Seventh

A thundering storm brewed in Draco's eyes as he carefully analysed the object placed on his desk. A fake, how stupid he had been not to realise. When the Imperiused Madam Rosmerta had come back to him all jittery, fiddling with the "cursed" necklace in her hands and telling him the plan hadn't worked, he had immediately connected the dots, smashing a couple of chairs against the wall in the Room of Requirement out of rage and frustration. The worst part was that he wasn't sure if he had been relieved or disappointed that his attempt to kill Dumbledore before Christmas had been unsuccessful. Deep down, he was aware that a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest. He knew that the moment he became a murderer, there would be no coming back. But the pressure from the Dark Lord flourished like bad seeds in his heart as well, and the consequences of his failure would be disastrous for him and his family. Fear coiled around him, vicious and unforgiving, clouding his world with a haze of anguish that numbed his senses.

The woman under his spell had informed him that she had made sure the necklace would reach the intended target, but that the next day Dumbledore himself had turned up to her door with a polite smile on his face.

I believe this is yours, you must have dropped it on the floor. He had said before handing her the fake necklace, his hands ungloved but yet still intact. Or so she claimed. Not that she would ever be able to lie in her condition, he pondered.

The old man's sodding blind trust in the whole humankind unnerved him immensely.

For such a powerful wizard of his age, he was so naïve and foolish. He shook his head and snorted loudly at the thought. People like him and Potter believed that fate would always be in their favor, shielding them from any threat, as long as they were doing what was "right".

Fucking idiots. As if the whole world revolved around them.

He kept muttering words of rage under his breath, and indignation blazed in his glare as he reversed the Transfiguration spell and watched the necklace turn into a cheap piece of jewelry. Draco was seething: Granger had really played him well. How the fuck had she known?

There was definitely something off about her, now he was certain. Words and images flickered vivid in his mind, bringing back recent memories he did not want to think about. Granger's fierce gaze when she had stared at Dolohov right in the eyes without a hint of fear; the firmer, mature but yet soothing tone of her voice; the way she no longer flinched when he'd call her mudblood, like it no longer was something she cared about. And then he thought about the way she had reacted to him being a Death Eater: he was sure she knew, and he was convinced she would have at least tried to kill him. But instead…

You don't have to do this. I know how to help you.

What she said had resulted in much inner turmoil and disbelief. Had she tried to deceive him and then strike? But the look on her face had been so genuine, the words heavily felt, and the way she had stared at him had been… intense. Granger had never given him much attention, besides a few emotional reactions to his insults, but this time was just different, and he didn't know how to feel about this change.

But rage surged and twirled in his stomach as he glanced at the plastic bracelet that had successfully deceived him. Caught by rage and impulse, he grabbed the object and then furiously hurled against the wall.

She would regret this.

When time is altered by the Vim Extermina Tempore Spell, the natural balance of things is momentarily interrupted with the distortion of time. To restore an equilibrium, the magic

cadences the number of years between the erased time and the previous timeline. Significant changes in the course of events will be indicated by any change on the wizard's Time Turner.

Hermione shut the book with a loud thud, her hazel eyes wide and her palms sweaty. This explained the sudden change of the pearl colour on her Time Turner: it must have represented the alteration of events. The sudden realization terrified her: whether these changes were positive or negative for her mission, she had no way to tell. A wave of exasperation rippled through her: the discovery was about as helpful as sunscreen in cloudy winter days; going blind into a tunnel might have as well been easier.

She thought about the two times the object had blazed like glowing flames in her pocket: one happened during her first conversation with Dumbledore, while the second one took place right after Dolohov's attack. What did these two events have in common?

The significance of the first occurrence was fairly easier to understand for her: she had revealed a lot of important details to Dumbledore that could potentially change the outcome of future events. However, she was not really sure how that night in Borgin and Burkes could change things. Dolohov was not killed, and there was no way he could remember seeing her in the shop; she had observed the scene, and the spell had been strong and well executed. Then what difference would that night make for this timeline? Did it have anything to do with Malfoy? She felt utterly helpless before the tremendous force of unfolding time.

Hermione drummed her fingers on the desk with a pensive expression, her brows arched in concern and her shoulders heavy with the burden she was carrying, thinking about the way she had managed to soothe Ron and Harry's nerves. She had told them that Malfoy's meeting with a cloaked figure (telling them about Dolohov didn't seem to be a good idea) had taken longer than she had expected, and that she had been so focused on their conversation that she'd forgotten to alert them with the galleon.

When they'd asked her what the meeting was about, she had told a half-truth: something concerning a cursed necklace and a mission to accomplish, she'd explained, with stinging guilt throbbing in her veins and permeating her bones. Harry and Ron believed her, of course, and, although even Ron seemed to be convinced that Malfoy could be involved with Death Eaters, they still had no proof to do anything about it (and potentially get in danger). For now, she had time to act undisturbed, but she had to be extremely careful in doing so.

