A/N: Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me, and thanks for your comments so far. I appreciate the time it takes to review, good or bad. We're starting to accelerate the pace now :)

~oOo~

It was a perfect night for astronomy; the sky was clear and the moon bright, almost full. She had directed her telescope to the sea of tranquillity, as Professor Babel had instructed, but it could not have been further from her mind. She was restless, on edge, both deathly numb and coiled like a spring at the same time. It was a horrible, unfamiliar feeling.

The day had been spent, for the most part, in avoiding people. After the double Defence lesson, she went to the kitchens for lunch to avoid the other Ravenclaws. Then, a free afternoon meant she went to the library and spent four hours gathering books on time travel while looking like she was doing the Defence homework. She had been forced to shrink and steal (temporarily borrow) all thirty four books, to avoid arousing suspicion checking them out.

Back in the room of requirement, she sat on her bed among stacks of books, becoming more and more frantic. There was so much on turning back time – some people had gone even further than her, in fact. The process, if not the magic behind it, was well-understood. But there was nothing, nothing on going the other way. The parchment she had put out for note-taking was mockingly blank. She tore off a corner and grabbed her quill; three words. Folded the rest of the sheet into a small envelope and stalked to the owlery, hoping to clear her head.

Hermione watched the tawny owl fly away southwards until it was just a tiny speck which was finally lost among other closer birds. She sent the message away like a prayer, just in case that was all it took.

Send. Me. Back.

It was an hour or two later, while perusing The Mysteries of Time, that she came upon one single reference in the introduction.

The Hour-Reversal Charm has no known counter-spell; that is to say that time travel in the forward direction has never been achieved. This is thought to be because a particular future is never fixed, the time-traveller having already altered their point of origin by the action of going back.

Hermione read the words so many times that they became a meaningless jumble of letters. She could not allow herself to agree with the author. She had to believe there was a way to undo what had been done, that Death held that power even If nobody else did. It was not possible, not right, to think that she could be writing a new future, one in which Harry Potter and Ron Weasley went to Hogwarts without her, while she was – what? – in her seventies? No… no. No. There had to be a way.

Engrossed in her reading, she had completely missed dinner, and was headed off on the way to the kitchens at curfew by a Hufflepuff prefect. That had been at 8pm. It was now approaching 2am, and she was starving, which did nothing to improve her state of mind.

A dull chime sounded from the clock in the entrance hall, followed by another. Professor Babel asked them for eighteen inches of parchment on the reason why one side of the moon was always facing away from Earth, then dismissed them until next week.

Hermione noted down the homework apathetically, packed her things away and crossed to the staircase. Deliberately she waited for the others to pass out of sight, not wanting anyone to see the direction she was walking.

Unfortunately, some of the Slytherin boys had stopped just around the corner. Malfoy, Lestrange and Burke were gathered threateningly around Fudge, but she could not hear what they were saying. When some time had passed and they showed no sign of moving on, she decided to step around them.

As it transpired, there was not quite enough space between Malfoy and the wall, and the very edge of her bag just touched him. He spun around, closely followed by the other two, and out of the corner of her eye she noticed Fudge slip away.

"Watch it, mudblood," he spat, taking half a step closer so that she was backed right up against the wall. She narrowed her eyes. It was hard to be intimidated by an eleven-year-old these days.

"Watch it yourself, you inbred moron." Three identical gasps, and a fraction of a second later the blond made to grab the front of her robes. She felt her magic surge, uncontrolled, and suddenly Malfoy was staggering backwards, clutching his throat and making a grotesque, gurgling noise. The other two rushed towards him, holding him up as his body began to slide to the floor. Hermione panicked – she could not remember the last time her magic had acted of its own accord. The terrifying choking sounds were ringing in her ears and she was frozen in horror.

By the time she had come to her senses enough to end the spell, Malfoy was bright red but managing to gasp desperately for breath. He's going to be okay. Overwhelming relief flooded her, and on instinct she began to run, not caring the direction, until his wheezing coughs could no longer be heard echoing along the corridors.

Heart pounding, she ducked into an alcove behind a suit of armour and collapsed into bitter sobbing. At first it was the shock, the distress of having nearly killed someone – a child, at that. Then it became tears of anger, at the futility of it all, at Death who had acted so entirely without her consent and with dubious motive, at herself for having no plan and seeing no way out. Finally, it became simply grief; a bone-deep, throat-burning grief for a lifetime of love and friendship gone away. Grief for the impossibility of going on alone, untethered and drifting on this foreign ocean.

An hour, perhaps, on the floor – freezing now and shaking, heaving sobs with no tears anymore, her head throbbing, throat burning, chest aching. It was a miracle nobody had heard her, or happened to pass by. She forced herself upright, joints creaking, and limped to the seventh floor corridor. Less than three hours until her alarm would go off, but she would ignore it. Saturday. Two days to read the time books, to find some answers. There must be a way.

