Hey guys! Pere here. This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction, and I’m posting it here for all my lovely Res friends who are as addicted to Harry Potter as I am. I’d appreciate all reviews, whether they be praise or critique.

THIS FANFICTION MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS. I haven’t fully figured it out yet, but it will probably have things from every book, so if you haven’t read all of the books, you might not want to read this until you have. Unless you don’t mind spoilers, of course.

THIS FANFICTION CONTAINS DEATH. It will not be in explicit detail, and I will not linger on it too long, but know that some characters will die. 

THIS FANFICTION IS AU. AU means Alternate Universe. This is a form of fanfiction that does not correlate with canonical events. It’s a form of fanfiction based more on ‘what if this had happened?’ rather than ‘this is what happened’.

This fanfiction is a Time Travel Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle one. I know it sounds very unlikely, but I’m trying to work with it, ok? Bear with me. It might not be as bad a pairing as you think. ;)

In reviews, I don’t mind praise or critique, and I also don’t mind ideas for future chapters, but please. Don’t pressure me to add more chapters or demand me to add something in here. I’ll just ignore you.

I’ll add more things here, like warnings and things. If I need to, I’ll also add warnings at the beginning of chapters.

Disclaimer: All characters, settings and themes recognised in the Harry Potter series belong to J.K Rowling.

Chapter 1

“I do.” The corner of Draco’s mouth quirked, and if she hadn’t been watching his face so attentively, she wouldn’t have caught it. Her own mouth curved shyly in response, all she could manage while she was being overcome with such emotion. He smirked openly at that.

“And do you, Hermione Jean Granger, take Draco Malfoy as your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to cherish him, to honour him as a wizard and a man, and to remain faithful to him until death?”

A crystal tear, one she had been holding in since the start of the ceremony, finally dripped down Hermione’s cheek. This was what she had been waiting for since she was a small girl. A beautiful wedding, a beautiful dress, and beautiful family and friends to surround her. She looked around at the gathered faces, the Weasleys, Harry and Ginny, her Professors, Professor Dumbledore, and she smiled brightly.

It faltered slightly when she remembered that Draco didn’t have any family or friends here, but he had assured her it was fine, that all he wanted was her, and she didn’t want to let melancholy thoughts ruin the happiest day of her life. Even if that day was in the middle of the war.

“I do,” she said clearly and proudly.

“Please join hands,” the minister, an elderly man with long grey hair, ordered, pulling his wand out of his pocket.

Hermione’s small delicate hand found its way into Draco’s larger hand, and they looked expectantly at the small man. He gave them a kind smile, and waved his wand.

Silver and gold strands of light erupted from the tip, and then wove their way around the two joined hands. Hovering for a fraction of a second, they sunk into Hermione and Draco’s skin, and the two gasped in surprise and delight. The bonding had given them a euphoric feeling.

“You may now kiss the br-”

Suddenly, what sounded like an explosion echoed through the large marquee the wedding had been held in. Hermione and Draco, who had been leaning in to kiss each other, froze with shock. That sounded like-

“Everybody, get your wands out!” The minister that had married them had his own out, and his loud roar belied his small stature. “Get them out now!”

Hermione and Draco stole a quick glance at each other, before Draco whipped his wand out. Hermione wanted to scream. Her wand was tucked in her garter, and her dress had so many layers… If only Mrs. Weasley and her mother hadn’t convinced her to add so many layers to the dress! She struggled through the first five, and then decided to rip the rest out. Reaching for her wand, she slid it out of her garter and pointed it at the entrance of the marquee.

The rest of the guests also had their wands out. The marquee was silent, and the air tense. They waited with apprehension… Hermione’s eyes slid to Draco’s. Don’t die, she pleaded with him. Please, don’t die. He looked back at her with an undecipherable look. After a few seconds, he grabbed her and pulled her to him, before whispering in her ear, “I want you to Disillusion yourself and Potter and Weasley. You three need to get out of here. You’re critical to the cause. If you’re lost, the cause is lost.”

“Draco, I-”

He placed a finger on her lips. “Don’t question it. Just do it. You need to get out of here. I hope I’ll see you after we’ve kicked all their arses.”

“Draco,” Hermione whispered, moisture gathering in her eyes. “You have to come out of here alive. Promise me.”

Draco remained silent. Anger welled up in her.

“Promise me, Draco Malfoy,” she hissed. “I didn’t marry you just for you to leave me.”

Still he hesitated, before replying. “I promise.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Draco murmured. He pulled her closer, and turned her around, before lowering his lips to hers in a soft, gentle kiss. A kiss that felt like goodbye. He pulled away before she was ready to let him go. “They’re coming.” His voice was suddenly sharp, his posture stiff and his face devoid of any warmth. “Wand at the ready.”

Hermione nodded, her eyes trained on the entrance. “I can’t believe they’re gate crashing our wedding.”

“It’s the most scandalous wedding in Pureblood history,” Draco replied dryly. “Of course they’re going to crash it.”

Before Hermione could reply, the entrance to the marquee burst open, and in strolled Lucius Malfoy. Draco gasped audibly, and the man with the long blonde hair turned to him. He moved the slightest step towards his son, and in an instant, ten wands were pointing at his neck.

“Calm down, calm down,” Lucius murmured, his own voice serene. He took out his wand and leisurely examined it. Then, his head snapped up and he met his son’s eyes. His voice grew louder. “Draco,” he said in what might have been a warm tone if a sneer didn’t accompany it, “how delighted I am to see you in such fine clothing. You look almost as if you deserve the Malfoy name.”

“Father,” Draco sneered right back. “What are you doing here?”

Lucius had the gall to look surprised. “I’m merely here with my best wishes. Isn’t that the norm, a father congratulating his son on his wedding day?”

“Not for you,” Draco said through gritted teeth. “Where are your Death Eater friends? Surely they’d want to join in on the party.”

“They didn’t want to be in the presence of such filth.” Lucius’ eyes moved to Hermione, and he appraised her silently. “Although she is a fine looking one indeed.” Hermione shuddered, feeling violated. The hand gripping her wand tightened. “But since you insist on looking for them, I might just call them.” Before anyone could stop him, he ripped his sleeve up and pressed his wand to the Dark Mark.

Dozens of pops sounded, and the enclosed space was suddenly filled with light moving in all directions, hexes, curses and jinxes being thrown around. Remembering what Draco had told her, she Disillusioned herself and made sure to move in the areas where no one was fighting. She kept a good eye out just in case.

“Draco!” Hermione cried when she realised her husband was not beside her. She looked frantically around, trying to spot a head of short, platinum hair, but she couldn’t see one. However, she did see Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini with their wands trained on Ron and Ginny. She couldn’t see what they were saying, but her eyes widened when she saw green light burst from the tips of their wands.

“No!” she screamed, her voice shrill. “Protego!”

The shield blocked Ron and Ginny momentarily, and it gave them just enough time to Stun both Pansy and Blaise, and then clip bracelets around them. They instantly disappeared, Portkeyed to a holding room at Hogwarts. Ron and Ginny both looked around to find their saviour, but ran off when they couldn’t see one. Before Ron could join another battle, Hermione quickly Disillusioned him as well and pulled him in a corner of the large tent.

“Wha-”

“Ron,” Hermione said quietly. “It’s me, Hermione.”

She felt Ron slump in relief. “I thought you were a Death Eater.” If she really had been a Death Eater, he would be dead. His reflexes still weren’t very good.

There was a pause. “Why did you Disillusion me? We have to get back to the battle!” He made to run off, but Hermione tightened her grip on him.

“Stay here!” she hissed. “Draco told me to Disillusion you and Harry. We have to get out of here. The cause depends on us. We have to be quick, because my Disillusionment charms are not strong, and they won’t last long. Where’s Harry?”

