I 2

Annoyed, Hermione stared at the material in front of her. For the past few months, she had been annoyed by the fact that Seventh Year Wizardry seemed to be regularly taught separately by gender. Not every lesson, but often enough. And every lesson that she was taught with only other witches centred entirely around housekeeping spells.

Not that she denied the usefulness of a few basic spells. She had been glad to be able to make some things that were part of everyday survival easier by casting spells on the Horcrux hunt. But she wasn't interested in mastering different knitting or embroidery patterns, nor did she want to learn the different ways she could incorporate scarves into her hairstyle. She would much rather have attended the wizards' lessons, even if she didn't know what they were learning.

Beatrix sat next to her and followed the very old professor's demonstrations with great interest. Whenever magic for domestic use was involved, she was undisputedly the best. It was clear to Hermione that Beatrix could be a powerful witch if she broke free from the shackles of time. But that would probably never happen.

At the professor's beckoning, all the students turned their attention to the scarves in front of them. Sighing, Hermione grabbed her wand and waved it once to release her hair from its current style and let it fall naturally over her shoulders. Her own frizzy locks looked like a bird's nest against the life of Beatrix's perfect hair, which still looked cinematic even when undone.

"I pity you, Miss Dumbledore," murmured Beatrix, staring at her blatantly.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione returned the stare. "Really? You pity me why exactly?"

Her seatmate's small mouth twisted into a barely perceptible smile. "Surely you spend more time than any of us in front of the mirror in the morning."

It wasn't the first time Hermione had had to listen to jokes about her hair. Even in her own time, she had regularly received stupid comments about it. When she had been younger, she had often wished for the straight hair of her peers, but now it was different. As much as she got upset about housekeeping, she had learnt by now how to style her hair into neat styles that lasted a school day without much effort. She had learnt to love her hair and to understand that she would always look different from most others with her curls.

Annoyed, but unwilling to let Beatrix of all people spoil her mood, she replied: "Are you jealous that my hair alone has more character than you?"

She watched her neighbour's eyes widen with satisfaction. They stared at each other for several heartbeats while Beatrix obviously tried to find a dignified answer. Finally, the other witch averted her eyes, arched her back and jutted out her chin. Silently, she performed the spell, whereupon the scarf in front of her wrapped smoothly around her hair, forming a large, perfectly tied bow.

"You know, Miss Dumbledore," Beatrix resumed the conversation casually, "I am well-disposed towards you. I really am. There are so few of us seventh year witches and the others avoid you wherever they can. I always stand up for you and try to put in a good word. But with statements like that, you make it difficult for me to sympathise with you sincerely."

Hermione had just been about to cast the spell for the scarf herself, but now she put her wand back on the table and turned her whole upper body to face the person sitting next to her. "Miss Parkinson. It may be difficult for you to understand, but I value sincerity in the people I associate with. Your words are not sincere and we both know it. You don't like me and I don't like you. Don't you think your life would be a lot easier if you stopped trying to convince me and others otherwise?"

Once again, she had left the other witch speechless. Hermione took advantage of the moment of silence to finally cast the spell they were about to learn. Unlike Beatrix, she didn't manage to tie the scarf into a pretty bow, but at least it went round her hair like a headband and kept it out of her face, which was the real purpose of the spell. The bow was just a fashionable addition.

"You have no friends," Beatrix hissed quietly as her hands closed convulsively around her wand. "As soon as you leave Hogwarts, you'll realise that the world beyond these walls isn't as welcoming to witches like you."

"Witches like me?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"You live in open disgrace with Tom Riddle. Don't think your shameless activities in the common room have gone unnoticed. You have no idea what your reputation will be like beyond the castle!"

At last, Hermione understood why Beatrix had sought the conversation with her in the first place. She wanted to talk about the fact that someone - probably Nott - had seen them having sex in the common room. The only question was why she wanted to bring it up.

Hermione stared stubbornly at her counterpart. "So?"

"So what?" Beatrix said indignantly. "No self-respecting wizard would want to marry you like that."

Hermione tilted her head playfully. "Isn't Tom a decent wizard?"

"Do you really think he wants to marry you?"

Hermione grinned inwardly. Of course Beatrix couldn't have known about the conversation at Christmas and of course Tom hadn't officially asked her to marry him yet. But she knew that Tom had at least given it some serious thought. She didn't let her amusement show, however, but simply repeated: "So?"

This obviously upset the other witch. Her cheeks reddened as if she was ashamed of this conversation herself. "If you don't leave this school as Tom Riddle's wife, you'll be the laughing stock of the wizarding world."

With a sigh, Hermione leaned forward. "What is this really about, Miss Parkinson? Do you want to find out if you still have a chance of becoming Tom's wife?"

