"The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once."
Albert Einstein
VI
The sky above Highgate Cemetery was a tapestry of somber grays, the clouds hanging low. The ancient stones stood silent witness to the gathering of friends and family, their faces etched with grief. The Malfoy heir, accompanied by his mother Narcissa, joined the solemn assembly, their presence a silent testament to the bond that had formed between Draco and his mate.
As they approached Hermione's final resting place, the air was filled with the muted sounds of sorrow. Hélène and William, the muggleborn's parents, stood hand in hand, their eyes reflecting a pain that words could never capture. Beside them, young Eustace clutched a toy wand, his understanding of the day's events limited by his tender age.
Draco's gaze met that of Hélène and William, and in that silent exchange, they recognized the depth of his loss. "She meant everything to me," Draco murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mrs. Granger nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. It was then that Eustace tugged at his mother's sleeve, his voice small and confused. "Mummy, when will I see Mione again?"
The middle aged woman's composure faltered, and she drew in a shaky breath. "Oh, my sweet boy, Hermione... Hermione is in a better place now," she said, her voice breaking.
Draco knelt before the young boy, his expression gentle. "Your sister is watching over us, Eustace. She's always with us, here," he said, placing a hand over his heart.
The child's eyes filled with tears, his lower lip trembling. "But I want her here, with me," he cried out.
"You have to be brave, Eustace. For Hermione, for your family," Malfoy encouraged, his own heart aching with the echo of his words.
As the ceremony drew to a close, Draco and his mother prepared to leave, but their departure was halted by the arrival of Ronald and Ginerva Weasley. Their faces were twisted with anger and blame.
"You did this! You're a monster, Malfoy!" Ron spat, his wand raised in fury.
A spell flew from his wand, striking Draco and sending him crashing to the ground. The crowd gasped, but it was Harry Potter who stepped forward, his face set in a stern line.
"Enough, Ron! Ginny, stop this!" Harry commanded, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
Ginny sneered, her words laced with venom. "He deserves it, Harry. After everything he's done."
Ron, his anger still simmering, allowed himself to be pulled away by his sister, their departure leaving a wake of tension.
Harry offered Draco a hand, helping him to his feet. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. For what they did, for... everything," he said, his guilt evident.
Draco managed a wry smile, despite the pain. "It's not like I haven't been called worse. But thanks, Potter," he replied, his humor dark but not unkind.
With a final glance at Hermione's grave, Draco and Narcissa turned on the spot, and with a soft crack, they disappeared, leaving behind the echoes of a day that would be etched in their memories forever.
Draco Malfoy's footsteps echoed through the empty halls of Malfoy Manor as he made his way to his office, a room that had become a sanctuary for his troubled thoughts. The door creaked open, revealing a space cluttered with the remnants of his desperate search for answers. Scrolls and notes about Druid rituals littered the table, and the Black grimoire lay open, its pages whispering secrets of ancient magic.
His eyes scanned the chaos until they landed on a scroll penned in a familiar hand—Hermione's elegant script. As he unfurled the parchment, his hands shook, the words blurring before his eyes.
"Giggles," Draco called out, his voice hoarse with grief.
With a soft pop, the house elf appeared, his large eyes filled with concern. "Master Draco, can Giggles be of service?"
Draco sighed, the weight of his sorrow pressing down on him. "No, Giggles. Just... check on Mother, will you? And help Twirl with whatever she needs."
"As Master wishes," Giggles replied before disappearing with another pop.
Draco sank into his leather armchair, the fire's warmth a stark contrast to the cold emptiness in his heart. The firewhiskey had done little to dull the pain, and now, a peculiar object on the table caught his eye—a device resembling a pocket watch, its surface etched with runes and a small hourglass at its center.
Curiosity piqued, the wizard reached for the object, and as his fingers brushed against it, the hands began to spin, the hourglass mirroring their movement.
A dizzying sensation overtook him, and darkness swallowed his vision. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in his office but surrounded by the familiar sight of books and shelves—the Hogwarts library.
