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Adrift in Time

Summary:

When Draco Malfoy realizes the mistake he's made by turning in the Golden Trio-resulting in Hermione's death-, help comes in the shape of a time turner. He is sent back to September 1, 1995 where he tries to change the course of the war for the better. With all of the information he has now, Draco must find a way to earn the trust of Harry Potter while protecting himself, his family, and more importantly, her.

Notes:

The following is an idea I've had bouncing around in my head for years. It is only now that I've dedicated time to write it all down.
Any mistakes are my own and I don't own the characters used.
Some dialogue in this chapter was taken out of HPatDH.
This is my first published work so reviews and comments are appreciated.
I love you guys, enjoy!

Chapter 1: Anguish

Chapter Text

March 31, 1998

The muffled yells were the first things he heard. They ricocheted through his head like spells reflecting off the shield of a protego charm. And they could only mean one thing. They had been found. Draco stepped out of the library and headed down the long, ornate hallway towards the drawing room. The Manor’s ambiance was eerily quiet as most of the Death Eaters were dispatched on several different missions for the Dark Lord. The various whispers from the portraits on the walls sliced through his thoughts and Draco wished they would just shut up as he neared the set of double doors.

His heart was pounding in his ears like the pulsating warmth of a fire, quickly melting whatever cold exterior he’d tried to put up. Books snapped shut and were put into shelves high up in his mind. Out of reach from any prying eyes. His own included. He focused on getting rid of any trace of camaraderie or friendship (not that there was much, to begin with) between himself and the trio that he was positive lay on the other side of the door. Draco scoured his mind for any possible weakness; each time he found one he'd place it on a page and bind it to a book only to then secure it on the shelf just like Severus had been teaching him for months. His occlumency had been vastly improving over the last month and although he still faltered, he needed to keep on practicing. He needed to succeed. He needed to stay alive.

With his newly acquired blank stare and seemingly uncaring stance, he walked up to the heavy, oak doors. He stilled for a moment; listening. Voices were trying to break free from the confines of the drawing room. Only hints of them carrying through to the other side of the doors. Fenir Greyback. Draco thought, tuning into one in particular. 

Just then, a pale faced Narcissa Malfoy stood at the entrance to the room and quietly motioned him inside. His mother was the image of elegance and poise but the slight tremble in her hand betrayed her calm disposition.

Draco glided into the room with an air of faux confidence. Not that anyone could tell, too busy fretting over the trio in the middle of the room. Narcissa reminded him of a small mouse trapped in a den of wolves. Small and innocent. His right arm was extended behind his mother, guiding her further into the room— keeping her safe— before stepping away with a quick and reassuring squeeze to her shoulder. Grey eyes met black ones as he stared at Fenir Greyback. Out of his peripheral, he could make out his father, Scabior, and a number of other prisoners tied together. However, he refused to focus on the remaining three familiar figures to the right of the inquiring werewolf.

"Well, boy?" the werewolf asked in a voice that made a shiver run down Draco's back. Greyback nodded towards the group and the boy had no choice but to behold them. And they looked horrid. Although the dirt on his face and clothing disguised him at least somewhat from those who hadn’t lived alongside the boy for years, the redhead was undoubtedly Weasley. Not to mention the quickly forming bruise thanks to a nasty punch to the face. The blazing red hair, however, was much harder to conceal. The same could be said for Granger’s own mane of hair. Although she looked more like herself than her two companions. Granted, not by much. She was deathly pale and thin. But Potter— or at least who he believed to be the Boy-Who-Lived— on the other hand, had changed his appearance drastically. His face looked to be stung by a dozen bees and his black hair was longer, dirtier, and more disheveled than he’d ever seen. Distracting, but not enough to make him believe otherwise. These were the people whom they were looking for.

"Well, Draco?" His father said in an anxious tone. He turned around and met grey eyes to blue. To very impatient blue. Draco immediately turned back around to the subjects in question making eye contact with each, if at the very least for a second. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

Of course, it is.

"I- I can't- I can't be sure," he replied. Greyback's snarl just threatening enough to make him back up a few steps, his mental shield faltering.

Focus, Draco. You're higher in His ranks than him. He cannot touch you. He thought of a book. He thought of a shelf. The blond opened his eyes (he couldn't recall closing them) and tried to focus on anything other than her amber eyes pleading, begging.

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer," Lucius said and held out his hand to his son. His voice was getting harsher.

He's getting excited. This is all a game to him. Draco felt sick. Lucius wrapped a thin arm around his son’s shoulder and brought him closer. Voldemort would be here soon and this little game would be over. He wasn’t sure who the winner would be in that situation. Page. Thread. Book. Shelf. He cleared his throat and went to speak before his father cut him off again. This time whispering in his ear.

"Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiven."

Draco's eyes flashed over to his father. He's right. He will take this as a sign of compliance. Repentance. The living hell they'd had to live in for almost a year could certainly be forgotten if they turned them in. These people had almost gotten his father killed. Because of them, Voldemort was now in possession of his father's own wand. Their rank in His army had fallen because these "brave little Gryffindors" had somehow upset the Dark Lord during one of Lucius’s missions fifth year. Resulting in the death of one of their own—his cousin—Sirius Black. The few words exchanged between his father and Greyback were not of real importance to him and fell upon deaf ears. He wanted to survive this fucking war. He was a bloody Slytherin, damn it! And his self-preservation was of utmost importance to him.

Furthermore, Draco didn't even want to imagine what the Dark Lord would do to his family if they let Potter get away again. Death would be the least of their worries then. Family was the most important thing to a Malfoy and he wouldn't jeopardize them because of the Boy-Who-Couldn't-Fucking-Die. Family always came first. But there was her.

Family, Draco. Family.  

"…Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?" His father motioned for him to get closer to the trio. His steps were slow and steady as he followed the command. The blond looked them over as if analyzing them to be sure. In reality, he was trying to keep all of his books steady on the shelf. Compartmentalize. You can do this. He accidentally made eye contact with Granger. The books on his shelves toppled over. And that had to be the only reason for the sharp pang of guilt when he replied: 

“Yes, that's him.”

Draco stepped away from them to join his mother, avoiding eye contact with the three of them. ‘Coward!’ He thought. A triumphant Lucius walked away from the group and was already pulling up his sleeve to summon the Dark Lord when the doors burst open once again. Draco didn't even have to turn to confirm who the newest addition to the drawing room was; the coldness in the air said it all.

"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?" a sharp voice called out. His aunt Bella stepped into the room with a twisted smile. Azkaban had not treated her kindly. Her hair was a raging mane crackling with magic, her grey eyes were just as wild, and her small frame and pale complexion were comparable to those of an inferi. She was utterly and perfectly terrifying. Just like she’d always been.

"We've caught Potter," Draco said, answering in lieu of his mother. He plastered an easy smile onto his face, trying to get rid of the witch’s criticizing stare. But he knew that wouldn't happen so soon. Nor so easily. The Black family was known to be the toss of a coin between being batshit crazy or just plain cunning. Bellatrix, however, was both; and that fact alone is what made her so dangerous. Bella giggled and backed away to look at the trio all the better. She cocked her head, sighed, and licked her lips resembling a wolf eyeing three helpless rabbits.

"Potter? Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!" His aunt peeled back her sleeve, proudly showing off the branding of Voldemort's servants. Wand outstretched. The Dark Mark twisted as it felt the magic just out of reach when Lucius's hand shot out and grabbed a hold of her wrist. The maneuver preventing Bella's wand from touching the Mark. She furiously turned around to face him. The fire in her eyes flashed dangerously and she tried to wrench free from his firm hold without much success.

"I was about to call him! I shall summon him, Bella, Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority—"

"Your authority?" the black-haired witch cried with a laugh. "You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! Take your hand off me!" She sneered. Once again she pulled away from his father— this time she was victorious. She held her wand high but was once again disrupted when Greyback cleared his throat and pointed out that his team was responsible for the capture of Harry Potter and his companions. Draco rolled his eyes. It was a complete mystery to him how the werewolf still didn't know how to keep his insufferable mouth shut. His point once again validated when he asked for compensation for completing the given task. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold?” Bella said, throwing a small knapsack which hit the werewolf’s chest with a heavy thump.

"Draco, call Him," Lucius commanded. He hesitated. Eyes traveling over to his aunt in case any hexes were to be thrown his way. He saw her own grey irises stray away from him and he let out a long breath of relief. His wand was mere centimeters from his own Mark when she suddenly exploded. 

"STOP!" his aunt shrieked. Draco froze, eyes wide. “Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!" Confused, the blond stashed his wand and followed her gaze until it landed upon Fenir Greyback— or rather what he had slung across his back. Bellatrix prowled closer to him, her wand pointed and her eyes flashing with anger and terror. Oh fuck. Draco could feel danger in the air, thick as the blood he knew was about ready to be spilled on his mother’s nice Persian rug.

Bellatrix's long strides had her in front of Greyback in mere seconds. Draco pulled down his sleeve and straightened himself out. His eyes caught desperate, faithful amber before using all his willpower to turn away from her, focusing on his aunt.

"Give it to me," she demanded her wand digging into his throat.

"It's not yours, missus, it's mine, I reckon I found it." Bellatrix snarled and a flash of red illuminated the room. A Snatcher fell to the floor.

Shit.

"Don't make me ask again, Fenir," she spat before sending out another stunning spell. The Snatcher closest to his mother toppled to the ground.

"Shit!" Draco muttered stepping in front of his mother, wand raised, ready to protect her from any more wayward spells. Another blazing red light shot out of Bellatrix's wand and a third Snatcher dropped with a thud. Scabior drew his own wand but was too late for his aunt had already yelled: “stupefy”. The four men lay motionless on the floor while Bella’s murderous eyes were trained on Fenir Greyback, forcing him to his knees. The interrogation was quick and fruitless: the Gryffindors had been the ones traveling with the sword.

"Draco, move this scum outside," his aunt commanded him with a dismissive wave of her hand. "If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me.” He paled.

"Don't you dare speak to Draco like that, Bellatrix," his mom furiously spat from behind him.

"Be quiet!" Bella shouted. "The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem." She took a deep breath. Her face relaxing into a smirk. "But, I think Draco needs a reminder of what is at risk," her voice got dangerously quiet and Draco blanched. Narcissa looked outraged.

"You will not hurt my son, Bella," his mother seethed.

"Cissy, he just needs to learn what he's expected to do," she replied with a pout. Malfoy’s skin prickled at the manipulation. A smirk grew on Bellatrix’s face as she turned back to the prisoners. "The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do," she motioned over to Greyback. The big werewolf making his way over when Narcissa's hand shot out, stopping him in his tracks.

"This is my house, Bella, you don't give orders in my—"

"Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!" shrieked Bellatrix. She was starting to feel very irritable. Her black curls were sparking with fleeting magic and the air felt charged with the same. A spark shot out of her wand and scorched the carpet beneath her feet. Narcissa's gaze flickered down to the scorch mark before returning to her sister's crazed face. A frustrated sigh escaped her.

"Take the prisoners to the cellar, Greyback.” His mother complied.

Bellatrix's smile widened as she stepped even closer to the trio. She ran her wand through Granger's hair before grabbing a hold of the rope tying her wrists. "All except… except for the Mudblood." She pulled her away from the group and sliced the rope connecting her to the others with a thin, silver knife she drew from her robes.

Granger's jaw was tightly set. Bellatrix ran the knife down, tickling her throat. And while Granger shook, her stare never faltered from his aunt's face. Stubborn little witch. Damn Gryffindors. Draco subconsciously moved a little closer to the duo.

"No! You can have me. Please take me!" Weasley began struggling against Greyback's tight grip pleading for Bellatrix to reconsider. His aunt walked over to him before raising a hand and bringing it down across his face with a heavy blow. Blood trickled from the side of his newly parted lip. A nice addition to his bruised face. His blue gaze was hard and his mouth gathered in a tight frown.

"Don't worry," she said, suddenly grabbing and turning Granger around so her back was pressed against her. At this angle, the redhead could see both of them clearly. "If she dies under questioning, I'll take you next. After all, Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book," Bella giggled and pushed the girl away sending her tumbling onto the floor. Unable to get up due to her bindings. "Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure but do nothing more to them— yet."

Greyback nodded and started guiding the prisoners downstairs. Draco could hear the yells and thrashes of the two thirds of the Gryffindor trio as they exited the room and started descending the stairs of the servant's corridor. He tried to avoid eye contact with the girl on the floor as he tried desperately to stuff everything back unto the pages of his books before placing them on the highest shelf. Again.

"Where did you get this sword?" Bellatrix asked Hermione. The girl was on the ground staring defiantly up at the witch. She didn't answer. Bellatrix frowned and tsked. She jumped on top of the girl and held her down. Her knife quickly cutting her free of her bindings before finding a place on the crook of her neck.

"I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?!" Bella shrieked taking the knife and lightly nipping at her neck. Draco could see the beads of crimson blood forming even from where he stood.

"We found it— we found it— PLEASE!" the girl cried. Bellatrix grunted in frustration and stood up. In one fluid motion she took out her wand, aimed it at the girl, and shouted:

"CRUCIO!"

The most bloodcurdling scream came out of her throat. Draco could tell that she had shredded her vocal cords doing so. He also knew from personal experience with Bellatrix’s work, that the more one fought against it, the more the curse took hold of you. And knowing her, she was fighting a hell of a lot.

Stupid girl. Just say where you got the bloody sword. He thought. His hands found his hair and dragged their way through it. His breathing picked up speed.

Bellatrix dropped the curse and ran both of her hands through her own matted hair in desperation. "You lying little Mudblood bitch! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!" Her arm was raised once again but stopped short. His aunt frantically turned around searching for him. An idea evident in her wild eyes. "Draco, earn your place. You know what to do," she hissed.

Draco's eyes flew towards his aunt who in reply just arched a brow back at him. "What? Don't have the guts?" She taunted. Pages. Books. Shelves. Draco glared at her and straightened his back. His hand reached into his pocket and pulled out his hawthorn wand. With a steady hand, he aimed it at Granger before taking a deep breath. Books. Shelves. He hesitated. Blood pumping. Heart hammering the final nails on his coffin. Behind his wand, Hermione lay crying and shaking. Her shining, doe eyes wide and pleading.

"Please, Draco, I know you're better than this. Please don't," she whimpered. Draco closed his eyes. You have to mean it. You have to mean it. If you don’t do this she'll get much worse from Bella. Mean it!

‘I’m sorry’  He mouthed.

"Draco, I'm begging you plea—"

"CRUCIO!" He yelled. She screamed. Bellatrix laughed.

"Oh, my dear nephew! Yes, make her suffer what she's done," Bella said gleefully. He wasn't sure how long he'd held the unforgivable for, but by the end, her screams were nothing more than hoarse, airy sounds coming from her throat. He lowered his wand and Bellatrix wasted no time in questioning the Gryffindor. ”What else did you take?" His aunt asked dangerously.

"N-nothing," Granger whispered. Wrong answer. Bella pounced, blocking the girl from Draco's sight. Grateful for the interruption, he turned away from the scene and took hold of the fireplace banister. He dug his nails into the cool granite, hoping it would simmer the rebellious fire inside him, as he heard Bellatrix yell again. He was shaking slightly and could see his father eyeing him disappointingly. Draco could only hear Bellatrix behind him. Half of him hoped Hermione had died and wouldn't have to suffer. The other half hoped for her to survive and help end this nightmare. He couldn't bear the uncertainty and turned around to face the situation.

"What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!" A silent scream tore through her throat once again as she writhed and trashed on the floor. No answer came. His aunt threw her wand down and resumed her position on top of Hermione with the silver knife in hand.

Draco couldn't tear his eyes away from them. Bindings were coming undone. Pages were being torn out. There were books everywhere. He tried to put them all back together and on the shelves but it was useless. They were coming down too fast. He was drowning. He couldn't breathe. He gripped the banister as if it was his own, personal lifeboat. As if it could keep him afloat. 

Bellatrix grabbed hold of a weak arm and held it in place with one hand while the other placed the tip on her forearm. "What else did you take?" She whispered dangerously. Granger shook her head. And although her mouth was moving, no words would come out. Bella dug the knife in and started to drag the blade downwards making a single line. This, however, was enough to pull a loud, bloodcurdling shriek from the girl and she started thrashing around underneath the crazed witch.

"Was it gold?" She made another cut.

"Maybe rubies?" She dragged the blade down again. A crooked "M" was now carved into her skin. Draco paled. This was too much. He looked up as Hermione screamed once again from the pain of the cursed blade. Each question with an unsatisfying answer earned her another cut.

Bellatrix took her time carving her until she had a lopsided "MUDBLOOD" written on her previously unblemished skin. Granger lay limp on the floor. Blood pooling beneath her. Satisfied, Bellatrix got up and motioned to Greyback.

"Bring up the goblin. I need to check if the sword is real or not," she instructed. The werewolf nodded and started walking away. "And, Greyback," she called after him. "Take the Mudblood if you want her." A crude smile appeared on his face. Draco's eyes widened with understanding. Something within him snapped. He stepped forward to finally intervene when the door flung open and Weasley came barging in— a wand in his hand.

"NO!" He cried with his wand pointed at Bellatrix. "Expelliarmus!"

Bella's wand was sent flying into the hands of Potter who had followed close behind. "Stupefy!" He yelled and the beam of red light hit his father. Draco took a defensive stand and stared firing at Harry.

"Expelliarmus!" Draco's own wand was raised and jets of lights flew directed at Potter. Family first. He could hear his mother dueling with another as he tried to fight off Potter. A beam of yellow came hurling towards him and he dove to the floor just before it hit him. He fired a "Sectumsempra!" before putting up his own shield. The boy rolled over and used an armchair as cover before taking in the scene. Lucius was down on the floor, stunned. His mother was dueling with Potter while Greyback fought off Weasley. A jet of red light suddenly hit the werewolf square in the chest and he fell to the floor. Draco stood up and fired at the redhead, trying to prevent him from dueling his mother. He noticed Bellatrix kneel down next to Greyback's stunned body and pick up his wand before pointing it at the exhausted girl on the floor.

The rage in her eyes was overflowing when she yelled.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Hermione slumped to the floor like a rag doll. A scream tore from Weasley's throat as Harry stopped, looking stunned by what had just happened. No one moved. Narcissa brushed a strand of hair away from her face as she stared at the lifeless Gryffindor on the floor of her drawing room. Her mouth slightly open from shock.

A small pop echoed throughout the room as his old house elf, Dobby, appeared in front of Potter. "Dobby has come to save Harry Potter, of course. Dobby will always save Harry Potter," he exclaimed before grabbing on to Weasley and Potter. Disappearing with a sympathetic glance at Draco. Bellatrix waved her wand sending a green light their way but they whirled away before it hit them. Nobody was quick enough to stop them. She screamed in frustration and stormed out of the room. Leaving Granger behind broken and bleeding on his mother’s ornate, Persian rug.


Cold water hit his face. He could feel the drops that trickled down from his brow to his chin. The difference between the water he’d just splashed and the tears he’d been shedding in private was nonexistent to him. Draco stared his reflection in the eyes. His hair was disheveled from running his hands through it so often, his eyes were bloodshot from crying, his face pale and haunted from seeing death in his own home. A feeling of disgust rose in his throat by just thinking about all the things he didn’t do to stop it from happening. He furiously punched the mirror with all his might; shards of glass went flying everywhere. Small particles ended stuck in his skin, drawing up small beads of blood. Bright. Red. Blood. The same color as hers. He felt numb all over.

                 "Please, Draco, I know you're better than this. Please don’t.”

                 ‘I’m sorry'

                 "Draco, I'm begging you plea—"

                 "CRUCIO"

                  She screamed.

The bile which rose in his throat went quickly into the sink. The boy wiped away the sick with the back of his hand before crumpling up on the floor. Shaking like a leaf in a storm. 

  Falling. 

  Falling. 

  Falling.

Falling into the abyss of nothingness. Like raindrops on a window, tears raced down his face. One representing his anger. Another his fear. He didn’t know which one would win. He didn’t want to know. Draco let out a shaky breath in defeat. His books weren’t binding. They were toppling from the shelf as soon as he’d place them. His mind was broken. He was broken.

The pitiful reality of his situation got to him. He’d let an innocent person die. He’d let her die. But he also knew that even though he believed he was on the winning side of this war, there had to be something he could do to help. A way of repenting for what he’d done for the fate of the Wizarding World.

He needed to do something. Tell someone. Pages. Books. Shelves… He tried his hand at Occlumency once more, to no avail. Tornadoes were going rampant in his mind. Tearing out pages from his most treasured books. CompartmentalizeSeverus. He needed to see his Godfather.


April 1, 1998

Draco was back at Hogwarts. He’d arrived early that morning by floo, directly to Snape’s office. His mother hadn’t even questioned the reason for his early departure. Instead, she’d hugged him tightly as he sobbed with her. She had whispered in his ear: “Don’t you worry, my little dragon. Everything will soon get better. You’ll see,”. He had just held onto her even tighter and nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck; like when he was younger. She knew that the “stress”—that’s what she called it— of it all was affecting him mentally. And once acknowledged, they didn’t speak a word of it since. Instead, she’d fire-called Severus and set up a time for him to travel back to the castle. However, when he arrived, Severus was nowhere to be found. So instead of waiting for the Headmaster to appear, Draco decided to go down to his dorm.

