Listening to the low background noise on Hermione's side of their bonded timeline was the only way Tom could sleep in relative peace. He wasn't willing to confess his plaguing nightmares to Slughorn. The risk that his professor would assume Tom was cracking under the pressure of O.W.L.s was too high, even if Slughorn was likely to help him get a low-dose supply of sleeping draught from the infirmary to help him get through the rest of term.

He had a solution that worked for now. Maybe over summer Tom would be able to figure out what Hermione had knocked loose in his head to set his unpleasant memories free. But until then, he had the ability to control the volume of vigilio servo . On Sunday, one of his more fitful nights of sleep, Tom noticed that he could almost immediately fall back asleep in the later hours of the morning so long as he could quickly pick her voice out of the droning noise around her. He kept the spell's volume high enough to let him notice her easily if she was speaking, but not so loud that he couldn't drown out the rest of the humdrum.

Sleeping in on Sunday morning resulted in Tom feeling more rested than he'd felt in nearly two weeks.

Still. As...pleasant as the new routine was, the need for it was still a source of great irritation. It reminded him of the kipping rooms for toddlers at Wool's, where most of the fuzzy televisions lived. A room full of rickety cots and scratchy blankets, with thick black curtains over the windows to block out the light so all the little gremlins in need of a midday sleep could rest. Meanwhile, the ones who couldn't kip somehow remained entranced by the fuzzy black and white screens.

Tom had always preferred his books and silence to monochrome static pictures or Children's Hour on the wireless. He'd rather reread the encyclopedias again than pretend he gave a damn about the nonsense puppet theater programmes they played for Britain's whingeing little snots.

Even with his sleep quality somewhat restored, Tom was starting to worry about O.W.L.s. Formal classes would finish their curricula soon and then his professors would focus almost a month on O.W.L.s revision. Thankfully, teaching Hermione third-through-fifth year Defense theory had more than prepared him for his Defense Against the Dark Arts exam, but even with all the preemptive revision he'd insisted on for the Knights, Tom had a lot of preparation to do if he wanted to feel truly confident in his ability to get perfect scores.

As much as he desperately wanted to teach Hermione a few darker curses before sitting his exams, there just didn't seem to be enough time. Her protective necklace, and the home it had found in one of the warded interior pockets of his school satchel, were always in the back of his mind. It would have to be enough to keep her safe while he was on holiday, assuming he didn't have time in the final week or so of term to teach her more dark spells, but he was still torn about when to present it to her. Even though he already warned her to accept his final gift when he gave it to her, Tom was expecting Dove to fight him. How did he get her to keep the damn thing on if she only took direct orders gracefully when he was teaching her new magic?

Flynn and Abraxas believed she valued his opinion and judgment more than enough to follow his wishes if Tom approached her with gentleness instead of threats, but with her new tendency towards half-truths, Tom was less certain. Usually, a gentler approach was correct when dealing with her. Lately, however, he wasn't sure if the benefits of giving her so much leeway outweighed the negatives.

Though, perhaps their impending separation would inspire her to be a touch more compliant on the subject.

The magical hum of his diary drew Tom's swirling thoughts back into the quiet of the common room. Most of his knights were reading or discussing course materials in front of the nearby fireplace, and Tom had taken up his usual spot in one of the window nooks. He looked away from the darkened waters of the Black Lake long enough to ensure his underlings were, in fact, studying before he flipped open his diary.

It's been a year for me, you know , she'd written. It was Halloween last year when I wrote in your diary for the first time.

Tom read the words until they faded. Six months had flown by already, had they not? And a whole year for her, he could hardly fathom it. Happy Halloween, he penned carefully. And to think you finished your second year, went on holiday, and started your third in six months. Time went quickly, I suppose.

Yeah. It really did, didn't it? And now it's almost time for you to go on holiday.

Two months, he wrote. A heavy, resigned echo of displeasure rolled in his chest. Four for you.

26 February, you said, right?

Yes, Dove. I already plan to stop by the Room that morning to say goodbye before they usher us down to the station, since it'll be evening for you.

Won't you be awfully busy preparing for your O.W.L.s in the meantime? she asked. Do we need to meet in the Room less so you, Brax, and Flynn can focus?