"Pansy?" Draco turned to find Pansy Parkinson standing behind him, dressed in her Slytherin uniform, a ghost from his past.
"Drakey, will you take me to the Yule Ball?" the witch asked, her voice hopeful.
Malfoy's mind raced, the realization dawning on him. "The Yule Ball? Pansy, what year is it?"
"It's our fourth year, silly. So, will you?" she pressed.
Draco hesitated, the memories of his past flooding back. "I... I can't, Pansy. I'm sorry."
Parkinson's face fell, her disappointment quickly turning to anger. "I'll tell your father about this!"
The wizard stood firm, a newfound resolve within him. "Tell him, then. I'm done being his puppet."
As Pansy stormed off, Draco was left alone with his thoughts. He knew what he had to do. This time, he would change his fate. He would not let Viktor Krum—or anyone else—stand in his way. He already had someone in mind for the Yule Ball, and he was determined to make her his date.
But first, he needed a plan—a plan to win her heart and alter the course of his future.
The corridors of Hogwarts were abuzz with whispers, the rumor mill churning out tales of Draco Malfoy's unexpected transformation. The once proud Slytherin's actions had raised eyebrows across all four houses, and even the typically neutral Hufflepuffs were murmuring about his supposed betrayal of blood purity. Amidst this sea of speculation, Hermione Granger remained focused on her task at hand—helping Harry Potter prepare for the Triwizard Tournament's second challenge.
The witch was buried in a hefty volume detailing the magical creatures of Ireland when Harry burst into the Gryffindor common room, his face clouded with frustration. "Can you believe Ron? He's being impossible!" he vented, pacing back and forth.
Hermione glanced up, her patience wearing thin. "Harry, have you practiced the Four-Point Spell yet?"
He scowled, dismissing her concern. "I don't need some silly compass spell, Mione. I know where I'm going," he retorted, brandishing the Marauder's Map with a flourish.
The muggleborn tried to reason with him. "It's not just about direction, Harry. It's about—"
But the wizard cut her off, his annoyance with Ron spilling over. "Ron's just jealous. He always has been."
Hermione sighed, attempting to steer the conversation back to the task at hand. "Harry, the second task is—"
"Lighten up, Mione! You're such a bookworm. You need to have more fun," he joked, though his words lacked warmth.
The witch's expression hardened. "This isn't a joke. The second task is serious."
Harry's response was dismissive, and Hermione's frustration boiled over. Gathering her books, she stood up. "I won't waste my time on those who don't value it," she declared, leaving the wizard to grapple with the hurt he had caused.
As the Gryffindor wandered the empty corridors, the quiet of a Hogsmeade Saturday enveloping her, she decided to risk a visit to the library. The witch had nearly sworn off the place, thanks to Viktor Krum's persistent gaze and the gaggle of giggling witches that followed him.
To her relief, the library was deserted. She settled into a cozy nook, her mind soon lost in the pages before her. That is until the clatter of a backpack disrupted the silence. Draco Malfoy stood across from her, his appearance disheveled, his trademark slicked-back hair now tousled.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy? Planning to call me 'mudblood' again?" the witch asked, her tone laced with sarcasm.
Draco let out a dry chuckle. "You think it's easy, trying to do the right thing?" he replied, his humor fading fast.
Hermione's eyes narrowed, taking in the bruises marring his skin, the blood on his lip. "What happened to you?" she asked, genuine concern creeping into her voice.
Malfoy met her gaze, a moment of honesty overtaking him. "I saw Nott and Zabini hexing a first-year muggleborn. I couldn't just stand by," he confessed.
Granger stepped closer, her wand at the ready. "Let me help," she offered, casting a healing charm with a flick of her wrist.
Draco flinched as she mended his injuries, a soft "thanks" escaping his lips.
Their eyes locked, and something unspoken passed between them—a connection that neither could deny. From that day forward, they found themselves drawn together, their study sessions a refuge from the judgmental whispers of their peers.
