CHAPTER IV

Hermione sat upright with a gasp.

A moment of complete and utter disorientation, then she realised she was back at the safe house. In the library to be exact.

"Remus!" She scrambled to her feet, sending the stack of books beside her tumbling to the ground. Where was Remus?

They had to go back. They had to get Draco. They couldn't just leave him there.

The realisation that he was dead, that he was gone, hit her almost as hard as the explosion had. She staggered and grabbed the back of the sofa for support.

No. They had to go back.

"Remus!" she yelled again, racing across the room and out into the hallway. "Rem—oof!"

She collided with someone warm and hard. Someone who caught her as she reeled back.

"Bloody hell, Granger," a familiar voice said grumpily. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing?"

What? Hermione's stomach nearly fell through the floor as she stared up at him, frozen in shock.

"Did you come back down here last night?" Draco asked crossly, staring at the mess in the library. He glanced back down at her, noticed her stricken expression. "What? What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"We—we, but you…" she stammered with a helpless gesture. "And Remus…"

He still had hold of her arms, and now he smoothed his palms down to her elbows, uncharacteristically gentle.

"Are you okay, Granger?" he asked, peering at her in concern. "You look—you look a little pale."

Did she? Well, she wasn't surprised. She was, after all, looking into the eyes of a ghost. Except, well, her logical mind was telling her that she wasn't. His hands were warm and solid through her jumper; as his body had been when she ran into it.

Whatever the hell had happened, Draco Malfoy somehow wasn't dead. He was alive. He was living, breathing and he was here.

The relief she felt was so strong, so intense, her knees almost buckled because of it.

Instead, she ploughed into him, wrapping her arms around his middle in a rib-cracking hug. For the briefest moment, he froze, evidently startled—and no wonder; she wasn't sure she'd ever hugged him before—but then she felt his hands slide across her back, was sure his fingers crept into her mad mass of hair, and felt her chest swell to near bursting.

What that said about how she felt about him… well, she'd save that particular puzzle for later on. After she'd worked out how she'd seen him die only moments ago and yet here he was, standing before her.

"Granger?" he asked after a moment. He sounded more bemused than she'd ever heard, and embarrassment flooded her.

"I…" She drew back and cleared her throat. "Well, I had a strange dream."

His mouth twitched.

"About…Remus?"

"No," she said quickly, then hesitated. "About you, actually."

Could it all have been a dream? It didn't feel like it—not in the slightest—but then she'd studied herself into exhaustion last night, had been pushing herself too hard for months, and who knows what madness her brain could concoct in such a state?

"Me?" He arched a brow.

"Don't look so smug," she said, fixing him a flat look. "I said strange not good."

Draco shrugged.

"The two aren't mutually exclusive." He grinned suddenly. "What sort of kinkiness did that mind of yours conjure up last night?"

"I didn't—I wasn't… Nothing," she gritted out, but he was already heading down the hall. "I barely slept at all."

"Good," he said over his shoulder. "Serves you right for sneaking down here without me. Did you find anything at least?"

"Yes," she heard herself say, "but I'm not sure you deserve to know."

"Probably not," he agreed, pausing in the doorway. "You coming? I heard Remus was making pancakes."

...

A deep sense of dread had settled in Hermione's stomach by the time she took her place beside Draco at the breakfast table.

Things were… different to her dream.

Molly hadn't smirked and inquired of her night; instead she'd flapped in concern at Hermione's pale face, pressing a motherly hand to her head and promising a vial of Pepperup Potion after breakfast. And the concern had followed her into the dining room: Remus exchanging a worried glance with Kingsley, and Tonks exclaiming loudly that she looked like death warmed up.

But Molly had been folding Hermione's hideous floral bedsheets. And Remus did have a newspaper in his hand. And Tonks's hair was lilac when it hadn't been yesterday.

Little, ordinary, predictable things that, on their own, she could possibly dream up. Yet taken together…

No. She was being ridiculous. Last night's study session must have pushed her over the edge.