His fingers tensed at the thought, nearly snapping his quill. The boys may need to visit less, he wrote quickly, before she got such a terrible idea rooted any deeper in her stubborn little head than it likely already was. But why wouldn't we be able to study together like always? Just without your extra lessons for a while. And helping you with your studies is one of the easiest ways to review subjects anyhow. I'm fairly certain Flynn's fully remastered his Divination fundamentals already, thanks to you.

Oh very funny, prick. He chuckled under his breath as he read the words. I just don't want to be a bother, but if you're sure my scholastic failings are beneficial to your exam preparations, then I'm certainly not going to refuse the help.

"There's a good witch," he murmured. I knew you'd see things my way, Dove.

You know, someone really should hex you once in a while.

Tom snorted. In a decrepit, secret corridor beneath the school, you think? In the pitch-black and woefully frightening darkness?

Quite right. Even better if they catch you off guard.

Most people wouldn't survive that encounter. Whoever's stupid enough to attempt it better be one hell of a witch, otherwise they might get fed to a rare magical serpent.

Who said it had to be a witch? Maybe I'll convince Abraxas and Flynn to join my cause instead of yours.

His head shook silently in amused disbelief, mentally giving her a point for noticing his slip with the witch comment. What cause would that be again, Dove? House elf rights or have you expanded into other areas of social reform? Best of luck convincing two purebloods who had house elves for nannies to get rid of the servant-force they're due to inherit from mummy and daddy. But if you really want to run for minister on a free-house-elves campaign, I can't stop you.

You know I don't want to be minister. You're not even minister. Actually, I don't know what department you work for in the ministry, now that I think about it. I know you three are all on the school board, and the Order of Hermes is pretty active as well.

You'll figure it out, I'm sure, he said, biting his lip to suppress a smile. Just as soon as you figure out how to stop being afraid of the dark.

That's it. Now I will become minister, but only for however long I'll need so I can fire you from whatever department you work for.

Tom bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. I already have the perfect office-warming present in mind.

Oh do you? What's that then?

A nightlight.

The nightmares were infrequent, but plaguing nonetheless. Even fifty years later he still sometimes suffered from them, though the sweater Hermione made him for Christmas his sixth year was normally able to keep them at bay. His inner turmoil rarely stirred harshly enough to draw up those old memories again, but when he was younger it was far more common for him to spend nights tormented by his past.

It started when she initially burrowed herself under his skin, seeking warmth from his praises and attention. That's what began chipping away at the barricades in his mind, the internal walls he formed haphazardly throughout childhood and solidified after being sorted into Slytherin. Walls she brought crumbling down without a single bombarda to aid her, though it felt like she cast several at the time.

She knocked his entire world upside down that year. Over and over. Every time he thought he had their lives— and their roles in each other's lives —figured out, she showed him how wrong he was.

Sixth year had been tumultuous at best . Tom still wasn't certain how he managed to snag Head Boy in his seventh, short of Slughorn's favoritism. His mind had been so far in the future for so much of sixth year that he almost let his goals and aspirations for the rest of his schooling slip away entirely.

Almost.

When Abraxas entered his office sometime later, Tom was staring at the wall, his mind lost in nightmarish circles between Wool's and events that he'd watched Hermione go through, knowing some of those nightmares were due to take place again all too soon.

"Flynn got heads this time, so you get me today," Abraxas said by way of greeting. "You've been making plans for years... We've been preparing for this, dedicated to this, all year , mate. Everyone knows their orders."

"I know," Tom murmured. His eyes never left a framed photo on the wall— it was a magical image of Hermione and her friends at King's Cross after finishing their third year that she'd given him in his seventh. She would wear her black hair-scarf that day, charmed with green and silver stripes to match the Slytherin cardigan thrown around her shoulders.

They already knew she would survive the storms ahead unscathed. The only thing Abraxas and Flynn didn't know about was the note that had been burning a hole in Tom's robe pockets all week. It was dated October twenty-nineteen, written and sent back in time by a twenty-year-old Hermione.