~oOo~

So much for learning real magic. Maybe some of the other classes would be better, but Potions was practically menial labour. Chop this, shred that, stir it ten times clockwise. From the praise Slughorn lavished on him, you would have thought it was brain surgery. After lunch, in which he had successfully used his propped-up textbook to deter all attempts Dolohov made to talk to him, he continued his exploration of the first floor.

There were lessons going on in most of the classrooms he passed, and the number of other students walking about made his unhurried observations rather difficult, so he eventually gave up and ducked into the library.

Passing by one of the back corners, he spotted the odd girl from breakfast surrounded by a stack of Defence books. It seemed a bit early to be starting homework, but since he was currently on a bit of a mission himself, he didn't think any more about it.

The reference section appeared to be shelved alphabetically by subject – wooden dividers protruded at intervals, labelled in gold leaf. Transfiguration… he skipped a few bays… Mind Arts… sounds interesting, but stay focussed… Herbology… No, still further… Divination… What's that anyway? He was most of the way back to the entrance by now, which was fairly logical since he was looking for 'A'. Luckily nobody seemed to be noticing his circuitous route.

Here it was. Ancestry. The section was brief, barely a few feet of shelf space crammed between Alchemy and Animagi. He pulled out A Directory of Wizarding Families, since it was the thickest one there, and skipped to 'R'.

Six chimes, and the place emptied almost instantly – evidently dinner time. The light coming through the large windows was now a golden colour and he realised he had been sat in the same place for something like three hours. There were no books left on the shelf; a huge pile had accumulated around him as he discarded each one with increasing frustration.

He was probably looking in the wrong place – Riddle had to be there somewhere – he would just have to come back tomorrow. Returning the books to the shelf neatly, he made his way to dinner, which was tedious, and then to the common room to wait for midnight, which was interminable.

Astronomy was even duller than potions. The Professor had introduced herself and spoken about how they would be studying the moon this term, but she had entirely neglected to give a reason. We have to stay up until 2am once a week for this – why? What the hell does it matter if the moon's in Sagittarius or Scorpius?

At the end of the lesson he swept off ahead of everyone else, eager to beat the others back to the dormitory. He had got as far as the main staircase when he realised only the Ravenclaws were behind him. He doubled back quietly – if the others were sneaking off somewhere, he wanted to know about it.

It turned out they were just threatening Fudge, this time something to do with the homework. Boring. He was just about to leave again, when Malfoy spoke much more loudly.

"Watch it, mudblood."

Fudge scurried past him, and he ducked behind a statue just in time to avoid being seen. It was the odd girl – Granger – who was now speaking. He had not yet heard anyone except himself talk back to Malfoy, and the gasps from his housemates indicated that they hadn't either.

A familiar choking sound made him raise an eyebrow and peer out from behind the statue. Malfoy was twitching, rapidly going red in the face as he slumped against Burke. Granger looked terrified, which was a bit confusing, because last night he'd been ecstatic when he'd done the same thing. Perhaps she hadn't meant to do it, but it was strong magic all the same. Interesting.

Sadly the choking stopped before it could do any permanent damage. Granger ran past him, and by the time it occurred to him to follow her, she was long gone. Burke and Lestrange were discussing getting a teacher, so he began walking as silently and quickly as possible in the direction of the common room. No good being caught at a crime scene, however innocently. Let them think he had gone straight to bed.

~oOo~

The weekend passed in a blur of reading, and soon the first full week had been and gone too. No mention of the incident outside the astronomy tower and no word from Death. In fact, no word from almost everyone. The Ravenclaw girls fastidiously avoided her and the boys never seemed to have a reason to speak to her. The other houses kept mostly to themselves. In class she made herself average, and as a result most of the teachers still did not remember her name. It was almost as if she was not there at all, and that was exactly how she felt.

Sunday breakfast was the best of the week, for not even any of the teachers made it down at seven. Tom Riddle entered the hall just behind her, as he always did, and the routine had become some twisted facsimile of comforting. They had never spoken, and both pretended not to notice the other. It was the same in the library, where they often found themselves at times of day no one else would dream of being there. She noticed that he was still looking for his family, moving between the sections Ancestry and History. Once, when she was taking a shortcut back to bed just before curfew, she noticed him sat on the floor of the trophy room examining a row of shields.

On this particular morning, she was halfway through a bowl of porridge when the sight of the tawny owl stopped her heart dead for several beats.

The envelope was small, unmarked – the one she had folded up out of her spare piece of parchment. She half expected to draw out her own plea, returned to her in contempt. Instead, and more bizarrely, the envelope contained only a chocolate frog card.

Eloise Mintumble was an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries between 1882 and 1899. Whilst experimenting with time magic, Eloise was accidentally sent back to the year 1402. It was later discovered that she died in 1468, never able to return to her own time.

With a feeling of dread, Hermione turned the card over. On a small blank space, two words were written in the now-familiar script.

I cannot.

~oOo~

Like last Sunday, Granger was the only other person down for breakfast at seven. During the week, there were often a few others keen enough – or perhaps they had homework to finish before the first lesson. But on Sundays, everyone wanted a lie-in. It suited him perfectly, because it meant plenty of time to go about his weekend explorations in peace. Once the corridors got too crowded, he would go out to the grounds, and when other people began to appear there too, he would retire to the library.

