Chapter 22

"I'm not going anywhere."

Her voice had gone cold, surprise leaking away to anger in a breath.

"Hermione, we can't stand out here in a dark alley all night."

"No, we can't," she agreed coolly, crossing her arms and taking several deep breaths, trying to calm down. "We can go right back into the Ark and you can take me home."

Allen rubbed his temples, a headache building. "I'd love to do that, Hermione, I really would, but there's only one problem. I don't know when we'll show up if we just walk in there now."

"You don't know when we'll show up," she repeated.

Allen sighed, "Yes." He started pacing across the alley, narrow as it was, and then stopped in front of her. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry about this. I really am. If I knew I could take you back safely, right now, I would." He took a breath to steady himself. "The truth is, I didn't know I could do this. Go through the Ark and travel in time, that is. It's never happened before. Well, before I came to Hogwarts. I don't know why it's happening now or...or how I even did it. If I knew how I just did it, then…" He sighed, willing her to understand.

Hermione rubbed her face in her hands. Her hands traveled up into her hair and she clutched the roots, thinking. She didn't look at Allen. After a brief silence, staring at the ground, she pulled her hands from her hair and stared hard at him. "We have to try. You can't give up just because you're not certain."

He nodded. "I know. Of course. But…"

"But nothing, Allen," she said, and pointed at the Gate behind her. "We're getting back to my time, my Hogwarts." She dropped her hand. "Whether I tell you to piss off after depends how fast we get there."

She had every right in the world to be angry. He got that. He really did. But so did he, and fury rose in him without warning.

"You forced yourself to come on this trip," he reminded her coldly. She held his glare with one equally fierce. "You didn't listen to me when I said it was dangerous, you didn't listen to me when I asked you to back off. So don't you dare act like you had nothing to do with this."

"I didn't get us sent back in time," she retorted instantly. "I didn't lie constantly, I didn't omit information when you asked for it. I wasn't the one to ask for help only to push it away because 'no one understands' and 'you're protecting me'! What bullshit, Allen."

"No, you just went behind my back and ignored my wishes at every opportunity, because you were curious," he hissed. "Because I'm a puzzle you can't solve and it just kills you, doesn't it?"

She went white with rage, and opened her mouth to reply-

And then she stopped, and all the air went out of her. She looked away, took a step back. Allen took a few deep breaths, trying to steady his temper. She seemed to be doing the same, shoulders rising and falling steadily with effort.

"Let's just try to get home," she said at last. She was the epitome of barely-in-control; her words were cool, clipped; she held herself rigid. He could see her visibly holding herself in check.

Allen felt instantly guilty for jumping down her throat, but didn't apologize. He shoved the guilt away, letting anger stew and cool under a barely-there poker face.

After some moments had passed and he felt a little more in control of his temper, he climbed into the Ark. She climbed in after him.

Allen stood by the open door, hesitant. He'd done it. He was back in his time. Yes, he had to get Hermione home; as much as it pissed him off just then, she was right about that. But could he really just give it up? What if it was a fluke and he'd never figure out how to—?

"We haven't got all night."

He looked over his shoulder at Hermione, her face set in stone, impassive. A wave of anger, than guilt, washed over him, making him feel ashamed for thinking, even a moment, of staying. Not trusting himself to speak, he shut the door.

He hummed the melody, trying to think of Hermione's time, Hermione's Hogwarts.

They waited. Allen didn't feel anything had changed. Not like he usually did when he opened a Gate.

"Well," he said, "let's see."

He opened the door and stepped out, dropping onto wet cobblestone. There, a few feet away, lay the incriminating newspaper. Hermione looked around, not stepping down. All she said was, "Let's try again."

xox

Hermione sat down against white walls, head between her knees, wand held limply in her hand. Allen sat a ways away, giving her space. He was exhausted, so exhausted that he forgot to be angry. He'd been working nonstop, opening and closing the Ark gate, trying to get them back to December 1996. Every time they opened the door, they opened it to a wet November night instead, a hundred years in the past.

They hadn't spoken to each other in over an hour. Timcanpy fluttered nervously above them.