Hermione was startled by a friendly, feminine voice calling her from the side. She had been so immersed in her reading and thoughts, her nose constantly poked in the book, that she hadn't noticed the presence of some of her school peers sat at the table around her. Besides, it had been barely seven in the morning, and students rarely ventured into the Great Hall at this hour.

That dull day of mid-November, the light was dim and feeble, muffled by the heavy Scottish mist that hung around the castle. Luna's curious and always wandering gaze was fixated on her book, a placid smile illuminating her delicate features, and her dirty blonde hair slightly ruffled. Close to her, Neville was poking at his scrambled eggs with concern wrinkling his features, probably worrying over things they couldn't control.

"What a lovely mystery time travel is! Hermione, I didn't know you were passionate about it." Luna said with a fascinated tone.

At her words, Hermione's lips parted in surprise.

"There's no title on the book, how did you know?"

"The sunglass: it used to be way more than a symbol indicating the flow of time. My father would tell me so many stories about wizards embarking on journeys to the past, and how these shaped our present and future. Time isn't always linear, you know…"

"Were… any of them accurate?"

Luna shrugged and took a sit beside her, trailing her fingers over the refined cover with

dreamy eyes, tracing small circles around the sandglass. Just a moment later, her glance turned strong and determined, fixated on her. A sudden intensity and a glimmer of emotion caressed her face as her soft smile deepened. Hermione flinched at her sudden change: Luna had always been unconventional, almost seeming to be floating above clouds, and the firmness of her look was so unlike her. She had never seen her like this.

"Well, if somebody were to change our past, we would just have to trust their word, would we?"

Time is a sneaky little thing.

It flows fast like high winds, restless and frantic, gliding by and sweeping you along in a raging torrent. Days slipped through her and tangled with each other, spent in the restricted section, giving Harry and Ron's subtle hints about Horcruxes, and monitoring Malfoy's movements. Hermione felt overwhelmed with her responsibilities, but she had to carry on and hope this time would be different, that her efforts would change things.

Thursday evening arrived in the blink of an eye. Hermione had no choice but to attend detention, and, although every fiber of her body told her to avoid Malfoy as much as possible, she also knew that this would be an opportunity to keep an eye close to him.

After that night in Borgin and Burkes, she had attempted not to cross paths with him, fearing that she would not be able to keep her innocent act for long: if she had done her calculations right, he was going to find out about the fake necklace very soon. Knowledge and time were her greatest allies, and she would protect these assets at any cost. But deep down, somewhere in the gaping hole of remote thoughts that she kept pushing down, she knew that there was more to it.

The truth was that, as much as she wanted to deny it to herself, what Malfoy did a few nights ago was threatening to abrade every notion she thought she had about him. Notions constantly whirring around her like a living conscience on her shoulders, whispering and purring to her ear that he was pure evil, that whatever would happen to him as a result of her mission was justified, that it was for the greater good. Those convictions had been rooted in her and firm in place, sweet and comforting when she had had to do things that she wasn't proud of, like the cursing spells during the Quidditch Match.

But now a flicker of doubt mixed with disbelief were starting to seep through her mind, corroborating blind hatred and slicing through her views. She had no idea how to deal with it, how to deal with him.

She had noticed subtle alterations in the way Malfoy moved around the Castle: he appeared to be very cautious, only wandering Hogwarts' corridors to reach class and the Room of Requirement. It was only natural for him to be suspicious of her after the Hospital Wing and the Hogsmeade encounters, and she expected him to somehow confront her about the necklace.

Hermione left the library with a knot clenched around her stomach and thoughts racing like a whirlwind. So many things could go wrong today. A few Ravenclaw students were milling around the sixth floor, their voices mingling with the clattering and bubbling of cauldrons coming from a Potion class.

Welcoming her in his office was Professor Slughorn, his large bald figure standing by the door and smiling at her placidly. Hermione was relived to notice that she had been the first one to arrive. As they entered the spacious, dimly lit room, Slughorn swamped her with an endless stream of questions about Harry, insisting that she'd persuade him to attend the party. Hermione was not paying attention, though: her jittery eyes kept scanning the area, expecting Malfoy to arrive at any moment. She tucked a rebellious curl behind her ear and muttering a couple of "yes, of course." to her Professor's irritating queries.

It took other twenty minutes for Malfoy to show up, his hands snugly nestled into his pockets and a bored look stamped on his face. His appearance, however, seemed to tell a different story. The Slytherin robes, usually impeccable and neat, were slightly disheveled. His tie was hanging loose and askew, hiding through the sways of his shirt. Malfoy must have noticed her odd stare, because his slender fingers had reached the collar, fast and flustered, to adjust it. He looked rather uncomfortable around her, and the fact unsettled her. He had never seen him like this before. It was odd.