“I don’t know. When I saw him last, it was when Malfoy walked into the tent.”

“Oh no! We need to find him!”

“Wait- wait a second.” Another pause. “That’s him! Over there fighting Wormtail!” 

Hermione looked in that direction, and pushed Ron to the ground. She then placed a chair near him to mark him. “Stay here, I’m going to get Harry. Stay down, and don’t get involved in any more fights.” Trusting him to recognise the direness of the situation, she left to get Harry.

When she was near, she stopped and stared in awe at Harry. He seemed so angry, fighting the indirect killer of his parents, that his hair crackled and his eyes blazed with fury. He radiated power, and she could feel it coming off him in waves.

“Avada Kedavra!” Wormtail squeaked, pointing his wand at Harry, but nothing but a wisp of smoke came out. He quickly but clumsily blocked Harry’s attempt to blow him up.

“Wormtail!” A voice hissed from somewhere else. “The Dark Lord said to leave Potter for him!”

“He’s trying to kill me!” Wormtail squealed back, not taking his eyes off Harry. “He’s going to-”

“Avada Kedavra!” Wormtail dropped to the ground, his eyes glassy. Hermione stepped out of her stupor, Disillusioning Harry as quickly as she could. Like she had done with Ron, she grabbed him, but Silenced him, knowing he would scream loudly.

“Harry, it’s Hermione,” she whispered. “Don’t struggle, please, I need to get us out of here alive.” In spite of her commands, she felt her grip on Harry loosening. “Stop it, Harry! Stop it! I’ll Stun you if I have to!” That stopped him, and she dragged him to where the chair was that she had used to mark Ron. “Ron, are you here?”

There was a muffled moan. “Subwon stepped on by nobe.”

“We’ll deal with that later,” Hermione said quickly, “we have to get out of here first. We don’t have much time. My Disillusions aren’t going to last long. Harry, did you see You-Know-Who in the marquee?” There was silence. “Harry? Harry?” There was a soft hit on her arm, and she remembered he was Silenced. She undid the spell.

“Hermione, what the bloody hell?” she heard Harry’s disembodied voice gasp. “You didn’t need to Silence me!”

“You would have screamed to the high heavens,” Hermione snapped back. “Now shut up and answer me. We’re losing time. Did you see You-Know-Who?”

“Yes,” came Harry’s disgusted voice. “He was sitting in the middle of the chaos with this shield around him, just watching. I have to go and help-”

“No,” Hermione barked. “You need to get out alive. If you die, all of this will have been for nothing. All those people dying.” That shut him up. Hermione went back to hurriedly thinking.

“Damn,” she muttered. “You-Know-Who’ll definitely notice the shimmers, even if they’re faint.” She really wished that she knew a spell that would turn them completely invisible, complete without a shimmery outline. “How am I going to do this?”

“I say we just hope he’s looking the other way,” Harry replied, although his voice clearly said that he was still annoyed. She really didn’t need this in the middle of the battle.

“Fine,” Hermione concluded, not knowing any other way to get out of here. “Ron? Can you stand up?”

“Yeh,” came the reply. “It wab just a bloody nobe.” She groped for both their hands blindly.

“Dodge everything. Pay no attention to battles. No stops at all, no matter who’s fighting. Got it?”

There were two affirmatives. “Ok, let’s go.”

They dodged purple lights and blue spells that whizzed past their heads. One spell sent from the Dark side blew a large hole in the side of the marquee that they might have escaped through, had it not resulted in a dead end. They were almost at the entrance when Hermione heard a familiar voice.

“Stupefy!”

“Wee Draco’s using baby spells, now, is he?” Bellatrix Lestrange cackled, and Hermione turned in horror to see her husband shooting spells at his Aunt, trying desperately to incarcerate her. “Be a man! Crucio!”

Draco fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

“No! Merlin, no!” Hermione screamed before she could stop herself, and she lunged forward. Harry and Ron both tried to restrain her, but it was difficult, seeing as they couldn’t see her. Ron tried to warn her. “Hermione, the Disillusion’s wearing off-”

Hermione ignored them both. “Draco! Please, Draco! Get up!” She was not aware that she was now fully visible again, or that Ron and Harry had left. As much as they didn’t want to leave their best friend behind, what she had said was true. If they died, the cause was lost. So they had left before they were fully discernible, before the Death Eaters could capture them.

Bellatrix had turned to Hermione now. “And my Blood Traitor nephew’s Mudblood bride comes out to play,” she taunted, her wand still torturing Draco. “Shall I give you my wedding present now, Mrs. Malfoy?”

“Get away from Draco, you-”

“Avada Kedavra!” The green shot from Bellatrix’s wand before Hermione could say another word, and she closed her eyes, bracing herself for death. When it did not come, her eyes snapped open, and widened in horror when she saw Draco’s lifeless body.

Hermione’s anguished scream tore through the whole tent, and every fight halted, every eye turned to her. “Draco!”

There was a silence.

“Bravo!” Voldemort laughed, clapping his hands and standing up from his throne-like chair in the middle of the chaos. “Well done, Bellatrix. And you too, Mudblood Bride. Such a heart-wrenching performance.”

“Thank you, milord,” Bellatrix replied, preening in the praise. Her dark eyes lifted to look at Hermione. “You didn’t like my present, Mudblood Bride? Oh well, I’ve been told it’s the thought that counts.” She cackled manically. “You can join him, I guess.” She lifted her wand once more and pointed it at Hermione and-

“Avada Kedavra!”

There was a thud, and Bellatrix Lestrange knew no more.

Hermione looked positively terrifying. Like Harry before, her hair cackled, her eyes blazed and her aura strengthened until it was painful to be near her. “You killed Draco, and so a present in return was in order,” she said in a frighteningly calm voice. She raised her head and looked Voldemort in the eye. “How do you feel now that your best witch is gone?”

Voldemort had watched in interest as she had summoned her anger and directed it to the black-haired Lestrange wife. She was certainly powerful. He hadn’t seen power like that in – well, he hadn’t seen it in a while. When she looked at him, asked him a question, he was about to reply nonchalantly when he stopped. And looked at her. And looked at her some more. Those eyes –

“You…” he breathed, recognition flashing in his eyes. Hermione was confused. She opened her mouth to reply when a shout of “Stupefy!” echoed in the marquee, and fighting began. Sending him an icy glare, she ran out of the marquee, Disillusioning herself again because she knew he would follow her. She heard his roar of rage at her escape, and his order for the Death Eaters to go after her.

She raced through the Weasley’s garden until she saw the backdoor of the Burrow. It had been torched, and she could only just stifle a gasp of despair at what she had felt was another home. But she had to get out of here. She knew where Harry and Ron had gone – to the safehouse, Headquarters.

Sprinting through the remains of the Burrow, she ran until she was out of the proximity of the Anti-Apparition wards. She only just caught a glimpse of long white hair, so similar to the hair she had run through her fingers every night leading up to the wedding, before she popped out of sight.

Oh my goodness that's beautiful.

I love your writing! And the Harry-Potter reference, as well. I'm a huge fan of Harry Potter, too. :) Write more! *stalks the thread*

Chapter 2

The unforgettable feeling of squeezing through invisible tubes did nothing to comfort her. In fact, the feeling of claustrophobia only added to her fear. When she opened her eyes, she was inside 12 Grimmauld Place. She had never been more thankful for the exceptions Professor Dumbledore had made to the Anti-Apparition wards in this house, so that she, Ron and Harry could always Apparate here in case of trouble.