Allen opened his mouth, shut it again. After another minute of this, he got up, stretched and said quietly, "We should go find a place to sleep."

"I'm not leaving the Ark."

"Hermione, you're tired," he replied. "We'll try again tomorrow."

"Why can't we sleep in here?"

"The Ark doesn't have any place to stay the night. It's more like a train station than a hotel."

She looked up at him, her expression hard to read. After a moment she climbed to her feet, raising her wand. A few murmured words later and two planters and two window boxes were transformed to two cots and two pillows. Without looking at him Hermione chose a cot and laid down, her back to Allen.

He glanced at the cot left to him and after a moment went over and lay down, staring at a wall and trying to fall asleep in the middle of noontime sunshine.

Hermione seemed to grow tired of that as well, and so she conjured tent poles and a heavy canvas cover to block out the sunlight. Surrounded by dim yellow light, Allen was grateful for the change.

A moment later, his guilt resurfaced with a vengeance. This is all my fault, he thought. I should have never agreed to let her come.

The silence in the tent pressed in on him.

"I'm—"

"Don't," she snapped.

So he didn't.

xox

Hours—or what felt like hours—passed in total silence, Allen shifting to try to get comfortable, Timcanpy cuddling into his neck. If only he could figure out what he'd done, what made the time bit kick in.

"I'm still angry with you," she said without prompting, her voice quiet. Allen waited in silence, knowing she would go on. "But right now I want answers. When did you realize you time traveled?"

Allen rolled over onto his back, staring up at the canvas ceiling. "Three days ago," he said, just as quietly.

"That's it?" Hermione replied in surprise.

He nodded, and snorted softly. "I'm not the smartest man in the world," he added. "If my friends could see me now they'd laugh and ask me what took so long."

Hermione didn't say anything for a bit, and when she did speak at last, the anger had been replaced with quiet curiosity. "So when you were reading those history books…"

"I was trying to see if I wasn't crazy."

"But how did you not notice?" she muttered, slightly incredulous.

Allen racked his brain, trying to think of a way to explain. At last he began, "Where I come from…there's a lot of technology. You saw."

Hermione thought back to the miles of cable, the television screens, the computer equipment.

"In the Order, science and magic are kind of the same thing, or they work together, I guess. Magic at Hogwarts surprised me; I didn't expect it, you know? But after I got over my surprise, it didn't strike me as weird 'cause I've seen a lot weirder. Weirder people, weirder things. So…I just took the weird as it was and moved on. I never wanted to think it through." He glanced over. Her back was still to him. "Does that make any sense?"

Hermione nodded her head. "What about your curse?" Her voice was cautious now, ready to back off the subject at the first sign of trouble. Maybe she, too, was regretting her outburst.

"What about it?" he replied carefully.

"You learned about magic and decided to stay to figure out how to fix yourself. But until today, you didn't seem like you were really trying. That doesn't make any sense to me."

"It's…complicated."

"Is it," she replied. She was silent for another few moments, and Allen wondered if the conversation was over. She groaned as she turned over, sitting up and crossing her legs under her. She met his eyes. "I have so many questions I don't know where to begin."

Allen sat up, planting his feet on the ground to face her. Timcanpy fluttered up, grumpy at his sleeping spot being disturbed.

"Does Luna know?" she asked. "About why you actually stayed at Hogwarts?"

"She knows some of the reasons," he said.

"So I think it's time you tell me," she said. "About why you're still at Hogwarts, about the Ark, and why you think you can suddenly time travel."

Allen gripped the sides of the cot. "It's a long story."

Hermione stretched, and pulled out her wand. "I'm chilly, you?"

He nodded. She pointed at the ground, and from her wand spewed blue flames, settling on the ground in a lovely splash of warmth between them. Done with that, she looked up and stared at Allen pointedly. "Whenever you're ready to start," she prompted.

Allen warmed his hands over the fire, staring into the flames. He went a long while without saying anything. When he finally began, his voice was quieter than ever.

"When I was young, I met Mana at the circus I lived at. He adopted me and we traveled together. I loved him and he…he loved me, and then he died."

