This story was written for GE's FuhQFest. Huge thanks to my alpha Quilter for her help and support. Thank you to my beta Dany. You guys rock!

Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

My prompt was: Hermione's time turner gets broken and she goes back in time. Does she stay and try to change the future?

2.1 June 1926

Lady in Pink

When Wrinkly, a Manor elf, opened the drapery and let the bright sunrays rush into Abraxas' chamber, nothing suggested that the day would be out of the ordinary. And the ordinary was just what the young wizard was used to. After all, that was how he had been brought up.

As a Malfoy, he had known that all his life had been planned for him since he was five years of age. His parents knew what school he'd go to, what house he'd be sorted into, and what kind of girl he'd eventually marry. It was not that Abraxas enjoyed having such a predictable future – he didn't. However, he had been taught the necessity to correlate his desires constantly with the fact that he was the Malfoy heir. And he had been doing exactly that for his whole life. Oh well, to be fair, minus its first five years, perhaps.

Of course, over time, some adjustments had been made. When Abraxas was fifteen, and it had been determined that he was quite proficient in Potions, his parents had been surprised. Nevertheless, a laboratory had been built on the lower level of the Manor, and a direct access from his chamber had been added, in order to keep their beloved boy happy. Of course, as he got older, and his parents trusted his judgment more, he had earned more freedom and had been allowed to make his own choices more often.

When he graduated from Hogwarts, he was given free rein for a few years, which he was using to learn more about Potions, the history of magic, and so on. At twenty-five, however, he was expected to take his place beside his father, to learn how to play politics and make money.

For now, though, still only twenty-two, Abraxas celebrated his temporary freedom by doing the things he loved and avoiding the opposite. During the last five years, for instance, he had not taken part in the habitual three months' family holidays by the Mediterranean. He simply hated the beach and much preferred to stay in Wiltshire. He loved his summers alone at the Manor. As almost all the help travelled with Lady Malfoy, the house was virtually empty. Only the wizard himself, his trusted elf Wrinkly, who was only about ten years older than his young master, and their kitchen-elf Dotty, stayed in the Manor. Hence, it was serenely peaceful and quiet. And, maybe, just a wee bit lonely, since all Abraxas' friends still spent their summers on the Adriatic.

His self-imposed solitude didn't bother him much, though; he could freely work in the lab, ride his favourite stallion, and read. Besides, he had more than enough society during the ball-season from September to May. He didn't hate social functions, not at all; he just found them tiresome, sometimes.

So, today, the wizard started his morning as usual, with his toilet and breakfast. Then he spent a few hours or so in his laboratory, experimenting with different ingredients and potions. It was well after lunchtime when he reappeared in his chamber, where Wrinkly was already waiting for him with a tray of food. Abraxas finished his meal quickly, as he was hungry after intense brewing for half the day, and went on his regular walk to the cherry orchard.

The day was warm and quiet. A soft summer breeze caressed delicate flowers, saturating the air with a tantalising scent of cherry blossoms. He walked down the gravelled pathway, breathing deeply and letting the fragrant air fill his lungs. Each time the wizard put his riding boot on the ground, the gravel responded with a soft crunching sound, startling hummingbirds, butterflies, and crickets. An afternoon heat mercilessly unleashed its full force on the young Malfoy, forcing him to unbutton his white batiste shirt right down to the waist, where it was tucked neatly into his fine linen breeches, giving the breeze an opportunity to play with a patch of short, blond curls on his chest.

Abraxas' destination was a gazebo that stood in the middle of the garden. His old Nana had used to read him books in there; it had been their secret place. Alas, she had died of old age long ago, when he was only thirteen. It was the only time he had seen his mother crying, and that was the year he had his first encounter with Thestrals. Now, although an adult, Abraxas still loved the place.

When he was close enough to see the outlines of the wooden structure, he noticed an odd object lying on the ground near it. Curious, he sped up and took a shortcut, quickly covering the distance between himself and the object silhouetted on the meadow. As he got closer, he suddenly realised that it wasn't an object – it was a person, and he could already discern the contours of a woman's body.

Finally, when he was a mere foot from the gazebo, the picture that met his eyes alarmed and startled him. There, on the grass, in the middle of the heavily-warded Malfoy grounds lay a stranger: a young girl, to be exact. She was alive: the wizard could clearly see that her breasts, which were covered with pink silk, were heaving rhythmically. With two last strides, Abraxas knelt near her and gently pressed two fingers to the pulse point under her chin. Her heart was beating steadily, and yet she was unconscious. Hurriedly, the wizard pulled out his wand and frantically ran a few diagnostic spells over her that he had learned from their family healer. "Hmm," he breathed, perplexed that he couldn't detect anything wrong.

Leaning back, he sat on his heels and looked at the girl in front of him thoughtfully. Before trying to revive her, he decided to pause and observe her first. He wanted to know beforehand exactly what he was dealing with. One thing became obvious instantly – the mysterious visitor looked too different to be from somewhere around. In fact, her dress looked extremely out of fashion. Or maybe, it bolted through the wizard's mind, yet not in fashion. The pair of shoes that rested near her on the steps of the gazebo supported his guess. Abraxas had never seen such a level of craftsmanship implemented in women's shoes. Interesting.