The familiar screeching of Walburga Black filled the air (“Mudblood! Dirtying the great House of Black! Filth!”), but Hermione ignored it, already running before she had even fully materialized in the hallway.

“Ron! Harry! Where are you?” She ducked frantically in and out of rooms, looking for her two best friends. However, the house seemed abandoned, and panic overtook her.

“Hermione!” Out of nowhere, Ron came running to her, and wrapped his arms around her. After a few moments, another pair did the same. “We thought you were dead for sure! What happened?”

Hermione allowed relief to overcome her, and in that moment of clarity, the torrent of tears she had been holding in came out.

“Oh, Hermione,” she heard Harry say, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault,” Hermione sobbed, “It’s all my fault. He wouldn’t have died if I’d just stayed with him like I should have.”

“Hermione,” Ron said gently, sensitivity in his voice that she had never heard before, “he would have wanted you to do what he had asked. You did it, and you succeeded, so you’ve made him proud, haven’t you?”

Hermione only shook her head, tears flying. “No, I should have stayed with him. I needed him to live, dammit! He promised! He promised he’d live!”

“He does live,” Harry murmured, “in your heart.”

They stood for the next few minutes, Ron and Harry both with their arms around Hermione, whispering comforting words to her. Hermione took the time to let it all out, and when she was done, she felt like she had been wrung dry.

“I killed Bellatrix,” she said hollowly. “She killed Draco, so I killed her.”

“Good on you, Hermione,” Harry said softly. “You’ve avenged Draco. You don’t need to punish yourself for what happened.” He was worried she wouldn’t be able to live without Draco. Ever since they had gotten together, he had watched as she lit up when he was around, and sunk into near-depression when he was not. But she still had them, and he hoped for all their sakes that they were enough.

“What do we do now?” Ron asked. “We can’t stay in here forever. Whoever betrayed us probably knows where Headquarters is.”

Hermione shook her head. “Even if they do know, they can’t reveal the location, because only the Secret Keeper can. Dumbledore is the only Secret Keeper. The Fidelius will hold.” She tried to sound normal, like her normal know-it-all self, pushing all thoughts of what had happened into the back of her mind so they could figure out what happened next. The only way to survive was to live in the here and now.

Both Harry and Ron slumped in relief. “Good.” She didn’t know if that was directed towards her comment about the Fidelius or her sudden change in demeanour, but she let it go.

“Shall I make us some tea?” she asked. “You two can go sit in the sitting room.”

They nodded wearily. “Sure, that’d be great, Hermione.”

Shaking her head, she headed to the kitchen. She knew if it was anyone else, they’d be offering to make tea for her, after everything she had gone through. The normality of it all distracted and comforted her.

Setting about making tea, she could only find teabags. She eyed them for a moment distastefully, before putting the kettle on and shrugging. It would do for now.

Using magic to speed the kettle up, Hermione waved her wand, and made the tea the way she knew her best friends liked it. Putting two sugars in her own, she directed the cups onto a tray and brought it out.

“Thanks, ‘Mione,” Harry said gratefully, taking his and sipping on it. Ron murmured his own thanks in agreement.

They sat on the sofa silently, sipping their tea and thinking.

“Who do you think betrayed us?” asked Ron, breaking the silence. Both Hermione and Harry shrugged.

“I’d like to think that no one at our wedding would do something like that,” Hermione muttered, “but now that that notion has gone out the window, I guess it could have been anyone there.”

“It wasn’t any of the Weasleys,” said Harry firmly. “I’d trust all of them with my own life.” Ron nodded fervently.

“I bet it was Snape, the slimy greaseball,” he growled. “He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. I always knew he was a good for nothing Death Eater!”

“It couldn’t have been Severus,” Hermione said, as firmly as Harry had been. “I’d trust him with my life, and he loves Draco too much, even if he doesn’t show it.” She had spent a lot of time with her fiancé’s godfather ever since she and Ron and Harry had been forced to hide out in Headquarters the summer before their seventh year.

They both found that brewing potions for the medical stores of the Order was a very good way of calming down after explosive meetings and that it was also a good activity for those who could not sleep for nightmares. Hermione had tentatively built a friendship with the man, and Draco had been very pleased about that. None of her other friends had been as thrilled, but they had accepted it.

“Well then,” Ron continued, not trying to hide his anger, “maybe Luna’s father. I always said there was something fishy about him. He’s gone nutters.” He drained his cup and banged it onto the table forcefully. Both Hermione and Harry winced.

“It’ll do us no good to try and find the traitor,” Hermione said calmly, logic taking over. “What’s done is done. We just have to wait for the other Order members to come, and then we’ll find out what to do then.”

Ron turned pale. “Suppose no one comes back?”

“Don’t think like that,” Harry hissed. “They’re all going to come back fine.”

Ron didn’t look reassured at all. “Just say-”

“Shut up, Ron,” Hermione snapped. Ron’s mouth shut with an audible crack.

There was another silence, before Hermione suddenly sat up, stiff and her eyes wide.

“Hermione, what’s wrong?” Harry asked anxiously, watching as she went slightly pale.

“I- I’ve got to go somewhere,” Hermione stammered, and she ran for the stairs.

“Hermione! Wait, we’ll-”

“Don’t follow me!”

They stopped and stared at each other, watching her disappear up the stairs. They trusted her, but they were worried. That wasn’t anything like the normal Hermione.

Hermione strode quickly up another flight of stairs. She had just remembered something Professor Dumbledore had told her on one of his visits from Hogwarts to Headquarters earlier in the year. The memory was brought to the front of her mind.

“Hermione, I’d like to talk to you,” Professor Dumbledore said gravely, his eyes without the slightest hint of a twinkle. Hermione had been curled up in Draco’s lap in the sitting room with Ron, Harry and Ginny, sipping hot chocolate in front of the fire and laughing. The noise had abruptly stopped when the Headmaster had approached her. “If you’ll follow me to a place where we will not be overheard?”

Hermione and Draco exchanged a look.

“Surely we should be allowed to hear what you-” Draco began, but was cut off by the older man.

“I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, that this is a private matter for Miss. Granger’s ears alone.”

Draco fell silent.

“It’s ok,” Hermione murmured, “I’ll be back soon, yeah?”

Her fiancé of one day reluctantly let her to her feet, giving her a peck on the cheek. “Ok.”

Hermione followed the Headmaster up the first flight of stairs in 12 Grimmauld Place, and then up the second. She had rarely ventured to the third story of the building, this being the floor where Buckbeak was kept. Actually, no one really came here, except to feed the Hippogriff. Her curiosity was piqued.

“Sir, what is this about?” she asked cautiously. The old man stopped abruptly in front of Buckbeak’s room.

“You will find out soon enough, Miss. Granger. Please, follow me.”

He opened the door, where Buckbeak seemed to be resting. When he saw his visitors, his eyes narrowed and he stood up.

Dumbledore bowed deeply, keeping his eyes on the Hippogriff. After a few seconds, the creature returned the greeting.

“Over here, Hermione. Stay close to me.”

The hair on the back of her neck stood up at being watched so closely by such a dangerous being, but she followed Professor Dumbledore anyway. They made their way to the corner of the room the Hippogriff had seemed to be guarding, and taking his wand out, Dumbledore pointed it at the wall and murmured, “Jellybeans.”

Hermione jumped when part of the wall seemed to fall away, to reveal a door about as high as she was.

“Wha-?”

“Soon, Miss. Granger,” Dumbledore said impatiently. He stepped through the door, beckoned for Hermione to do the same, and then tapped his wand to it so the door closed and melted back into the wall. He then turned to Hermione, and conjured two seats. “Take a seat, please, Miss. Granger.”

Hermione nervously seated herself. “May I know why you have taken me here now, Professor?”

