Ninth
Soft lips came crashing down on hers, fast and sudden like a thunderstorm. The initial confusion that had pervaded her after his cold palm had landed on her cheek turned into utter shock, her heart almost shooting out of her chest. Hermione felt a stinging sensation racing through her veins and twirling in her stomach, expanding throughout her body. Electric shivers were overwhelming her senses and prevailing over her mind. She had never been kissed like that. And out of all the people she had met in her short life, she could not believe it was him evoking this reaction in her. Draco Malfoy was kissing her with such passion that it burned.
When the wave of paralyzing astonishment had started to fade, she found the strength to press her hands against his chest in an attempt to push him away. But there was something that kept holding her in place. A comforting sensation curling around her heart like a feathered pillow. Something that felt like coming home after a very long time. It brought back blurred memories, vague flashes, and poor recollections. Feelings that she had thought to have lost years ago along with her true self. Being touched, and held, and kissed. The warmth and deliciousness of it.
As she found herself returning Malfoy's kiss, Hermione realised how lonely she had been feeling all this time. She had just never known what that heavy burden in her chest was. She had always thought it to be fear or all the guilt originated from her biggest secret. But this one was crueler and stronger. Loneliness hides well in our hearts because it is subtle and silent. It lingers and whispers and grows, feeding on shuttered dreams and blossomed delusions.
Her fingers had laced around his neck as burning kisses glided down her shoulders in soft whispers. A light moan escaped her lips which were now parted in pleasure, rosy and swollen with a desire that had ignited a fire within her soul. His left hand was buried in the fiery curls he had so much despised in the past, and his white-blond hair caressed her cheeks, smooth and soft as fine silk. Hermione was well aware she was going to regret these forbidden moments, but the intensity of them had breathed renewed life into her, even if she knew it was wrong.
A rush of adrenaline rippled through her chest as the kisses grew fierce and powerful, her senses heightened to grasp all the ways her body was reacting to him. To want her enemy with such vigor felt sinful and prohibited, it tasted like bitter betrayal and felt like a crime. But the thrill of having power over him was more alluring than dark magic and ancient books to Hermione: it showed her that, no matter how much he loathed her, he had not been able to resist the impulse, despite her dirty blood.
After all, it was true that cowards are attracted to power like bees are to honey.
Traces of their passion were everywhere. It was an electric spark hanging in the air and lingering above their heads. It hovered all above the restricted section as their joint mouths moved restless and frantic, comforted by a sense of secrecy that permeated those walls. Neither of them had attempted to break the kiss, swallowed by this moment in time that had turned their world upside down and had transported them to an alternate reality.
Her right palm moved to settle flat on his chest, as her left hand traced the angles of his sharp features: from his pointed nose to the high cheekbones and sharp jawline. She had never thought Malfoy to be handsome, blinded by the hatred she had always harbored for him, but tonight she realised he really was.
He responded to her touch with equal intensity, his mouth leaving a trail of burning kisses down her neck as his hand curled around her waist. To her surprise, his lips were warm and soft, falling smoothly on her sensitive skin and sending a rush of forbidden lust throughout her body. She wanted him and craved for more.
A dull thud coming from the entrance jolted them back to reality, bursting the bubble of intimacy that had sucked them in with powerful strength. Whispers of incoming students started to spread around the halls of the library, ready to begin a new day of readings and classes. How long had they been in there?
They broke apart so fast that a few books fell from the cluttered desk they were standing on, their chest heaving frantically and their eyes widened. For a few seconds, they shared a look of mutual shock and incredulity.
None of them dared to break the long silence that had descended upon them, surrounded by a thick mist of discomfort and disbelief. For moments that felt endless, only the sound of the ancient ticking clocks resonated in the room.
It was Hermione who averted her gaze first, grabbing her wand and gathering her books with shaking hands.
The floating quills came swirling down under her focused gaze, becoming lifeless and unmoving as her fingers laced around them.
Behind her, from the corner of her eye, she saw that Malfoy still stood as rigid as marble, his face likely stony and expressionless as he observed the scene.
She stood and took long strides toward the exit, not even bothering to turn around and attempt any justification for her behaviour.
She wondered if his gaze would follow her as she yanked the door shut behind her.
The resounding slam of the door being shut reverberated through the restricted section, jolting Draco back to reality with the abruptness of an alarm shattering an ongoing dream. After that, silence enveloped his world, powerful and unsettling.
For a moment, he thought he must have imagined it, trapped in delirious nightmares that came tormenting him every single night. But it had felt way too real to be a fantasy of his degenerated mind.