Hence the reason why at the moment, he sat alone in the Slytherin common room staring out the window into a bleak, grayish-green lake. He would occasionally spot the Giant Squid swimming happily around as it was rather shy; so the lack of students allowed it the freedom to make several laps around the lake without disruption. He’d seen some merpeople swimming by in groups. Several would make accidental eye contact and glare at him. He had even counted the fish that swam by (3,482 to be exact) and their different colors. Anything to keep his mind off of the grim events of yesterday which kept replaying in his mind. Events that he allowed to happen.

                 “Draco, I’m begging you plea—”

                 Amber eyes met grey.

                 “CRUCIO!”

Draco blinked. Damn it. I lost my concentration. His books had toppled over and their contents invaded his mind. His eyes were dry and red from the last two days and his newfound insomnia didn’t make the situation any better. Sitting up, he ran both hands through his hair in exasperation. Ever since yesterday, his occlumency had been failing him. And if this problem continued, it would mean danger for a lot of people. The books in his mind bore testimony of things the Dark Lord shouldn’t see with a simple stab at his thoughts. He knew he needed to talk to Snape.

Draco stood up and with a last glance at the squid, made his way towards the common room door. He walked out of the common room and started up the first flight of stairs. The castle felt as hollow as the manor had. No ghosts wandered the halls and most portraits were sleeping or out of their frames. The soft echo of his footsteps was the only noise heard throughout the dungeons as he walked. Hogwarts had always felt more like a home than the manor. However, after the incident last June with Death Eaters, he could feel the castle start rejecting him and his magic. To the point that he no longer felt the warm embrace of a home, but the cold air of a prison.

The blond continued to climb up to the main floor and past the eerily quiet Great Hall. He’d never stayed the holidays at Hogwarts. Always going home to a loving mother. Furthermore, students wouldn’t be getting back for another week and a half or so; and the Hogwarts staff was busy preparing everything for the last few months of classes. Not even Mrs. Norris nor Filch caught him as he made his way up further to the Headmaster’s office. And of the students that had stayed behind, none were in his own house. As a matter of fact, Draco assumed the rest of them were in their own common rooms catching up on homework, walking the blossoming grounds of early spring, or simply enjoying the rare silence Hogwarts had to offer.

The staircase he was on suddenly shifted leading him to a corridor on the fourth floor instead of his desired destination.“Stupid bloody stairs,” he muttered under his breath as he waited for a moving staircase to come and allow him to leave the merlin-forsaken corridor. He looked down the hallway. Empty, of course. Expect for the tapestry of what appeared to be a Hungarian Horntail guarding its egg. Draco stared at it intently. But after a minute, a staircase came back and he was able to continue his trek to Severus’ office. Finally, he stopped in front of the chipping gargoyle statue who just stared blankly back at him. “Password?” It crowed.

“Is this really necessary?” He prodded back. He’d forgotten the blasted password. Draco didn’t come all the way up here just to go back down to the dungeons because of a daft gargoyle.

“No password, no entry,” it replied haughtily. Draco let out an irritated sigh. Shit. He was starting to get irked. Malfoy ran one hand through his blond hair (hair which was now disheveled from the newly acquired anxious habit) and was about to try and guess the password when he heard heavy footsteps behind him.

“Is there a problem Mr. Malfoy?” A drawling voice spoke up. He didn’t need to turn around to know who the speaker was. But the intense gaze of his former professor on his back prompted him to turn and face Severus Snape. Draco glared at the gargoyle and he could almost hear the statue smirk.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He asked it. “He wasn’t even in there?” Draco scoffed.

“You never asked” the gargoyle replied. Draco was about to say something not quite so nice back when the Headmaster interrupted him with a clear of his throat.

“I presume you came back early to speak to me about something important?” He said as he walked up to the Gargoyle. “Of the Valley,” he said to the statue who moved to reveal the stairs. Draco followed him up trying to find a way to bring up the subject. His hands were twitching. Itching for something of importance to do.

“Yes, I believe you know about Granger?” He finally asked. He knew Severus knew. Of course, he did. Why wouldn’t he? He was definitely close to Bellatrix in ranks and he knew for a fact that she’d been castigated for letting Potter go. Voldemort probably favored Snape over anyone at the moment.

“An unfortunate incident really.” He said, avoiding eye contact with the boy. He was walking over to his desk when Draco piped up again.

“Headmaster, I have a question. Does lov-,” Draco halted himself. “Do strong feelings impair occlumency?” 

Snape stopped in his tracks. Draco could see Snape's breathing quicken a bit. He shouldn’t have said anything. This was too dangerous. But it was either risking himself or his family. And he knew what he would choose if it came to it. Every single time. I’m starting to sound like a fucking Gryffindor.

“Why is this of relevance to the situation, Mr. Malfoy?” He drawled in a low voice. Draco couldn’t think of a believable answer. He mentally berated himself for not thinking this through. Anxiety coursed through his veins. He knew he needed to calm down. Keep a sound mind. Pages. Books. Shelves.

“Mr. Malfoy?” The Headmaster asked. “Why does it matter?” Snape turned around slowly, making eye contact with the young heir.

“Because I can’t put up my mental shield. Since- since Bella killed her,” Draco said in a soft voice, looking down. He couldn’t bear seeing the expression in Snape’s eyes. However, when he looked up, he could see no judgement in the deep onyx. But a sort of sympathy lay in the Headmaster’s eyes.

“I think you have a big complicated problem, Draco,” Snape said taking a seat in his large chair. He sat underneath a newly put up portrait of Dumbledore who luckily, wasn’t there to hear the conversation. Draco was thankful for it too. For he didn’t know how he’d be able to stomach coming face to face with the man he’d almost killed.

“You don’t say,” Draco sighed out. He took his own seat in front of Snape and dropped his head to his hands. “I’m utterly fucked, Severus.” The potion’s master pursed his lips at the foul language and let out a long breath. 

“Mr. Malfoy,” he paused, willing Draco’s grey eyes to meet his black ones. “Perhaps, a story will help you better understand your situation. So, I’m going to tell you about a lioness and a snake.” Snape started. He lifted his wand and silenced the room with a flick. “You see, several years ago there was a lion cub and a snake who were raised by a herd of gazelles in the wild. The two were the best of friends but the gazelles made fun of them because they were different. However, they bonded since they both had fangs. They played together every day. Growing up, little by little. One day, the lioness met more lions and the snake met more snakes-”

“Severus, I don’t think this-” Draco tried to interfere only to be silenced by a heavy look from the man in front of him.

“Mr. Malfoy, I believe you will find this story to be highly educational. Even though it may be familiar. So please, be quiet,” he said cooly. Draco pursed his lips.

“The lions didn’t exactly like the snakes or vice versa. Nevertheless, the lioness and the snake stayed friends for a long time. Until one day, the snake bit the lioness in an act of revenge. It was a lapse of judgment, and he tried to apologize, but his venom was already working its way through the lioness and she could feel it. She never thought he would be capable of poisoning her and she was resentful. The snake was not ashamed of being a snake. Nor was he ashamed of his fangs or venom. But he was ashamed about the way he acted towards the lioness he loved for such a long time,” Snape’s voice died out. He cleared his throat before finishing his story. “The lioness never befriended him again. She found another lion and fell in love. Thus, leaving the snake alone to live with his guilt and the other snakes forever.”

“Severus, I don’t think you have to communicate with young Mr. Malfoy through made-up stories.” Draco glanced up behind Snape’s shoulder to see Dumbledore’s portrait looking down at them both. Snape scoffed before turning around to face him.

“Bold of you to say such a thing considering you sent our only hope of salvation running around like headless chickens looking for a fairytale,” he sneered. Dumbledore simply regarded him with a kind stare before speaking up again.

“Perhaps,” he shrugged. “But Draco here is too mature and wise for such tales.”

“And Miss Hermione Granger isn’t?” Severus quipped back. Draco’s wide eyes were glued to the portrait of his late Headmaster. A pang of guilt and regret ran through him as he recalled the night up at the astronomy tower last year. It was that night that Draco had sealed his fate. He wasn’t the hero of the story, but the villain.

                  “There is little time, one way or another. So let us discuss your options, Draco.” 

                  “My options! I’m standing here with a wand — I’m about to kill you—” 

                  “My dear boy, let us have no more pretense about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means.”

                  “I haven’t got any options! I’ve got to do it! He’ll kill me! He’ll kill my whole family!”

“You and I both know that Miss Granger needed to be kept occupied and intrigued in the Deathly Hallows to succeed in finding them,” Dumbledore replied calmly. 

“You sent them toward their death, Albus,” Snape replied irritably. “One of them is already gone, are you willing to sacrifice Weasley too?” Dumbledore stilled in his frame and gaped lightly. The unnerving twinkle in his painted eye was gone. He peered down at Snape, clearly frustrated that he didn’t know that Hermione had been killed the day before. He opened his mouth to speak when Draco interrupted.

“Severus, I need help.” His voice was pleading and he felt utterly lost. Pages. Bindings. Books. Shelves. He tried to avoid the portrait’s gaze but it was futile. His eyes met the ones on the canvas and Draco’s shield crumpled. “I have already lethally poisoned the lioness. And there’s nothing I can do.”

Snape turned away from Dumbledore and regained his composure. “Perhaps, Mr. Malfoy, your lioness doesn’t have to die,” he replied. The current Headmaster stood up and started walking towards a large and ornate wooden credenza on the opposite side of the room. 

“It’s a little late for that,” Draco laughed bitterly. His eyes curiously following Snape while also consciously avoiding Dumbledore’s inanimate gaze which he could feel focused on his person. Every second feeling like an hour spent under a heavy, scrutinizing gaze.

“Draco, when I became your Godfather, I promised Lucius to take care of you,” Severus started as he reached out to pull open a drawer. He pulled out a small silver box.

“Severus, what do you think you’re doing?” Albus’s voice rang out in an unfamiliar cold and demanding tone. Draco’s interest peaked. 

“What is that?” He asked. Snape neglected to acknowledge both, the child and the portrait as he continued his previous statement.

“Taking care of you means making sure you live. No matter what,” He said placing a heavy emphasis on the latter. He sat back down and placed the silver box in front of Draco, prompting him to open it. A flittering of hope raced through his mind. A small, fragile bird ready to be freed.

“Severus,” Dumbledore warned. Severus looked up at the painting and arched a brow.

“I think this to be quite an emergency, Albus. Wouldn’t you agree?” He said in an unperturbed manner. Draco reached out for the box and took it in. It was quite small, about the size of a ring box. He twirled it around in his hands looking for any engravings or hints about what it may contain.

“He’s just a child, Severus,” Dumbledore snapped. Snape scoffed in reply and stood up.

“So is Harry Potter. And you’re sending him to die at the hands of The Dark Lord! You’ve been raising him like a pig for slaughter since he was a baby,” Snape seethed back. Dumbledore didn’t reply to this. He looked furious and Draco was sure that if the portrait were able to perform magic, Snape would have been jinxed and even perhaps cursed twice over by this point. The potions master glared right back at Dumbledore with fury. Malfoy, however, was trying to piece together what Snape had just said about Potter.

Raised him like a pig for slaughter? What does that mean? The Dark Lord will kill him? I must have misheard because there’s no way Dumbledore would want Harry to die. Right?

Draco glanced back at Severus who had now turned back around to face him. He nodded slightly and the blond opened the small box. His gaze hardened as he saw what lay inside: a time turner. However, this wasn’t like the others his father had shown him in the Ministry. This one was silver instead of gold and quite a bit smaller. The sand inside looked like glitter and it had a very unique blue hue to it. Almost periwinkle. Carefully, Draco pulled it out of the box to inspect it further. It had several runes engraved into the metal. Which all together read: commutationem animarum. A phrase which he knew roughly translated to- Exchange of souls.

“Exchange of souls? Why do you have this?” He asked. His eyes flew to his Godfather’s face. A time-turner? Sure, he could see Severus housing an illegal time-turner. But this was no ordinary time turner. He could feel the magic pulsating around it. Luring him in like a moth to a flame. Suddenly, it wasn’t too far fetched to think of the reason why Albus Dumbledore had been drawn to such an object. It was dangerous.

“When Albus died, he entrusted me with this device,” Snape said. Dumbledore glared down at him. “It’s not a regular time turner as you have seen: Exchange of souls. You essentially exchange places with yourself at the time. Replacing your old self’s soul completely. Your current memories remain. Some foolish wizards have used it for immortality which is the reason why the one in your hands is the last one of its kind. And even though I am a stupidly stubborn snake who would want his lioness back, I can’t risk our only opportunity to destroy the Dark Lord. No matter how much I loved her.” His voice dropped. “I can’t risk not having Harry Potter as The Chosen One.”

“And what do you want me to do?” Draco asked apprehensively. His eyes drifted back to the object in his hands. The answer was obvious. Especially considering Dumbledore’s reaction. But Draco wanted to hear Severus tell him the plan. He needed to hear this plan and make sure he wasn’t going utterly mental.

“Simple. Go back in time and use your knowledge of the future to derail this unfortunate sequence of events from happening,” Severus’s calm voice informed him. “Get Potter to trust you and prevent Miss Granger from dying. Befriend The-Boy-Who-Lived and defeat the Dark Lord.”

“No,” Draco objected. “I’m not doing this. I can’t risk going back in time!” He pushed away from the table and stood up. The time turner dangling dangerously from his hand as he paced the room resembling a caged lion. He thought of different scenarios. All of them flickering through his mind at the speed of light. All of them ending in death. “Not even if it means losing her forever,” he added solemnly.

“You cannot possibly be this dense, Draco!” Severus interjected with an emphatic wave of his hands. “We both know he can’t make it much longer without Ms. Granger by his side. We need her.” 

He had a point. Draco knew that even though he was utterly insufferable, Harry Potter had a knack for running towards danger. Hermione seemed to be what kept him alive half the time. And now, without her, there was no doubt that soon The-Boy-Who-Lived would live no more. Draco grunted in frustration and ran his free hand through his hair. The gentle trickle of the sand from the time turner counting down to his decision. I’m not going to do this.

“I know I’m a coward, Severus,” Draco sighed in defeat. “But I will not risk my life going back. I will not risk my family’s life. Her life. Especially if there’s a chance nothing will change at all. Or worse, if there’s a chance things will be even more wrecked than they already are.” He slipped the time turner’s dainty chain around his neck and used his hands to ruffle his hair in desperation.

“Draco’s is absolutely right, Severus,” Dumbledore piped up. He seemed to have calmed down a bit and now sat in his portrait looking anxiously at Malfoy. “You don’t have to be so hasty in interfering with time. It’s a very dangerous game you’re playing at.” Draco didn’t know if he should feel relieved that Dumbledore seemed to think it was a bad idea also, or offended that he didn’t find him capable enough to do this. 

“Albus, with all due respect, I’m Headmaster at the moment. Not only that but also Draco’s Godfather. So please, spare me one of your condescending lectures. If we don’t do this right now, we might not get another chance before our only hope for peace is dead,” Severus said. He looked at Draco who was still pacing closer and closer to the door. “Draco, please consider it.”

Malfoy took the time turner in his hands and looked down at it. He fiddled with it absentmindedly for a minute and was about ready to answer when the door slammed open.

“Headmaster, there’s been a problem with Peeves in the 5th-floor corridor,” the voices of Alecto Carrow and her brother Amycus announced simultaneously. Draco felt the time turner turn twice in his hands as he tumbled to the floor due to the impact of the door. He could feel a strong, distant pulling at his navel and dizziness took over him. Malfoy felt a tinge of irritation towards the incapable Death Eaters as everything went white before his eyes.


September 1, 1995

Chapter 2: Adrift

Chapter Text

September 1, 1995

Hermione had been lying awake for hours. She was woken up promptly at 6:45, all thanks to a very chatty Ginny Weasley who couldn’t stop talking about her newly acquired boyfriend: Michael Corner; whom the redhead had met at the Yule Ball the year before and started dating at the start of that following Summer. Naturally, Ginny wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of informing her brother, Ron, about her newfound relationship with the Ravenclaw. And of course, she couldn’t just go and converse with Harry about Michael. First, because the boy had been suffering all summer with the guilt of Cedric’s sudden- and quite frankly, very mentally scarring- death during the last leg of the Triwizard Tournament that July. And of course, there was the small detail of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named being back amongst the living. Not to mention that Ginny had just gotten over her crush on the dark haired boy only a few months before she started dating Michael. All in all, that left only Hermione to serve as Ginny’s confidante. Not that she was complaining.

“I’m so ready to finally go back, Hermione,” Ginny said excitedly as she sat up in her own bed. Hermione turned to face her with a smile.

“I wonder why,” Hermione replied playfully. Ginny retorted by sticking out her tongue and rolling her blue eyes. However, this action didn’t keep Hermione from happily noticing a slight blush creeping up her cheeks.

“No-” 

Hermione snorted. 

“I mean, yes. But not only because of him,” the redhead laughed. “I meant that I always look forward to a new school year and I have a good feeling about this one.” She flopped to her back and stared at the ceiling with a smile but in rare silence. “Plus, I’m also excited to take Divination,” she added with a knowing smile towards Hermione who let out a frustrated groan.

“I’ve told you a million times, Ginny Weasley, Divination is complete and utter rubbish,” she said. A slight scowl adorned her face as she stared disbelievingly at Ginny. Trelawney’s class had not shown the potential of teaching her anything. Which is why she’d dropped that class third year; walking out, never to come back. If that’s how the ministry decided who had the potential to be a seer, anyone could fake their way in. I even bet that if I took the Divination O.W.L.s I’d get an Outstanding without a doubt. She laughed at her own idea but stowed it away in her mind for future “researchpurposes.

“But it’s so easy, Hermione!” Ginny cried. “After all, who wouldn’t want to take an easy class for easy marks?”

“Exactly!” Hermione interjected. “Anyone could say whatever, and Trelawney would believe that they’re gifted with the third eye!” she argued. “I’m not stating my disbelief that seers actually exist,” the bushy haired girl added as she ran a hand through her locks. That is until it snagged on a knot. She frowned and removed her hand opting to just untangle her hair in the shower later. “I’m just saying that she’s in no position to teach a gaggle of teenagers how to become them.” Ginny sat back up and was about to quip back when Molly Weasley let out a shrill yell from downstairs. 

“KIDS! The Hogwarts Express is leaving in AN HOUR AND A HALF and I don’t want us to be getting there at 10:55 like last year!” She yelled. There was indiscernible chatter and then a loud crash outside the door of the small room Hermione and Ginny shared. “FRED, GEORGE! Do NOT make me come up there young men,” Molly threatened and the girls could hear the twins laughing on the landing. Hermione shook her head— disappointed that she actually expected this behaviour from the twins— but broke out in a smile nonetheless. The brunette stretched before standing from her bed and making her way towards her school trunk with the purpose of finally getting ready for the day in mind.

“Look, Ginny. All I’m saying is to take classes that don’t waste your time,” Hermione said with a shrug as she hummed an old Celestina Warbeck tune she had heard Molly singing while they were cleaning up Grimmauld Place for the past couple of months. She stopped her journey to her trunk in favor of the foot of Ginny’s bed where the younger witch was staring at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ginny replied with a smile. “You’re just particularly…” she hesitated. “I don’t know, giddy?”

“I-“ Hermione faltered with a pensive frown. “I just feel like this year is going to be different.”

“Well, I mean, I’m excited too, ‘Mione!” Hermione grimaced at the nickname but Ginny didn’t seem to care. Actually, none of the Weasleys seemed to care that she loathed nicknames. Apparently, it was too hard to say one more syllable. Hermione thought to herself.

“But, not just normal September First excitement,” She began. “I feel like everything’s going to change,” Hermione let out. She was nibbling on her bottom lip when Ginny burst out laughing. 

“Alright,” the redhead laughed. “And you’re the one telling me about how rubbish Divination is.” Hermione laughed lightly in agreement at her own hypocrisy. Am I simply going completely mental?

Hermione opened the latch of her trunk and lifted the heavy lid. There wasn’t any other way of putting it— she had been packed for weeks. Ever since arriving at Grimmauld Place, Hermione’s trunk was ready for September first and its voyage to Hogwarts. The only difference there now was the shiny, new Prefect’s badge that sat neatly on top of a pair of Gryffindor robes.  She touched it softly and moved it aside to reach for her casual muggle clothes and her foldable hamper (which was now of miniature size thanks to a reducio charm). 

“I know I sound like a complete fool, but I truly think there’s something different in the air,” Hermione said shuffling through her things. She finally found a pair of muggle jeans and an Oxford jumper her parents had bought her earlier that summer. “Can’t you feel it?”

“How do you know it’s something good? Maybe it’s just the fact that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back that has everyone on edge,” Ginny suggested quietly as she got up herself and added a few last minute items to her trunk. The thought sobered her up and closing the trunk, she made her way out of the room and into the bathroom for a quick shower. But not before turning back to Ginny with a small smile.

“Sometimes, Ginny, you have to have faith.”


She had just learned a couple of months ago that if she dried her hair with magic it wouldn’t frizz up as bad as it used to when she was younger. So, after a quick ten minute shower, she took out her wand and pointed it at her head while muttering the drying charm’s incantation. Within seconds, her unruly curls were falling down her back in a less frizzy but completely incorrigible style. She swiped on a small amount of makeup (which she had finally learned to use correctly for the Yule Ball) and sighed contently at her reflection, proud of herself for finally mastering a way to somewhat contain her locks and enhancing her own brand of beauty. She opened the door, intending to step out into the hall when she ran into a very sleepy Ron.