Dumbledore, surprisingly for all his foreboding disposition, let out a small chuckle. “You may.” He observed her over the rim of his glasses. “I have an important task for you, which you and you alone must carry out.”

“Of course, sir,” Hermione said, sitting straighter. “What is it?”

“I think there is a traitor in the Order,” Dumbledore said, sighing. “I do not know who it is, but I have my suspicions.”

Hermione looked horrified. “A traitor? But why?”

“Alas, that is the thousand Galleon question,” Dumbledore said tiredly. He ran a hand over his face.

“What does this have to do with me?” Hermione sounded even more nervous.

“As I said, there is a task you must perform. I am to understand that you will soon become the newest Mrs. Malfoy?”

Hermione flushed. “Yes, sir. Draco and I decided that we should marry quickly, because of the war.”

Dumbledore nodded. “A wise decision. However, I have fear that the traitor will lead the Death Eaters to either engage the Order in battle at your wedding or when we move Harry and the rest of the Order to Hogwarts, to prepare for the Final Battle. I hope it will be at the latter time, but we must be prepared for all possible outcomes.

“Therefore, I must reveal this knowledge to you.”

He gestured to a table in the corner she had not noticed before now. It had a small Potions vial, and a notebook on it. “When the time comes that the Death Eaters decide to attack us, you must come here, to this room as soon as you can. The potion and notebook will be here for your use, and you must make use of them. Do not attempt to come in here before that time, for they will not appear. I cannot tell you what they do now, only that they will help you get rid of Voldemort, for they will only work in dire circumstances and will kill the user if used in a situation not so life-threatening. Suffice it to say that they will help you do what you need to do. The notebook contains all instructions concerning the potion and what is required of you.”

Through his explanation, Hermione had not said a word, only listening solemnly. Now she looked up. “So I am to use it without preparation for what it will do to me?” She hated entering anything blind. It was part of the reason she always researched everything she did so thoroughly.

Dumbledore nodded. “That is correct.”

Hermione sighed. “Ok. Is there anything else you wish to tell me, sir?”

“Nothing else, Miss. Granger. I trust that what has happened here will not leave this room?”

Hermione looked reluctant. “Not even to Draco?”

“Not even to Draco.”

Although she didn’t like it, she had to agree. “You have my word, Professor.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Remember the password I used. And do not come here with anyone. You must be alone when you come, do you understand?”

Hermione nodded. “Of course.”

“Very good. You may leave now, Hermione.”

And Hermione left the room, and headed back to the sitting room, with much to think about. She was more than a little worried that her wedding would be ruined.

She had let her guard down. She knew there had been the chance that the Death Eaters would crash her wedding, but she had been so sure they would confront the Order at Hogwarts. Oh, how wrong she was. Professor Moody’s message of constant vigilance seemed to have not been permanently hammered into her head, and she hoped it wasn’t too late.

Presently, she was standing in front of Buckbeak’s room. She entered it slowly, cautiously, and was surprised when she saw no beast in there. However, she didn’t have time to think of the implications of that. She had to do what Dumbledore had asked her to do.

Taking out her wand, she ran to the corner of the room Dumbledore had led her to in a time that seemed so long ago and muttered, “Jellybeans.”

The wall crumbled away and the wooden door was revealed. She practically flung it open, eager for her chance to rid the world of her husband’s indirect killer. She raced to the table with the potions and the notebook, and flipped it open. A little scrap of parchment fell out. It looked like it had been ripped from a textbook. Hermione picked it up, frowning.

Convertimini Tempus

This potion, created by Potions Master Antoine Maunier (1765-1842), is a time-travel potion. The name is loosely translated to ‘Turn the time’ in Latin, and is one of the most difficult potions to brew. The Ministry of Magic banned its use in 1942, 100 years after Maunier’s death.

Convertimini Tempus is a potion based on intent of the user. It was created to be used as a means to go back in time to change the future. According to users of the potion, multiple wars and notable murders have been prevented with the use of this potion, but these claims are not verifiable, for obvious reasons.

The potion can only be used in dire situations, when the user feels the most as if they must go back and change something. If consumed otherwise, it will result in a fatal poisoning.

The first recorded use of this potion

This was where the piece of parchment stopped. Hermione guessed that the rest was not important. She took the notebook and opened it to the first page with writing.

Hermione,

As you have guessed by now, you must travel through time. I say this next part with great emphasis – you must go alone. This has already happened in my past, and if you interfere with what has already happened, it could lead to a situation in which we are in a more dangerous position than we are already in.

I do not say this to put pressure on you. I only wish to impress on you the importance of you going alone. You must go alone.

When you arrive there, you will give my past counterpart the documents in the envelope that should have appeared to you by now.

Hermione’s eyes automatically raised themselves from the words on the parchment to scan the desk, and she saw the large envelope mentioned. She went back to perusing the letter.

Do not worry that what you do in the past will affect the future – only do what your instincts tell you. You will not change the past in that aspect, I am sure of it.

Your task is to go back to the time period in which the 17 year old Tom Riddle resides. By this time, he has already made multiple Horcruxes. The ones he made after his graduation have already been destroyed, and aside from the part of the soul that lives in his body, there is one other that we have not identified. This one, by my calculations, must have been made in either his Sixth or Seventh Year. It is your job to find out what this is, by enrolling as a Seventh Year student at the school. It is up to you how you extract this information from him, but remember – not all wars are solved with violence.

 I know for a fact that you will not destroy the Horcrux by the time you return to our time, but it will help immensely to know what it is. It will save us countless months, or years, groping in the dark.

The potion was made with Tom’s 7^th Year in mind, so you need not do anything to take you there aside from taking the potion and speaking the incantation. It is Convertimini Tempus (the same as the potion). Emphasis on the ‘ver’ and ‘mi’ of the first word, and ‘pus’ of the second. You are a brilliant witch, and I’m sure you will get it the first time.

I know you have already had multiple experiences with a Time Turner, and I trust that you know all the laws and the consequences if you do not follow them.

Make us proud. Many lives are counting on you. Ones that are already lost will not be returned, but you can save the ones that have as of this moment been preserved.

APWBD

With suddenly shaking and fearful hands, Hermione let the letter drop to the ground. She had to go back in time – to the time of a megalomaniac who was intent on killing all people like her. How on Earth was she supposed to do this? Why had this job been giving to her of all people?

Well, she was no use moaning. ‘Many lives are counting on you’ the letter had said. Harry’s life, Ron’s life, the Weasleys’ lives, the lives of countless and nameless faces. And somewhere, Draco was watching her and urging her to help bring the Wizarding World back to peace. If she wasn’t ready to do it for the others, she was for Draco.

With determination filling her, she took the potion vial and examined it in her hand. It was clear, and was filled with a thick, gooey liquid that was the exact shade of tropical seas. She had a feeling that the taste wouldn’t be as pleasant as the colour, but after all, potions weren’t made for their taste, anyway, were they?

She reached for the thick envelope on the table, and then raised the lip of the vial to her mouth and tipped it back. The texture was very peculiar. It seemed to linger in her mouth, feeling weightless and oddly as if it was floating in her mouth. She swallowed it down with effort, the taste of bogey flavoured Bertie Bott’s beans filling her mouth. With difficulty, she managed to stop spluttering enough to say clearly, “Convertimini Tempus.”

Root, thank you so much! I'm onto the next chapter now, and I'm glad you like it! <3

Nova, I had not actually thought about adding that into the story. xD I assumed that people would draw their own conclusions. But I guess I will now. :D Thanks!

Chapter 4

Dumbledore didn’t return until what she supposed was dinnertime the day she had woken up. Her guess was based on the number of hours she thought had gone past with her staring at the Hospital Wing ceiling, however, so she didn’t particularly think it accurate.