His long fingers traced the line of his own lips and then felt the smoothness of them. They were swollen and still pulsing with the aftermath of a passionate encounter. No, he definitely had not imagined it.
He had kissed Granger, the mudblood, he was the one who had initiated it. And he would be lying to himself if he said he hadn't enjoyed it. As the thought began to form in his mind, a landslide of turmoil, guilt, and inner conflict crashed over him.
His responsibility was to prove to the Dark Lord that the Malfoys shone bright with power and ruthlessness. To show that inferior blood had no place in the wizarding world. To give back honour to his father and safety to his mother. But he had done none of those things. He had betrayed his family and everything they stood for instead.
He shouldn't even think of someone like her. Of someone whose blood was not worthy to possess magic.
But Hermione Granger was one of the most powerful witches he had ever known, and capable, and smart, and alluring. And he could not make sense of it. How could a mudblood ever embody all the qualities that he admired and desired? Qualities that were praised among the highest ranks of Death Eaters.
For all those years, he had seen her as nothing but someone in desperate need to follow rules and impress others to hide her inferior status. But now she was glowing in a new light, bright and glimmering like a thousand fireflies in the dark. She radiated brilliance that outshined all the others.
And so, painful and frightening thoughts had started whispering to him like a devil on his shoulder. What if they were wrong? What if what they deemed as inferior could hide indomitable strength? And what if it was this strength that terrified the Dark Lord? No, it couldn't be.
His trail of thoughts was interrupted when his eyes caught a flash of a shining object resting on the floor just behind the table that had been at the center of his impulses just a few minutes earlier. Granger must have dropped it during their… meeting. As he picked it up, curiosity thundering in his glare, he was struck by the beauty of it. Never had a most stunning artifact reached his hands before. Everything about it fascinated him: from the intense red colour characterising the center to the glimmering feather illuminating the precious pearls surrounding the elegant sandglass.
"This… is a Time Turner? Your old Time Turner?"
Harry's glasses shone under the faint light of the dying fireplace, his face creased up in confusion as he held the small beautiful object in his palms. His fingers traced the line of the thin silver chains, brushing against the soft golden feather and then settling on the glistening pearls. His wandering gaze landed on three of the ocean-blue ones, shining as bright as gleaming stars on midsummer nights.
"Why are these ones different from the others?"
She laughed. Was that really his first concern? Harry could be peculiar sometimes.
"Don't you want to hear the full story first?"
"I guess you are right. How did you get this?"
Hermione did not waste any more time to tell him about her journey. Words flowed in endless streams from her lips. Tales of death, loss, and pain. Stories of a world crumpled under the power of dark wizards, shriveled like leaves in winter. Then she told him about the glimmer of hope that had blossomed within her when she had heard about a spell able to wash all that darkness away. Powerful magic that could erase time.
Although Harry was silent the whole time, there was a light in his eyes that Hermione knew quite well. It was the look of disbelief and pain and anger. But there was some curiosity and admiration, too.
As she kept speaking, she felt a wave of relief washing over her as the burden that plagued her heart progressively became smaller and smaller until it almost disappeared.
When she was finished, Harry was looking at her like he did not know who he was talking to.
"Why didn't you tell me all this before?"
Resentment and hurt stained his voice like black ink on paper.
"Oh Harry, how I would have wanted to tell you before. I have dreamt about this for so long that I am terrified of losing it all over again. How am I supposed to make such decisions light-heartedly if I know that, no matter what I do, it will change this timeline in ways I cannot predict? I cannot bear this responsibility anymore, Harry. I am devastated by the thought of ruining everything."
Tears fell from her face like a raging river.
Harry's glare softened then. Seeing his best friend cry had stirred gentler emotions in him, and a few moments later he was resting his hand on her shoulder to comfort her.
"So, you and Dumbledore know what will happen throughout this year and the war? If you have been trapped under Voldemort's regime for so long, why did you choose this year to go back to?"
"The Dumbledore of this time has an inkling of it, but I am still not sure what he predicted so far. I know that he prepared for it, obviously. About me… I have already lived through it, and I am here to understand what went wrong in the first place, and how much should be changed. I know it sounds silly, but something about this year was not right, and I knew it… It was like my magic whispered to me that there were important events in our sixth year that I couldn't miss. Something that hasn't happened in the previous timeline and that is meant to take place in order for us to succeed."
"I see. Is there something else you'd like to tell me, Hermione? Any way I can help? I can tell that you have a lead to help us through the war and I am here to follow it."
"I want you to know that we will be working together from now on, and soon I will gather the courage to tell everything to Ron as well. But I also think that there are things of the future I cannot reveal, not yet at least. I ask you to trust me for now, Harry. Trust me and Dumbledore, because I know he wants me to ask you this, too."