The boy had obviously just woken up. His disheveled red hair was long enough to start curling around his ears and Hermione had to fight the urge to fix it as she often did to Harry. His clothes were also rumpled from what seemed to be a good night’s sleep. She silently wondered why Dumbledore had thought that Ron would make a good prefect. True his options to choose from were… limited. 

Hermione wasn’t really surprised she was made prefect. She was certainly one of the most hardworking and diligent Gryffindor girls in her year. But it wasn’t her badge that had had Grimmauld Place in complete mayhem. For it was a certain redhead’s new Prefect badge that had caused such commotion. True, she hadn’t expected Ron to be made prefect over all fifth year Gryffindor boys. And to be honest she still recoiled in guilt when she thought about having assumed that the responsibility was Harry’s when the letters had arrived a couple of weeks ago. But the more she thought about it, the more she was glad to have Ron as a fellow prefect. But she didn’t want to sell Ron short just yet. Instead, she focused on the fact that he clearly wasn’t ready to go yet.

“Ron, have you just woken up?” She asked incredulously; one hand pointing to his messy hair and the other on her hip. “You know, the Hogwarts Express leaves in an hour and you’re not even half ready.” Ron yawned and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and Hermione bit her tongue to avoid pointing out that the habit would cause him wrinkles. “Have you even finished packing your trunk yet?”

Ron yawned again. His blue eyes stared dumbly at her, clearly still half asleep. She snapped her fingers in front of him in agitation. The action seemed to make the boy more alert for he rolled his eyes and replied, “Yes, Hermione, as a matter of fact, I have.” His tone was clearly meant to make her feel guilty for doubting him, but Hermione smirked up at him instead. She knew she’d been pestering the boys to pack for days and the small triumph of Ron actually doing what he was told made her unimaginably happy.

“Plus, I don’t think you have to worry about me being the one to make us late to Platform 9 and 3/4,” Ron continued as he strolled past her and into the bathroom. He picked up his toothbrush and squeezed out some toothpaste. Hermione, meanwhile, raised a questioning brow. “I mean, I just overhead Moody telling Tonks that we’re still waiting for one of the Order members, Sturgis Podmore? I think…” He slipped the toothbrush into his mouth. “…To be a guard for us to go to the platform,” He informed her through the foam of his toothpaste in his mouth. Hermione furrowed her brows and she wasn’t sure if it was because of what he’d just told her, or because she watched him spit out the toothpaste into the sink.

“Guards?” Said a voice from behind her and she turned around to see Harry walking down the stairs. He was quick to join them outside the bathroom door. His hair, like Ron’s, was a complete disaster. “We have to go to King’s Cross with a guard?” Harry asked in shock. His hand froze halfway up to his messy black hair. Hermione turned around to face Harry, a shoulder still pressed against the doorframe. 

“No,” she started with a soft voice, trying not to trigger the boy into an uproar. “You have to go to King’s Cross with a guard,” Hermione corrected. But her efforts to keep Harry’s teenage irritability at bay seemed to fail terribly. Harry’s green eyes flashed from behind his glasses and he scowled.

“Why?” Harry snapped. “I thought Voldemort was supposed to be lying low, or are you telling me he’s going to jump out from behind a dustbin and try to do me in?” Harry protested with a clenched jaw. Hermione’s own amber eyes bore into his for the entirety of three seconds before getting quite irritated herself with his ignorance. Just because he’s the chosen one doesn’t mean that everybody’s world revolves around him.

“Don’t be such an arrogant prat with me, Harry James Potter!” she exclaimed. “You’re starting to sound like Malfoy,” she muttered. She heard Ron try and hide his laugh behind a cough. The act, diffusing her annoyance. She took a deep breath before continuing, “ It’s not our fault. And it’s not that they don’t trust you. It’s just what Mad-Eye said, Harry.” Hermione looked down at her muggle watch. Harry was getting ready to argue but Hermione cut him off. “ But if we don’t leave soon we’re definitely going to miss the train,” she said. Harry huffed. Still obviously not too keen on the idea of going to King’s Cross while being guarded by Order members. 

The girl sighed, pushed off the doorframe, and walked halfway to the stairs. “It’s dangerous, Harry. Even though not everyone believes that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, you must not forget he is.” Hermione winced at her own words as soon as they left her mouth. How could you say that, Hermione? As if he could forget. There was a long pause. The tension in the air was thick and Hermione couldn’t seem to bear it. She turned around to face the boys. One was gaping at her. The other was glaring.

“Gee, Hermione, thank you. I’d nearly forgotten Voldemort is alive. After all, it’s not like he killed Cedric a few months back,” Harry articulated in a detached tone. His eyes had darkened to what was nearly a brown. “It’s not like he would’ve killed me too.”

“Thant’s not what I meant,” she said. She trod carefully as if approaching a wild animal. After all, with the way Harry had been acting lately, she wasn’t sure what would set him off or not. “All I meant to say was that he has the advantage right now. There’s no doubt that he will infiltrate the Ministry soon if he hasn’t already. It’s dangerous out there, Harry!” Harry frowned at her words as Hermione just stood there, waiting for him to face the facts.

“She’s right, Harry,” said a voice from the stairs. Hermione turned around to see Sirius making his way down towards the trio. “I wish I could leave this bloody hellhole and be there to protect you. But since I can’t you have to protect yourself.” Harry seemed to rid himself of some of his anger at the sound of his godfather’s voice. Sirius slung his arm carelessly around Harry’s shoulder and pulled him into a side hug. “I know that if you’re anything like your father you have the deepest desire to protect those closest to you,” He said with a reassuring smile. Harry’s eyes brightened, just as they did whenever Sirius talked about his parents. “But to do that, you need to focus on what’s important.” Sirius’ face grew stern. He pivoted away from his godson in order to put both hands on his shoulders and look at him straight in the eyes. “You need to have a sound mind if you want to stand a chance against Voldemort-” Ron and Hermione winced at the name. “And you need to listen to and trust your friends,” Sirius added with a poignant look at them. He seemed to get lost in his thoughts before his gaze drifted towards Harry. “Because I wish I would have the first time around.”

Hermione stilled at the mention of the end of the First Wizarding War. She’d heard the story from an equally regretful Remus Lupin last summer. She’d been so excited to finally have a competent professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts that she’d decided to try and build a friendship. Friendship with the werewolf had come easier than expected thanks to their similarities. And one night, while he was visiting the Burrow, he’d told the story of why the night of October 31, 1981, happened in the first place.

Soon after the Potters went into hiding he’d been called on a mission to infiltrate werewolf groups and try to persuade them to join their side. Obviously, the task required him to leave behind any trace of his life as a wizard due to the resentment many werewolf packs had against wizards. There was no communication with the outside world except the rare Patronus he would send Dumbledore and vice versa. Because of misunderstanding months prior, Sirius and Remus’s relationship was severely strained and their trust with it. So, when Sirius stepped down from being the Potter’s secret keeper, he refused to have them alert Dumbledore in the rare chance he informed Remus. Unbeknownst to them, that a meek Peter Pettigrew would be the one to betray them all. 

Hermione glanced sympathetically at the Black heir and leaned into Harry. “We’re your best friends, Harry. We’re on your side,” she urged. She flung her arms around her dark haired best friend’s neck. “Don’t you ever forget that.” As Hermione pulled away she made eye contact with a watery-eyed Sirius Black who was smiling at the sight of his godson and his best friends. There wasn’t a doubt in her own mind that he was reminiscing back on his own youth long gone. She smiled up at him and mouthed: thank you. To which he just gave a small nod and a small, humble smile in reply.

Hermione was really glad that Sirius had taken her side on the matter. Especially since he was virtually the only adult Harry would listen to these days. However, she couldn’t shake how foolish he’d been acting lately. He seemed to want Harry to not leave for Hogwarts— to not leave at all. The only reason Hermione could think of for this behaviour would be that he still sees James in Harry. And although she felt a sharp pain in her heart whenever she put herself in his shoes, she couldn’t help but worry that his foolishness will eventually get him in trouble with the Order. Or worse, killed.

She broke out of her thoughts as Sirius clapped Harry on the back. “Now, you lot better get downstairs before your mother-” he raised his brows towards Ron, “Starts yelling like a fucking banshee again,” he finished. But at Ron’s scandalized look quickly added, “No offense.” Hermione let out a laugh against her will at Sirius’ quite brash (but incredibly crude) statement before excusing herself from the group and heading back to her own room.

When she opened the door it seemed as if a hurricane had struck the bedroom. Clothes were spilled over everywhere. As were books, quills, parchment, and several loose socks. And at the center of it all was Ginny trying to stuff everything into her trunk. The young Gryffindor’s panicked eyes met Hermione’s with a silent plea. “What on earth happened here?” She asked racing to drop what she had in her hands inside her own trunk and buckling it shut. Ginny picked up a crimson bra from her nightstand with one hand as she swiped up three socks with the other.

“I don’t know!” She said as she ran in a frenzy collecting all of the pieces of parchment that laid scattered near the window. “I tried a wandless ‘accio’ on one of my barrettes and everything just went flying.” Hermione giggled, picking up Ginny’s two quills and setting them in the trunk. She was still not used to the Weasleys’ occasional use of magic (always out of Molly’s sight) thanks to the magic constantly flowing in wizarding homes. She’d tried her hand at some small charms here and there but even though the Ministry had never contacted her for improper use of magic as a minor, she still felt incredibly guilty every time she did so. The only exception being her hair because Merlin knows she needed all the help she could get in that department. She picked up a book and started walking about the room.

“Ginny, you’re only a fourth year. You don’t need to learn any wandless spells yet!” She said, picking up a sock as well.

“Oh yeah? When did you learn your wandless ‘accio’?” Ginny retorted with both hands on her hips. She cocked her head to the side and waited for an answer.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “With Professor Lupin,” she whispered. “Third year.” Ginny stared at her incredulously and let out a laugh.

“You, Hermione Granger, are brilliant,” Ginny replied in awe- which made Hermione flush in embarrassment- shutting her trunk in the process.

“KIDS! It’s 10:30 GET DOWN HERE!” Mrs. Weasley screeched from downstairs. Hermione and Ginny’s eyes met in alarm and they each grabbed their own trunks and hauled them with difficulty out into the landing. Without warning, two trunks zoomed down the stairs. The latter of which hit an unsuspecting Ginny, sending her tumbling with it.

“FRED! GEORGE! Look what you did to your poor sister!” Mrs. Weasley cried as she helped Ginny to her feet. She seemed relatively unharmed with the exception of a small cut on her forehead. “Come on dear, we’ll get you fixed up momentarily,” she said with a glare at the twins who had appeared behind Hermione as she led Ginny away into the kitchen.

“Well, that didn’t exactly go as planned, Fred,” George said as they climbed down the stairs to join Hermione at the landing.

“You know that just because you’re both seventeen doesn’t mean you should use magic whenever you can, you know,” Hermione expressed in irritation as she looked up at both of them. Blast her short stature. Fred looked at George in faux bewilderment.

“Why brother, did you hear what she’s just said to us?”

“Why yes, Forge, I did. But that’s exactly what it means, isn’t it?”

“That it does, Gred!” Fred agreed. He winked at Hermione and levitated her trunk carefully down to the living room where Moody and Tonks were talking to a very upset Sirius. The twins were banished out into the kitchen soon after their first joke at Moody’s expense. The auror didn’t seem to be in the mood for any nonsense and that included the tattooed man in front of him.

“Alastor, come on. You’re one guard down and no one will know it’s me if I go as Padfoot,” he argued vehemently.

“Dumbledore said no, Black. You don’t know who’s out there,” Moody grunted back.

“Well whoever it is won’t know it’s me,” Sirius said and shifted into Padfoot before Moody could say anything.

“On your head be it,” he murmured under his breath. Harry was making his way downstairs with Ron following quickly behind him when Walburga Black burst out:

“MUDBLOODS! Mudbloods in the house of my father! What would he say to the knowledge that they’re tainting the most noble and pure house of Bl-”

“Oh shut it!” Molly shouted as she aimed her wand at the portrait and locked the curtains. Ginny followed close behind her looking as good as new. Everyone was shuffling about trying to make their way out into the streets of London where Arthur and Remus were waiting for them. Hermione stepped out through the door of Grimmauld Place when she turned around, still on the steps, to see Moody lecturing an animagus Padfoot.

“I swear, Black. One toe out of line…” But he wasn’t even able to finish his sentence before Sirius shot out the front door and started barking happily, outside for the first time in months.


Twenty minutes later, the group arrived at King’s Cross. And much to Molly’s dismay, the clock read 10:53. Arthur had taken their trunks and was in the process of loading them onto the train with the help of Fred and George while the rest of the kids bid farewell. “And don’t forget to write, Ginny dear,” Mrs. Weasley said as she crushed her daughter in a tight hug. A hug that a red faced Ron was still trying to recover from. Padfoot brushed up against her leg and Hermione petted the giant, black dog as she whispered her own farewell.

Moody followed as soon as he’d made sure they hadn’t been followed. “I’ll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore that’s the second time he’s not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus,” said Moody disapprovingly. He looked at the group of teenagers before him.

“Well, look after yourselves,” Remus interrupted, shaking hands all around. He reached Harry and gave him a clap on the shoulder. “You too Harry. Be careful.” Then he reached Hermione to whom he gave a hug. “Keep an eye on him for me, will you?” He asked with a sincere smile. Hermione nodded.

“Take care of yourself, Professor.”

“Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled,” huffed Moody, shaking Harry’s hand too. “And don’t forget, all of you - careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don’t put it in a letter at all.” 

“It’s been great meeting all of you,” Tonks said, hugging Hermione and Ginny tightly. The Hogwarts Express let out a whistle urging the students who remained on the platform into the train.

“Quick, quick,” Mrs. Weasley said distractedly, hugging the kids who were nearby and even Remus on accident. “Write… be good… if you’ve forgotten anything we’ll send it on… on to the train, now, hurry…” Padfoot’s tail was wagging excessively and suddenly he jumped up onto Harry, setting his front paws on his shoulders in an awkward hug. But Molly was quick to act, pushing off the dog, “For heaven’s sake, act more like a dog, Sirius!” 

The four remaining Gryffindors climbed aboard the train just in time. They stuck their head out the window only to see a black dog running after the train. People on the platform watched in mirth at the picture of Padfoot bounding after the train excitedly. The train made a turn and he wasn’t seen from the window anymore. Hermione was worried about his foolishness but his happiness trumped it all. She smiled and sighed happily. It’s good to be back.

“Well,” Fred started, clapping his hands together and drawing her head back inside the train, “can’t stand around chatting all day, we’ve got business to discuss with Lee. See you later,” the twin slipped through a compartment door on the right. Harry started walking towards the left. 

“Shall we go and find a compartment, then?” He asked the group. Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. 

“Er,” Ron hesitated. 

“We’re - well - Ron and I are supposed to go into the Prefect Carriage,” Hermione stated awkwardly.

“Oh,” Harry said looking dejected. “Right. Fine.” 

“I don’t think we’ll have to stay there all journey,” Hermione interjected quickly. Trying to diffuse the anger she could already see peeking out under the surface. “Our letters said we just get instructions from the Head Boy and Girl and then patrol the corridors from time to time.” 

“Fine,” Harry replied once more, avoiding eye contact with both. “Well, I - I might see you later, then.” 

“Yeah, definitely,” Ron said, casting an anxious glance towards Harry. “It’s a pain having to go down there, I’d rather - but we have to -I mean, I’m not enjoying it, I’m not Percy,” he finished. And with that Harry nodded, turned around, and tried to catch up to Ginny, leaving them both standing in the middle of the corridor. “Alright, we should probably go down there and get this over with.” Hermione agreed and the Gryffindor prefects made their way towards the compartment near the engine.

They weren’t the first to arrive. Out of the fifth year prefects, Hufflepuff, Hannah Abbott, and Ravenclaw, Anthony Goldstein, were already there with nearly all sixth year prefects. Padma Patil came in soon after Ernie MacMillan and the rest of the sixth years. Finally, Hufflepuffs, Violetta Sturges, and Thomas Butler entered the carriage.

“Well, is everyone here?” Violetta said with a big smile that made Hermione feel welcome at once. Padma raised her hand and exchanged a glance with Anthony.

“Um- Slytherin fifth years,  Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson aren’t present yet,” she reported. Violetta frowned slightly.

“Would anyone happen to know where they are?” The students in the compartment all looked at each other and shrugged. “Alright then, we can start without them.” As if on cue, the carriage door opened revealing a smug Pansy Parkinson and a very disheveled Draco. Hermione eyed them with disgust as she could only guess why they were late. It seemed the head boy did too for he welcomed them coldly.

“Nice of you two to join us,” said Thomas, “Now if you’d please take a seat, all of us would appreciate it.” Hermione looked in annoyance at the Slytherins who took a seat across from her and Ron. If asked, she’d say that that was the only reason why she couldn’t help but notice that Draco seemed out of sorts. His grey eyes landed on everyone inside the small space. But when they landed on her, he seemed to falter. She raised a brow at him in confusion. What the hell is wrong with him? She asked herself.

“All of you have been personally picked by our wonderful headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, to represent Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as fellow prefects,” started Violetta.

The meeting didn’t last more than three quarters of an hour. In that time the Hufflepuff heads talked about the Prefect’s Bath privileges, what they’d do during Hogsmeade weekends, what their responsibilities were after the feast, and their patrols. Thomas announced that Violetta was still working on their schedules and they’d be handed out with their normal school timetables the next day. But Hermione noticed that Draco’s eyes had often wandered to her all throughout the meeting.

“I cannot believe I finally get to use the Prefect’s Bath, Hermione!” Ron whispered excitedly. Dragging her train of thought towards the redhead. “Do you know how much Bill, Charlie, and Percy have bragged about it?” He asked joyously. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“You weren’t made a prefect just to use the bath, Ronald,” she chided. “You’re supposed to be excited to fulfill your responsibilities.”

“Yes, ‘Mione, I know,” Ron replied defeatedly. Everyone was starting to leave the compartment.

“I’m going to talk to Violetta before she leaves. You can go with Harry, I’ll be right there,” Hermione said distractedly as she made her way over to the head girl.

“I’ll just…” started Ron as he turned around before giving up once he noticed Hermione was gone from his side completely. He sighed and left the compartment in search of his best friend.

“Hey, Violetta!” Hermione called out as she reached the Hufflepuff, glad that she hadn’t left the carriage with Thomas just yet. Violetta turned to face her and gave a warm smile.

“Hermione! How can I help you?” She asked sweetly. Motioning for Thomas, who was waiting for her at the door, to continue on without her.

“I was just wondering if you needed any help with scheduling patrols?” Hermione asked excitedly. She would love to have some extra work to occupy herself during the weekends. Especially since the class load she was signed up for this year wasn’t too extraneous. In fact, everything was shaping up to be the best year ever and if Violetta gave her some extra work outside of class she wouldn’t hesitate to accept it. Sadly, Violetta declined her offer.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Hermione but prefects aren’t allowed to make their own schedules,” she frowned, “but you can make suggestions about companions and I’ll keep them in mind. And thank you for asking.” Violetta winked. The Gryffindor nodded thoughtfully in agreement. “But you’ll be the first to know if I need any extra help with anything else!” Hermione smiled at the sentiment.

“Thank you, Violetta. I’m excited to work with you this year.”

“Likewise, Hermione! I’ve heard great things of you,” said Violetta as she opened the door of the carriage and held it open for Hermione. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.” Hermione nodded and stepped out of the carriage. Violetta waved and left down the corridor to catch up to a waiting Thomas. Greeting him with a quick kiss. Hermione smiled and turned around to search for Ron and Harry down the other side of the corridor when she was stopped by none other than Draco Malfoy.

“What do you want Malfoy?” She asked, already annoyed, as she tried to step past him. But Draco blocked her way.

“Can I talk to you?” he questioned quietly. Hermione furrowed her brows and pursed her lips. She was about to reject him but something in his eyes stopped her in her tracks. His normally cold and cruel grey eyes were in a way, desperate and… scared? However, that fact didn’t mean that she’d trust him enough to talk alone with the boy who’d tormented her for the last five years.

“I don’t think so. Now if you excuse me,” she said as she tried moving past him once more. But her efforts were stopped by his hand on her wrist. She was panicking now. Her eyes met his which were still radiating sincerity and a silent plea of compliance. His desperate gaze almost made her cave and conform but before she could reply Ron came to her rescue.

“Leave her alone, Malfoy,” Ron spat, pushing through and taking Hermione’s arm protectively; in the process breaking her free from Malfoy’s loose grip.

“This is none of your business Weasel,” replied Draco quickly and all of Hermione’s sympathy drained completely. I can’t believe I almost fell for that. She mentally scolded herself.

“Come on, Ron,” Hermione said taking Ron by the hand and trying to pull him away. She could see him itching to throw a punch towards Malfoy’s smug, aristocratic face and she would not start the year in detention because of these two baboons. However, the action was futile as he was bigger and thus stronger than herself. “You’re a prefect, come on. You can’t fight him on the train.”

“Nice of you little girlfriend to save your arse, Weaselbee,” Draco sneered. Hermione saw Ron’s jaw twitch and she pulled on his hand harder. 

“Come on, Ron,” she repeated with a cold glare directed at the Slytherin. This time Ron budged and followed her away from Draco. She sighed in relief and looked back at the blonde as they made their way from the front of the train to the back. But he had turned away and seemed to be berating himself, running his hands through his hair. Hermione shook her head at the thought of what Draco needed to apparently tell her. “This is going to be a good year” my arse.