The Transfiguration professor had been mistaken, it seemed. Eileen had never come, and Hermione found herself disappointed at that. Her curiosity had been burning in her since the professor had left; who was Eileen? Why had she stirred a memory in her? And, aside from all that, Hermione meant to honestly thank this Eileen girl for saving her.

Now that she had the time to think, her mind was bombarded with worries about being back in time. She wasn’t prepared for this at all. She didn’t think she’d be able to cope with seeing a young Voldemort, and she knew he wouldn’t be the only familiar face. What would she do if she were to meet a Weasley? Or for that matter, what if she met Draco’s grandfather?

That thought caused something to stab deep into her heart, and tears to well up in her eyes. Instead of brushing them away, however, she let them flow. It wouldn’t do to appear weak in a time period where Voldemort was more dangerous than ever. In the future, everyone knew who he was, but here, no one did. At least, no one who would be able to befriend and protect her. The best enemy is the one in plain sight, she knew. She had heard the stories from Harry – the stories about how charming, how handsome, how wonderful the great Tom Riddle was – and knew no one would suspect that boy of turning into the monster she knew him to be.

So she let herself cry, and surprisingly, she was only weeping for a couple of hours. She thought that once she let the floodgates open, there would be no stopping it for days, but she was wrong. Despite the fact that Draco had only died yesterday – or 54 years into the future, whichever way you took it – she was still numb from it all, and it didn’t hurt her as much as she thought it would. She knew that the real pain would hit her when she least expected it.

After the crying, the rest of the time had been spent wondering what the curriculum in the past was and how she could ever fit in. What if this curriculum was harder? Or worse, what if it was too easy? What if all the males here were the chauvinists she knew to exist in the 40s? What if she was expected to only do lady-like subjects, such as Charms and Transfiguration? What if her demeanour was so different from the propriety of the 40s that she was outed before she had even started? And the most worrisome thought of all: how the hell was she supposed to befriend a teenaged Voldemort?

She avoided thoughts about her past at all costs.

The sound of footsteps startled her, and she turned her head to see Albus Dumbledore walking into the Hospital Wing with a spring in his step. It saddened her, because in the future, there was no jovial Dumbledore. Despite his crazy jokes and eccentric personality, she saw through it, and knew it was all a big farce. She saw the tired, old man burdened with the responsibility of the entire Wizarding community of Britain. She watched him longingly, wishing she had lived in a time where such carelessness was welcome, and would not result in an often fatal mistake.

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore nodded cheerfully to her, eyes twinkling. “How have you been?”

“Fine, sir,” Hermione replied, trying for his sake to muster up a smile. Judging by the slight falter of his beaming face, however, she knew it wasn’t quite satisfactory. 

“Are you certain?” Dumbledore searched her face, trying to find what was wrong. “You do not look very well. You have not contracted an illness, have you?”

Hermione’s heart warmed at the genuine fondness she felt from him. It would be just like him to become caring of someone he had known loss than a day. “No, sir,” she said softly, a genuine grin making it’s way onto her face now, “I sincerely doubt I have, since the few hours ago you last saw me."

Dumbledore chuckled. “Well, onto business now, Miss Granger. I have already been to talk to Armando, and needless to say, he now believes you are a young witch from a Pureblood family trying to escape Grindelwald’s clutches in Germany.” Hermione gaped, not noticing the minor dim in Dumbledore’s eyes at Grindelwald’s mention.

“What?” she spluttered, all warmth from her heart gone. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think I heard you right. Did you say I’m from a Pureblood family?”

“That is your cover story, yes.”

“But- but-” Hermione couldn’t organise her suddenly chaotic thoughts into sentences.

“I assure you, Miss Granger, it is for your own safety. It will also, I think, help you complete your task.”

“You can’t do that!” Hermione shouted angrily, forgetting herself. “How can you- don’t you know I’ve spent my life- I’m a proud Muggleborn!” she finally managed to get out furiously.

“I know.” Dumbledore’s voice was now soothing, as if speaking to a small child, but Hermione didn’t back down. “However, it is for your own good. If certain parties in the school knew your true heritage, they would not hesitate in trying to injure you.”

“But I’ve spent my life fighting against prejudiced Purebloods! I’m not about to suddenly act the part of one, and you can’t make me!”

There was no response, and Hermione, who had been yelling at the wall across from her since she thought it too disrespectful to yell in Dumbledore’s face, scowled and turned her head slightly to see Dumbledore looking amused.

“Calm down, Hermione,” Dumbledore said, and at the use of her first name, Hermione unexpectedly deflated. She felt the anger leave her, but the irritation was still deep in her stomach, and she glared at the professor. “You will not have to act prejudiced. As a matter of fact, the family I have put you in is known for their tolerance of Muggleborns-” her glare intensified at the word ‘tolerance’ – “and, while it will still turn particular people against you, it will no doubt help you in the long run. Also, it adds credence to your story, for Grindelwald is known for targeting families that support Muggleborns.”

Hermione’s irritation seemed to leave her for a moment, to be replaced with interest. “Grindelwald is still in the open?” From what she knew, Grindelwald had been defeated by none other than the man in front of her, but she couldn’t remember when. It was times like these – and many other times – when she felt frustration towards Professor Binns, who had never taught them anything about anything other than goblin rebellions.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, but did not elaborate.

Now that she knew that Grindelwald was still on the loose (she remembered Dumbledore mentioning him when he first explained her story, but she had been too overcome with anger to notice), she understood why putting her in a Pureblood family was the wisest choice. It still irked her, but she accepted it. “What family am I a part of now, then, sir?”

Instead of answering her, Dumbledore conjured a file out of thin air and handed it to her. She looked at him curiously, and he motioned for her to open it. She gingerly opened the file, gasped, and then dropped it into her lap abruptly.

“What- what-” Her face was suddenly stricken, and her hands trembled. Her eyes darted around, landing on anywhere but the open file, but soon her vision became blurry anyway, and it didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she heard Dumbledore say, and he took a hand of hers in his in grandfatherly affection. “Would you like to talk about it?”

She shook her head, but the action made her dizzy. She knew it…the pain would hit her hardest when she least expected it. Thank Merlin it was in private, with the only man who would not use where she was really from against her.

Her weeping was the only sound in the empty Hospital Wing for a few minutes. Hermione felt like her heart was being wrenched out of her chest, and squeezed harshly, and it was all she could do not to collapse completely.

After she was done, Dumbledore offered her a silken handkerchief, and she took it gratefully and cleaned herself up. She spent another few minutes staring straight ahead, trying to muster up the courage to read the file.

Through this all, Dumbledore waited patiently. He knew what it was like to have loved, and then lost, and when he felt her hand no longer trembled in his, he offered her the file again. She took it steadily, and stared at the picture in the right hand corner of the first piece of parchment.

Her dead husband’s face stared stoically out at her, and she felt a surge of love. The same short blonde hair, the same pointed chin, the same stormy grey eyes… But when her eyes darted to the name beside it, her heart sunk awfully, for where it should say ‘Draco Malfoy’, it instead read ‘Abraxas Malfoy’.

“You…you’re putting me in with the Malfoys.” Even to her, her voice sounded dreadfully flat and dead.

Dumbledore nodded.

She had wanted to have the Malfoy last name since she had met Draco and gotten to know the real boy underneath the bully, but never like this. Not when he wasn’t with her, not when he wasn’t even thought of. It seemed Fate was playing cruelly with her.

“You can’t put me with another family?”