Genealogy books, school records, general reading about famous wizards – nothing. Not a Riddle anywhere, and he was beginning to get desperate. It occurred to him that Dumbledore might know something, but he had gone almost twelve years without asking anyone for help and had no desire to start now.

The sound of rustling feathers caused him to look up from his bacon sandwich, and he saw Granger's face pale. He could not see what she was holding, but she shoved it deep into her satchel and left the hall, breakfast half finished.

It was unthinkable not to follow her, since there were absolutely no witnesses. The sound of a heavy door closing indicated she had gone outside, so he gulped down the rest of his sandwich and hurried out before she could get any further away. He had followed her on several occasions, mostly in the evenings because he had begun to suspect that she did not go to the same place as the other Ravenclaws. But she was elusive, always looking behind, walking quietly and often seeming to disappear altogether. It was incredibly frustrating.

Today, there was no such problem. The girl walked slowly, perfectly visible, and never once looked behind her. Her shoulders were shaking, presumably not from laughter.

Granger eventually stopped amid a stand of trees growing by the lakeside. He had visited the same spot yesterday – it was pleasant and felt sufficiently shielded from the many eyes of the castle above. At the foot of a large tree, she slumped down among the red-gold leaves and he lingered some distance behind. There was no obvious hiding place, but she was in no state to notice him, sobbing in a way he had heard many times at the orphanage. Then, he had found it irritating, but now he felt simply mild curiosity.

After a while, she brought her breathing under control, and took out her wand.

"Expecto Patronum!" He did not recognise the spell. If it had any effect, he could not see it from his position. She let out a pained cry, which he took to mean that the spell had not worked.

"Expecto Patronum!" This time, he could see a thin silver mist hover in front of her, but it disappeared as she broke down into sobs again. Around her, the colourful leaves were shrivelling up and turning brown. This seemed to make her cry even harder.

He was growing bored now, and began to consider returning to the castle when she flicked her wand silently.

For a while, nothing seemed to be happening, but then he noticed something rising from the earth between her and the lake. As it grew, he could see that it was some sort of tree – charmed, judging by the luminescent bark. The tree sprouted blossoms, and once the blossoms fell they were replaced by leaves and swelling fruit. The branches sagged under the growing weight, until the fruit, which appeared to be cherries, shrivelled and fell. The leaves turned a burning orange and, sparking, fell. Left bare, the tree trunk stood like some sort of headstone above the crying girl.

It was not long before the tree began to bear blossom again, and Granger's sobs were cut off as if taken by surprise. In a moment of bored, impulsive destruction, he flicked his wand.

A vortex of wind approached the tree and the blossom shook and began to prematurely fall. He smiled, and in that moment Granger looked his way. He could not make out her expression, but he had clearly startled her. A vicious slash of her wand and the wind was gone. She turned away again, dismissing him, and in place of boredom came anger.

It took her a long time to notice his charmed snake winding through the branches, but he was satisfied to see that it gave her a good fright. Less satisfied that she vanished it so casually.

Anyone else would be impressed at his magic, but she said nothing. It was like she expected it, and though she must know that he did very well in classes, it wasn't like this kind of thing had ever come up.

He glared fiercely ahead at the lake, channelling power the way he had long ago taught himself to do. The surface of the water twitched, little waves scattering the wrong way, swelling together. Soon there was a huge wall of water a few feet from the shore. He flicked his wand.

Her movement was so fast that he did not truly see it, but instead of the giant wave crashing over the tree as he had expected, the water broke onto a large hemisphere of light and somehow bounced back into the lake, stray droplets flying everywhere. He had to stop himself from smiling.

He vanished the shining dome and the cherry tree disappeared too. She sighed, and something about it made him open his mouth and speak, though he did not normally engage in small talk.

"You're not like the others." It was a statement, not a question. She made no indication that she had heard him, and threw a stone angrily into the lake.

"No," she said quietly, after a while, still staring out onto the water. Another stone was thrown in, and then, "Neither are you."

He said nothing.

"They hate us," she continued, and Tom felt that she was speaking as much to herself as to him. "They hate us because we were raised among muggles. They think it makes us weaker, less magical, but they're wrong; it's the opposite."

Tom felt he should be saying something – perhaps even arguing – but he couldn't think of anything, and his anger surged again. Another stone hit the water.

"We learn to understand our own magic in a way they never do. We grow up being told we're… different. Special, perhaps. How did you feel when you found out you were a wizard? It's strange, isn't it? We grew up special, but here we're just ordinary."

A stab of rage flew through him.

"I am not ordinary!"

She smiled. It was a strange, sad smile, and when she looked up it felt as though she were looking straight through him.

"No," she said softly, "You aren't. And you never could be."

She stood up, shouldered her satchel and walked off, leaving him staring mutely at the pile of dead leaves.

~oOo~