It was one of those bright winter mornings where the sun glare off the snow made it difficult to see; perfect weather for Hogsmeade, but not ideal for convincing friends of the need to stay in and study.

"Come on, Hermione," Todd was insisting in between large bites of breakfast food in the Great Hall. "I've barely seen you since the break."

"Our NEWTS are coming up," Hermione argued insistently, not bothering to mention that she had already taken hers once.

"Those aren't for five months still."

The conversation continued in this vein for some time, with Lyra occasionally interjecting, but ultimately Hermione won out, determined to stay in the castle. She was exhausted from the week of cat and mouse with Tom, and didn't feel much like interacting with anyone. Of course, sometimes it can be difficult to achieve that goal. Although she only shared her common room with one person, it was occupied when she returned from breakfast.

"Why aren't you in Hogsmeade?" Tom demanded in lieu of a greeting. His mood changes were becoming difficult to bear; Hermione didn't understand why he was so angry, and why he continued to stay away when she had offered him everything he wanted and when he was still very much interested in her, judging off his earlier behavior.

"I have studying to catch up on. What about you?"

Tom gave her a bored look. "The same." He didn't even bother waiting until Hermione left the room to begin gathering up his belongings to find a new study spot: his bedroom. Hermione sighed and collected enough texts to keep her busy until late before finding her favorite spot in the back of the library to settle in for the day.

Back in Hogsmeade, Draco Malfoy woke early. He had ultimately Apparated and stayed at a wizarding hotel in London in hopes they wouldn't recognize him. Instead, he was given free room and board as Abraxas. No one asked why he wasn't at school, and that suited him fine. Once again, he had been thrown off by the assumption that he was his grandfather, but it cemented his plan to ditch the Polyjuice. Since it took some time to travel to the castle, an hour might have been insufficient, thus skating by as Abraxas was safer if people would mistake him for his grandfather in the light of day. Still, he had the Polyjuice in his pocket. Just in case.

Draco Apparated to Hogsmeade before students typically arrived, and found a nice hiding place where he could watch them go by. As the carriages rolled in, he saw several students, but none that looked like a Malfoy, let alone like him. It seemed that Abraxas had stayed in today.

Because he had planned on knocking out a student and taking their robes and hair, he didn't have any robes with him, so he had to Transfigure the ones he had on; it wasn't something he had ever been good at, so the process took the better part of half an hour. Draco looked down at the new robes; it felt odd to be donning the green and silver again. The last time he had been in his school robes was the night Harry died; the night he let the Death Eaters in.

Draco took a deep breath and tried to push those thoughts aside, and focus on the present (or the past, as it were). He gingerly pulled himself out of his hiding place and onto the street, planning to linger near the carriages, or as close as possible without drawing too much attention to himself. His plans were dashed when he heard two voices call behind him.

"Malfoy!"

"Why so secretive?"

He turned and saw two Slytherin boys he didn't recognize. He shrugged to save face, plastering a haughty expression on his face. That was probably the safest bet when imitating an ancestor.

"You look terrible," the shorter of the two insisted. "Bludger hit you?"

"None of your business," Draco responded dryly.

"You're so touchy lately, Malfoy," the other commented. "We're on our way to the Three Broomsticks. You should come; maybe a glass of firewhisky will bring some color back to you."

Because he couldn't think of a good reason not to, Draco tagged along, saying as little as possible. The other two were chatty enough that it wasn't difficult, and the afternoon passed quickly enough. Before he knew it, he was on his way to the castle.

The second the carriages pulled up to the familiar castle, Draco was a man on a mission. He didn't bother drinking in the grounds that he had been practically banished from as he was consumed with finding Hermione. He needed to confirm that she was alive and well, just as much as he needed to see her again.

The wizard made a beeline for the most likely place Hermione would be. As Draco walked through the nearly deserted library, he glanced down every row even as his pace quickened as he approached the last one, where Hermione's favorite spot had always been. And there she was, sitting on the desk in the corner as though no time had passed at all. Her body was hunched over as she scribbled furiously, hair bobbing around her and spilling all over the off-white parchment scattered across the small desk. She was alive. She was here.

"Hermione," Draco managed to choke out.