“No,” Dumbledore replied, and there was real sorrow in his voice. “I’m sorry, but this is the family that will aid you the most. The Malfoy name alone will protect you, I am certain. I have already arranged your legal papers.”

“The Malfoys…you said they tolerated Muggleborns?” The very idea was incredulous to her, because despite having married Draco, she knew that the rest of the family was about as tolerant of Muggleborns as Ron was to spiders. That is, they felt that they’d be better off squished under their boots.

“I take it they are not as understanding in the future?” Dumbledore asked mildly, and she snorted. That was all the answer he needed. “Regardless of what they are like in the future, here they are supporters of Muggleborns, which I hope appeases your fears.”

Hermione said nothing, and he continued.

“You will play the part of Abraxas’ cousin. His father, Hyperion, has a brother, Pallas, who has no child. However, I am certain that he will not be averse to acting as your father. He is a friend of mine, and owes me a favour or two.”

“How will you explain the fact that Abraxas didn’t know he had a cousin until now?”

“Pallas and his wife Clarissa have been in hiding in Germany since Grindelwald began attacking Muggleborn supporters. Naturally, he has not been in contact with Hyperion, and therefore Abraxas, for a very long time.”

“And how will you explain how I got out of Germany without being killed?”

“That is up to you, my dear.”

Hermione fell quiet. Her mind was thinking of any loophole she could find, so that she could force Dumbledore into putting her in with another family. “I do not look at all like the Malfoys,” she finally stated, and even to her, it sounded pathetic. However, it was the only thing she could think of.

Dumbledore took out his wand, and she flinched, feeling helpless. Somewhere deep inside her mind, she knew Dumbledore wouldn’t hurt her, but she was instantly in survival mode, and she had had too many wands pointed at her in her lifetime. She didn’t know where her wand was, and she felt stupid for not realising it before.

Dumbledore saw her flinch, and sadness clouded his eyes. Nevertheless, he pointed his wand at her. “Don’t worry, Hermione, I’m only going to be casting long-lasting Glamours on you.”

Hermione’s anxious look didn’t drop. “Where’s my wand?” she asked, her voice unexpectedly high-pitched. “Where is it?”

“Shh.” Dumbledore sent her a worried look, and produced her wand out of the inside pocket of his robe. He handed it to her, and Hermione practically snatched it out of his hand. She felt blissful as her magic seeped through her at the familiar wood, and she nuzzled it lovingly in her cheek.

“Thank you sir,” she whispered, feeling mortified at her display of survival instinct. “I- I don’t know what came over me.”

Dumbledore gave her an understanding look. “Will you allow me to cast the Glamours on you?”

She nodded timidly, her wand still held tight in her hand. Dumbledore muttered an incantation, and waved his wand over her. She felt a tingling sensation that quickly stopped. Dumbledore wordlessly conjured a mirror for her, and she cautiously peered into it.

She still looked like herself, and she felt relief wash over her. The only thing that changed was that her hair was now platinum blonde, and her eyes were the same shade as Abraxas’ – or Draco’s. Her hair was still a big bushy mess (even more so since she hadn’t brushed it at all since she had woken up) and her eyes were still large and almond shaped. The rest of her – her peach and cream complexion, the freckles along her nose – were still the same. Despite the sadness she felt whenever she thought of her husband, she couldn’t help but giggle. If only he could see her now.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said sincerely, and he smiled, nodded and stood.

“Have your rest now, Miss Granger. If you are hungry, there is an assortment of food at your disposal.” He nodded at the bedside table, and Hermione now noticed the food waiting there under a heating charm. “The students come tomorrow. I will leave you to your thoughts now.”

He departed, and Hermione was left to sink into her thoughts.

She was a Malfoy now, but she didn’t feel any joy at that. After all, it wasn’t because she had married Draco. She had been referring to him as her husband, and that was what he was in her mind. However, technically they hadn’t finished the ceremony, and so she never had his name legally. Instead, she now had his name as a supposed witch on the run.

She couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept that the Malfoys were not ‘Mudblood haters’. She had grown up at Hogwarts knowing that the family hated her type to the point where they’d kill them to be rid of them. Was this Voldemort’s doing? Had he corrupted the Malfoys? Now that she thought of it, it was entirely possible.

Rage flew through her. If it wasn’t for Voldemort, she might have found Draco long before desperation had pushed them together. That desperation wouldn’t even exist. There would have been no war. He wouldn’t have hated Muggleborns, and they might have been together. Her hand clenched. If it wasn’t for Voldemort, Draco wouldn’t have died and she wouldn’t be here.

Voldemort was the root of all her worries, from the age of 11. The blood prejudice, her best friends Harry and Ron always putting themselves in danger, the possible extermination of all Muggleborns… it all stemmed from him.

These dangerous thoughts were making her tremble again, this time from anger. It was only when she heard her water glass explode that she was pulled from her thoughts. Feeling ashamed for letting herself get carried away, she calmed down, cleaned up the mess, and decided to eat a bit.

As she ate, and just before she went to sleep, a thought kept repeating in her head.

I will perform this mission correctly, and Voldemort will die.

~ Convertimini Tempus ~

The chirping birds awoke Hermione, and she giggled at this rather cliché way to be woken. She groped for her wand, which was stuffed under her pillow, and with a quick ‘Aguamenti’, her glass was filled with water, which she drank to sooth her parched throat. As she drank, she breathed in the delicious aroma of breakfast and grabbed the tray on her bedside table.

The first bite of fluffy eggs made her feel uneasy, and the second made her want to vomit. She quickly pushed the plate away, wondering what was happening to her. Her stomach was churning, and she soon realised it was nervousness. She was going to meet the other students today, as well as her teachers and the Headmaster. How was she going to survive this?

And worst of all, what if someone became suspicious of her?

She had no idea of knowing how observant the people of this time were. In her time, because of the constant attacks and not being able to determine who you could trust, everyone had been jumpy, and something as fishy as a transfer student would arouse suspicion immediately. Here, they had no big threats aside from Grindelwald, but he was still in Germany and it didn’t look like he was coming to Britain anytime soon. Therefore, the people wouldn’t be too worried about her sudden appearance (at least, that’s what she hoped), but she would never know until she faced them.

Disclaimer: All characters,
settings and themes recognised in the Harry Potter series belong to J.K
Rowling.

Chapter 5

Eyes. All
she could see were eyes staring at her. She was so very tempted to seek out the
ones she knew would be glowing red in 50 years time but, remembering
Dumbledore’s words, she kept her eyes trained firmly before her.

Dumbledore
was moving at a faster rate than her (she feared she might trip), and she was
only halfway down the House tables when he was taking his seat beside the
Headmaster at the Head table. The woman who had been ushering the First Years
in twenty minutes before was standing at the stool with the Sorting Hat
clutched firmly in her grasp. Hermione noted with relief that the stool had
been magically heightened, so she wouldn’t be practically squatting on it like
an idiot.

“Miss
Malfoy, up you come. Hurry along, dear,” she heard Dippet call out, and her
face flushed. Summoning all the courage she had and trying to live up to her
House’s reputation, she fastened her pace and before she knew it, was standing at
the front of the Hall, facing the stool. She could feel three hundred gazes
boring into her, and the heat crept up her neck to settle on her cheeks,
re-enforcing the blush from before.

“Sit down,
dear,” the professor with the Sorting Hat said kindly. “It won’t hurt.”

Hermione
gave a jerky nod and turned swiftly, before plopping herself down onto the
stool. She closed her eyes as she felt the Hat being placed on her head.

Granger.

Her eyes
flew open when she heard that, knowing that the Sorting Hat was talking to her,
but wondering if anyone else had heard it. Judging by their judicial
expressions, they hadn’t.

Yes? Her inner-voice sounded timid, and
she winced.