We can change fourth year. It will destabilize this timeline and universe, of course. I figured out how to fix that part, but you have to break it exactly as I say or we'll all die for nothing anyway.

Her plan was, in a word: insane . But the things she wanted him to change...he couldn't deny her. Not when he knew how badly those circumstances would affect her.

If he succeeded, she'd be happier. If anyone found out what he was attempting before he completed her instructions for that afternoon, there would be hell to pay. But he had to try. For her, he had to try.

And the first change would come today.

"Floren's only a backup this year," Tom murmured. "Pity he didn't get captain from the start."

"Flynn's only consolation is that we know he gets the position next year," Abraxas said. "But I know you're not worried about Flint's kid's inability to captain the team properly."

Tom rolled his eyes and shot Abraxas a half-hearted glare. "I'm also not exactly looking forward to next year, today's predestined nonsense notwithstanding."

Abraxas's expression softened. "She's a resilient little witch, even now."

Tom's gaze cut back to the moving photo on the wall. "I know." But that doesn't change what happens today or what she wants me to set in motion.

He stood, summoned his outer robes, and muttered the spell that would reactivate his wards once he left the room.

"I remember thinking you were gonna have a stroke in fifth year," Abraxas said, a hesitant smile playing at the edges of his mouth. "Blind sod."

Tom exhaled a humorless laugh through his nose. "I didn't know what loving someone meant yet."

"Yet? You figured it out?"

"Only took me about a year, technically ," Tom said, his waspish tone lacking sincerity.

This particular back and forth was familiar and Abraxas knew what memory it would bring to the surface. The arsehole.

They're your friends too, you know. They're teasing. Not taunting, she'd told him once upon a time.

'Friend' would always be a word he reserved specifically for her . His terms for changing that opinion included Hermione's permission to expand his domination plans outside of Britain and whatever's necessary of Europe to maintain time.

When she let him make her Empress of Earth, he'd give Brax and Flynn the honor of sharing the friendship title.

Tom shook his head as he followed Abraxas out of the room, choosing to ignore the blond's snicker. "So bloody twee ," Tom muttered. "Is your title insufficient, Abraxas? Do I need to pat you on the head once in a while and assure you that you're still in my good graces?"

Abraxas snorted. "I'm perfectly content with being the brightest of your best and brightest. And last time I checked, I have no reason to doubt my performance as a Knight, My Lord. "

"Your Lady is the final judge of that , Malfoy."

Abraxas had the audacity to grin at him. "My Lady's approval and favor have never been out of reach."

If Tom rolled his eyes any harder, they were likely to leave his skull. "I don't know how you and Flynn survived school after making a passtime of blatantly flirting with my witch."

"Because it amused her and you lost the ability to deny her happiness after it started fueling your own."

"Fuck off."

"Can't. Swore on my magic I'd help keep an eye on you until she was grown and could do it herself again."

"Brax, shut up until we get to the castle."

Abraxas snickered all the way to the Floos and Tom refused to elaborate when Severus shot them an inquiring glance as they stepped through into his office.

Game time, Tom thought grimly.

Hermione wore her custom quidditch kit from Sirius, a Gryffindor cardigan, and a borrowed Slytherin scarf under her raincoat, desperate for relief from the cold and impending downpour. Frigid mists drizzled down onto the stands as the rest of the school filed in, ready for what would be a visually impaired, but intense game.

The first quidditch match of the season. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Harry and Draco's first match against each other since becoming friends.

After Draco spent the previous weekend with them in Hogsmeade, publicly declaring his friendship to the whole school where they could be seen and gossiped about, their Slytherin friends had changed tactics. Their housemates were determined to get them to stop associating with Harry and Hermione, but Draco had apparently already lost patience for their original plan to lay low and hide their friendship. Instead, the snakes had bared their fangs and circled their nest, tails rattling.

As a result, Hermione found herself in the stands with Theo and Tracey, all of them supporting Harry and Draco equally. Neville also joined them, in part because he and Hermione always sat near each other during matches. He'd also recently inquired about joining their study group one night in the common room, hoping the Slytherins might be able to aid him in potions and charms.