Allen talked well into the night, and Hermione listened silently, focused completely on his story. She wiped away tears a few times, but resisted the urge to interrupt as he went on, afraid if she stopped him he would never continue.

He told her everything.

He began with Mana, to growing up with Cross, to arriving at the Order and his time with his friends there, pausing only before he went on about how he gained control of the Ark. He told her about Neah, about how he was becoming a Noah. He explained who the Noah were, the Earl, and the Akuma, in great detail. He told her last about Hevlaska's prophecy, that she called him Destroyer of Time, and then about his escape from the Order and how he got to Hogwarts.

When the story was over, he looked up at Hermione and saw her wiping tears away, sniffling through a runny nose. She looked gob-smacked. He had said his piece, given her all the answers he knew. Later, he would reflect on whether it was the right thing to do. Was it guilt that loosed his tongue? Was it a need to actually talk about these things? Why her? Why now? He didn't know. He didn't think. Blindly, he sought her understanding.

And then there was nothing left to say.

At last Hermione said quietly, "I…I think I need time to think."

He nodded. "I understand." After a moment's pause, he lay back down on the cot and turned his back to her. "Good night, Hermione."

This was his olive branch. Whether she would take it was up to her.

xox

He didn't sleep well. Vague, shadowy nightmares woke him up constantly, but he couldn't remember what they were about. When the dawn came and he rolled over to get up, he saw that Hermione looked about as well-rested as he felt, with her bloodshot eyes and dark circles. She mumbled a good morning, extinguished the fire, Transfigured the cots and pillows back to window boxes and planters, and finished by Vanishing their canvas tent.

Allen's stomach growled just then, and he glanced at Hermione as her stomach rumbled back in reply.

"Let's get something to eat before you try again," she said decidedly. She was trying to act normally, he saw; he was more than a little relieved, to be honest, and was glad to pretend things were normal right along with her. They walked over to the Hogwarts door and stepped down into a chilly November morning. The sun was weak and a slight breeze blew, though not as cold as it had been the night before.

"Um, Hermione, how much money have you got?" Allen said, shutting the Ark down behind him, but leaving a crack (intentionally this time) so he could spot it again.

She paused, rifling through her coat pockets. She pulled out a few Knuts and Sickles, her mouth twisting grimly. "Not much," she said. She glanced at him uncertainly. "You wouldn't happen to have any, would you?"

He went through his own pockets and produced what was left after his Christmas shopping: three whole Knuts. They stared at their combined funds grimly.

Hermione took the optimistic approach. "Well, it is a hundred years ago. Money stretched a lot farther back then."

Allen pocketed his change, dubious. "I hope it's the same currency."

"Oh, definitely," Hermione replied, much more confidently, pulling her coat a little tighter about her. "Wizards are slow to change; they've been on the gold standard for centuries. We'll manage."

"Then let's go," Allen said. "We'll make this a quick trip and be back before lunch." He smiled at her, trying to lighten the mood. She stifled a yawn and started walking. Together they turned onto the main road and saw one or two buildings lit up—including one with a swinging sign that read The Three Broomsticks.

"It's here," Allen said in surprise, breaking the silence. "Huh."

"The pub's been around for a long time," Hermione said quietly. "I just hope we have enough."

"We'll work for it if not," Allen replied. "I've done it before. Turn on the charm," he advised, and opened the front door to the pub, jingling the bell above the door.

Inside was warm and smoky, magical light brightening the room. It was also empty of other customers. The man behind the bar saw Hermione and Allen and called, "Welcome, master, mistress!" As they walked up, he looked them over more carefully. "Table for two?"

"Yes, please," Allen said, smiling brightly at the man.

"Right this way, sir," the barkeep said, leading to a table by the window. He caught a glance at the wall clock and saw it was only 7:30 in the morning. After they were seated the barkeep asked, "So what'll it be this morning?"

Hermione glanced at Allen.

"Pot of tea, sausage, eggs, toast and tomatoes, please," Allen said. The barkeep nodded and walked off to get their order started. Hermione glanced at him.

"We don't have enough for that."