Moments later, the two of them opened the door to the compartment to find their friends sitting with Luna Lovegood, a fourth year Ravenclaw frequently referred to as Loony Lovegood, sitting beside Ginny and across from both Harry and Neville. She walked in after Ron who as soon as he entered announced that he was hungry. She and Ron informed Harry of the different prefects from their own year. When mentioning Padma, the blonde Ravenclaw looked up from her upside down copy of ‘The Quibbler’ magazine and turned to face Ron.

“You went to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil,” said the light voice beside Ginny. Luna Lovegood stared unblinkingly at a surprised Ronald Weasley who stopped chewing his chocolate frog.

“Yeah, I know I did,” he said, looking mildly shocked that the girl knew such a thing.

“She didn’t enjoy it very much,” Luna informed him. “She doesn’t think you treated her very well, because you wouldn’t dance with her. I don’t think I’d have minded,” she added thoughtfully, “I don’t like dancing very much.” She retreated behind The Quibbler again. for about three seconds before her gaze turned to Harry. “Do you happen to know what nargles are?” She asked dreamily. Harry shrugged and looked at her curiously. “Well, I think they like your hair,” said Luna nonchalantly, “you happen to have a nest of them in it.” Harry ran his hands anxiously through his forever messy hair while Ron stared at him in amusement.

“What are nargles?”  asked Neville innocently to which Ginny replied with an easy shrug of her shoulders and a laugh.


Draco looked out his window into the green rolling hills of England. The hills more alive than he’d seen them in months. He’d just made it back from the prefect’s meeting alongside a very clingy Pansy Parkinson. He was still angry with himself for letting old feuds keep him from talking to Granger. To be honest, he didn’t exactly know what he’d say to the girl after she’d agreed to go with him; but thanks to Weasley he didn’t need to think too much about it.

He’d woken up that morning in his own bedroom to his mother announcing the departure of the Hogwarts Express in two hours. Disoriented at first, he couldn’t seem to believe that he’d actually achieved what Severus had set out to accomplish. But the time turner clutched in his fist confirmed it to him. Draco knew that there was currently no known way for a wizard to go forward in time due to the effects of a time turner. At least not a normal time turner. Merlin knows how the small, silver artifact in his hand actually worked. And he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed, or glad that where he came from might never become reality.

But the traverse through time from the time turner had some unwanted effects on him as well. Mainly concerning the fact that his body was also the age of fifteen. As was his mind. The lack of the mental maturity he’d come to rely on as a seventeen year old got him berating himself for letting a stupid rivalry come between him and maybe getting help from Granger. The words had come out automatically from his mouth. As if his seventeen year old self was fighting the mind of his fifteen year old self. And Pansy seemed to catch on to such a change quickly. 

She’d dragged him off into an empty compartment at the far side of the train where she’d properly snogged him for a good fifteen minutes before she decided it was time to go into the meeting, preventing things from escalating too far. Granted, at the time he didn’t seem to mind it all that much—that was what his lower half communicated up to his brain. But looking back, the memory made his stomach churn in disgust and some semblance of guilt. Each time he’d think of it, the memories adding bricks to the wall he’d been trying to construct in his mind separating the two clashing parts of his consciousness. He was here to try and save the wizarding world. Not snog Pansy Parkinson. Pansy Parkinson was currently clinging onto his arm in the compartment. 

Theo was currently very animatedly recounting some story about his summer with Blaise and all of the Italian witches he’d “seduced in a sweet romance”. Blaise, quiet as ever, was sitting with an easy smile on his face as Theo blabbered on. Crabbe and Goyle sat across from them with impressed expressions. Pansy, on the other hand, had pounced on top of him as soon as they’d entered the carriage.

“You know what I’m most excited for?” she whispered in his ear in an attempt to be flirtatious but in reality, her breath just tickled. “Taking points away from those stupid Gryffindors,” she said with a smile. Theo stopped his story and stared at the Black haired girl in amusement.

“Is that all you care about?” he asked, saving Draco from trying to find an excuse as to why his face had recoiled in dislike. Pansy spun around, her long bob hitting Draco across the face. “Taking points from a bunch of lions for stupid shit?”

“You know what, Theo?” asked Pansy rhetorically. “There is such a thing as not being a complete broomstick up my arse. Let a girl have some fun!” Theo raised both hands up in surrender as Pansy huffed and turned around to face Draco once more. “That’s not the only thing I’m excited about,” she implied running a finger up and down his chest. “There’s also a Prefect’s Bath for a reason.”

This was the last straw, as Draco’s seventeen year old self was currently dominating his mind. He pushed Pansy off who landed in an inelegant heap on the compartment floor. She let out a surprised yelp as the other Slytherins sniggered at the sight. Draco stood up and brushed himself off, looking down at the girl without much emotion on his face.

“Pansy, please, leave me alone,” he said as Pansy stood up. “Go find Daphne or someone else to bother.”

Pansy sneered at the blond. “What? Too preoccupied thinking about Mudbloods?” she fought. Draco stilled. The blood drained from his face. Pages. Books. He tried.

“What did you say?” he said darkly. Flashes of Granger went off through his mind like fireworks. Pansy smirked and raised her brows.

“Really, Draco?” she asked. A manipulative pout on her face. “I saw you staring at Granger since you saw her today,” Pansy informed him. “Not only that but I saw you wait for her and talk to her afterward.” She placed both hands on her hips and tilted her head.

“What, are you spying on me now?” Draco growled back. Pansy blinked up at him innocently, shaking her head.

“That’s not the point, Love. I at least thought you’d have standards,” she retorted.

“Well, clearly I don’t if I’m here with you,” he bit back coldly. Pansy gaped at him in disbelief before storming out in a rage. The remaining Slytherins looked up at Draco in awe as they heard an angry scream coming from the corridor. Theo was the first to laugh.

  “Well, shit, mate,” said Theo, the mirth evident in his voice. “I sure missed you this summer.”

Chapter 3: Arrive

Chapter Text

September 1, 1995

It was quite chilly when the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade station later that night. The strong breeze carried the beginnings of fall and hints of winter within it throughout the small village. A breeze that seemed to Draco much too cold for the first of September. It was as if the castle grounds hadn’t decided what to make of his untimely presence back. Not knowing whether or not to drive him out for good just yet.

Draco shuffled out of the train compartment after Blaise Zabini. Crabbe, Goyle, and Theo weren’t far behind, the latter cracking jokes at Goyle’s expense. Their trunks floating behind them with a steady levitation charm. Still inside the train, he was able to make out a voice calling out to the first years; for they were to make their trek across the Lake and not by horseless carriages as the rest of the student body did. Hurrying, the group of Slytherins started making their way out of the village and towards the carriages when Daphne Greengrass and a blotchy faced Pansy Parkinson crossed their paths. Pansy’s frigid glare was directed solely at Draco while Theo found himself the recipient of Daphne’s own disapproving stare.

Pansy hadn’t come back to see him after his very public rejection. However, Draco knew that the girl would forgive him sooner rather than later and be hanging off him in no less than a week. This fact subsided whatever small amount of guilt he felt in the pit of his stomach from treating her so harshly. 

To be honest, he knew Pansy would soon grow to be more mature and become, what some would call, an agreeable person—one he might even consider a friend. In his original timeline, she was terrified of the war she knew would be happening but she kept a stiff upper lip. She ended up being a strong motherly figure to the younger Slytherins in 1998. Maybe he could even try and bring out that side of her sooner rather than later. But contradictory to his original fifth year, his attention lay not on Pansy, but on a certain bushy haired Gryffindor. Granted, not for the same immature reasons he seemed to have been attracted to Parkinson, but for a much greater purpose. 

A small, but nonetheless strong, part of his mind nagged at him to talk to Hermione. But he was actually glad that Weasley had stopped him from spilling whatever word vomit that would’ve come out of his mouth at the time. Draco hadn’t been exactly sure about what he would say to Hermione. And the more he thought about it, the more he steadied upon the decision of telling Severus first. At least that way, he could be able to help Draco figure out what to say to the Gryffindor. His hand inconspicuously trailed to his robe pockets to seek comfort from the time turner; only for him to falter in dread as he felt nothing there.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Bloody Fucking Hell.

Draco swore under his breath as he patted his other pocket in search of the necklace. His vision went blurry. This was the only proof he had for Dumbledore to ask for assistance. He tried his other robe pocket. Without any luck, he thought quickly about the last place he held it. The train. Thinking quickly, Malfoy ripped off his Prefect badge from his silver and emerald robes as he then called out to Blaise. The sharp staccato of his breath marking the beat of the deadly song playing in his head.

“Zabini, would you take my trunk to the carriage for me? I seem to have misplaced my badge,” said the blond, putting down his trunk and pointing to his chest. At the Italian boy’s inquisitive gaze Draco answered, “No need to wait for me, I’ll catch the next carriage up.”

“Alright,” said a compliant Blaise as he successfully levitated both trunks and followed the others down the road. Turning around, the Slytherin prefect started walking back up to Hogsmeade. Students were still making their way from the station and Draco could only hope that the train hadn’t shut its doors.

After a very intense and brisk walk (Malfoys never run) he let out a relieved breath at seeing a few straggling students still exiting the Express. He made his way into the train car and looked all around the compartment he and his friends had previously occupied. No seat cushion was left unturned; to no avail. Draco ran his hands through his hair in desperation and anger at himself. He was contemplating ways to reprimand himself as he exited the train and was once again walking down the road. His hand needed something else to focus on instead of his hair. And Draco resolved the issue by stuffing them into his trouser pockets instead. There, he felt a chain. He clasped his fingers around it and pulled it out in one fluid motion. The time turner was dangling in the air in front of him and Draco closed his eyes in irritation.

You’re losing your mind, Draco. You need to relax. Breathe. Pages. Bindings. Books. Shelves. He calmed himself down. Compartmentalizing his mind in an effort to make his thoughts less scattered. He needed to focus if this situation was going to pan out positively. Draco made his way back towards the horseless carriages virtually alone, as all other students had long since left the train. He was thinking about how best to handle his current situation when he looked up to find himself face to face with a very not horseless horseless carriage. A tall equine-like figure, which could only be described as a skeletal winged horse, stood at the head of the carriage.

Having never seen these creatures before, he stood back, staring in disbelief. Their wings seemed to him like tanned leather bat wings while its eyes, although hollowed, seemed to stare right into his soul; bringing out in him a beautiful sadness. He shivered in the cool, late summer breeze. A feeling of Death was oozing out from around the creature; but not in a bad way. It was morbidly beautiful how he could tell that it was Death which made it possible for him to see them. 

And looking back, his first encounter with death had been in June of 1996. Dumbledore. After that day, he’d never ridden the carriages again—opting to floo directly to Snape’s office his seventh year. Thus, avoiding the chaos that he knew the Hogwarts Express would be. Not to mention what the others would be saying about him. He was a Slytherin, yes. But that didn’t mean he was devoid of all emotion. Malfoy shivered at the memory but nevertheless found himself walking closer as a feeling of understanding for the dark, beautiful beasts washed over him. What are you?

“They’re Thestrals,” piped up a light voice from behind him. It was only then that he’d realized he’d been talking out loud to himself. Draco spun around, his eyes meeting those of the very same Ravenclaw girl that had been a prisoner at his own home just a few days back. She’d gone with Potter. A wave of guilt came crashing in, sending him to drown in a mental tsunami of emotion. Luna must have taken his expression as apprehension towards the equines because she lifted her palm to pet the creature’s head as to show to him their tameness. “They’re really nice. Hagrid has them well trained.”

“You can see them?” Draco asked, bewildered. Who else had been unfortunate enough to come face to face with death?

“Oh yes, have been since my first year here,” Luna replied, cocking her head to the side and smiled up at him. The gesture felt genuine and that fact alone triggered a flicker of warmth in his heart. “Don’t worry, you’re not going mad or anything,” Luna shifted her dreamy blue gaze towards the Thestral in front of them, “you’re just as sane as I am.”

The thought wasn’t very comforting in itself but the intention had ignited a sort of happiness in Draco. For the first time, he felt… normal. Accepted. He held out his own hand and the Thestral nuzzled his palm. The Ravenclaw withdrew her own and stepped away, letting Draco move closer to the skeletal horse.

“So, when’d you come back to our time?” asked Luna nonchalantly. Draco’s eyes widened as he stared at the girl. How the fuck did she know? He gaped at her, unable to come up with an answer to the question. However, it didn’t seem to matter as she seemed to be paying attention to something behind himself. He turned around to find nothing and he observed Luna questioningly. “A Whackspurt, you see. They buzz by your ear and make your brain go all fuzzy.” He nodded distractedly in complete agreement. I must be going mental.

“What did you mean by ‘coming back to our time’?” He asked her, withdrawing his hand from the Thestral and turning to Luna.

“Just that if you need help with any part of your quest, I’d be happy to oblige, Draco Malfoy,” responded Luna airily, curtsying quickly. The blonde fourth year climbed into the carriage. “We’re going to miss the sorting if we don’t leave.” Draco didn’t move. His mouth hung open, still in shock at her words. “Are you coming?” Without a word, he nodded and climbed in. For the rest of the ride, Luna continued to inform him about Whackspurts and their habitats. Neither one of them mentioning the fact that Draco Malfoy had been nice to Loony Lovegood without any ulterior motive.


The two Gryffindor girls walked into the Great Hall right behind Ron, Neville, and Harry. Hermione took her usual seat across from them at the Gryffindor table while Ginny walked over to the Ravenclaws looking forward to greeting her boyfriend. Luna was absent from the group as she hadn’t joined them for the ride to the castle. The dreamy Ravenclaw had said that she feared “the imbalance of Dabberblimps in the carriage” would lead to the rest of them sleepwalking later that night. Instead, she had opted to stay behind and wait for the next available carriage. And from what Hermione could see, that carriage hadn’t arrived yet.

The Great Hall was alive with bustling students and chattering ghosts. The candles floating above gave off a welcoming light as the stars twinkled brightly on the enchanted ceiling. Hermione smiled subconsciously at the feeling of being back home. She’d missed the castle more than she dared to admit this past summer. Harry, however, didn’t seem to share her sentiments as he was frowning at an indiscernible point near the double doors. Hermione had noticed his strange behaviour ever since they boarded the horseless carriages. But, of course, hadn’t said anything about the issue in fear of him blowing up in her face… again. Instead, she tried to distract herself from whatever was going on in his teenage mind by scanning the staff table for any more noticeable changes. 

She already knew Hagrid was mysteriously absent and Professor Grubbly-Plank had temporarily taken his spot at the table— or at least she hoped it would be temporarily. Her favorite professors, nonetheless, were already seated at their usual spots. McGonagall was chatting with Flitwick while Professor Sprout was making conversation with what looked like a very uncomfortable Professor Snape. Hermione bit her lip slightly to contain the laughter that threatened to spill out due to the expression of obvious discomfort plastered on the potion master’s face. Her eyes continued down the line. Professors Sinistra, Vector, Binns, Trelawney, and so on were all talking amongst themselves. However, she did a double take at their new professor who had seated herself beside Dumbledore.

The woman was- for a lack of a better term- toad like. Her curly brown hair framed a round and awfully red face. Her eyes were small and she wore what many would consider too much pink. She seemed to be quite stout and Hermione’s face wrinkled in quick dislike. She interrupted Harry and Ron’s conversation surrounding their theories for Hagrid’s absence with a tap on the latter’s shoulder.

“Who’s that?” She asked quietly as her finger pointed to the woman dressed in the atrocious pink monstrosity. Harry’s eyes followed her finger and his face contorted as if he’d looked at something quite disturbing. And perhaps he had.

“It’s that Umbridge woman,” Harry informed them. “She was at my hearing, she works for Fudge.” Ron laughed and made an offhanded comment about her appearance but Hermione wasn’t listening. She was too caught up on the information Harry had just given them.

“Works for Fudge?” She repeated to herself, eyeing the subject in question distrustingly. The woman was currently talking to Dumbledore in hushed voices. Occasionally looking out into the sea of students with revulsion. “What on earth is she doing here?” Hermione asked an equally distrusting Harry. But her question wasn’t answered as Professor McGonagall opened the heave double doors and the Hall hushed itself. 

The witch entered, carrying the Sorting Hat with one hand while the other carried a stool for the first years. The students followed shortly thereafter. Some were gawking at the grandeur of the Great Hall while others looked so scared that Hermione was sure someone told them that they’d have to fight a dragon before getting sorted. The Hat which now sat on the stool cleared its throat before starting the sorting with his song:

 

In times of old when I was new, 

And Hogwarts barely started, 

The founders of our noble school, 

Thought never to be parted, 

United by a common goal, 

They had the selfsame yearning, 

To make the world’s best magic school, 

And pass along their learning. 

So how could it have gone so wrong? 

How could such friendships fail? 

Why, I was there and so can tell, 

The whole sad, sorry tale. 

Said Slytherin, “We’ll teach just those whose Ancestry is purest.” 

Said Ravenclaw, “We’ll teach those whose Intelligence is surest.” 

Said Gryffindor, “We’ll teach all those With brave deeds to their name.” 

Said Hufflepuff, “I’ll teach the lot, And treat them just the same.” 

These differences caused little strife, 

When first they came to light, 

For each of the four founders had 

A house in which they might 

Take only those they wanted. 

So Hogwarts worked in harmony 

For several happy years, 

But then discord crept among us 

Feeding on our faults and fears. 

The houses that, like pillars four, 

Had once held up our school, 

Now turned upon each other and,

 Divided, sought to rule.

And for a while it seemed the school 

Must meet an early end, 

What with dueling and with fighting 

And the clash of friend on friend 

And never since the founders four 

Were whittled down to three 

Have the houses been united 

As they once were meant to be. 

And now the Sorting Hat is here 

And you all know the score: 

I sort you into houses 

Because that is what I’m for, 

But this year I’ll go further, 

Listen closely to my song: 

Though condemned I am to split you 

Still I worry that it’s wrong, 

Though I must fulfill my duty 

And must quarter every year

Still I wonder whether Sorting 

May not bring the end I fear. 

Oh, know the perils, read the signs, 

The warning history shows, 

For our Hogwarts is in danger 

From external, deadly foes 

And we must unite inside her 

Or we’ll crumble from within

For someone is Adrift in Time,

The heir that’s lost is here

And he has brought the Past with him

To save the world from what he fears.

I have told you, 

I have warned you…

Let the Sorting now begin!

 

The song ended and there was a wave of chatter that went through the room. Hermione tried to think back to Hogwarts: A History and any mention it might contain of the Hat giving a warning during his song but nothing came to mind. At least nothing within the last hundred years. Her confused stare matched those of several other students as she scanned the Great Hall. Her amber gaze caught wide, grey eyes from the Slytherin table which quickly tore away. Curious, she raised her brows before turning to her best friends.

“Does Dra- Malfoy,” Hermione corrected, “look sort of- I don’t know. Anxious… to you?” finished the brunette. The boys whipped their heads around to glimpse at the Slytherin, suspicion filling their gaze. She followed their lead to find the boy scowling at the Hat. Stupid thing to do. Scowl at a hat. Oblivious to the trio starring at him from across the room.

“He always looks like trouble,” Harry said turning back to face her. “But you’re right…” he paused, thinking, “Maybe he’s the ‘danger’ the Hat mentioned?” Ron nodded. Seemingly on board with the idea of accusing Malfoy immediately. Hermione, on the other hand, shook her head.

“Don’t be ridiculous, the Hat said that the danger would be from ‘an external deadly foe’,” she argued, sympathetic eyes still glued upon Draco. “He’s not from the outside, it can’t be him.” She faced her boys once more. “Plus, you can’t always believe the worst of people. I said anxious, not guilty.” The finality in her tone left no room for argument. But the ginger didn’t seem to get the hint.

“I don’t know ‘Mione.” She cringed. “He was acting really weird on the train, trying to get you alone and everything.” Harry gaped up to Ron and then at Hermione, protectiveness clear in his green eyes.

“What do you mean ‘on the train’?” Asked Harry, his voice carrying hints of coming anger. “What do you mean ‘tried to get you alone’?” He whispered harshly at Hermione, not wanting to bring any unwanted attention towards them.

“Nothing. Look, I’ll explain later-” Hermione was cut off by the Hat shouting his first: Gryffindor! And she applauded with the rest of her table. Harry’s eyes were still looking at her warily but thankfully dropped the subject, clapping along with all of those in crimson robes. 

Hermione watched the first years distractedly. Her mind drifting back to the Sorting Hat’s song. He’d mentioned that the houses must be united. But Hermione lay stumped on one detail. How exactly does one go uniting houses? She didn’t get too much longer to think since the sorting was done faster than expected. Dumbledore got up, his hands still clapping as the last few straggling first years found their way to their new houses.

“To our newcomers,” said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, “welcome! To our returning student- welcome home!” Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Eyes darting to her. “There is a time for speechmaking, but this is not it. Tuck in!” Applause resonated through the Great Hall as platters of food appeared before them.

“Excellent!” Exclaimed and eager Ron Weasley. A roll already in his mouth, his hand outstretched reaching for a platter of chops. Hermione grimaced at her friend’s blatant lack of table manners before turning and reaching for some roasted beef, serving herself a decent portion. After spooning herself some vegetables and taking a roll of bread she poured herself some pumpkin juice.

