably because of the color. Hermione would have never picked it out herself because it was so revealing. The neckline was a bit low for Hermione's taste and the dress hugged her like a glove.

"I don't know about this one, Lyra."

"I like it."

"Really?" Hermione asked hesitantly. She saw Lyra nod in the mirror. After a few minutes of talking herself into it, Hermione bought the dress.

Hermione and Lyra decided to celebrate their finds with butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks. Hermione thought briefly back to her last butterbeer here and brushed it back with a shudder.

"Thanks for your help, Lyra."

"It was fun. I've never been dress shopping with anyone else before."

"Are you excited about the ball?"

"I'm sure Todd and I will have a fine time."

"Are you two—um—?" Hermione waited for Lyra to catch on, but she just stared on blankly. "Going out?"

Lyra had a mildly confused look on her face. "No."

"I was just curious."

Lyra just shrugged, sipping her butterbeer. After they finished, Hermione started walking toward the castle and Lyra started off without any explanation in the other direction.

"Lyra!" No response. "Lyra!"

"Hmm?"

"The castle is this way," Hermione said, gesturing in the direction of the carriages.

"I know. I have a job interview. I don't want to be late," Lyra said before sauntering off down the crowded street. Hermione waited a moment before turning around with a sigh and trudging through the snow.

"Any luck?" Hermione had just walked into her common room, and Tom was lounging on the couch, curled up with Crookshanks and a book. He pushed his tortoise shell reading glasses down his slender nose when he addressed her and Hermione stopped in her tracks for a second before catching her breath. They had been officially dating now for nearly two months but Hermione was still very much affected by her boyfriend (and it still felt a little strange to call Tom that).

"Yes." Tom raised his eyebrow slightly at her tone as he idly ran his edge of his glasses over his bottom lip. She ignored him and continued. "I did find a dress, although it took a while, I'm actually quite happy with it."

"Can I see it?" Tom was looking at her unabashedly in a way that made her feel completely naked, despite her multiple layers of winter clothing.

"No, you can't see it. You'll have to wait until the ball."

"And why is that?"

"Because that's what I decided. You'll just have to deal with it."

Tom glared at her for a moment before returning to his reading.

"So…" Hermione had been working up the nerve to ask him a question she, of course, already knew the answer to. "Are you going on the train home after the ball?"

Tom put his book down and slipped his mask on that he rarely wore in her presence lately. It stung a bit but she knew it was just a defense mechanism. "I will be staying at Hogwarts," he responded slowly in clipped tones. "Since your parents are dead and you don't actually have any family, I assume you will be doing the same?" Ouch.

"Harsh, Tom," Hermione said in a low voice, her eyes welling up with tears against her own will. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"I can't stop you," Tom sighed.

"You can. I'm asking you."

"Well, go on then."

"My parents aren't dead, but I'll never be able to see them again. When the threat"—you—"became serious, I wiped myself from their memories. Completely."

"Why were you targeted?"

"What?" Tom repeated his question, his face unreadable.

"I'm trying to talk to you about something very painful, and your response is to try to extract information out of me. Just a tip, a better way to do that is to comfort me first."

"Merlin, Hermione. If you were anyone else, I'm sure that's exactly what I would have done, but you are so damn mysterious. Even just now, you avoided the question."

"I was targeted because I was part of the resistance." Technically true. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

"Wait—"

"No. It's my turn." Sadness had quickly turned to anger and indignation, something that seemed to happen more often than it should around Tom. "What happened to your parents?"

Tom stiffened, pushing back slightly from the couch cushion. "My mother died in childbirth. I've never met my father."

"I know that's not true."

Tom's eyes turned red, and it wasn't just a flash. "If you know so much about me, why are you asking me questions?"

"I just want to know more about you. Not just facts, but you know, who you are." Despite the fact that she was standing and he was seated, she felt very small and childish as her voice shook and her body tensed with fear.

Tom scoffed, bitterly shaking his head. "Hermione, you already know who I am. I'm a murderer. The sooner you internalize that, the better." With a flourish of his robes and a haphazard toss of his textbook, he was gone, leaving Hermione alone again, clutching her garment bag like a security blanket.

"I killed my father." It was the next morning, and Hermione was reading in the common room, secretly hoping that Tom would come out of his room. His declaration was completely unexpected, not even preceded by a greeting. He plopped down on the couch as he said it, studying her intently, but he wasn't angry as he had been last night. Tom was looking at her as though she were a strange creature he didn't understand, which was a bit odd as he was the one who just confessed to murder.

Hermione slowly rose and met him on the couch, quietly slipping her fingers into his and pressing her forehead against the sharp edge of his cheekbone. "What happened?" She asked quietly, treading carefully.

Tom grabbed her by the jaw and pushed her face back from his roughly. Hermione felt a bit startled but realized he needed to look into her eyes to gauge her reactions. "When I found out I was a wizard, I thought that I must have gotten it from him." Tom scoffed at that. Rage briefly appeared and then receded in Tom's smooth face. "I didn't."

"You don't have to talk about it, Tom."

"Obviously," he responded curtly.

Hermione bit her lip and waited for him to continue. "He's a Muggle who hated my mother and her magic. I had spent so many years hearing about how awful Muggles were and I didn't really believe it and then I met that—him—and I understood. They don't understand. He didn't want anything that had to do with magic."

"I'm sorry that happened to you, Tom." Hermione had to stop herself from refuting his impression of muggles; that was a conversation for another time. They sat quietly for a few moments. Tom was gripping Hermione's hand so much that it hurt, but she didn't let go.

"So I showed him what happens to people who don't respect magic." His voice was so low that she wouldn't have been able to hear it if she weren't inches away from him. "I hated him so much."

Hermione waited to see if he was done before whispering, "he's gone now." Despite the fact that Tom was telling her about someone he had killed, her heart went out to him.

Tom moved his hand from the death grip on her jaw to tuck her hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry about your parents." The apology meant so much more coming from him than it would from anyone else.

"Thanks." Hermione tentatively nudged her head in between Tom's and his neck, wrapping her arms gently around him. He responded by crushing her with a tight squeeze and showed no signs of letting go. She cried quietly on his shoulder. Whether it was for him or her parents, she didn't know, but it didn't really matter.