"We'll make do, I promise."

She seemed about to say something and then changed her mind, crossing her arms in front of her instead. "I hope you're right."

Allen fiddled with his nails as they sat, not talking. Hermione stared out the window, watching as people passed by on errands or business, or possibly Christmas shopping for all she knew.

"I don't feel like I'm back in time, and yet I know it's true," she said softly. She glanced at the barkeep, bent over a ledger, taking advantage of the lull in the morning traffic. "That suit is straight out of Pride and Prejudice...the version from last year, in fact…"

Allen raised an eyebrow but didn't ask.

"Colin Firth wore it better," she said, and then glanced at Allen. "What am I saying, you don't know what I'm talking about."

"I really don't."

"Television," she replied helpfully.

"What's…wait, is it that big box that plays moving pictures?"

She sat up, a bit surprised. "Yes, exactly. When did you see a television?"

"On my trip a few days ago," he said. "It was playing a…movie, I think?" Hermione nodded. "But there were lots of explosions. And laser weapons. It was amazing, but I didn't really get it."

Hermione smiled slightly, and looked back out the window.

Breakfast came, and they both dove onto the food enthusiastically, having not eaten since breakfast the day before. When their plates were cleared Allen took Hermione's change and went to pay the tab, praying he'd get lucky for once.

To his amazement, he did, and walked out the door with a Sickle still in his pocket, which he gave to Hermione. Food had improved both their moods, and Allen said, "Well, do you want to get started, or do you want to look around a bit first?"

Hermione gave him an odd look. He went on. "I mean, it's not every day you travel back in time, right?"

Hermione smiled a strange little smile then, as if she knew something he didn't. Instead of explaining, though, she just nodded after a moment. "I suppose." She tucked her hands in her pockets, looking around at men and women walking past, glancing curiously at the pair of teenagers as they passed, particular Hermione's fuzzy green earmuffs. She smiled a little more broadly. "You know, you're right."

"I am?" Allen said, surprised.

"Yeah," she said, looking around. "I'll never get another chance like this. I've always wondered…" her voice faded off, and she shook her head, the smile fading. "No, better not. Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time." She ignored Allen's confused look as she went on: "No, let's go back and try again."

He nodded, still confused, but willing to follow her lead. Guilt from last night still held him, now that the anger had faded. "Okay. Lead on."

She turned on her heel and started walking, though slowly. Others passed them by, hurrying on their way and glancing out of the corner of their eyes at the pair. Allen wondered if Hogsmeade saw a lot of strangers, or it was simply that folks were wondering why the two teenagers weren't in school.

He glanced at Hermione. She was people-watching, looking at hats and wigs and strangely-cut robes with a kind of bemused curiosity, like she wasn't quite believing what she saw but was trying to go along anyway. She certainly seemed to be taking the whole thing rather better than last night. Breakfast must have helped.

She stopped in front of a shop window to stare at a pair of self-curling mustache tongs inside. Allen glanced down the street, looking around absently, and froze. He stood staring for several moments before his senses returned to him.

Turning on the spot he touched Hermione's shoulder and whispered, "Act natural," pulling his coat collar up and moving his scarf to try and cover his hair.

To her credit, she only turned to her head. "What for? Why are we whispering?"

"Just…I think I see someone I recognize. Let's head back to the Ark." Without further explanation he turned and walked off briskly, leaving Hermione to hurry behind him. He tucked his head down, stuffing his hands in his pockets and hoping Timcanpy wouldn't peek out.

"Don't turn around, just walk natural," he murmured.

"Allen," she began, turning to look over her shoulder.

"Hermione!" he snapped. She glared at him, but it succeeded in getting her to stop looking, for the moment.

"Who are we trying to avoid?" she whispered, picking up her pace as his sped away down the lane.