The girl herself, however, was more than just a little bit intriguing. He found her fascinating. The first thing he noticed was her bare feet, which were rather narrow and small – the certain sign of gentility, he told himself. Her toenails, to his astonishment, were painted a dark Bordeaux colour. With difficulty, he managed to drag his eyes from her toes. Sure enough, the sight of her slightly shimmering, bare shoulders and a glimpse of cleavage, covered by semi-sheer fabric, quickly beguiled him as well. And, naturally, the butterfly on her shoulder just finished him off. How strikingly exotic, thought the wizard. The Lestranges would die from envy if they saw me with such an exquisite beauty. He found the fact that the girl had an imprinted mark on her body mysterious and exceedingly arousing. A very distinctive stirring in his neither region confirmed that only too clearly.

"Nonsense!" muttered Abraxas in an embarrassed whisper. "Behave like a gentleman, like a Malfoy," he told himself, mimicking his father's voice. With that, he drew a sigh and returned to his observation. Belatedly, he noticed a wand clenched in her right hand. "Hmm, a witch. But of course!" he muttered. At this point, he decided that he knew enough for a start. So he switched back to his knees, shifted closer to the girl's face, and, after a long glance at her slightly-opened mauve lips and dishevelled, mahogany curls, whispered, "Rennervate."

He hadn't even managed to blink, when he felt the sharp point of a wand pressed firmly under his chin. "Who are you?" hissed the girl, keeping her unwavering wand at his pulse point and her chocolate eyes locked on him.

"Abraxas Malfoy, at your service. And you are?"

The girl opened her mouth to answer. "I am -" She abruptly stopped, her eyes clouded with confusion, and muttered, "I … I don't know. I can't remember." She groaned and clutched her head. Her face lost its colour, her wand began to shake in her hand, and, a heartbeat later, she lost consciousness again.

The wizard cursed under his breath, picked up her limp body from the ground, and Apparated to the Manor. Once at home, he called for Wrinkly, who appeared instantly with a happy pop. For a moment, the creature, clearly surprised by the sight, scrutinised his master, all the while thoughtfully twisting his ear. "Master calls Wrinkly? Master needs help with Missy?" he asked sympathetically.

"No, Wrinkly, I don't need help. Go to the gazebo and search the grounds. Bring everything you find," Abraxas instructed the elf. Nodding enthusiastically, Wrinkly popped away, and the young wizard continued with the girl, who was still unconscious, to one of the guest chambers. Surely only for simplicity's sake, he chose the room nearest to his own chamber. He pushed the door open, and walked into the nicely-appointed room. As he wasn't in a rush to part with the soft, curvy body in his arms, he stopped in the middle of the room and took in his surroundings. He had never been in that room before, and he was pleasantly surprised by its decor. The walls were adorned with lavender silk with tiny periwinkle flowers on it. A huge portrait, which was empty at the moment, hung right across the room, looking at the garden window. "Hmm, nice," he muttered. His perusal of the room was interrupted by a soft pop, signalling Wrinkly's return. The wizard's pale face coloured with just a shadow of pink, and he hurriedly eased the slight body on to a bed which was covered with silk.

"These are all, Master," squeaked the elf, placing a few objects on the vanity. The wizard, whose eyes were caressing the girl's soft form, snapped out of it and came closer, in order to examine what Wrinkly had found. The shoes, beautiful as they were, he had already seen, so they didn't catch his attention this time. The next thing, however, did surprise him quite a bit, because he knew precisely what it was. It was his father's Time-Turner, he was indubitably sure. The situation was becoming stranger by the minute. The last thing that Wrinkly had found was a little card. Abraxas opened it and read:

Dear Hermione,

We are very pleased to know that you have accepted our invitation to a Charity Ball at Malfoy Manor. This note is a Portkey, which will be activated today at four o'clock in the afternoon.

We are looking forward to seeing you later tonight.

Respectfully,

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy

June 10, 1999

"Seventy-three years," muttered the dumbstruck wizard. "No wonder she is still unconscious. It was quite a trip." With that, his grey eyes returned to the girl on the bed once again, and he sat on the edge of the bed, smiled, and gently traced her bare shoulder with his fingertips. "Hermione," whispered the wizard, "such a lovely name."

At that moment, the young Malfoy still didn't know much about the mysterious witch. And yet he knew quite enough to feel content: she was from the future; she was gorgeous; and she was obviously welcome at Malfoy Manor in nineteen ninety-nine. So who was he to argue with his descendants – it would be his pleasure to make this little butterfly from the future welcome in his time as well.

A light stirring on the bed drew his attention. The girl had opened her eyes and was now watching him with suspicion. "Hello, Hermione. Welcome to Malfoy Manor." Abraxas flashed his best smile at her, and was tremendously pleased to see the girl's lips curling up just the slightest bit. There, that's a start, he thought. He had so many questions for her. Alas, after a short conversation, it became clear that Hermione had somehow lost her memory. She thus couldn't answer any of his questions. Moreover, she had quite a few of her own. For instance, she had no idea how she had ended up with the Malfoys' Time-Turner, and she couldn't recall anything about herself or the time she had come from.

All these uncertainties unsettled the poor witch's still frail state of mind, and she began to hyperventilate. Concerned about her health, Abraxas managed to coax her into drinking a Calming Draught, and, after a few uneasy minutes, she fell asleep. For the rest of the day, he couldn't stop thinking about her. He kept checking on her every hour or so, and, after he had dinner, he decided to call it a day as well, though not before he checked on his mysterious butterfly one last time. He covered her slumbering form with a cashmere throw, placed a pair of his batiste shirts and a few of his mother's summer robes for her to choose from in the morning on the edge of the bed, and left. He did indeed look forward to the morning.

Please review, my darlings.