“Has the Hat ever given a warning before, do you reckon?” She asked Harry and Ron. Harry shrugged while Ron said something she couldn’t make out through all the half-chewed food in his mouth. The bushy haired Gryffindor grimaced. Hermione took a piece of meat in her mouth. She loved Hogwarts’ food. If only elves weren’t the ones making it. However, she decided to ignore this fact and enjoy the feast, at least for now. She could knit more hats later. She had her fork in hand and was about to dig into her vegetables when a ghostly head popped up from the middle of her plate, earning himself a small yelp from Hermione.

“Oh yes, I have heard the Hat give several warnings before,” his ghostly eyes looking disapprovingly at Ron, “always at times when it detects periods of great danger for the school. And always, of course, its advice is the same: stand together, be strong from within.” Harry looked up at Nearly Headless Nick. He shoveled some mashed potatoes in his mouth and Ron swallowed.

“How can a hat know that the school’s in danger?” He asked Nick. “It’s a hat.” Nick shrugged, his head separating slightly from the nape of his neck.

“I reckon that he hears an awful lot from his place in Dumbledore’s office,” shrugged the ghost. Hermione nibbled at her bread. “I would trust it. It seems to be right most of the time.”

“And it wants the houses to be friends?” Harry asked. The trio and the ghost cast their eyes to the multitude of green. Where Blaise Zabini was laughing at a very serious Draco Malfoy. The darker boy looking as alive as any of the three Gryffindors had ever seen him. Ron gulped down his second roll and reached out for a pie. Hermione was contemplating the fact when Ron answered the rhetorical question.

“Yeah, fat chance of that.” He scarfed down the pastry before Hermione had even turned back around. He gulped down some pumpkin juice, a drop escaping down his chin. Nearly Headless Nick looked revolted at the lack of manners.

“Well, now, you shouldn’t take that attitude,” said Nick reprovingly. “Peaceful cooperation, that’s the key.” Hermione found herself nodding in agreement as she managed to drain her own goblet with grace and elegance. Harry snorted at the idea of cooperation between Gryffindor and Slytherins as Dumbledore once again stood standing, overlooking the students in the Great Hall. They all quieted down, waiting for Dumbledore to get his speech over with and excuse them.

“Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,” said Dumbledore. “First-years ought to know that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students - and our older students ought to keep that in mind as well.” Ron choked on excess pumpkin juice and Harry patted his back with a coy smile. “Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch’s office door on the third floor.

“We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” There was a round of polite applause as Harry exchanged looks with his best friends with panic written clearly across his face. Clearly, he’d caught on to the fact that Dumbledore didn’t address how long Grubbly-Plank would be staying. Hermione, on one hand, loved Hagrid. But on the other, she couldn’t deny the fact that Professor Grubbly-Plank’s lesson plans didn’t include dangerous beasts into a class with daft teenage boys. As for the new Defense teacher, well, she couldn’t be worse than a Polyjuice-ing Death Eater who’d kept an Order member in a trunk all year. Certainly not worse than last year.

Dumbledore let the applause die down before clearing his throat in an effort to continue. He was about to recommence his speech when a high pitched “Hem, hem” interrupted him. From behind him, Professor Umbridge had stood up, clearly intending to make her own speech. Dumbledore looked caught off guard, furrowing his brows, but gracefully let Umbridge take the podium, sitting down and focusing his attention on what she’d have to say. McGonagall, on the other hand, had pursed her lips in displeasure and stared at the new addition to the staff. Not too accepting of the fact that the pudgy woman dared to interrupt their beloved Headmaster.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Professor Umbridge started, “for those kind words of welcome.” Hermione scrutinized the witch. A rush of dislike running through her body. “Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!” She glanced around. None of the faces he could see looked happy. Their faces ranging from serious to dubious to taken aback and annoyed at being addressed as five year olds. “I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all and I’m sure we’ll be very good friends!” Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again with a “hem, hem”. 

Hermione listened attentively to Professor Umbridge as she talked about the ministry’s goals for the education of their wizarding children. Picking apart every sentence for an insight into the mind of the Professor who apparently was working for Fudge. “There again, progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation…” Hermione could feel the attention of everybody around her slipping. Lavender and Parvati were sitting a few seats down from her, discussing how much of a fashion tragedy Umbridge’s fluffy, pink cardigan was. A few seats along from Cho at the Ravenclaw table, Luna Lovegood had got out The Quibbler again and seemed to be humming to herself (much to the added annoyance of those around her). However, Professor Umbridge did not seem to notice the restlessness of her audience and continued. 

“Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.” Hermione had tried to find a good quality in this despicable woman throughout her speech and failed miserably. She tried to wipe the frown that had unknowingly crept onto her face during the last couple of minutes but it wouldn’t budge. The woman concluded her speech, much to the pleasure of everyone around her, and promptly sat down. Dumbledore then led the Hall in weak applause before standing up himself and thanking Umbridge for her unplanned speech.

“Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating.” Ron snorted and Hermione turned her attention towards him.

“He’s not wrong, you know,” she told him as Dumbledore stood, hitting the last few points in his speech. Ron looked at her dubiously.

“You’re joking right?” he asked quietly. “That was about the dullest speech I’ve ever heard, and I grew up with Percy.” 

“Of course it was dull,” she said, smiling at the small dig towards Percy. “But it told us a lot about why she’s here.” Harry looked up from his distracted daze.

“It did?”

Hermione nodded. “She’s here because the Ministry is infiltrating Hogwarts.” Hermione bit her lip, thinking. “Perhaps to keep an eye on Dumbledore since everyone thinks he’s off his rocker because of last year.” Harry looked down. Guilt clouding his eyes. Hermione winced at her tactless words and quickly added a “But of course, it’s not your fault, Harry.”

The trio apparently missed the school wide dismissal, because now, the entire student body had gotten up and was making its way towards the doors. Ron was getting ready to join them when Hermione caught his arm. “Ron, we’re supposed to show the first years where to go!”

“Oh yeah,” said Ron, who had obviously forgotten. He waved goodbye at Harry who sulked off after Neville before turning towards the gathered first years. “Okay you lot, listen up,” He started. Ron continued to welcome the younger students in his own way.

Hermione looked around the Great Hall not willing to admit to herself the reason for her wandering eyes. However, she found his eyes searching for her too. The two fifth years made eye contact from across the room before he slipped outside with the current of students. Leaving the Slytherin first years with a yelling Pansy Parkinson. Those poor kids. Hermione thought as she turned around to face her own.

“Now, who’s ready to see your new common room?” she enthusiastically asked them with a warm smile.


He had wanted to walk in after the sorting. Opting to make the smallest entrance possible as to not draw attention to himself. At least, that was the best plan he could come up with on the entire ride up to the castle in between Lovegood’s incessant, but quite interesting, chatter. In reality, he was completely and utterly terrified to see Headmaster Dumbledore in the flesh. The only man who he’d even been close to actually killing. One who had actually died in front of him. And even worse, he wasn’t in any position to show such emotions.

Lovegood had walked in as soon as they’d arrived through the main doors of the castle. She waved a small goodbye to him with a smile; leaving him to his thoughts. He needed to clear his mind before entering the Great Hall. Pages. Thread. Bindings. Books. He heard a sudden halt in the chatter. Rounding the corner to find the corridor leading to the Hall empty, he opened the doors to the Great Hall to find the first years still lined up. McGonagall stood before the staff table, placing the Hat on the stool. Draco noticed heads staring to turn towards him and questioning glances being thrown his way. Ducking his head, he quickly made his way to his spot between Theo and Blaise.

“Where were you mate?” Asked Theo. The boy didn’t sound too suspicious about his sudden disappearance. Blaise leaned over to join the two of them.

“He left his Prefect badge on the train,” he filled Not in. “Did you find it, by the way? You took an awfully long time,” Zabini mentioned, nodding to the spot on Draco’s robes where the badge was supposed to be pinned. Malfoy pulled the badge from where he’d stashed it and pinned it in place.

“Yes, of course,” he answered, adjusting the badge. His eyes avoiding the Gryffindor table. “I just missed the carriages and had to walk.”

“Rotten luck!” Said a sniggering Theo. “Teaches you to be more mindful of your possessions, doesn’t it?” Draco glared at his best friend’s words. 

His train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the Sorting Hat’s first notes to his song. Draco zoned out. He was never one to pay particularly close attention to the Hat. Instead, focusing on the familiar faces of those who he knew would be affected by the war in just a couple of years. They were all sitting here, oblivious to all the chaos that was soon to come. Luna Lovegood would be kept prisoner in his dungeons. So would Dean Thomas. Neville Longbottom would be scarred and broken, fighting against the rule of terror the Carrow twins instigated at Hogwarts. And Hermione Granger… Hermione Granger would be dead.

 

For our Hogwarts is in danger 

From external, deadly foes 

And we must unite inside her 

Or we’ll crumble from within

For someone is Adrift in Time,

The heir that’s lost is here

And he has brought the Past with him

To save the world from what he fears.

I have told you, 

I have warned you…

Let the Sorting now begin!

 

Draco blinked in disbelief at the words that were emitted by the hat. For someone is Adrift in Time, the heir that’s lost is here. And he has brought the Past with him to save the world from what he fears? Draco felt sick. Loony Lovegood knew he wasn’t where he belonged and now so did a bloody hat? Who else in this Merlin-forsaken castle knew he wasn’t from here? Surely not many people could know. Wasn’t that the entire point for Snape trying to send me back? Draco was so consumed in his thoughts he’d not heard the commencement of the feast. It wasn’t until Theo nudged him that he’d realized he had been scowling at the Sorting Hat.

“Draco, are you alright?” He asked worriedly, reaching out for the nearest pitcher and filling his goblet with pumpkin juice.

“You look as if you have just seen Moaning Myrtle’s knickers.” Blaise chuckled as he too poured himself a drink.

“He’s right, mate. You do look more horrendous than usual,” Theo agreed, laughing at his own words. To which Draco responded with a deepening scowl. What a comedian. Blaise clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh.

“Ease up, Draco. Eat some food,” he said, giving the blond a roll which he took begrudgingly. The boy rolled his eyes at the Slytherin's attitude and turned to Theo, who was once again recounting their summer in Italy in intense detail. Much to the delight of seventh year, Adrian Pucey.

Draco took a bite of his roll. His appetite having banished after listening to the Sorting Hat’s song’s warning. He was part of this timeline now. And anything that he did would change the future— for better or for worse, he didn’t know quite yet. His determined gaze fixated upon Severus up at the staff table. He needed to talk to his Godfather, now. 

He tried several times to get Severus’s attention. Whether that was with a wave of his hand or a widening of his eyes; he even tried a slight turn of his head towards the door. It was until he was just short of yelling at him from across the Hall that the greasy haired professor arched an unimpressed brow at his attempts. The only reply Draco received from him being his pointer finger signaling: wait a minute, Mr. Malfoy.

Draco shifted in his seat. Agitation coursing through his blood like oxygen. How could he sit when there was so much to do? Dumbledore got up to the podium speech ready. 

“…To our returning student- welcome home!” Dumbledore announced joyously. Draco could swear that the Headmaster had made eye contact with him. A strange twinkle in his eyes. But that could just be his paranoia talking. He wanted to get out of the room. He needed to get out of the room. The ceiling was caving in on him. Ironic, given the fact that it seemed to him that there was no ceiling. Only stars.

He stuffed the remainder of the roll in his mouth and swallowed. Malfoy turned to Nott and Zabini, about to tell them that he’d wait for them in the common room when whispering broke out among the students. Confused, Draco turned to the staff table to see none other than Dolores Umbridge making her way up to the podium. He could feel his stomach sink with dread. He’d been so focused on himself that he’d nearly forgotten about Umbridge.

“Hem, hem,” she coughed in that fake, high pitched voice he knew so well. Not this bloody woman again. Draco thought as she began making her same speech he had heard three years prior. Draco glanced around the Slytherin table. Most faces he met were smug or inquisitive as they already recognized an ally in the unbearable woman. Looking at the other houses he was met with confused, resentful, and angry faces. Especially at the Gryffindor table where Hermione was attacking her bottom lip with her teeth. Her nervous habit.

She was paying close attention to the speech. Her brows raised at certain points; indicating to Draco that Umbridge had made a comment that didn’t exactly line up to the Gryffindor’s way of thinking. Either that, or she made a good point concerning the lack of academic structure she was adamant on fixing. Although, the latter was quite debatable considering the Hell she’d put everyone through fifth year—except Slytherin, of course. From the Inquisitorial Squad she'd formed to that fucking blood quill.

It was that at exact time that Draco made his biggest decision yet. He would not let anything happen to Hermione Granger ever again. He’d protect her, not only from Umbridge but he’d protect her form the war to his greatest ability. He’d keep her safe. And if he was going to keep her safe, might as well try to keep the other two safe as well. Although the thought made an inkling or irritation flash through him, — he’d never have assumed he’d be the one to protect Potter and Weasley— this was a promise he’d have to keep.

Applause erupted from the students and everyone was getting up to leave. Draco had missed Dumbledore's final words. He spotted Pansy trying to fight the current of students and make her way up to him. He needed to take the first years down to their dormitory. Damn it. He didn’t have time for this.

“Parkinson, you can take care of the first years, right?” He said it more like an order than a command. “Here,” he reached out and took Goyle by the arm. “Greg will help you.” He didn’t turn around to see Pansy’s reaction. Instead, he fought his way through the swarm of students and briskly made his way down to the Potion Master’s Chambers. 


He couldn’t have been there for more than two minutes before the billowing robes of Severus Snape rounded the corner. Draco was leaning against the door frame, trying to put up his mental shields. With Hermione alive, he’d been having more success with it. But nothing compared to what it was weeks ago.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape drawled, “was there any reason for you foolish hand gestures for my attention?” Draco glanced up and down the corridor. No students ever came to the Professor’s Chambers but he needed to be careful.

“As a matter of fact, there was.” He swiftly pulled out the time turner from his pocket. The sliver necklace caught the torchlight and shimmered. Snape’s black eyes widened as big as a Galleon. He grabbed Malfoy by the scuff of his robes and threw him into the room. He swished his wand for a Muffliato and locked the door with a flick.

“Why the fucking Hell do you have this, Draco?” He asked furiously. Snape reached out and plucked the time turner form the younger boy’s hand, inspecting it. His gaze narrowed at the runes on the side. Clearly, the time turner was not new, but unfamiliar. Of course, Dumbledore hasn’t given it to him yet. Draco thought as Snape continued to dissect every detail of the rare artifact.

“I should be asking you!” Draco argued. “Considering you’re the one that sent me back.” Snape’s comprehension flashed through Snape’s eyes.

“Who died?”

“Too many people to count,” Draco answered solemnly. Snape handed him back the time turner, folding his arms across his chest. He took the time turner from his godfather. The determination in his brows strong. 

“Well?” Snape prodded.

“Severus, we need to talk.”

Chapter 4: Admirable

Chapter Text

September 1, 1995

She loved children. She really did. However, the eleven year olds were already driving her mental. Half of them were terribly scared. And those who weren’t anxious were teasing the ones who were. Telling them all about the Hippogryph that supposedly lived in the common room. Hermione had restrained the urge to reprimand them and roll her eyes. Getting ready to ask them if they’d even bothered to read Hogwarts: A History before arriving. However, she didn’t have to, as a seemingly timid boy had told them that exact same thing.

“Seriously, are you guys that daft? There’s no creature living in the common room other than you trolls,” the small boy said in a tone that reminded her so much of herself. “Honestly, have you ever read Hogwarts: A History?” He muttered under his breath. Ron was staring at Hermione; red in the face, trying to hold in his laughter. Hermione gaped at the boy before shaking her head and grinning to herself. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Her train of thought was interrupted by a small yelp and a bout of laughter. Turning around, she saw a black haired little girl whose leg had fallen through the vanishing step and was struggling to get up. Just Maybe.

After guiding all the first years to bed and telling them that she’d be here in case they had any questions, she turned to Ron. Her best friend was clearly exhausted and ready for bed. He yawned and exaggeratedly stretched his arms above his head.

“Hey, I’m going to go check on Harry,” he told her directing a worried glance at the fifth year boy dormitory. She nodded and gave a small yawn herself. She’d also heard the rumors traveling throughout the hallways as fast as wildfire. She knew that Harry hated being the center of attention. Especially when it concerned He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She also knew that he would take this all to heart. And Harry would not listen to her nor her advice on blocking people out.

“That might be for the best.” She joined his gaze up the boy’s dorm staircase. “Goodnight, Ron.” He gave her a crooked grin and a small wave.

“‘Night, ‘Mione.”

She couldn’t sleep after that. In the end, she gave up and grabbed her yarn and needles from her trunk. She made her way down the stairs, a long sigh escaping through her lips. She sat upon her favorite armchair in the Gryffindor Common Room. A patched and worn crimson one that sat perfectly in front of the fire. Being a prefect wasn’t terribly hard. The first years were the most difficult factor of her duties. 

She was steadily working on her latest project, some hats for the house elves. No matter if the one she was currently working on looked like a deformed rubbish liner. She enjoyed the tranquility of knitting in front of the fireplace. The dying but still glowing embers were starting to help with her slight insomnia problem. Another stifled yawn escaped her and she put down the needles. Hermione held up the project. It wasn’t good by any means but she had to admit it looked much better than the ones sitting at the very bottom of her trunk from earlier that summer. Anyways, it was the intention that counted. She just wanted to free the house elves.

She grabbed hold of the yarn and kept working on the hat; her thoughts drifting back to earlier that evening at the feast. The Sorting Hat’s song would not depart from her mind. Who was the threat? Who was here to help? And most importantly, how does one unite the houses?

That last question was the one that plagued her the most. The four houses were rarely ever together. In fact, the most she’d seen of them interacting outside their own was during combined lessons. Either that or studying in the library. Not that they could study much anyways thanks to an always shushing Madame Pince, the Hogwarts librarian who loved the quiet of her library and would make sure to cease every noise. Because of this, many students avoided working together with other houses in the library and often opted to work in their own common rooms.

Hermione suddenly stopped working. Her eyes widened as an idea struck her. If they’re only together in their common rooms, why not make a Hogwarts Common Room? The idea was perfect in her mind. There were plenty of empty classrooms in Hogwarts. Dumbledore could certainly part with one for her to use. The setting would allow for a place for students to mingle with other houses within a more relaxed atmosphere. There would be room for some to work together on their homework for different classes while others played exploding snap in the corner. The houses would be united and in communication, just like the Hat urged. A smile was growing on her face. She was itching to go tell Dumbledore right now.

However, she remembered that it was nearing midnight and she would definitely get detention if Filch caught her. And it wasn’t as if she could go ask Harry for the cloak either. He was probably asleep, and after the day he had he deserved some uninterrupted rest. Her smile faltered a tad as she resolved on having to bring the idea up to the Headmaster tomorrow.

The last of the smile slid right off her face as she thought of a slight problem in her plan: Slytherins. It wouldn’t be too hard to get the other three houses on board with her plan. Harry would get Cho Chang and all of her friends on board. So would Ginny with Michael and his group. And Luna would also be more than willing to help gather the rest. As for the Hufflepuffs, they would be more than glad to have an opportunity to make new friends and try and unite the houses. Of course, Gryffindors would have no problem showing up and helping out one third of the Golden Trio in her efforts. But the Slytherins needed a reason. A push. Hermione wasn’t naive enough to think they’d show up to simply interact with others. Without a leader to follow, there would be no snakes present.

The Gryffindor yawned again. Her eyes were starting to drift close. She noticed her gaze was lingering upon the fireplace. The embers having died out long ago. A flash of blond hair came to mind. His grey eyes desperately pleading at her in the corridor of the Hogwarts Express. The same grey eyes that kept on finding hers—or did hers find his— all thought the day. Maybe she could use this to her advantage. Merlin, she was starting to sound like a Slytherin. Hermione grabbed all of her things and made her way upstairs. Each step cementing the decision she’d just made. She would have to talk to Draco tomorrow. Alone.


“Very interesting, Mr. Malfoy.” His lip curled down into a frown. Snape had immediately taken him to Dumbledore after Draco had tried to explain his sudden presence in this timeline to his godfather. He’d been dragged through the castle in search of the Headmaster for no less than 10 minutes. And once they finally found him and Draco recounted his journey back in time, all the old coot could say was: “Very interesting?”

Draco resisted the urge to scoff and walk straight out. Not that it would help much in this predicament. The Headmaster was inspecting the time turner. And Draco wouldn’t part without it. He would move it from side to side watching as the periwinkle sand flowed within it. He tried spinning it. It wouldn’t move. The time turner was locked in place.

Draco’s brows furrowed. He’d never even thought of turning the time turner since he’d been here. Lest he be sent even further back in time. This was already a very dangerous mission. If anyone truly allied with Voldemort were to suspect he had knowledge of the future… A shiver wracked his body. He had been overjoyed that morning at the sight of a very blemish-free forearm. But if this went wrong, he’d have much more to worry about than a branding on his arm.

“Very curious indeed,” said Dumbledore. The man gently placed the silver necklace back down upon his desk. Draco stared at the artifact. As if willing the necklace to tell him what to do to make this all worthwhile. Of course, nothing happened. His eyes glanced up to meet the Headmaster’s. “And what exactly did Severus tell you before you left?” He asked for the third time. The small glare sent Severus’ way didn’t get past him. Snape’s own black eyes were trained on Draco. He sighed. Draco didn’t see any point in arguing further and just responded.