"Abraxas, go away," Hermione responded shortly. Draco was more than a little startled that even Hermione thought he was his grandfather, but she hadn't turned around, so their voices must have been more similar than he realized.

"Hermione, it's me," Draco insisted, stroking her arm.

"What the hell, Abraxas? I'm studying. First you tell me to patch things with Tom, and now you're what, all over me again? I'm a Mudblood, remember?"

Draco did not understand any of the things Hermione just said, and didn't have the mental energy to process them right now. Instead of asking for explanation, he grabbed Hermione and forced her to look at him, needing her to recognize him without him correcting her.

"Hermione," he repeated with more insistence. She continued to ignore him until he grabbed her jaw in a way that felt strangely familiar, though she couldn't quite place it. The answer came to her the hand roughly turned her face to force her to look into his eyes. Not the dark blue eyes that she had grown accustomed to, but a warm gray.

"Draco," Hermione said. The name stemmed more from thinking out loud than actual understanding. Draco, after all, was dead. A cold, dead body buried over fifty years in the future. And if she had changed the future so much that he had lived, he wouldn't know her; so why was he here?

Draco had pulled her into a tight hug while she thought this over, and she couldn't help herself from relaxing against him, her head finding its familiar space on his chest. He smelled the same: sandalwood and thyme. He stroked her hair wordlessly while Hermione wrapped around him, hands resting on his lower back. Idly she wondered if this was some sort of hallucination, or if she had truly broken the space time continuum and time didn't really exist anymore. Or perhaps…

Her train of thought was cut off by a rough kiss that slammed her into the opposite bookshelf. She could feel a slight throbbing in the back of her head but didn't pay it much mind. If the eyes and the mannerisms hadn't convinced her, the kiss did. She didn't think she could be hallucinating because she couldn't even remember this level of detail to dream it up. His nails digging into the back of her neck or the imperfect alignment of his teeth weren't specifics that she could have remembered if called upon, but awakened impressions in her memory.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions." They pulled apart and he grabbed her jaw in that same way. "I can see that mind of yours racing, Granger," he continued, teasing her. Despite acknowledging her questions, she was caught in another kiss before she had the chance to form any of them into words. It was pleasant, but not consuming enough to stop her mind from wandering all over the place: what was happening?

The day was uneventful for Tom. He did want perfect scores on his NEWTs in hopes of securing a professorship, but realistically knew the scores would come nearly naturally. Really, he just hadn't wanted to deal with his followers.

After tossing aside the seventh text he had reviewed that day alone, Tom wandered down to the library in search of something new to read. He had already read all the books on Dark Arts, but perhaps some History before bed. He had never paid much attention to the past, but Hermione's fierce obsession with texts he had overlooked on the subject made him wonder if perhaps they were worth a second look.

Tom skimmed the rows of books, but he knew all the titles by heart. He just needed to pick one out. The library was incredibly quiet, as it was after hours, but as he was thumbing through Wizarding Wars: Parts XXI-XXIV, he heard the distinct sound of someone snogging. To check it out or not? Tom decided on the former; taking points from someone sounded like an enticing prospect indeed. In fact, it was one of his favorite pastimes lately.

As he drew closer to the bookcase that was disturbing the quiet of the library, he recognized one of the noises. It was a low moan that belonged to a witch—a witch that belonged to him. Torn between rushing over and investigating further, Tom's cautious side won out as he made himself invisible wordlessly. It wouldn't be perfect, but it would be good enough for the distracted couple in the dimly lit library.

Finally, Tom reached the bookcase and took in the scene in front of him. He felt his body betray him as he took in a sharp breath, but he remained unnoticed. It was Hermione; although her face was otherwise occupied, the hair was unmistakable. Tom couldn't make out the other wizard, though, so he waited. And he waited. He could feel his fury building up inside of him, but he suppressed it. He would deal with whoever it was later, after he had time to plan. Planning would accomplish two goals: keeping his actions discreet and ensuring maximum pain. The latter goal was the one Tom repeated to himself like a mantra as the hand holding his wand twitched as he longed to use it.

They pulled away. It was Abraxas, but that wasn't what surprised Tom the most. He used her name; not Hermione, but Granger.