So far, Neville was the quietest of the group, and had flushed bright red when Draco had willingly helped him understand a concept in Charms the night before. Malfoys, it seemed, had an unusual affinity for the subject.

It was Theo who wondered if perhaps they might be able to find some way to convince Neville's grandmother to get him a wand of his own, since he clearly held limited affinity with his father's.

"I've used my father's before," Theo explained while they waited for the match to start. "It's far less willing to listen to me than my own wand, even if it seems to recognize my magic as similar or connected to my father's. I think you'd have a much easier time of things with your own wand, Longbottom."

It was the longest series of words Theodore had strung together in front of Neville so far, causing Neville's cheeks to pinken as he fidgeted nervously. "It's a happy thought, I suppose," he said. "Gran's not keen on listening to me much, though."

Hermione gave Theo a weighted glance. "Is she affiliated with any other friends of ours?" she asked him.

Theo shrugged. "Not sure, but Riddle's the best place to start."

"I think there's some ministry function or other in a week or two," Tracey said. "Mum mentioned wishing I could tag along for shopping while she looked for new formal robes for some event at work that's apparently going to be too stuffy to call a party . Maybe it's something important enough that your grandmother would be in attendance?"

Neville glanced at her for help, clearly confused by their off-handed intensity towards finding a solution for him. She smiled back.

"As steadfast as you are, aren't they?" he murmured.

"Something like that," she agreed. "But it's worth a try, I think."

"And if I'm still a rubbish wizard even with a new wand?" he asked.

Before Hermione could answer, Theo piped up again, "Then you stay friends with Granger until we graduate so she can help you pass. Live off your inheritance after school, marry a witch far cleverer than you are so your children have a chance, and be a house-husband. Bit unorthodox for a pureblood, but you'd be able to maintain your own garden."

"Theo!" Tracey hissed, but Neville realized the other boy was teasing without Hermione's aid and smiled.

"When you put it that way, it doesn't sound half bad actually," Neville said carefully.

"See?" Theo said to Tracey. "I'll remind you to write your mum later, fussy witch, now let me talk to Longbottom in peace."

Hermione shared a brief glance with Neville and tried to hide her grin. She wondered how long it would take for Theo and Tracey to either kill each other or realize they each fancied the other. On one hand, the longer it took, the funnier it would be for the rest of them when it finally happened. On the other hand, sometimes their flirt-fighting toed dangerously close to genuine argument territory. She hoped they figured it out before someone went too far and hurt the other's feelings.

The wind kicked up around them, making her teeth chatter as the four huddled closer together.

"Harry and Draco are going to freeze!" she yelled over the gust.

"As long as one of them catches the snitch first, who cares!" Theo called back, eyes gleaming.

Hermione briefly flicked her tongue at him, tucking it away before she could accidentally bite it.

Unfortunately, the weather prevented her from being able to write to Tom to pass some of the time. According to the nifty little spell he'd put in the back of her copy of his diary, which she'd consulted that morning, he was enjoying his free Friday afternoon in nineteen-sixty-three. She'd written him to let him know about the weather and her subsequent silence. Tom told her he had the same little time equation in his diary and once she used the activation spell he gave her, they found the same magic was still woven into the back cover of the diary decades later. She usually knew when he was awake or asleep just by remembering what day it was and doing the mental math, but having a little magic clock embedded into the back of the diary was far easier for both of them.

She'd be able to write him after the game once she was dry and warm in Gryffindor Tower again but for now, she had her other friends to suffer with while they waited for the match to start. The rain picked up in earnest by the time the teams flew into the spray, taking their positions. She mentally willed Draco and Harry to play carefully. She even joined in when the team chanting started, alternating between house names as she saw fit.

A/N: Hey guys. I'm not dead, just trying to start like 5 side hustles bc my job is fine but I'm tired of being broke and I want some financial freedom lol. Thank you for all the support by the way. I dual post bc ik there's awesome folks over here on FFN where I first discovered fic, and transitioning to AO3 was hard for me so I don't want others to feel cheated out of a story if they don't vibe with AO3. If I ever do decide to stop posting over here, you'll get plenty of forewarning and notice.

Oh, and Happy New Year! And Happy Chinese New Year! lol xoxoxo