She told herself this as Hestia wheeled a grumbling Sturgis Podmore into the doorframe. She told herself this as Teddy tipped his orange juice all over himself. She told herself this as Arthur Weasley breezed in late, asking what he'd missed.

Suddenly not very hungry, she pushed her pancakes around her plate, listening while Draco shared the good news of their findings last night. And what would you know, Arthur did once work with Ndidi Mbachu, before the woman was fired for her more questionable research.

She would wait to hear the witch's address, she decided. And if Ndidi lived in an antique store on that little London street, she would...

She sighed. She would what? Tell them she'd seen the future? Wizarding folk were a lot more open-minded to the supernatural than the average Muggle, but an entire day beginning again, and evidently apparent to no one else but Hermione…

Even Harry, who trusted her above everyone he knew, might have a hard time believing that.

But believe it he might have to, because Ndidi's shop was sickeningly familiar.

"Something wrong, Hermione?" Arthur asked as she hesitated on the step. She looked up at his kindly face, creased in concern, before her gaze crept to Draco. He hadn't picked up on her unease and peered into the shop, his hands cupped against the glass, his wand stuck casually in his back pocket.

A chill rippled down the back of her neck, because he was going to die today, she knew it, she knew it with every fibre of her being, and he had no idea.

"I just—" Her voice caught, but she swallowed it back. "I just have a really bad feeling about this."

"You always have a bad feeling," Draco said. He lifted his head from the window and shot her a smirk. "Really, Granger. What's the worst that can happen?"

...

Hermione hadn't realised she'd been holding out so much hope until events in Ndidi's store unfolded almost exactly as they had previously.

She didn't have time to warn anyone—had begun, as the older witch rifled through her bookshelves, and time stretched long and tense like elastic, to wonder whether she'd really need to—but then it was too late.

Ndidi fell first, engulfed in a blaze of green light. Hermione closed her eyes briefly, her back pressed to the table the Death Eaters had her pinned behind.

"Granger!" As before, Draco's voice snapped her back into focus. "This way."

She wanted to resist, to keep him here, away from his father, but already the Death Eaters—four of them, she realised when she risked a glance—were weaving their way between the tables and toppled bookshelves.

Draco reached for her, and she went with him, dodging spells as they sprinted down the nearest aisle.

Although she'd been expecting it, the explosion dazed her just as much as it had before. She sat on the ground, reeling, as smoke stung her eyes and blood soaked through her skin.

"Malfoy," she rasped as he hauled her upright once more. "Draco, your father…"

But it was too late. For the second time, Draco hurled her out of the way. For the second time, her bones rattled as she collided with the ground. For the second time, he took the Curse meant for her.

The force of the spell flung him back into the shelves. Time seemed to slow as they caved in beneath him and he slipped to the ground, glass and gold and metal and wood crashing down all around him.

Hermione couldn't breathe. Her chest was so tight, like someone had caught her heart in a vice and was squeezing, squeezing, squeezing…

He was gone again. She could have saved him, but she hadn't. She hadn't. She'd let him die again. This time, she didn't struggle as Remus dragged her away, simply stared in disbelief and anguish, at her friend, her partner, lying dead on the floor.

With a mighty rush of air, the room warped into darkness. She landed, hard on her back, her eyes screwed tightly shut.

Silence. Except for the crash of the waves in the distance, the faint caw of seabirds, the rustle of wind across the floorboards. She opened her eyes to see dust dancing in sunlight and the sloping roof of the library.

So. Not a dream, then.

Her muscles protested as she pulled herself upright—the back ache, she realised, from spending the night on the draughty floorboards.

It was ridiculous. Absolutely beyond the bounds of possibility. Completely and utterly beyond belief. But she was back where she'd begun. Her day—her entire day and all its terrible heart-breaking events—had started over, and only she knew it had ever ended otherwise.