“Hermione Granger had just died. Potter’s own death would only be a matter of time. I needed to come back and warn them. Try to get the upper hand. Befriend them,” Draco said almost clinically. He’d been practicing what to say to the Headmaster since he’d tried to talk to the bushy haired Gryffindor on board the Hogwarts Express with no avail. What he hadn’t rehearsed to explain was all of the doubt rushing in and out of his head. Most specifically: how the fuck would he earn Saint Potter’s trust? Dumbledore must have sensed his apprehension to the task at hand because he pursed his lips. With his hands bracing himself on the desk, he stood up.

“And how do you suppose we do that, Severus?” He asked. The potion master walked forward from where he leaned against a pillar. He looked between the time turner and the boy in front of him.

“There is, of course, no way to be certain what I had in mind for Mr. Malfoy once he arrived in this timeline,” started Snape with confidence. “But I do think that it would be easier to get into Potter’s head by infiltrating first into his circle of trusted friends.” Draco looked up at the professor with panic in his eyes. “Maybe it would be easier for Draco to start his friendship… elsewhere,” Severus finished, pausing before deciding upon the last word. Dumbledore raised a single eyebrow a fraction of an inch.

“You’re suggesting he starts by befriending young Miss Granger?” He asked, already knowing the answer. Severus nodded.

“I was planning of starting the year with a project to evaluate everyone’s potential efforts in the O.W.L.s…” He didn’t need to finish. The three wizards all knew what was expected. Draco swallowed his anxiety. Would he be able to deal with being so close to the girl he’d all but killed? He closed his eyes, trying to compartmentalize. Pages. Books. Shelves. He could do this. Draco’s eyes snapped open.

“What you’re doing is very admirable, Mr. Malfoy,” said Dumbledore with a smile. “You might just be the savior of the Wizarding World.” He didn’t want to be a savior. Given the choice, he still wasn’t sure if he’d actually have chosen to come back. He was a coward. But all he could do at the moment was nod before excusing himself and heading to his dormitory. He would have to finally face Hermione tomorrow. Alone.


September 2, 1995

Eager to get her patrol schedule and timetable, Hermione jumped out of bed early that morning. She was ready within the hour and she bounced downstairs. She saw a group of students crowding the wall off the landing. Curious, she made her way towards them. Stretching out her neck to try and see what the excitement was all about. Her eyes landed on a piece of parchment.

“Oh Merlin,” she sighed as she caught a glimpse of the poster the twins had put up that morning listing a date. The first Hogsmeade trip in October. If they wanted to be out of school grounds when kids signed up to be test subjects, this couldn’t be good. Ron and Harry were soon at the landing beside and she greeted her best friends. But not before turning to Ron. “We’ll have to talk to them, Ron,” she said, pointing at the poster.

“Why?” He asked, alarmed.

“Because we’re prefects!” said Hermione, as they climbed out through the portrait hole. “It’s up to us to stop this kind of thing!” She stopped her nagging. Hermione could see Harry’s anger undulating off of him in waves. Biting her lip, she debated whether or not to say something.

“Anyways, what’s up Harry? You look really angry about something.”

“Seamus reckons Harry’s lying about You-Know-Who,” said a defensive Ron, when Harry did not respond. Hermione felt a rush of anger but smothered it quickly. Deciding that at least one of them needed to have a level head at the moment.

“Yes, Lavender thinks so too,” she said defeatedly.

“Been having a nice little chat with her about whether or not I’m a lying, attention-seeking prat, have you?” Harry said accusingly. 

“No,” said Hermione calmly. “I told her to keep her big fat mouth shut about you, actually. And it would be quite nice if you stopped jumping down our throats, Harry, because in case you haven’t noticed, Ron and I are on your side.” There was a short pause. 

“Sorry,” said Harry in a low voice. 

“It’s alright, Harry,” Hermione resolved with a sympathetic glance. He looked awful. His skin was sickly pale and the dark circles under his eyes were unavoidable. “Remember what Sirius told you. If you can’t trust us, who can you trust?”

“Yeah, mate. We’ll always be here for you,” piped Ron as he came up between the two and slung his arms around their shoulders. “Now, let’s go eat. I’m starving.” With a laugh, Hermione agreed.

Once at the Great Hall, oatmeal and pumpkin juice in front of her, Hermione looked through the timetable McGonagall had just handed out. And according to it, it looked like Hermione would have to talk to Draco Malfoy earlier than expected.

“Double Potions with the Slytherins?” Ron whined through a mouthful of eggs. “What a lousy start to the year.”

“But don’t forget that before it we have History of Magic,” Harry mumbled. Ron groaned and gulped down his juice. 

“Great.”

“It’s not all that bad guys,” Hermione tried to argue but was cut short by the disapproving stares of the boys in front of her. She shook her head and decided to look through her patrol schedule instead. This week she was paired with Ron every day. Including Friday. “Hey, Ron?”

“Yeah?” He asked. Hermione grimaced at the sight of half-chewed bacon in his mouth.

“We have prefect patrols together this week until Friday!” She happily pointed to his own schedule.

“We do?” anxiously asked Ron, picking up the piece of parchment and examining it closer. ”Uh- I need to talk to Thomas. Be right back," said Ron with a forced grin before shoveling another forkful of eggs into his mouth and running off to the Hufflepuff table. Hermione's gaze followed after him, confused. She turned to raise a questioning brow at Harry but found him to be glaring at his pumpkin juice. She let out a sigh and left him to wallow in his pity.


By the time the trio got to potions, the boys hadn’t finished complaining about Professor Binns and his class. Granted, the ghost wasn’t the most engaging professor, but the material was interesting enough. If they’d put in the effort to learn about the Giant Wars themselves, they’d find it to be quite a fascinating topic. The only break she’d had from their grumbling concerning History of Magic was a brief encounter with Cho which of course, ended with Harry as a muttering mess.

They trudged through the door and found their seats among their classmates. Harry and Ron took the table behind Neville. And Hermione sat herself beside him as she gave him a warm smile.

“Hullo, Neville. How was your summer?”

“It was good! So was yours, I hope?” Hermione nodded. “Oh, I’m glad! Listen, have I told you about the Mimbulus Mimbletonia my grandmother gave me?” He asked excitedly. Hermione shook her head. She was about to ask more about the plant when Snape walked in. The chattering in the classroom came to a sudden halt.

“Before we begin today’s lesson,” said Snape, sweeping over to his desk and staring around at them all, “I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an ‘Acceptable’ in your O.W.L., or suffer my… displeasure.”

His gaze lingered this time on Neville, who gulped beside her. 

“After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me,” Snape went on. “I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye.” His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Hermione turned behind her to see Harry glaring straight back. “But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell,” said Snape softly, “so, whether or not you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T.s, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students.” 

Snape paused and made eye contact with Hermione and nodded. “We will start this year off with a project. You and a partner will be assigned to work on a potion of your choosing to be done before Winter Holidays in December. The only requirement being that the potion you choose must call for the full moon during the brewing process.” 

Chattering then erupted throughout the classroom as partners were being picked among each other. Behind her, she could hear Harry asking Ron if he knew of such a potion. Hermione rolled her eyes. Sure that if Harry and Ron worked together she’d end up doing most of their work for them. Beside her, Neville was fumbling with his fingers. Hermione smiled and decided to work with the boy. At least to try and save him from himself. She loved Neville. She really did. But one couldn’t overlook the fact that he was not gifted at potions. But before she could assure Neville that everything would be alright and she’d help him get through it, Snape cleared his throat.

“As I was saying before being rudely interrupted,” he said with a pointed stare at them all. “You will work with partners of my choosing. Which will be from the opposite house.” At this, chaos erupted within the classroom. The gripes of students refusing to work with the opposite house were heard all around her. “Quiet,” Snape demanded and the room gradually fell silent. “You all were there when the Sorting Hat talked about house unity, am I wrong?” Neville shifted in his seat. Hermione stared at Snape.

He also paid attention to the Hat’s warning? For some reason, Hermione believed that the staff would eventually stop astutely listening to the Sorting Hat’s song after so many years of working at the castle. I guess I was wrong. And if Snape is bringing this up, it must be more important than I realized. The thought reinforced her idea about the Common Room. Her gaze flittered through the room in search of the head of blond hair she needed to talk to. Finally, she found him in the back of the room seated next to Blaise Zabini; staring at her. She quickly averted her gaze back towards Snape.

“Now listen up for your partner. As soon as I call them out I want you to sit by each other and start discussing possible potions.

“Harry Potter and Theodore Nott. Neville Longbottom and Blaise Zabini. Dean Thomas and Daphne Greengrass. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy…” Hermione paled. What were the chances of this day working exactly in her favor? She gave Neville an encouraging smile and grabbed her things. She stood up, letting a patiently awaiting Blaise take her spot, and made her way back towards Malfoy. “…Ronald Weasley and Pansy Parkinson. Seamus Finnegan and Vincent Crabbe…” But she couldn’t forget who she was dealing with. She wouldn’t forget.

“Don’t you think for a moment that you’ll get out of doing your share of the work, Malfoy. I will not be doing this entire project by myself,” snapped Hermione before even sitting down. Malfoy looked up at her with raised brows.

“And what makes you think I’d let my marks in this class depend on you, Granger?” He retorted before taking out a roll of parchment and an ink well. Hermione stared at him. “Now,” he dug through his knapsack, “I was thinking about making Auxilium Anguis,” he said, fishing out his turkey quill and turning to a still dumbstruck Hermione. “What?” He asked.

“N-nothing,” she stuttered, sitting and taking out her own supplies. “I just…” she trailed off.

“Just didn’t think I knew what I was talking about?” He asked. “I do know how to open a textbook once in a while, you know. Don’t act so surprised.” Hermione flushed with embarrassment.

“Now that you all have partners,” Professor Snape started, “I will need a three foot parchment about why you picked this specific potion and its properties from each group by no later than Saturday at lunch. I will also need you to take specific notes throughout your entire process and write a four foot parchment about the brewing process and its results to be handed in before Winter Break. Work.” Snape dismissed their attention and the groups set off to work.

“So you want to make a basic anti-venom base?” Hermione asked curiously as she wrote the name of the potion and both of their names across the top of her parchment. Draco hummed his affirmation. She looked up at him, her eyes tearing away from what she was writing.

“Any reason in particular?” She asked. Draco shrugged.

“You can never be too careful, can you?” That was all he said for the rest of class. The two of them worked in agreeable silence with the rare exception of Draco pointing out mistakes to a quickly irritable Hermione. She would huff and reread what she’d written. After agreeing with Malfoy that there was indeed a mistake, she’d take out her wand and vanish the incorrect information.

Soon, the rest of the students began packing up. Hermione looked up just in time to see Snape stand to dismiss them. She quickly rolled up the parchment, praying that it was dry enough and wouldn’t smudge. They were about halfway done with their written assignment for the week and she’d just assumed that she’d be the one to finish it before it was due. However, Draco surprised her.

“This is a fairly complicated potion, right?” He said, not expecting an answer. “I reckon I could get an empty classroom from Snape that we could use as a lab to work in. We’ll need to spend quite some time brewing and controlling the potion.” Hermione blinked up at him. He’s actually willing to help with the potion? She asked herself. Astounded, she nodded.

“O-okay.” She stuffed the parchment in her bag.

“If you can, we could work on finishing the report tonight so we don’t have to worry about it,” He suggested. The Gryffindor raised her eyebrows. How have I never seen this side of Malfoy? Has he always been so studious?

“Together?” She asked incredulously. A look of what appeared to be hurt flashed across Draco’s face before giving away to his ever stoic expression.

“Unless you want me to finish what’s left…” he uttered.

“No. No, today should work fine,” she said quickly. She hadn’t meant to sound so doubtful of him. She needed to work on her judgments. Although, she was apprehensive of working alone with him after a few years of intense bullying from the boy. But she had prefect’s duties afterward. And if anything went wrong and she didn’t show up to meet with Ron, Harry still had the Marauder’s Map. She’d be fine. Hermione nodded and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Just let me know when and where.” She started making her way out of the room when Malfoy’s arm shot out and his hand grabbed a hold of her wrist. Her pulse quickened.

“And Granger?”

“Yeah?” She squeaked, looking down at his hands. Noticing her gaze, Malfoy quickly released his hold on her. “I still need to talk to you.” He ran his hands through his messy hair.

“Me too,” she said, turning around. An accomplished smile adorned her face as she left the classroom and made her way to her best friends, waiting right outside. This was all coming together.


The rest of the day passed in a blur. After lunch, the Gryffindors joined the Ravenclaws for their first class of  Defense Against the Dark Arts with the new professor, Dolores Umbridge. Hermione had found her initial reaction to the witch was not wrong at all. She was indeed a vile, vile woman. By the end of the period, not only had she and many other students been called out but Harry was sent to McGonagall’s office, sure to receive detention for more than that night. Even worse, they were expected to only practice magical theory. No spellwork allowed. When Hermione piped up about this problem in the current curricular, Umbridge smiled sweetly down at her.

“Using defensive spells?” She repeated with a little laugh. “Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren’t expecting to be attacked during class?”  The class erupted in complete chaos.

“We’re not going to use magic?” Exclaimed Dean Thomas from his seat next to Seamus. Ron’s face expressed the same idea as he stared open-mouthed at Umbridge. Parvati looked at the boys, confused, and raised her hand as did Harry. The woman in the fluffy monstrosity looked straight at Harry before turning her attention towards the Gryffindor Patil twin. 

“Yes, Miss-?” Umbridge prompted.

“Patil,” replied Parvati. “Isn’t there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren’t we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?” Echoes of confused agreement followed.

“As long as you study the theory hard enough, it should be enough to get you through your exams now-” she trailed off as another hand shot up into the air. “Yes, Miss Granger?” Professor Umbridge said with an exasperated sigh.

“Isn’t the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts to practice defensive spells?”

“Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?” asked Professor Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice.

“No, but-” 

“Well then, I’m afraid you are not qualified to decide what the ‘whole point’ of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way, from a classroom environment-” 

“What use is that?” said Harry loudly. “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be in a-” 

“Hand, Mr. Potter!” sang Professor Umbridge. Padma was the one to raise her hand this time. “Yes?”

“Padma Patil. What you’re saying is that we won’t do any wand work until our O.W.L.s?” Hermione bit her lip anxiously. This was not shaping up to a good start of the term.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Miss Patil. I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough-”

“And what good’s theory going to be in the real world?” said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again. Hermione stared at Harry, eyes wide. If they continued down this road he was sure to explode into one of his episodes. She immediately raised her hand hoping to Merlin and Morgana that Umbridge would call on her and not provoke Harry. Her pleads fell on deaf ears. 

Professor Umbridge looked up. One brow raised in a challenge. 

“This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world,” she said softly. 

“So we’re not supposed to be prepared for what’s waiting for us out there?” He argued.

“There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter.” She repeated in the same condescending voice she’s used in the Great Hall the night before.

“Oh, yeah?” said Harry. His temper, she noticed, was reaching boiling point. Hermione put her head in her hands and began rubbing at her temples, trying to ease her starting headache. 

“Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?” enquired Professor Umbridge in a honeyed voice. 

“Hmm, let’s think…” said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice. “Maybe… Lord Voldemort!”

The classroom was unbearably silent for exactly three counts. As soon as the last grain of sand from the metaphorical sand clock fell, the mayhem continued. Lavender and Parvati screamed and hugged each other as if that same entity was here among them. Neville jumped so high, Hermione was surprised he was still sitting on his stool and not on the ground. Ron gaped at his best friend; and Hermione stared at Umbridge, gaze not wavering. She’d vowed that summer to not fear His name; much less let it have power over her. 

Dolores’s calm demeanor faltered before she arched a brow. She took ten points from Gryffindor. One could hear a Hippogryph feather drop in the disbelieving silence that followed. All thirty sets of eyes focused on either Harry or Umbridge. Hermione focused on the prior. Umbridge shifted all her weight upon her pudgy hands that laid splayed out on the desk in front of her. She cleared her throat, calling the faux sweetness to cover her voice.

“You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead. That he is in fact, at large once again. This is a lie-”

Harry stood abruptly, shaking the desk in front of him. Hermione groaned out a ‘Harry, no.’ and watched as he stood up to face Umbridge. 

“It is NOT a lie!” said Harry. “I saw him, I fought him!”

“Detention, Mr. Potter!” said Professor Umbridge venomously. “Tomorrow evening. Five o’clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, ‘Basics for Beginners’.” Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. 

Harry, however, glowered at her; obviously not willing to let this go so easily. Everyone was staring at him; holding their breaths waiting anxiously for the next thing to come from Harry’s mouth. 

“Harry, no!” Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, this time more urgently than the last. She needed to stop this before he got himself expelled. But Harry jerked his arm away from her, eyes still narrowed at the professor. 

“So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?” Harry asked, his voice shaking. Hermione’s gaze flickered to Umbridge. Her face was so red it was starting to turn purple. Her already thin lips disappearing altogether as she pursed them in disapproval. 

“What happened to Mr. Diggory was an unfortunate accident, Mr. Potter,” said Umbridge, voice cold and emotionless. Harry scoffed. All of their fellow classmates listening intently, either because they wanted to see how this encounter played out or because this was the first time anyone other than Ron and herself had heard about what really happened during the Triwizard Tournament. 

“It was cold-blooded murder,” Harry said, his voice strong though his body was all but shaking in anger. “Voldemort killed him and you know it.”

“Come here, Mr. Potter.” Was all Umbridge said. Her voice once again becoming sweet and girlish. Harry kicked his chair away from him and stormed past Hermione and towards the desk in the front of the classroom. Hermione saw Umbridge take a piece of parchment—pink, of course— and scribble out a quick note. With a tap, the parchment dried and sealed itself. She handed the piece of paper to Harry and instructed him to give it to the Deputy Headmistress. Harry stormed off. Not even willing to meet her pleading gaze before he slammed the door shut behind him.

“Now, turn to page five and begin reading, class.”

What an idiot.


“…complete and utter shit!”

“Harry!” Hermione blushed, shocked at his foul language.

“Sorry…” he muttered back. Hermione rolled her eyes for she was certain that he didn’t mean the apology. Not that she blamed him, that Dolores Umbridge woman was a total cow. 

“I just can’t believe she gave you detention for the entire week!” She said, returning to the matter at hand.

“Don’t you have quidditch tryouts this Friday?” Asked Ron through the apple pie in his mouth. Harry groaned and pressed his palms to his eyes.

“Yeah… Angelina’s gonna kill me and feed me to a dragon,” Harry cried. Just then someone cleared their throat behind the dark haired boy. He groaned. “What now?” he muttered wearily, turning to face Angelina Johnson, who looked as though she was in a towering temper. 

“I’ll tell you what now,” she said, marching straight up to him and poking him hard in the chest with her finger. “How come you’ve landed yourself in detention for five o’clock on Friday?” snarled Angelina. “Didn’t I tell you I wanted to do a tryout with the whole team, and find someone who fitted in with everyone! Didn’t I tell you I’d booked the Quidditch pitch specially? And now you’ve decided you’re not going to be there!”

Hermione looked around the room and saw Violetta walking towards her from across the Hall. Hermione quickly excused herself from her friends and stood to meet her halfway. Violetta must have seen her approach for she shot her a bright smile and waved her over.

“Hiya there, Hermione! 

“Do you need anything, Violetta?”

“Actually, yes.” Hermione raised her brows. “I heard that there was a complication for you and Ron’s patrolling schedule this Friday. I was hoping it would be okay if I work it out for a few hours and let you know as soon as I figure it out?” Hermione looked puzzled. Violetta cocked her head to the side.

“Of course! How could I have missed…?”

“Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts,” the Head Girl supplied.

“Of course.” Hermione smiled. “Just let me know.”

“Thank you!” Violetta beamed and left to finish her dinner. ‘Quidditch tryouts? Ron’s trying out for the team?’ Hermione thought as she walked. On the way back to her table a small Slytherin first year came up to her; pulling her from her thoughts. The girl handed her a note with a smile before bouncing away back to the Slytherin table. Hermione followed her as she walked back to Draco who gave her payment in form of a sugar quill. Hermione raised her brows, questioningly. Malfoy did the same back. She turned around and opened the note:

 

Sixth floor. 

4th door on the right.

8 p.m. sharp.

Don’t be late or I’ll start without you.

D.

 

Hermione folded the note back up and placed it in her pocket. She had patrols tonight with Ron at 10 p.m. Would two hours be enough time? Hermione laughed at the idea of not having enough time with Draco Malfoy. She should be itching to get this over with. Right? She shook the thought from her head as she made her way back towards her friends. Even from a couple of paces back she could hear Harry.

“What I don’t get is why they all believed the story two months ago when Dumbledore told them but not me now…” Hermione worried her lip and sat down.

“The thing is, Harry. That I’m not even sure they believed Dumbledore back then,” said Hermione quietly. It seemed that everyone in the Great Hall was trying to listen in to the conversation within the Golden Trio. After Defense, the news about Harry standing up to Umbridge spread like fiendfyre. Everyone wanted to know what was really happening. But the bushy haired Gryffindor was having none of it. “Come on, let’s go.”

The boys followed her up to the Tower (although Ron begrudgingly left the remainder of his pie). Rain was pounding hard against the window panes. The staccato of the drops marking the steps as they headed up towards the second set of moving stairs. Harry walked a bit faster to catch up to her.

“What’d you mean, you’re not sure they believed Dumbledore?”