I’ve Sorted you before, I see.

How do you know that? For a brief moment, the inner intellectual
made an appearance. She had always been fascinated by the Sorting Hat, but had
never studied it because she was never allowed to go near it after First Year,
when she had been too awed by the castle to pay attention to a tatty hat.

There was
a pause. You will address me as Mr.
Sorting Hat. That unforeseen comment caused Hermione to break out in
giggles, for it was one of the few funny things she had heard since arriving
back in time, and she spent a few minutes trying for air before she remembered
where she was and promptly blanked her face again. Luckily for her, she wasn’t
the type to start rolling on the floor in hysterics, but more than half the
students were watching her with confusion anyway.

Go on, Mr. Sorting Hat.

I can see your memories, girl. They
are…fascinating, to say the least. You have a mission.

Yes, Mr. Sorting Hat.

I must decide where to put you.
Gryffindor before, eh? A brave one, but you have an insatiable thirst for
knowledge…Ravenclaw quality.

Hermione
closed her eyes again and cleared her mind, glee forgotten. She didn’t
particularly have any House in mind that she wanted to be put in, because all
of them had some kind of benefit. However, this was an important moment.
Wherever she was put would greatly influence how she would execute her plan.
There was one House, however, that she knew she had the highest chance of being
placed in, solely for this task. 

The Hat
was silent for a few minutes, and she wondered what was taking it so long.

Patience, girl. Your mission. You desire
to destroy one of the students here… you are a time-traveller. Very
interesting. I suppose the most beneficial House to put you in for this task
will be SLYTHERIN!

The last
word was shouted, and although Hermione had been expecting it, it didn’t dull
the pained ex
pression that made its way onto her face. Slytherin. Yuck.

She had
expected the Hat to take longer to Sort her, but shrugged it off and stood up.
The woman who had held the Hat now took it back, and gestured for Hermione to
move to a table where all the students wore green and silver ties and watched
her calculatingly. Hermione replied with a wry grin, and lifting her chin,
stepped off the dais and walked to the Slytherin table.

The first
person she saw was Eileen Prince, staring at her with an unreadable ex
pression.
Hermione hesitated, before moving towards her. Coincidentally, the other girl
had a spare seat beside her, and Hermione decided that she’d rather sit there
than with the First Years, who sat nearest to the Head table.

“Hi,” she
said softly, taking her seat. She stared at her hands, which were clasped
tightly in her lap. “How are you?”

“Fine.”
Eileen’s voice was clipped as she scrutinised Hermione. “You’re a Malfoy?”

She looked
up, surprised. “You didn’t know? I thought you said Dumbledore had already told
you about me?”

“He didn’t
mention your last name.”

Before
Hermione could reply, Dippet rose from his seat in the centre of the High table
to give his yearly welcoming speech to the students.

Hermione
found him immensely boring. He droned on about the most mundane things, and it
wasn’t until fifteen minutes later that he finally took a breath and let them
eat. At least Dumbledore had made an effort to keep it interesting.

Hermione
was reaching for the steak and kidney pie when she felt a firm tap on her
shoulder. Her reflexes kicked in, and spinning around very gracefully for a
person who had been sitting, her wand was in her hand and was being pushed into
the neck of the person behind her. Her eyes widened when she found herself
staring into dark grey eyes that held slight apprehension and copious amounts
of amusement.

“I’m
sorry!” she squeaked, stowing her wand back into her robe hurriedly. She
blushed fiercely. That was the second time she had had an unwarranted reaction
to something. It made her realise how paranoid and jumpy the people of her time
were. With good reason, but now, in a more relaxed environment, it seemed very
strange and even scary to her.

“Woah,
hold up there, cousin,” Abraxas Malfoy exclaimed, grinning and leaning back
with his hands in the air in surrender. “I’m not attacking you.”

“I know,”
Hermione muttered. She looked up at him. He was the spitting image of Draco at
first sight, but now that she had actually seen him in person, she noticed his
face was slightly longer and he was more broad-shouldered than her husband. His
hair was also longer than it had been in the file’s photograph. Hermione stowed
this information away, hoping it would help her differentiate between her
husband and his grandfather. “I’m sorry.”

Hermione
stood awkwardly at the table, not meeting his eyes. He seemed to be thinking
for a moment, before he stuck out his hand.

“Abraxas
Malfoy,” he said graciously. “And you’re my cousin Hermione?”

“Yes, I
am.” Hermione took his hand and was all set for shaking it when he turned her
hand over and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of it. She went red again. “How
did you know?” she asked, quickly taking her hand back as politely as she could.

“Dumbledore
took me aside,” Abraxas explained. He suddenly looked down and saw Eileen
sitting there, staring at her dinner. He sneered, but didn’t say anything to
her, opting to ignore her completely. “Would you like to sit by my friends and
I? It’ll save you the unpleasant company and conversation.”

So some
things hadn’t changed. The Malfoys were still arrogant and thought themselves
superior, and instead of being offended, she found herself finding comfort in
that. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to be rude to Eileen. After all, she was good
friends – or acquaintances, as Severus had hastened to remind her whenever the
subject of ‘friendship’ had come up - with her son in the future.

“I’m
sorry, Abraxas, but-”

“Nonsense!”
Abraxas grabbed her wrist and began pulling her along with him. “You’re my
cousin, and I’ve never even met you! We need to catch up, we’re family!”

Hermione
sent a helpless look in Eileen’s direction, but the girl wasn’t looking at her.
Instead, she was glaring at her goblet of pumpkin juice.

“Eileen,
I’m sorry-”

“Go with
your cousin,” Eileen hissed. “I don’t want to be seen talking to disgusting
Malfoys anyway. One is already enough.”

Hermione
pulled back, looking hurt. She let Abraxas lead her away from Eileen, Abraxas
muttering under his breath about ‘bad breeding’ and ‘awful company’. “You don’t
want to mix with her, Hermione,” Abraxas stated. “She’s a bad sort.”

They
reached the end of the table where several Seventh Year Slytherins were talking
as they ate. Hermione was surprised to see that most of them were laughing and
joking around, so different from the Slytherins of her time. A couple of girls
were flirting shamelessly with the boys who sat across from them, while two
immature boys were throwing peas at each other. It amazed Hermione how similar
it was to the Gryffindor table, before the war. 

“Children,
settle down,” Abraxas said sarcastically, grinning at his Housemates. “We’ve
got a new one. Meet my lovely cousin, Hermione.”

“Oi! You
never told us you had a cousin, Malfoy!” a boy with black, wavy hair and grey
eyes exclaimed. “And a damn good looking one, too!”

Hermione
didn’t even bother blushing. He wasn’t even complimenting her true appearance
anyway. She was too intent on staring at the boy, for he looked exactly like a
younger version of Sirius Black. She had known that there was a strong
possibility that she’d meet the relatives of people long gone, but every time
she did meet them, it struck her with how similar the people looked, and her
heart ached. Even so, she pasted a bright smile on her face.

“They’re
so loud and happy,” she murmured to Abraxas, who sent her a surprised side
glance.

“Not used
to it?”

“No…”
Hermione didn’t say anymore; she knew Abraxas would draw his own conclusions. “So,
are you going to introduce me to everyone, or what?”

Abraxas
did indeed introduce her to all the Seventh Year Slytherins.

Alphard
Black was apparently the handsome ladies’ man, and was the one who had called
out before. Hermione remembered Harry telling her that he had been Sirius’
uncle, and had been the only one to leave Sirius gold when he had died. He made
a few more flirtatious remarks, but was silenced by Abraxas’ mock warning
glare. It warmed her to have another person looking out for her.