Something had happened in that store. She didn't know what, couldn't even begin to speculate, but something was sending her—and, inexplicably her alone—back in time when Remus Apparated them out of there.

But how could that even be? Time didn't work that way. Time couldn't work that way. There were laws, natural laws like gravity or the movement of the planets, laws that could not be broken.

Or could they…? Hermione remembered the visceral thrum of magic in the witch's store. It had hummed in the floorboards. It had pulsed in the staircase. It had throbbed in the darkness like a current of electricity.

Perhaps there was something powerful enough down there to bend the laws of time, she reasoned. Perhaps something had been triggered, by accident or by Ndidi herself, when the Death Eaters launched their attack.

Well, there was only one way to find out, and that, she knew, was definitely not sitting here on the floor feeling sorry for herself. She was in a library after all. Books were her domain, her authority when in doubt. And they had served her well so far.

Feeling a little more hopeful, she clambered to her feet and began her hunt. She'd spent months in this room, knew every inch, every book, and by the time Draco appeared a few minutes later, she was up a ladder, thumbing through a small anthology on theories of time.

"Found something else?" he asked, making her start and snap the book shut.

He was leant against the doorframe, hair damp as before, amusement on his face. She felt an unexpected tug in her chest at the sight of him.

"No," she said, because it seemed he was expecting an answer. "No. This is just—just something I'm interested in. Just… just casually."

"Yeah?" He clearly didn't believe her for a second. "You never do anything casually."

"I do," she insisted, stepping down the ladder. "I can be… casual."

"Not the morning after our greatest discovery in months." He strode across the room and, before she could stop him, plucked the book from her hands. "'Unravelling the mysteries of time'?" he read off the cover. "What's that got to do with Horcruxes?"

"Nothing," she said, snatching for it but missing as he stepped backwards. "Give it back!"

Holding it out of her reach, he flipped it open to the page she'd been reading—clearly evident by her stupid self having folded down the corner the moment she found the relevant chapter.

"Temporal loop theory?" He glanced at her, incredulous. "You're not the sort to believe this bunk."

"I don't," she said. "Or, at least, I didn't." She held out her hand. "Please give it back."

"Then why are you reading it?"

"I just—" She made another unsuccessful grab for it "—I thought there might be something I could use. Malfoy!" she said crossly when he still refused to hand it over. For someone whose life she was working to save, he really did get on her wick. "Give it to me now."

He did so, thankfully, although not without slanting her a look of deep suspicion.

"This is the blathering of a half-witted pseudo scholar. You don't read blathering." He raised his eyebrows. "What are you really up to, Granger?"

She thought about telling him. She really did. But then she remembered the blinding flash of green light, the thud of his body hitting the floor, and her heart clenched. She wasn't even sure she believed it herself yet, and she was the one living it. How on earth would he?

Her expression must have worried him, because he sobered, almost instantly.

"You're not—" He hesitated, eyes searching her face "—you're not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you? Our best chance of defeating You-Know-Who is finding and destroying the Horcruxes. I know we've considered it once or twice, but time… time is not something we should be messing with."

Didn't she know it? She smiled—an ironic, humourless smile—and held the book against her chest.

"Then let's hope it doesn't start messing with me," she said. Her reply obviously did nothing to assure him because his mouth tugged downwards, confusion and concern flooding his eyes, and she couldn't stand it—couldn't stand that she was alone in this; couldn't stand that unless she did something, anything, he was going to die today—so she turned away.

"Aren't you coming to breakfast?" she asked flatly as she headed for the doorway. "I heard Remus is making pancakes."

...

Frustratingly, Draco had been right about the blathering. The few books Hermione had collected on the subject weren't particularly helpful. In fact, the only author who'd concluded the sort of situation Hermione was in was theoretically possible was a thoroughly discredited researcher from the late eighties.

She needed more information, and there was, she realised, only one place to get it.