The gentle lapping of the Black Lake's waters provided a serene backdrop to the emotional storm brewing within the Malfoy heir. It had been a month since the time turner incident, and the Yule Ball was fast approaching. Draco had gathered the courage to ask Granger to be his date, and to his immense relief, she had accepted.
They sat beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient oak tree, the leaves whispering secrets to the wind. "Mia, about the ball..." the wizard's voice was hesitant, betraying his usual confidence.
Hermione turned to him, her eyes reflecting the calm of the lake. "Yes, Draco?"
He took a deep breath, the blush on his cheeks a stark contrast to his pale complexion. "Would you, erm, accompany me?" he stammered, his gaze fixed on the rippling water.
Her smile was like a beacon in the dusk. "I'd be delighted, Draco," she replied, her voice soft yet clear.
Their moment of tranquility was shattered by the sound of approaching footsteps. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley emerged from the shadows, their expressions darkened by disapproval.
"What's this? Fraternizing with the enemy, Mione?" Ron's voice was sharp, his words cutting through the air like a knife.
The witch's brow furrowed, but before she could respond, Draco interjected with a smirk. "Oh, the weasel's learned some big words. How quaint."
Harry stepped forward, his anger palpable. "Mind your own business, Malfoy."
The Slytherin's smirk widened. "Looks like potty's finally starting to think for himself. Miracles do happen."
A flash of light erupted from Harry's wand as he cast a stinging hex, but Hermione's quick reflexes summoned a protective shield. "Protego!" she exclaimed, deflecting the spell.
Harry's face reddened with fury. "Traitor!" he spat at Hermione, his voice laced with betrayal.
Ron, sensing the escalating tension, grabbed Harry's arm. "Come on, let's go," he urged, pulling him away from the scene.
Draco's laughter rang out, but it was short-lived. As he turned to the witch, he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. Gently, he reached out, wiping away her tears with a tender touch.
"Don't let them get to you, Mia," he whispered, pulling her into his arms.
Hermione sniffled, but a small chuckle escaped her lips as Malfoy's next words lightened the mood. "Besides, we all know who are the real traitors around here."
Their laughter mingled with the rustling leaves, a moment of shared defiance against the judgment of others.
That evening, as Draco sat among his housemates in the Great Hall, the tranquility of dinner was shattered by the arrival of a howler. Mordred, his father's eagle owl, swooped in, dropping the red envelope before him. The wizard reached for it, but the howler burst open, Lucius's voice thundering through the hall.
"Draco Malfoy, you will cease this foolishness at once, or you shall be disinherited!" his father bellowed, the threat echoing off the stone walls.
Laughter erupted from the Slytherin table, the students reveling in the wizard's public humiliation. "Looks like Daddy's not pleased," sneered one of the Slytherins.
That night, he was tormented by a vivid nightmare. The Veela was back at Malfoy Manor, Hermione's life slipping away in his arms. "Draco, let me go. You must find your own way," she whispered, her voice fading.
"No, I can't lose you," he pleaded, his grip tightening.
The witch's bleeding hand caressed his cheek. "If our love is true, we'll find each other again," she assured him before her arm went limp.
Draco awoke with a start, his heart racing. Theo Nott stood over him, a cruel smirk on his face. "Crying for your mudblood whore, Malfoy?"
Blaise Zabine entered the room, his expression one of disdain. "How long will you play the traitor, mate?"
Draco's jaw clenched. "I'm not a traitor. I'm just not blind to the truth like you are."
Nott's laughter was cold. "Time's running out, Malfoy. The Dark Lord returns."
The Slytherin's retort was fierce. "You're all mad if you think following him is the right path."
Zabine's next words were vile, a joke at Hermione's expense. Draco's fury erupted, and he lunged at Blaise, his fist connecting with his face.
Theo intervened, his wand outstretched. "You'll pay for that, Malfoy."
The Cruciatus curse hit Draco like a tidal wave of agony, his screams filling the room as he collapsed to the floor. Through the pain, Hermione's words echoed in his mind, a beacon of hope in the darkness.