"I am sorry for all you have been through 'Mione. I wish I had been there with you. Merlin, I wish it had been me going through the pain of loneliness and cruel wars all those years instead of you. I trust you with my life and, if there is anything you tell me to do, I will. No questions asked."
He pulled her into an embrace that reminded her of cheerful days and carefree laughter on cozy nights at the Burrow.
"There is something, actually. What do you know of the Tales of Beedle the Bard? I would like you to research it if you can."
Hermione lay on her bed with a stream of endless thoughts blooming in her head. Floating above her, almost touching the dormitory's ceiling, was a canvas splashed with pastel colours. An animated brush was swaying on it with swift and yet smooth movements. The more Hermione got lost in intricate thoughts, the more complex and abstract the painting grew. When she was all alone in her dormitory, sure that no witch or wizard was observing her, she had gotten into the habit of using wandless magic as a way to express her feelings. It helped her clear her mind of the heavy haze that descended upon it.
Tonight, her painting was a jumble of red and yellow and purple, mashed together in blurred, undefined shapes. It was a mess, really.
Flashes of that morning haunted her like ancient souls from her past.
As intrusive thoughts flooded her mind with sinful desires that she despised herself for, her hand went to brush some of the love bites he had left on her neck. They were a little sore and sensitive under her light touch, murmuring bitter-sweet memories to her ear. She would not listen to them, of course.
Unfolding the gravity of what had happened only hours ago felt mentally draining and exhausting to Hermione. She felt overwhelmed and frustrated by the repercussions that a few kisses were going to have on her situation. But most of all, she felt disappointment swelling in her chest and stinging her rigorous soul.
She had allowed her emotions to lead her like a vessel at the mercy of restless winds. Rationality had always been her driver, and she could not believe she had been such a fool. After all, she knew exactly who Draco Malfoy was now, and who he would be.
But there had been a flicker in his eyes, and a change in his countenance, that had somewhat ignited something in her. Something that had voiced questions and fed her blooming doubts. It had been a glint of emotion radiating from his essence and lingering in the air when he was close to her. It was the feeling that he did not really mean to hurt her.
A stream of consciousness and reflections had crowded her brain and stolen her time. Most of these concerned Draco Malfoy. He had been the object of her quest since the beginning, as stopping him was going to be essential to save her Headmaster.
Painting a defined and clear picture of just how wicked his actions would be had come naturally to her before, and the motivation to crash him under her wand had filled her to the marrow of her bones. But now, she realised she could no longer see things as only black or white. A hundred shades and colours had come layering the picture, unveiling hidden depths that she had not been able to see before.
Some involved the way he had saved her from a bloodthirsty Death Eater, or the terror that had struck him when Dolohov had threatened his mother, or his long gentle fingers trailing down her cheek.
But her second thoughts on him had rendered her weak and vulnerable, and she could not afford to be. Not only had she let on that she remembered the night at Borgin and Burkes, dropping her previous cover and further increasing his suspicions, but her plan was now crashing against a blend of concerns that had erected a wall between herself and her own actions.
Hermione was wrestling against her own morals and whether her mission was just. Was achieving the greater good worth the cost of Malfoy's family? If he failed and Dumbledore could be saved, Voldemort would not have mercy on them this time. Little by little, the richness of the picture grew and flourished into a complex landscape that had no simple answer.
Worrying her was also a new secret nesting and hiding in her heart, distancing her from Harry once again. She had refrained from telling Harry about how Malfoy was involved in the fall of Dumbledore, the coils of doubt clutching her heart and drowning her spirit. She was not sure if she made the right decision, and now that things had… complicated further, she was scared that future events would crumple and collapse under her grasp like a sandcastle.
She had gotten into the habit of holding the Time Turner in her hands when she felt nervous. Feeling the sways of her turner under the touch of her skin soothed her nerves like the melody of a soft instrument would on winter nights. And so, she reached out to her cloak, draped over the bedside table.
Terror struck her like a thunderbolt and shivers crawled up her spine as she realised with horror that her Time Turner was not there. Futile was any attempt to summon it with spells and search her room and common halls. The object seemed to have vanished, swallowed in darkness
This was not possible. She never lost sight of her turner. Merlin, she never even lost sight of herself. Retaining control, after all, was her strongest form of magic.
Except that this morning it wasn't. A dreadful realisation surged over her as her mind traced back her most recent activities and scanned her memories, searching for the last time she had seen the Time Turner.
Her mind went blank as she jolted on her feet and started running.