The blush on Beatrix's cheeks deepened. "How dare you? It may be normal for you, but as long as a man gives his attention to another woman, I would never hope for such an offer. Besides, I get attention from other people!"

Hermione froze. She saw Beatrix smack her hand over her mouth, as she obviously hadn't meant to say the last sentence. Hermione had only seen one classmate interact with Beatrix in the past in a way that carried even a hint of romantic affection.

And that was Rufus Lestrange.

She thought hard about what she knew about the family history of the Lestranges and Parkinsons. Of course, she knew that Bellatrix Lestrange was married to Rodolphus Lestrange, and he was Rufus' son. But although the Lestrange family was one of the great pureblood families, she had never heard anything about Rodolphus' mother. She knew even less about the Parkinson family. At some point in history she had learnt that a Parkinson had been Minister of Magic in the 18th century, but that was all.

Was it possible that Beatrix Parkinson would actually marry Rufus? As much as she disliked the snooty Slytherin student, she would be sorry to have such a monster for a husband.

She looked hesitantly at her hands before giving herself a jolt. "Miss Parkinson, it's not my place to give you any advice about your married life. I have just expressed how little I appreciate your interference. So please believe I speak from the bottom of my heart and with complete honesty when I tell you that you should not accept an offer from Mr Lestrange."

She saw Beatrix open her mouth angrily to launch into a heated retort, but then the other witch faltered. It was as if all the life suddenly drained out of her. Her posture slumped a little and her angry gaze became uncertain. Was it possible that Beatrix herself was already having doubts about Rufus? Hermione had rejected him from the start, if only because his name reminded her of Bellatrix. But it was quite possible that other women also heard their inner alarm bells ringing when they had anything to do with him.

Hermione gently placed a hand on her seatmate's shoulder. "Don't just trust my words. Listen to yourself. Was there ever a moment when you doubted this man's honour and sincerity? Has he ever given you the feeling that you are not safe in his presence? Listen to your instincts. We women know when a man is dangerous."

She felt a barely perceptible tremor under her fingers, which rested gently on Beatrix's shoulder. Vulnerability appeared in her eyes and Hermione sensed that the girl was desperate to confide in her.

But then she blinked and the moment was over. Beatrix straightened up again and wiped her hand off her shoulder. "Who do you think you are, Miss Dumbledore? You're the last person I need advice from about my social behaviour."

With a sigh, Hermione turned back to the front. It was probably not so easy for Beatrix to free herself from the rigid corset of time. Even if a part of her perhaps recognised that the words were true and well-meaning, she would never be able to admit that a socially inferior person could give her advice.

The old professor in front was engrossed in a book as usual. Whenever she took over the magic class, she gave them a short introduction to a usually simple spell and as soon as everyone was busy practising, she turned to her novels - for the rest of the lesson. The other students were all already successful and so the room was filled with the quiet murmur of various conversations. It would be another half hour before the double lesson was over.

Beatrix next to her had obviously decided to spend the rest of the time sitting bolt upright on the bench and stubbornly looking straight ahead. Even when Hermione leant forward, Beatrix didn't bat an eyelid to show that she even realised she had a seatmate.

Hermione resignedly placed both arms on the table and imitated Beatrix's posture. Perhaps there was another way to protect the girl. Even if she couldn't protect every woman from Rufus - someone had to become the mother of Rodolphus Lestrange, after all - she would at least try to protect Beatrix. She didn't know if they were married in her time and if she was messing with time, but Hermione couldn't let that stand.

If everything she was doing here had always happened like this, if she had always experienced things like this, she was sure that she would always do everything in her power to protect Beatrix. And if the events she had experienced did not correspond to the original time, she had already lost anyway.

Hermione paused. Had she already lost? If she had changed time, would her time travel even happen?

The chances were slim. Only because of Voldemort and the war, only because Dumbledore was dead and the three of them were searching for Horcruxes, only because of that had the time travel been triggered at all. If anything had changed, surely it would never have happened.

What would happen to her if she did something that prevented her time travelling in the future? Since there was only this one timeline, wouldn't that mean that she would cease to exist here in the past?

As so often before, Hermione felt that she was getting a headache just from thinking about time travel. Nothing made sense and every thought seemed to lead to a circular argument. But if she approached the matter strictly logically and tried to take all her conversations with Dumbledore as a basis, there was only one logical consequence:

As long as she existed in 1944, now 45, she had changed nothing about the future.

Conversely, this meant that all the things she had done and suffered had always happened that way and that she had sent herself into the past despite knowing this. She hoped that this meant that at the end of the journey she had a clear plan for the time in 1998.

Because as it stood now with her and Tom Riddle, she was only more confused than ever.