"Here you are, Mr. Malfoy! Please come in. We were just about to discuss the details of your detention."

Slughorn then proceeded to show them around, wandering around the office with heavy steps and boring them with trifle details about the decorations (which had not the slightest interest in).

After a few minutes, he mumbled something about their Prefect duties and setting examples for house unity, and then made his way out of the room hurriedly. A few seconds later, the only sound reverberating through the room was the dull thud of the heavy door that Slughorn yanked shut behind him.

As soon as he was gone, a thick silence filled with tension and uncertainty descended upon them like velvet curtains, its presence vivid and tangible. With a few nervous sways of her wand, Hermione conjured some red and golden garlands that started floating all around the office, her eyes darting across the area, looking everywhere but at him.

She was sure, however, that he was staring at her, and she could already picture his sharp features creased up in a mocking sneer, waiting for the perfect moment to play on her vulnerabilities and strike, like the pointy vicious snake he had always been.

Although Hermione was well aware that she was no longer the insecure, approval-seeking girl she once was, a small part of her that was still affected by his cruel remarks, and she hated herself for that. But she would never give him any satisfaction, of course.

When she finally decided to turn around and confront him, astonishment filled her expression as she found him standing just a few inches from her, his features hardened, his nostrils flared.

a flicker of emotion that she could not quite place was flashing in his eyes, which were now narrowed and inquisitive.

He caught her wrists with a swift movement, forcing her to retreat and pinning her body against the wall. He was so close that she could very clearly distinguish the drop of sweat trickling down his forehead, and a strand of his silvery hair was brushing against her neck as a jolt electric fear slithered up her spine.

A musky scent was clouding her senses and corroborating her thoughts, rich and intoxicating, so much that she forced herself to breath from her mouth and wrinkle her nose as her eyes fell shut. It was too much all at once. It was everywhere. He was everywhere.

She lifted her gaze upward to face him with fighting spirit, gluing her eyes to Malfoy's, as she prepared to strike, but he spoke first.

"Drop the act, mudblood. I know what you are playing at. And don't fucking pretend you don't know what I'm talking about." He hissed in a seething, poisonous voice.

"The only thing I know is that you are in my way, Malfoy. Get away from me and let me finish my detention in peace!"

At her words, something seemed to snap in his eyes, which widened and lit up in rage, and suddenly his fists were crashing right behind her, a loud thud reverberating through the office.

" I SAID STOP FUCKING PLAYING WITH ME! I know that you took the fucking necklace, didn't you Granger? Do you have any idea of what you have done? You will regret this."

Hermione's lips stretched into a wide and almost unsettling smile as his pale fingers curled around his wand.

She wouldn't be the one regretting this.

Draco was suddenly smashed on the ground by a powerful invisible force, and thick slimy vines coiled around his body, wrapping him completely and forcing him onto his knees. He attempted to resist the magic and move to reach for his wand, but all was futile: the hold was firm and powerful, bruising his skin and grazing both his wrists.

How was this possible? He had not seen Granger reach for her wand and he was pretty sure it was still in her pocket because he had not seen her pointing it against him. A few moments later, understanding flashed in his eyes as his lips parted in shock.

Wandless magic. This was one of the most powerful manifestations he'd ever seen. Things like that would never be taught in school, and even skilled wizards would have a hard time channeling enough power and skills to execute a spell like this one. Only an incredibly talented and knowledgeable caster would be able to pull it off.

His mouth still left hanging, he looked up and met wide brown eyes and a grin that sent shivers crawling up his spine.

Hermione Granger was advancing towards him with slow steps, wearing an expression that looked so wrong on her. She resembled a raptor sneaking upon its prey, cruel and merciless, her wild curls slightly covering her face and her robes billowing behind her.

Draco could do nothing but stare at her in utter disbelief, both physically and mentally paralyzed.

When Granger finally reached his slumped figure, she lowered herself until she was almost facing him eye to eye, as a look of sheer determination stole her hardened features and the twisted smile quickly dropped from her lips.

All of a sudden, she caught his chin and tilted it upwards, forcing him to keep his gaze fixated on her. Something about the flicker in her stare made Draco's heart skip a beat, and he had no idea whether it was fear, rage, or something else entirely. He just didn't have time to dwell on it.

She was so close that her delicate nose was almost brushing against his, and her wand was now out of her pocket, pressed firm and threatening against his temple.

"Let me be clear, Malfoy. I am not the same girl you bullied just a couple of years ago. I grew up strong and lethal and powerful, and if you think for even one second that you could threaten me without any consequences, then you are terribly wrong. Now you better shut your mouth and leave me the fuck alone."

He looked at her like he'd never seen her before.

"Who the hell are you?" Draco asked in astonishment, his voice starting to falter.

"A mudblood who's no longer scared of cowards like you."

Draco could only watch her in bewilderment as she turned around and started walking away, her figure slowly fading in the distance.