Allen turned down into an alley and stopped just inside the shadow of the wall. Hermione stood beside him, tapping her foot, and tried to peer around the corner to see what was making Allen so nervous. As she glanced over the faces of the crowd, she saw no one that struck her as out of the ordinary…

She frowned as she noticed a pair in the crowd stop in the middle of the street. Others walked around them. One of the pair, a beautiful man with a long, high ponytail, was tugging another man along behind him, scowling fiercely as he looked around, searching the faces in the crowd. The man he was holding onto was shorter, with thick curly hair like her own and large round glasses. He looked dazed, slack-jawed, head lolling around lazily—like a drunk in search of something he couldn't quite remember. He jerked once or twice, babbling at the other about something. She winced when the beautiful man jerked the other man forward, keeping him from running off.

"Who are they?" she said softly, pulling back into the alley wall.

Allen didn't answer immediately. He was still staring at the pair, just one eye peeking out from behind the alley wall. After a moment he pulled back, sliding into the wall like he wanted to become one with it, his expression pained. "They're from the Order. We should get out of here before they notice us, if they haven't already."

"Are they dangerous?"

He got off the wall. "Come on, we'll find another way back to the Ark."

It didn't escape her that he failed to answer the question. "But you can open Gates anywhere, right? So open one here."

"It's too noticeable," Allen replied, leading on. "Timcanpy," he called softly, and the golem wriggled out from behind Allen's jacket and flew out, flying low so as not to be spotted above eye-level.

"But, Allen, if they're your friends, can't we try to talk with them?" Allen kept walking, picking up the pace until Hermione was practically jogging to keep up.

"The Gate's near the high street, we need to go the other way," Hermione said lowly, glancing behind her.

"We need to lose them, just in case."

"We don't even know if they saw you."

"We don't know they didn't."

Allen turned into another small street. Hermione huffed. "This is ridiculous," she muttered. "Allen, stop for a moment."

"Hermione we can't—"

"Just stop," she ordered. "I have the invisibility cloak, remember?"

He had completely forgotten. She pulled the cloak from her jacket pocket and draped it over the both of them. Again, Allen was amazed at how well he could see out of it.

"Okay," he whispered, "let's hurry."

Hermione took the lead back toward the high street. He kept his head down, sweeping his hair in front of his eyes to block his face from view, knowing he was being ridiculous. Absently he realized it was probably time for a trim.

They turned down a familiar alley and Allen saw it—the crack in the Gate he'd left behind. He bit back a sigh of relief.

Something heavy slammed into him from behind, knocking him to cold, hard stone; beside him, Hermione cried out as she was pushed down, the cloak fluttering over and past them, just out of reach. There was a grunt of pain, something heavy hitting the ground—

"Stop struggling, beansprout," a familiar voice growled from behind him.

Allen managed to turn his head enough to look over his shoulder. Kanda sat on top of his back, sheathed sword in hand, pressing it down on his shoulders so that Allen couldn't raise his arms. Kanda looked the same as ever—grumpy, put-out, and very much alive. Allen stared for a moment, and then his face twisted into a grimace.

"Get off of me, idiot Kanda," he growled.

"Stupify!" Hermione cried out, and Allen's eyes widened as Kanda was knocked back by the spell. The swordsman tumbled over, and Allen slid forward, coming to his feet.

Johnny Gill lay on the ground, passed out cold; Hermione's wand was steady as she pointed it at Kanda, glancing only a moment at Allen to make sure he was okay.

A moment later, Kanda groaned, coming slowly to his feet. Hermione's eyes widened in surprise; Kanda glared at her, leaning against his sword. "Who the hell are you?" he growled, eyes narrowing.

"How are you moving?" she countered, a small quiver of shock slipping out.

"What did you do to me?" Kanda fired back.

"Stunning Spell," Hermione replied breathlessly. "You should be unconscious."

Kanda kept glaring at her, shifting his weight until he stood straight again. Hermione's grip on her wand tightened, but Kanda seemed more interested in Allen, hand on the hilt of his sword as he looked the boy over.

"So this is where you've been," he said coolly. "Did you even try a disguise?"

"How did you know where we were?" Hermione interrupted. Kanda glanced at her, irratation giving way to disbelief.

He pointed to the ground. No, Allen realized in horror: to his feet.

Kanda, still staring at Hermione like she was an idiot, said dryly, "Shoes don't walk around by themselves, do they?"