“Look, you- you don’t understand what it was like after it happened,” said Hermione quietly. “You arrived back in the middle of the lawn clutching Cedric’s dead body… none of us saw what happened in the maze… we just had Dumbledore’s word for it that You-Know-Who had come back and killed Cedric and fought you.” 

“Which is the truth!” Harry retorted. Hermione sighed.

“Yes, Harry, I know.” The three of them made it to the common room in record time. Hermione looked up at the Fat Lady and smiled. “Hullo! Mimbulus mimbletonia,” Hermione said and the portrait flung open, letting them pass into the room. The Common room was nearly empty, most of the students still enjoying dinner. Ron seemed to remember the apple pie he was forced to leave behind as he gave the closing portrait a longing look. But Hermione was more worried about their privacy than a piece of pie.

“What’s Dumbledore playing at? To employ someone who’s actually refusing to let us do magic?” Hermione questioned as she slumped into her favorite armchair. Crookshanks was quick to join them and curl up on Hermione’s lap.

“And she’s trying to get people to spy for her,” said Ron darkly. “Remember when she said she wanted us to come and tell her if we hear anyone saying You-Know-Who’s back?” 

“Of course she’s here to spy on us all, that’s obvious, why else would Fudge have wanted her to come?” Added Hermione thoughtfully. Harry let out a sigh and plopped down in a nearby loveseat.

“Can’t we just… let’s just do that homework, get it out of the way… This day has felt like a week,” said Harry, getting up to fetch all of their schoolbags before settling back down. Hermione nodded absentmindedly. She had already done most of her homework while the boys were in their Divination class. Except for her essay for Snape’s class that she was supposed to finish with Malfoy. 

Malfoy! She cast a quick ‘Tempus’ charm. 7:45. She saw students starting to flow back into the common room. She needed to go.

“Actually, I need a book for Professor Snape’s class from the library,” said Hermione. “And it closes in less than half an hour. I’ll be back for patrols.” She grabbed her schoolbag and left the Common Room before either boy could respond. She wasn’t completely sure why she’d just lied about meeting Malfoy. Half of her mind told her that there was a really good reason. She just couldn’t think of what that was at the moment. All she knew was that the boys would not be thrilled at the idea of her being alone with Malfoy. But she had to finish her assignment at some point. They needed to understand that.


Her muggle watch read 7:59 by the time she stood outside the door she was almost certain was the correct one. The staircases had disoriented her for a couple of minutes. She’d never come up to the sixth floor before. Hermione walked in, half prepared to see Malfoy pouring himself over their report. But there was no one there. Hermione’s heartbeat quickened. Was this a trap? Did Malfoy set me up? Her wand was out and ready to cast an ‘expelliarmus’ at whoever was entering. She was ready to try and leave the room when the door opened again. Draco stood in the doorway, staring at her outstretched wand.

“I heard we aren’t using any defensive spells this year, Granger. You don’t want to get in trouble with Umbridge do you?” He asked with a smirk. Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she lowered her wand. Prat.

“Where were you?” She asked him. Hermione set down her book bag and started retrieving her ink and quill.

“What time did I tell you to come?” He asked her back; not responding to her question. He didn’t even look at her as he got his own supplies out.

“Eight.” Was all Hermione replied. Malfoy cast a quick ‘Tempus’. It showed 8:00. 

“Something you should learn, Granger.” This time he looked at her. Grey locking with amber. “A Malfoy is always on time.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I think you should rather be grateful that I secured us a room to work with than give me your ‘holier than thou’ attitude.” Ouch.

“Whatever, can we just finish our report? I have prefect duties tonight with Ron,” Hermione avoided his gaze. He was right. She needed to relax. ‘Maybe this won’t be as bad as I think it will be,’ she reassured herself. Her eyes did a quick roundabout the classroom. There was a large table hugging the entire back wall opposite the door filled with empty cauldrons, flasks, and scales. To her left were two nearly empty shelving units that would work well for holding all of the ingredients they should need. And to her right was a large window overlooking the Lake and part of the Forbidden Forest. One of the best views she’d seen. She currently sat at one of the three small desks occupying the remaining space in the small room.

“Ah, you’re wanting to get back to Weaselbee, of course. I’m so sorry to keep you from seeing him,” said Draco mockingly as he took out the essay they’d started to work on in class. Hermione, however, was not pleased.

“What’s your problem, Malfoy?” She cried out.


Draco didn’t know. He wasn’t sure where this was coming from. He had wanted to say, ‘I have something to tell you,’ and not ‘Ah, you’re wanting to get back to Weaselbee.’ Of course, the latter came out. He found himself the target of the hateful glare Hermione was sending. He swallowed and looked down at the parchment.

“Nothing. Now, will you come here so we can get to work?” He responded. Hermione was still staring daggers but much to his surprise she did what he asked. She took a seat next to him and started chewing on the tip of her quill. He noticed it hadn’t been dipped in a couple of hours, but her saliva seemed to reactivate the ink enough to leave a small stain on her lip. She must have noticed him staring for she glared at him again.

“What?” She snapped.

“Nothing,” said Draco, a small smile tugging at his lips. He pushed it away.

An hour and a half went by without any further disruptions. The couple seemed to find their balance as they switched roles from earlier that day in class. Now, Draco was the chosen scripter. His grip tightening slightly when she’d point out a mistake in either his logic or his spelling. His elegant script flowed to a stop as they finished the last sentence. The essay easily surpassed the required three feet of content. As they waited for it to dry, Hermione decided to speak.

“Can I ask you something?”

Draco looked up at the witch. She’d stopped recapping her ink. Instead, she had taken her lip between her teeth and was rocking it back and forth. Her lips were full, rosy. The flash of teeth he could see was perfectly white. Draco reeled back, noticing he’d been staring at her mouth for a fraction of a second too long. He cleared his throat easily, but his mind wasn’t as easily calmed.

“Sure.”

Gone was the confidence Hermione usually emitted. Now there was doubt in the air. Draco’s pulse started racing. What is she thinking about? 

“You heard the Hat’s song yesterday at the feast, right?” She began. 

The blood rushed to his ears, blocking out any further noise. Each drop of blood adding another brick to the fortress surrounding his mind. How did she know? Does she know I’m here to change everything? He realized he’s stopped breathing and gulped down a big breath of air. Hermione looked worried. 

“Are you alright?” She asked, her hand reaching towards him. Draco coughed and pulled back as if her hand was to burn him. And at this point, he wouldn’t think it impossible.

“I’m fine. You were saying?” He replied. He wasn’t fine.

“The Hat said something interesting yesterday,” Hermione began again. This was it. He thought it would be better to just come out with it now. Maybe she’d give him a chance to explain. “-about uniting the houses.”

“Listen, I can explain.” Draco trailed off. Unite the houses? “Wait, unite the houses?”

Hermione gave him a strange look. As if he was going mental. Frankly, he was. But the entire student body didn’t need to know that fact. “Yes…” She said slowly. “I had an idea?”

“An idea?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say? Or will you listen to my proposition?”

Draco choked, half tempted to repeat the word ‘proposition’. Did she know what that sounded like? Hermione did seem to catch up as her cheeks colored.

“Don’t be a prat. I was going to ask for your help.” Hermione said annoyed. It was clear that she was trying to get the rouging under control to no avail. This piqued his interest, however. This was exactly what he needed. A way to earn her trust.

“I’ll help,” he said quickly. Hermione, who was getting ready to talk some more, halted. She looked completely taken by surprise.

“You will?” She asked suspiciously. “I haven’t even told you what for.” Draco shrugged and leaned back on his chair.

“Fine, I’ll humor you. What for?” Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“I want to make a Hogwarts Common Room.”

“A what?” He asked. He was completely taken by surprise. He’d expected her to ask for help with a class. Or maybe even a fellow student. But what the hell was a ‘Hogwarts Common Room’?

“It’s a common room for all houses to come together. A comfortable common area to do homework or hang out with students from other houses,” she explained. Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. That wasn’t a terrible idea. Of course, not many people would show up. And those who would, would be running in the same social circles. A good idea but terrible execution. And why would she need him anyway? It seemed as if Hermione could read the last question plastered on his face because she added, “I need your help gathering all the Slytherins to join.” There it was.

He was absolutely positive no Slytherins would continue to show up past the first day. They’d come for the novelty of it all. A new toy to check out. But Slytherins weren’t easily entertained. Especially not by lions. However, he could see the faith in Hermione’s face. Maybe this will be easier than I thought. Draco thought. If this was all he needed to earn her trust, he’d do it. After all, it wasn’t his fault that Slytherins wouldn’t continue to show up. At least he tried.

“Okay.”

“‘Okay?’ That’s it?” Hermione asked warily.

“Is that not what you want me to say?” He questioned. Hermione bit her lip. Clearly, she was uncertain of how easy it was to convince him to join her cause. “Don’t look so shocked, Granger. I actually think it’s a half decent idea.” Hermione preened at the compliment from the Slytherin. “Of course, if it was well executed.” Hermione’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“‘If it was well executed?’” She repeated indignantly.

“Are you going to repeat everything I say? Or will you listen?” He left out the ‘proposition’ part of her quote. It didn’t seem to matter, as the effect he wanted had been achieved. Hermione huffed.

“You. Are. Insufferable,” she bit out. “If you’re so wise, then please, tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“But that’s no fun, is it?” He answered, rolling up the now dry parchment. “It’s almost 10. You should go.” Hermione let out a long breath.

“Fine, be that way,” she muttered under her breath, following as Draco left the room. Hermione stopped. “Wasn’t there something you needed to tell me too?” She called as he was heading towards the moving stairs.

“Was there? I don’t recall.” He turned and made his way to the Slytherin dorms. He would tell her later. Maybe she’d be more inclined to believe it if she actually trusted his word. When they were amicable. But for now, he would focus on the tasks at hand. Finish the potion and compose a Hogwarts Common Room. It shouldn’t be that hard. Right?

Chapter 5: Accompany

Notes:

Dates have been merged since the Author-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named couldn’t keep track of such a simple thing. Hence, this chapter’s start date is the Thursday of the first week and recounts Tuesday-Friday.

Happy reading!

Chapter Text

September 7, 1995

The rest of the week played out as smoothly as it possibly could considering the circumstances the trio found itself in. Harry had dutifully served detention with Umbridge every night since Monday. Most days he would wind up coming back right after she and Ron returned from prefect patrols. To say she was worried about him was a severe understatement. After each session of detention, Harry would come back skittish and isolate himself in his dorm room until the following morning. Ron had even told her that he’d seldom speak to him at night, if ever. His mood had also gotten increasingly worse as the week progressed which left Hermione both concerned and agitated with her best friend.

Her study sessions with Draco, on the other hand, were going spectacularly well. She’d meet with him each day shortly after dinner ended and stay until the clock was nearing 10 to run and perform patrols with Ron. These sessions, although short, were like a gulp of fresh air in Hermione’s otherwise claustrophobic life. The two seldom talked about anything other than the Auxilium Anguis or its required process. And having someone to talk to that didn’t expect her to do all the work and was actually capable and willing to carry on an intelligent conversation was a relief. Although they’d finished their first Potions essay that first night, both agreed to keep working on the final essay as they continued to brew the potion. Just so they could be as detailed as possible (or so they’d said). But these secret meetings remained just that to Hermione.

Always secret.

Always hidden.

Nevertheless, the second study group went as well as was expected. Hermione arrived promptly at 8:00 only to find a relaxed looking Draco Malfoy sitting down at the desk. Hermione raised a brow at her companion. 

“I thought you said Malfoys were never early?” She asked while taking a seat and retrieving her ink and quill. Malfoy looked up at her.

“I believe I said that we’re always on time. And I believe that I am.” He cast a tempus: 8:00.

“Prat,” she whispered under her breath. But a small smile escaped her. “Did you get the lionfish spines from Professor Snape?” He didn’t look up from the essay but pointed his quill to the small table on his left.

“Yes, I already added the Bulbadox Juice to the boiling water. And it has,” he checked his tempus, “eight minutes left. So you can start crushing the spines while I finish writing this last bit down.” Hermione was stunned. Her eyes followed Draco’s hand as it wrote another line on the already half full parchment. She hadn’t expected him to be so proactive. Yet as he finished his elegantly written sentence with a dot,  he looked up at her. “Please, Granger, shut your mouth. You look like a codfish.” Her mouth snapped shut. “I’d appreciate it if you at least tried to hide your surprise.” He stood from the seat and made his way over to the preparation table. “I’m not completely useless,” he added as his hand measured out the required lionfish spines. “Are you gonna help or…” He lifted an eyebrow. Hermione flushed and snapped back into it. She stepped up to him and got the mortar and pestle from the shelf behind the blond.

“Sorry,” she mumbled taking the measured spines and adding them to the small stone bowl.

“What’d you say?” He asked with a sly smile. Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she brought down the pestle with more force than necessary. Her tongue was ready to quip back but she stopped herself.

               “I think you should rather be grateful than give me your ‘holier than thou’ attitude.”

She sighed defeatedly.

“I said I’m sorry. Happy, Malfoy?”  Hermione siphoned the dust out of the mortar carefully with her wand and added it to the cauldron. She made 3 clockwise motions over the potion and set down her wand. “I know I can be a bit controlling at times…” Draco scoffed; she ignored him. “…but for what it’s worth, you’re not as awful to work with as I thought.”

“Aw, Granger, you flatter me.”

“Prat.” 

He just laughed.


Later that night in her common room, she found herself sitting upon her seat knitting a scarf with bright orange yarn. The color of which reminded her of the familiar who currently lay curled up in front of the fire snoring loudly. She was almost finished with the scarf when Ron walked in—an old, ratty-looking broom in hand—and slumped beside her into a gold loveseat.

“Whatcha doin’ ‘Mione?” Asked Ron. He snuggled into the chair and yawned.

“Knitting a scarf for one of the house elves,” She answered. Her hands still working on finishing the final touches to the scarf. He raised an auburn eyebrow in return.

“Whatever for?”

“To free them, of course.” Hermione cast a quick diffindo at the yarn and held up the finished product. Ron snorted.

“That’s supposed to be a scarf?” He asked incredulously. He took the item from her and held it up to the firelight. “Looks more like a lopsided rubbish liner to me,” added Ron with a scrunch of his nose. Hermione huffed. Not exactly knowing if she was angry with Ron for saying such a thing about her project or angry with herself for thinking that exact thing a few days prior.

“It’s the intention that counts, Ronald.” She snatched the scarf back. “It’ll free them anyways. I could care less how it looks.” She set it down on the small table in front of her.

“They’re not going to take it, you know,” he warned.

“I know,” replied Hermione with a smile. “That’s why I’m doing this instead.” She took some crumpled up pieces of parchment and set them on top of the scarf. Then also adding an empty Chocolate Frog wrapper for good measure.

“You’re leaving out clothes for the house elves?” said Ron slowly. “And you’re covering them up with rubbish first?” 

“Yes,” said Hermione defiantly, straightening up in her seat. Her eyes narrowing.

“That’s not right. Hermione,” said Ron angrily. “You’re trying to trick them into picking up the scarves. You’re setting them free when they might not want to be free.” 

“Of course they want to be free!” said Hermione sharply; so much so her face was turning pink. “Don’t you dare touch those hats, Ron!”She added before stomping up to bed.


That Wednesday came around as a much needed break from Snape and Umbridge’s classes. Double Transfiguration followed by double Charms was easily the best day of the week class-wise for her. That morning McGonagall spent fifteen minutes lecturing them about the importance of O.W.L.s and how they needed to start prioritizing the classes that would help them in their future careers. Something she was very passionate about advocating. Likewise, Flitwick decided to spend his double charms class block by talking about his days as duel master; and therefore mentioning that he’d like to reinstate the dueling club at Hogwarts someday in the future.

“I can Stupefy and Protego with the best of them. I have a shelf full of trophies to boot,” Flitwick recalled. He cleared his throat. “But remember, dueling is about skill and self-defense. Not about being flashy.”  Everyone wanted to hear more about this club but of course, thanks to Professor Umbridge, that wouldn’t be happening this school year. Much to the dismay of several Gryffindors. Hermione included. She believed that a Hogwarts Dueling Club specializing in defensive spells would be very useful for everyone.

Wednesday afternoon in Care of  Magical Creatures, Malfoy decided to pick a fight with Harry, of course. Her best friend had just asked Professor Grubbly-Plank where Hagrid was. When she evaded his question, Malfoy decided that he could answer in her stead. Hermione could tell that he was trying to provoke Harry and quickly turned her best friend away from the blond; telling him that Dumbledore would know where Hagrid was. But Draco desperately wanted to make his voice was heard.

“Yes,” came Malfoy’s clear drawl from the group nearest them, “Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry’s really determined to crack down on sub-standard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he’ll probably be sent packing straightaway.” Hermione glared at him. Daring him to continue. But as soon as the words left his mouth he reddened and turned away amid the snickering Slytherins. He didn’t bother them the rest of the class. Needless to say, there was a stern: “What the Hell, Malfoy?” during that night’s study session. Followed promptly by a dismissing shrug and a disappointed frown.

All of which is why when Thursday night came around Hermione was nearing combustion. Defense Against the Dark Arts was miserable once more. Although no remarks were made out loud by The-Boy-Who-Lived, that didn’t stop him from muttering under his breath the entirety of class.

Not to mention the incident that occurred during Snape’s class earlier that day had emotionally exhausted her. It seemed that he moved on from talking about their projects for the time being and decided to focus on brewing some O.W.L.-level potions that should already be “common knowledge” to the lot of them. Starting with a simple Draught of Peace. Hermione was glad she had enough foresight to sit next to Neville as to help him with his own cauldron. However, it seemed that he wasn’t the one in need of help in class that day.

Halfway through class, the Gryffindors and Slytherins all jumped in their seats when a yellow smoke erupted from the cauldron of Pansy Parkinson. The girl let out a shrill shriek which caused Hermione to wince and stop mixing her own potion in favor of covering her ears. Daphne, who had been sitting next to Parkinson, ran away from the table. Her hands were waving away the yellow smoke as she hurriedly ran to the other side of the room coughing. The surrounding students seemed to take notice and evacuated the scene. Now opting to sit on the far side of the classroom.

When the smoke cleared, Hermione was shocked to see four big, purple, slimy, squid tentacles coming out of Pansy’s mouth. She gasped along with half of the students in the classroom. The other half burst into fits of laughter. Draco’s and Harry’s mirthful faces going stoic as their eyes met from across the room. Hermione rolled her eyes at the boys and looked over at a frantic Pansy who was starting to hyperventilate. Not that it was too noticeable with the tentacles coming from her mouth. The girl shrieked and ran out of the room in tears as the students once again exploded in laughter. Snape, who had stood from his desk, was now in the middle of the room. His wand pointed at his throat, casting a sonorous. 

“Be quiet!” the  professor demanded and the laughs died down almost immediately. Hermione glanced behind her shoulder and her gaze met Draco’s who was trying to hold in a smile by pursing his lips. Harry, who was also behind her, gave her a small smile—for he believed she turned around for him. Hermione grinned back at her best friend and turned back around. But not before shooting a final glance at Draco.

“Goyle, go see that Miss Parkinson makes it to the hospital wing,” Snape instructed. His onyx gaze followed the boy as he left the classroom. Once the door shut behind the boy Severus turned to face the rest of the class. “And you lot, get to work. I expect you know better than to add the powdered unicorn horn before fully mixing in the syrup of hellebore… at least I expect most of you to,” said Snape. The last phrase was said with a hard glare at poor Neville who was shrinking into his seat beside her. Hermione gave him a supportive smile and added her own powdered unicorn horn to her daffodil yellow potion.


When dinner came around the trio was exhausted.

“I can’t believe how much homework we’ve got,” said Ron miserably. 

“Well, why didn’t you do any last night?” Neville asked from his place beside Ginny.

“Where were you, anyway?” Asked Hermione and Harry at the same time.

“I was… I fancied a walk,” said Ron shiftily. Hermione narrowed her eyes at his lie. ‘Why is he keeping his Quidditch tryouts a secret?  She asked herself.

It also didn’t brighten their day that Angelina had found Harry during dinner and confronted him about missing Keeper tryouts later that week. Saying that she expected players who wished to remain on the team to put training before their other commitments. Harry called out after her. “I’m in detention! Do you think I’d rather be stuck in a room with that old toad or playing Quidditch?” Angelina didn’t look back and Harry slumped down in his seat. Hermione rubbed his back reassuringly.

Harry, in return, was as snappish as ever. Chewing her out for the most meaningless things. Always ready to engage in a yelling match. To be quite frank, Hermione had gotten over his pathetic, teenage sass two days into its appearance in her life. But that night, she learned why his attitude had taken such a turn for the worse lately.

She sat comfortably in her patchwork armchair in front of the fire knitting an elf hat for her next project. She ignored the look the redhead gave her and her project and continued knitting. Ron sat next to her in an amber loveseat furiously scribbling down some final additions for his own potions project with Pansy. How he could bear to work with her was beyond her, but at least he was putting in some amount of effort.

“Hey, Ron?” She started casually. Ron had the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration as he continued writing his essay.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you keeping your Quidditch tryouts a secret?” Hermione asked. Ron’s blue eyes flashed up to meet her’s so quick, it startled her.

“How did you know about that?” He asked her. The anxiety was clear in his voice.

“Violetta told me when she changed my patrol schedule,” Hermione replied nonchalantly. Her hands still maneuvering the knitting needles. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I - well - well, okay, I’ll tell you, but don’t laugh, all right?” Ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. “I - I thought I’d try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I’ve got a decent broom. But I didn’t want Fred and George to find out before I had the chance to try out. There. Go on. Laugh.” Hermione stopped knitting and looked at him with a smile.