"Arthur is back with an address for Ndidi Mbachu," Malfoy said, appearing in the doorway to find her cross-legged on the rug, surrounded by books.

The position was not unusual for her, of course, although from the way he side-eyed the volumes strewn about her, she was fairly sure he could guess their contents.

"A bit of casual reading, hm?" he asked with a teasing half-smile.

How many times had she seen that particular look? Usually it drove her mad, but now… She managed a small rueful smile of her own and got to her feet.

"Got to find some way to pass the time," she said lightly. "Shall we go?"

She let Remus lead the way through the rain-soaked London streets to the store, even though she'd walked it twice now and knew the route quite well. She didn't hesitate on the doorstep this time. No, she needed as much time as possible with Ndidi before the Death Eaters turned up.

As before, when they'd reached her workshop, the witch sent light fluttering down the aisles like a flock of crystal butterflies. As they landed, they revealed row after row of all sorts of treasure: crystal balls, clocks, complicated contraptions with cogs and levers.

Something here was the culprit behind this bizarre series of events, Hermione knew. And there was only one person who could tell her what.

"Now," Ndidi said, letting her wand fall to her side, "why don't you tell me why you're here?"

As before, all eyes landed on her. She knew her line, knew how to trigger the exact same conversation they'd had twice before. But this time, she had a different plan.

The others would think she was barmy—she knew it for sure. Still, she reassured herself, when the day started again, when she woke again on the hard library floor, none of them would remember a thing.

She took a deep breath.

"I think I'm stuck in a time loop, and I think something here caused it."

Silence. She hadn't intended to, but as she spoke, her eyes had landed on Draco. He'd always had a fairly good poker face, but this time she'd managed to surprise him. She watched the bewilderment play out quite plainly on his face, but then he joined the dots between her odd behaviour this morning and this latest revelation—she saw the moment it all fitted together—and his forehead furrowed.

She felt a brief twinge of guilt that she'd not filled him in earlier, that she'd not enlisted his help. But she had known from the start that he wouldn't believe her.

He was too logical. He was too much like her.

"I—I…" Ndidi's eyes slid between them. "I'm sorry?"

Hermione's stomach sank. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting. A flicker of recognition, surely?

"I'm trapped in some sort of time loop," she repeated, determined for answers. "This is the third time I've been here, and both times before it's ended the same way."

"Hermione…" Of the three men, Remus had recovered first, and he was eyeing her with enormous concern. She interjected quickly.

"I know you think I'm crazy, and believe me, I thought so too. But I've lived this day before—twice—and the same thing happens every time." She turned back to Ndidi, anguish seeping into her voice. "You have to believe me. I don't know how but the Death Eaters know we're here. They attack us and your collection—" She gestured to the maze of shelves "—it all gets destroyed. And then when we try and Apparate away, I land where I woke up this morning and the whole day begins again.

"Please," she tried again, when the older woman did nothing but stare, her wizened face a picture of bafflement. "There is something here, I know it. Something here triggered this."

"Hermione," Remus tried again. He had edged a little closer and reached carefully for her arm like she was a danger to them. And maybe she was. She'd pulled out her wand without even realising it, and there was something rising in her, a sort of desperation that gripped her lungs and shallowed her breath.

Because now it was here, she realised she had staked everything on this moment—she had been depending on it—and if Ndidi didn't believe her, then Merlin help her, who would?

"You know what I'm talking about," she said desperately. "I know you do."

The woman dropped her gaze, and with it, fell Hermione's every hope. But then…

"It's real," she murmured. Her amber eyes lifted, face suddenly bright. "Enekpe's clock. It is real." The woman stiffened suddenly and glanced toward the staircase, and Hermione knew her time was up.

"Come and find me," she said urgently, lifting her wand. "When you wake up, don't wait. Come and find me, and I will tell you all that I know."

And then with a shout from Remus, a flash of green light and a thud as Hermione herself hit the ground, Ndidi Mbachu lay dead on the floor.