“Why would I laugh? That’s brilliant! Of course, I abhor Quidditch but if my two best friends like it…” She trialed off excitedly. “But you won’t let it come between you and your studies, right? Oh and please be careful Ron. Do you know how many accidents are a direct result of playing Quidditch?” A brow was raised. Ron was about ready to answer her when he heard the door’s portrait talking, getting ready to let someone in. He took his quill once more and continued writing his essay. Not willing to let anyone else know of the reason he was randomly absent throughout the day.

When Harry entered it was nearing midnight. The entire castle was quiet except the scratching of the quill against parchment and the crackling logs in the fireplace. He didn’t seem to notice them as he walked straight behind them, heading towards the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. Hermione, however, turned around just before he reached his destination and spotted the bandage wrapped around his hand. More importantly, she noticed the fact that crimson red was bleeding through it. 

“Harry, what’s that?”

Harry jumped.

“Merlin, Hermione. Be quiet!” He hissed back at her but sheepishly made his way towards the duo. In the firelight, she could see that a fair amount of blood had bled through the bandage. Looking around, her gaze fell on her school bag beside her feet. She withdrew a roll of bandage and when met with the questioning gazes of the boys, she simply cocked her head towards Crookshanks and his sharp claws. 

Without another word, she took Harry’s hand in hers and revealed the wound. Upon further inspection, she found it had already stopped bleeding. The wound was sore and the scratches rose above the skin. Only they weren’t scratches, but words. I must not tell lies. Hermione gasped and her amber eyes found green.

“That vile woman… Merlin, Harry, you need to go tell Dumbledore,” said Hermione. Harry snatched back his hand.

“No. I’m not going to bother him. Nor will I give that cow the satisfaction of watching her get to me.” Hermione frowned at him. She didn’t fancy the idea of getting into another fight with the stubborn Gryffindor so late at night, but she couldn’t bear to leave her friend like this. She’d try to talk some sense into him tomorrow. So she decided to wrap his hand and leave it at that for now.


September 8, 1995

 

The next morning Hermione awoke earlier than intended. Ready to brave a new day, she went down to breakfast a full hour before she usually did. This impromptu schedule change allowed her the peace and quiet she had dearly missed the past week. It was Friday (and so the last day of Harry’s detention). She sincerely hoped that his temper tantrums would end along with his detention. But she wasn’t as stupid to believe that the boy would cheer up overnight.

Hermione entered the Great Hall only to find the Gryffindor table eerily empty. Only two third-years sat with each other at the far end of the table. Hermione smiled and sat down at her usual spot and spooned some strawberries into her porridge. Looking around the room as she took her first bite. 

The Hufflepuff table was bustling with yellow and black robes as the badgers dug into their food laughter floating from their table. The Ravenclaw table had slightly fewer students but even though they were all eating, most of them were preoccupied with a book in hand or a piece of parchment laid in front of them. Lastly, the Slytherin table seemed to have almost the entire house present; eating and chatting in low voices. Coming to think of it, Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she saw more than a dozen Slytherin students eating at the same time her friends did. In fact, as more of her Gryffindors started trickling in she came to realize why the Slytherins seemed to like the early breakfast hours better.

Peace and quiet.

The Gryffindors brought with them a wave of chatter and laughter that revived the Great Hall. Hermione noticed that the more Gryffindors that came in, the fewer Slytherins remained. At this, she frowned remembering the words of the Sorting Hat. She would need to work on this if Hogwarts was to be united.

“Hey, Hermione!” A lively voice said. Hermione swallowed the bite of porridge in her mouth and smiled up at Violetta.

“Violetta! Hello, what brings you here?” She asked. Violetta sat beside the Gryffindor and pulled out a sheet of paper. Columns color coded and highlighted.

“So sorry to just be getting back to you now about your patrolling schedule. You would not believe what I’ve had to deal with this week!” Rambled Violetta with a small laugh. Hermione smiled politely, not wanting to tell her about the week she’d just had. “But I think I figured something out. Although, it might not be what you were looking for.”

“Oh?”

“With Pansy Parkinson in the hospital wing until tomorrow—under Madam Pomfrey’s orders—the only other prefect I can pair you with would be Draco Malfoy,” said Violetta. Her voice filled with worry and regret. “I hope that’s okay?”

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it. We get along well enough,” supplied Hermione with a smile. Determined not to let the anxiety she felt show. Violetta let out a big sigh of relief.

“Thank you so much, Hermione!” She said getting up from the table. “See you later! And let me know how it goes.” Violetta waved and left to join Thomas at the Hufflepuff table.

Gods. Prefect patrols with Malfoy. She thought to herself. This is going to be a mess.

“What’s going to be a mess?” Asked Ron who sat down and started munching on a blueberry. Hermione jumped.

“W-what?” She asked confused. Had I been thinking out loud?

“You said something was a mess. What is it?” He answered between bites.

“You are. Learn how to eat with your mouth closed, Ronald,” Hermione reprimanded. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the rouging creeping up her cheek. Ron swallowed and stuck his tongue out at her.

“Whatever. You’re thinking about something though. What happened? Did Violetta say something about our rounds tonight? I told her I probably wouldn’t be able to make it,” Ron said. Hermione sighed as he served himself some pumpkin juice.

“Yeah, I have to go with Malfoy tonight.” Ron nearly choked on his juice.

“W-what?” He sputtered. “She’s pairing you up with that ferrety git?” Hermione nodded. “Look, Hermione. I can ditch Quidditch tryouts if you want I can-” 

“No,” Hermione cut him off. “It’s important to you. I’ll be fine,” she urged. “Plus, what Umbridge doesn’t know won’t hurt her. If he tries anything I know a few defensive spells.” At this, she grinned. Ron laughed.

“Merlin, Hermione. I do not ever want to get on your bad side,” he chuckled. “But wouldn’t it be wicked if we had a dueling club like Flitwick was talking about the other day?” He asked dreamily. “Then I could see you beat up Malfoy and not get in trouble.”

“You actually paid attention in class?” Hermione laughed at Ron’s expression of faux outrage. “But in all seriousness, it wouldn’t be just plain wicked, but useful too. Harry is right. We need to be prepared for what’s out there. So maybe not even the dueling club but an actual class for the defense against the dark arts.”

“But who would teach that? Whoever tried would be sacked on the spot,” Ron argued. Hermione chewed her lip. Ron was correct. Unless-

“Unless it’s not a professor that’s teaching it…”

“But who else would have any experience fighting against the…” Ron trailed off. His blue eyes lit up at Hermione’s implication. “Bloody hell. Hermione, this is crazy,” he said with a smile.

“I know! But wouldn’t he do amazing? He’s done things none of us have ever dreamed of doing, Ron,” exclaimed Hermione excitedly. “He conjured up a Patronus in his third year for Merlin’s sake. He would make a brilliant professor,” she added. She let that sit for a minute before Ron spoke up again.

“And who would he teach? Just us? All the Gryffindors?”

“Anyone. Anyone who wants to learn,” she answered with a smile. A feature that now appeared to be permanently etched onto her face. “All of us.”

“He won’t like it, you know.”

“Yes, I know. But we just have to bring it up to him when the time is right,” Hermione answered.

“Gods…” Ron ran a hand through his hair. A smile also perched on his face. His eyes met hers and he laughed. “This is absolutely mental. But it just might work.” As if summoned by their conversation, Harry entered the room and slumped down next to Ron.

“Ugh,” he groaned and slammed his head against the table. The contact making such a loud noise, Hermione winced from across the table. “I can’t believe I have to miss Quidditch tryouts tonight.” At the mention of which Ron shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Could he be any more obvious?

“It’s alright mate, I’m sure you’ll be okay. It’s not like Angelina is going to boot you off the team,” said the redhead comfortingly. The trio looked down the table where Angelina just sat down next to Katie Bell. She turned her head and glared over at Harry who let out another frustrated cry. His head once again finding a home upon the solid wood table in front of them.


The anticipation for patrols that night was steadily building with each passing hour. She was barely able to concentrate during Transfigurations and Charms. Once, even spilling half of her ink on top of her parchment which was a mess to clean; even with magic. Her friends too worried with their own problems to pay enough attention to be worried with her off-putting. A fact which made her crawl even deeper into her own head. For Harry was too busy moping about missing tryouts and Ron was dubiously oblivious to anything not directly expressed to him. It wasn’t until after lunch that she was approached by none other than Draco Malfoy who helped to help ease her doubts.

Double Arithmancy had been the escape she needed. The equation given by Professor Vector to the class was used to calculate the approximate strengthening of a wizard’s magical core during the full moon. And it was quite the challenge. Hermione nibbled at her bottom lip as she scribbled down the equation the professor had so elegantly written up in the chalkboard. Her mind began running through all the different variables in her head. Her hand aching as she tried to keep up with her mind; writing down her train of thought so furiously she broke not one, but two nibs. All too soon, however, it was announced that class was dismissed and she left the room satisfied that she’d have something to ponder about for the weekend until she returned to Arithmancy that following Tuesday. She was walking down the corridor towards the Great Hall for dinner when a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“Merlin, don’t you ever slow down?” huffed Malfoy who unbeknownst to Hermione had been calling her name since they both left Professor Vector’s class. Hermione raised her right eyebrow at the encounter. He never spoke to her outside of their study sessions on the 6th floor.

“No, not really,” she replied praying to Merlin and Morgana that he couldn’t hear her quickening heartbeat. The weight of his hand upon her shoulder so evident to Hermione. She was not ready for this right now. Not that she had any reason to be nervous. She’d been with him alone plenty this past week. Nothing there to explicitly show any signs of potential danger by being with the blond Slytherin. Patrolling shouldn’t be too different. With this reaffirmation, she took a breath to calm herself. “Did you need something?” she asked. Draco suddenly dropped his arm back to his side, nodding.

“Yeah,” he started.  He took his left hand and dragged it through his hair. “I assume Violetta informed you about our change in schedules?”

“She did,” nodded Hermione. She looked up at Draco’s expecting gaze and frowned. “Is there a problem with that? I just assumed we’d start after our study session but if you have something else you need to do…”

“Nope. Nothing to do. Just wanted to make sure you were alright with the change,” he said. Hermione had never seen Draco be so… considerate. She was left speechless.

“Oh. O-okay. Thank you then. But yes, it’s okay,” she mumbled with a confused smile. Draco didn’t smile back. However, the small glimmer in his eye conveyed everything that needed to be said.

“See you then, Granger,” Draco said with a curt nod. He turned around and started to walk away. Before he could get very far, he called back out to her. “And Granger.” she looked back. “Don’t be late.” With that, Draco sauntered away leaving Hermione with a small, pleased smile on her lips.


Harry left for Umbridge’s office promptly after dinner. The frown that had made permanent residency upon his face was even deeper as he walked through the doors of the Great Hall. Hermione let out a frustrated sigh.

“I swear to Merlin, I will kill him if he keeps acting like this...” she glowered. Hermione looked towards Ron for reassurance but found him too preoccupied with a pumpkin pasty to say more than a mumbled: “He’s going through enough already ‘Mione. Ease up a bit.” She knew that to an extent Ron was correct. But she couldn’t help the wave of anger that washed over her. She reminded herself, however, that if it wasn’t for a certain pink cow Harry might not be as angry and snappish. And thus her anger was now directed at the professor. After dinner, the two friends trekked back to the Gryffindor tower.

“Are you ready for tryouts, Ron?” She asked. The change in topic eased her mind a bit. Ron nodded.

“Yes, I think so.” He was as jittery as a Niffler after gold. She smiled and slung an arm around his lanky shoulders.

“You’re going to do just brilliantly. I know it,” she smiled up at him. He didn’t seem so sure. “And I’m always right. Aren’t I?” She asked with a smile and a hip bump. To this, the redhead smiled back.

“Well, of course you are, Hermione. ‘The brightest witch of her age’ you are.” She smiled brightly and muttered the password to the Fat Lady.

Hermione sat herself down in her armchair and decided to knit a little before her study session that night. As she got settled, needles in hand, Ron looked for his equipment. After five minutes of frantically running from his room to the common room, Ron shot Hermione a lopsided smile.

“Wish me luck, ‘Mione!” He called out to her as he slipped through the door. The portrait clicked shut behind Ron and Hermione offered a silent plea to whoever was there that her best friend would succeed. She didn’t notice the time passing as she sat there knitting her hats and socks. Instead, she focused her attention on the calming movement of her hands and the quiet crackling of the fresh wood in the fire. She loved knitting by hand. Even though she knew magic would make the process so much easier. It was calming to absentmindedly focus on the pattern needed to make the clothing. And she needed that relaxation if she was to go on patrols with Draco that night.

Draco? She glanced at the darkening sky outside the window. Shit. She glanced down at her muggle watch: 8:15.

“Bloody Hell!” She exclaimed as she threw down her project and swooped up her bag without missing a beat. Hermione raced out from the Common Room and towards the sixth floor corridor. Thankfully, the staircases seemed to be on her side today and she didn’t stop until she bumped into Malfoy at the top. A very frantic Malfoy.

“What the fuck, Granger?” He questioned. “Where the hell have you been?” Hermione stood stunned. Partially because of her abrupt halt, but mostly because of the hint of concern in his gray eyes. “What’s so hard about being on time?” Draco seethed. And just like that, the Gryffindor snapped out of it. She blinked.

“It’s none of your business, Malfoy,” said Hermione brushing him off. She made her way past him and opened their laboratory door. He didn’t follow. She looked back at him.

“Actually, seeing that we’re patrolling partners tonight and it quite certainly concerns me, I’d say that it is,” he replied angrily, taking a step forward. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

“And pray, tell me why you’re so bloody worried?” Her arms found a home resting on her hips. Draco let out a huff of air through his nose.

“Defensive... I would bet my last galleon Weasley had something to do with this.”

“And what’s it to you?” Hermione also took a confident step forward towards him. “Jealous, Malfoy?” Her amber eyes found his own. Why she’d said it she didn’t know. But from the way his eyes hardened she knew she was right. Draco huffed and stormed the rest of the way into the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Whatever,” he spat.

“That’s what I thought.”

“You’re fucking insufferable.”

“And you’re a prat. Deal with it,” she countered. He silently narrowed his eyes at her. Likewise, she met his gaze. The intensity in those grey eyes was unparalleled to anything she had ever experienced. Maybe it was the way they darkened to an almost black. Maybe it was how he took several slow steps towards her. Or maybe how she could feel the heat radiating off his body in waves that matched her rapid heartbeat. Whatever it was, she didn’t know. What she did know was that she needed to look away now before doing something she’d regret. And so she did. Draco took a step back, blinking himself out of the trance.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said while pushing past a very breathless Hermione.

“My pleasure,” she responded and set down her book bag.

The pair worked diligently for the next hour and a half. Next to no words were exchanged between the couple as Hermione wrote the report. Draco took the cauldron off the fire and cast a ‘Stasis’ charm on the potion before making his way over to the bushy haired Gryffindor.

“Well, that’s it for tonight. Are you ready?” Hermione glanced down at her muggle watch: 9:58. Already?

“Yes, of course,” she replied and dried the parchment with a flick of her wand.

They made their way over to the staircase. As they walked down the hallway Hermione was determined to extinguish this awkward silence that seemed to have settled between them. She nibbled on her lip as she thought about a subject of interest other than the Auxilium Anguis.

“So, you went to the Slytherin Quidditch tryouts I presume,” she asked nonchalantly. Draco kept walking. He faced straight ahead but his eyes shifted to his left where she walked beside him.

“Of course I did. It’s one of the only things I’m good at,” replied Draco. Hermione had to hold her tongue to prevent telling him that it couldn’t possibly be true. Instead, she replied:

“And? How’d it go?” The pair made their way down to the fifth corridor.

“Made the team. Thankfully,” he answered. The ghost of a smile playing at his lips. Staircases shifting behind them as soon as they made the landing. Hermione smiled was about to congratulate the boy when they both halted mid-step. There was a rustling noise coming from the cupboard to their left; it didn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening behind the closed door. Draco let out a huff of annoyance and looked back towards Hermione whose face was the image of disgust. He rolled his eyes before he cast a silent alohamora at the door. It swung open to reveal a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin in various stages of undress—or redress for that matter.

“Merlin. In a broom closet? At least have the decency to shag somewhere less obvious,” Draco sneered at the couple with deer in the headlight expressions. “Leave before I vomit my dinner, please.” Without missing a beat, the couple ran off. Whether for shame or fear, Draco didn’t care. Smirking at their retreating figures he called out. “To your separate common rooms!” He vanished a forgotten sock on the floor with a wave and turned back around. To a very red Hermione Granger. Draco let out a laugh.

“What, Granger? Never snogged in a broom closet before?” he teased. Hermione reddened even more. Draco’s laughter echoed throughout the hallway. In return, she crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes.

“That’s none of your business, Malfoy,” spat Hermione. And it really wasn’t. He didn’t need to know that she had lost her virginity to Viktor in the back of one of the carriages at the Yule Ball last year. Nor did he need to know that she had indeed snogged once in a broom closet with Viktor days before he had to leave back to Bulgaria. I was none of his business. However, Malfoy took in her expression and his eyes widened.

“You didn’t. Damn, Granger. I never took you for the type,” He snorted.

“Whatever,” Hermione huffed. “Come on, we still have another corridor to cover.”

“Hermione Granger...” he trailed off. “Snogging in a broom cupboard. Or was it even snogging? Hey, Granger, did you shag in the broom cupboard too?” He asked, brows wiggling. Hermione made the same face she’d done when they’d discovered the two students only minutes before.

“Of course not. Now shut it before I jinx you.”

“Oh! Little Miss Gryffindor here is a firecracker!”

“Whatever,” she growled. Draco let it go after that. Mostly. Every few seconds he’d look over at her and laugh. The laughter became smirks which then became just glances. When his hilarity at her predicament died down a bit, Hermione looked back to the blond. A question at the tip of her tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” He glanced down at her.

“If I say no you’re going to ask me anyway. Aren’t you?” He replied matter of factly. Hermione flushed at how easily he could already read her. They rounded another corner. 

“What changed?” She asked. Draco almost ran into the wall.

“What do you mean ‘what changed’?” He asked quickly. Hermione looked at him with confusion swimming in her eyes at his sudden change in behavior. As if he sensed her confusion he cleared his throat and relaxed.

“Well, I mean, you’re actually talking to me without being a-”

“Git, jerk, ferret, prat, dick, arsehole, prick; need I go on?” He finished for her looking straight ahead. His hands rested in his robe pockets. She cringed at the foul language but nodded nonetheless.

“Just get to the point without being so... crude,” Hermione said. Heat once again coloring her cheeks just a bit. Draco looked back at her. Amusement sparkling in his eyes. He quickly returned to walking in such an aristocratic way, Hermione couldn’t help but feel inadequate standing next to him.

“Nothing really changed, Granger.” He smirked down at her. “As hard as it is to believe, you’re not as insufferable as your two Gryffindorks.”

“Don’t call them that!” she chided but smiled at the compliment. “They’re not all that bad either, you know.” Draco barked out a laugh.

“Maybe I haven’t changed as much as you’re inclined to believe, Granger,” he said. She didn’t know whether it was her mind playing tricks on her or not but Draco seemed to deflate at his own words. His eyes clouded over as he looked down at the floor. Any trace of happiness wiped clean from his face. The expression on his face causing a wave of sadness to crash over her. She reached out her arm and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, I’m always inclined to believe the best,” she said. Looking up she found that they’d made their way back to Gryffindor tower somehow. Something in his eyes shattered. “Good night, Draco.” She stepped away and walked through the portrait. Glancing back just once to glimpse Draco with shock written all over his face before he disappeared behind the Fat Lady.

As soon as the portrait closed behind her, Hermione was tackled into a hug.

“I did it! I made the team, ‘Mione!” Ron exhaled in a single breath. Hermione broke out into a bright smile. She hugged her best friend back with all of her might.

“I knew it!” She exclaimed pulling apart to see his face. “I told you I’m always right, Ronald Weasley.” He laughed with his goofy smile still plastered across his face. “I think this calls for some of that contraband butterbeer you guys have stashed up in your room.” Ron went still.

“You know about that?” He asked quietly. Hermione laughed.

“Of course I do. Now go get some before I change my mind,” she said as the door swung open. And in strode a tired Harry Potter. A glare directed at Ron.

“Why. On. Earth. Did. You. Not. Tell. Me. You. Arsehole.” Harry exclaimed punching Ron’s shoulder as an emphasis with each word. In return, Ron’s eyes were wide with fear.

“I- I…” He started. The redhead didn’t get a chance to finish as Harry pulled him into a fierce hug. The first smile he’d shown in days proudly on display.

“I’m so proud of you,” he muttered clapping Ron in the back. Ron smiled and extended an arm to Hermione. Without a moment’s hesitation, the girl ran to her two best friends and threw herself into their hug. And for that brief moment, in a time of anger, confusion, and new beginnings, everything was right in the world.

“Do you still want to have that butterbeer, Hermione?” Ron asked as he pulled away. Harry went still and looked at his bushy haired best friend.

“Uh- you know about that?” He asked sheepishly his hand running the back of his neck. Hermione laughed.

“Yes, Harry, I do. But we can worry about the rules another time.” She smiled as Ron raced upstairs to retrieve the celebratory drinks.