Asterope
Black and Denebola Black were twin girls and Alphard’s cousins. Both were very
pretty, as was typical of the Black family, with sharp, aristocratic features.
While Asterope had pitch-black hair that was straight as a pin, Denebola’s hair
was chestnut and curly. Hermione found out shortly that they had personalities
similar to that of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.

Araminta
Meliflua was the last of the Slytherin Seventh Year girls aside from Eileen.
She had black hair held back in a classic chignon and an ex
pression that reeked
‘haughty Pureblood’. Her green eyes pierced Hermione with a cold stare, and she
was glad to be turned away from the unsettling girl.

Cephas Avery,
Lycaon Lestrange, Elias Rosier and Godric Nott played the part of the
pranksters in the group. They reminded her of what she thought the Marauders
had been like. Hermione found it strange that the future Death Eaters were so
careless and happy, and nothing at all like their relatives; nothing at all
like she expected future cold-blooded killers to be. When she had commented on
Godric’s name, he had grimaced while the others jeered. “My father was a
Gryffindor,” he scowled in explanation, but then had joined in the laughing
anyway. Apparently, it wasn’t a joke that got old.

The last
of the group caused Hermione to almost choke on air. Although it was illogical
and made no sense, she had hoped he wouldn’t be here. No such luck. “And
finally,” Abraxas said, sounding almost proud, “our very own Head Boy, and the
biggest joker of the lot, Tom Riddle.”

Author’s Note: 

Well, I
had a hard time finding enough of Tom’s little gang to make up a whole
Slytherin Seventh Year. I tried to keep the patterns in the family names as
best I could, but I’m not sure they’re too creditable.

There were
no Averys with first names, so I just turned to the good ol’ Latin names the
Pureblood families are so fond of using. Cephas means ‘rock or stone’.

I based
the Lestrange family names on Rodolphus, which is a Latin name. Rodolphus means
‘famous wolf’ or ‘wolf counsel’. Lycaon possibly means ‘wolf’. 

The only
known named Rosier is Evan, who was one of the Death Eaters. Evan apparently
means ‘God is gracious’ in Welsh, so following along those religious lines,
Elias is the Greek form of the Welsh name Elis, which means ‘the Lord is my
God’.

As for
Nott, well, Theodore Nott’s (Hermione’s classmate) first name comes from
English, meaning ‘gift of God’. Godric means ‘strong God’. I chose it because
of the irony. xD

And
because I couldn’t find any girls who had the same birthdate as Tom and would
be in his year, I threw in a few OCs.

Chapter 6

“Funny,
Abraxas, how my ti
tle changes so often,” Riddle responded smartly, arching an
eyebrow. He snorted. “‘Big joker.’ That’s a big leap from ‘arrogant twat’.”

Hermione’s
jaw dropped. Abraxas had apparently called Lord Voldemort an ‘arrogant twat’
and he hadn’t had his head blasted off. This day just got better and better. Next we’ll find out that Voldemort loves
pink bunny rabbits and lollipops, and that his favourite bedtime story is
Cinderella. Or better yet, that his life’s ambition is to become a princess.
Her mouth quirked slightly at the corner. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw
Abraxas shift uncomfortably.

“Anyway,”
Riddle continued lightly, ignoring her look of pure astonishment and Abraxas’
discomfort, “it’s nice to meet you, Miss Malfoy. I’m afraid I can’t say that
I’ve heard a lot about you, but I hope to remedy that soon. Welcome to
Slytherin.” He gave her a charming smile and offered her his hand.

Hermione
didn’t take it. Her mind was whirling. Had she landed herself in an alternate
universe? Surely Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, Tom Marvolo Riddle, evilest
wanker on Earth wasn’t this boy in front of her. He was too…mild and…handsome. And
it didn’t look like he felt the urge to kill everyone in sight. They couldn’t
be the same person. It defied reality.

“Hermione?”
An elbow softly nudged her, and Abraxas’ voice, tinged with concern, rode over
her inner thoughts. “Are you alright? You blanked out there for a bit.”

“What?”
Hermione tore her gaze from Riddle, who was observing her strangely, to her
‘cousin’. “Oh, yes. Yes, I’m fine, Abraxas. Riddle, was it?” She looked at the
boy in question and took his hand. Instead of kissing the back of it like the
other boys had, he gave her a firm handshake. A sign of equality.

“Yes,” he
said smoothly. “Are you going to sit?”

Hermione
realised that she was still standing, and quickly sat down in the space between
Denebola and Godric, the only space not taken on that end of the table. She
noticed that both their postures had been tense, but had relaxed when she sat
between them.

“So
Hermione,” Abraxas said, taking his seat across from her. “Dumbledore says that
Uncle Pallas is your father. He never mentioned a child the last time he
contacted Father.” He gazed at her with interest.

“Well,”
Hermione replied, remembering her ‘life story’, “when was the last time Father
contacted Uncle Hyperion?”

Abraxas
frowned. “Years and years ago, Father says. Come to think of it, I remember him
saying that they never corresponded after my first birthday. And your first
birthday too, if I’m correct in saying that you’re the same age as me.”

Hermione
nodded impassively on the outside, but on the inside, she was jumping for joy.
Her story was fitting smoothly into place, and she didn’t even know all the
details. “Father only contacted him to tell him about my birth, and to warn him
to keep it a secret from everyone. He couldn’t risk Grindelwald finding out
about me, because as you know, the Malfoys are influential everywhere. I would
be the perfect bargaining token to get Father onto his side. He and Mother went
into hiding right after he contacted Uncle Hyperion.”

Abraxas
nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. So you’ve been hiding for the past fifteen
and a half years. Why come to Hogwarts? It’s so far. Don’t get me wrong, I’m
glad you’re here because it’s safer, but why now? Why didn’t you and Uncle
Pallas and Aunt Clarissa come earlier? You wouldn’t have needed to hide; you
could have stayed with us.”

Hermione stayed
silent for a few minutes, before she decided it was time to take out her acting
skills. She was spinning herself a web of lies that was so delicate that the
slightest prodding could break it, but she had to say something. She mentally
cursed Dumbledore for not preparing her more. “The only thing keeping us in Germany was Mother. Her family had been
hiding us the entire time, moving us from one of their estates to the other. We
always moved very six months. And then, a month ago,” she winced and took a
deep breath, “she died. Her family didn’t want us anymore, because they blamed
us for her death. We came here.”

She
marveled at her ability to lie so flawlessly, so easily. The war had changed
her so much. Five years ago, she wouldn’t have been able to lie about staying
in the library for longer than she was supposed to, let alone that her ‘mother’
had been killed. Now, she even let her eyes water, the image of Draco’s death
in her mind. Shame filled her at the insult and use of his memory, but she reasoned
that she needed to do this. Just one small shameful deed out of the many she
knew she’d be committing in the next few months in her quest to destroy
Voldemort.

“I’m
sorry,” Abraxas said quietly, looking down. The others murmured their
condolences, but what caught her attention was the fact that Riddle’s eyes, so
full of concern, held the smallest bit of what she could only describe as
amusement. What was he finding amusing? Did he think Clarissa’s ‘death’ was funny? That was more like what she
expected of the future Lord Voldemort, but it didn’t fit in with the character
he was giving off now.

Abraxas
backed off from his questioning, which Hermione was grateful for. The rest of
conversation at dinner was filled with lighter topics, such as Quidditch and
their summer holidays. Hermione didn’t join in. She toyed with her dinner,
rolling the peas around her plate and viciously stabbing her mash.

She
noticed Riddle didn’t join in either. An
orphanage probably didn’t provide him with much source for entertainment,
she thought. If it had been anyone else, she would have felt sorry for him. As
it was Voldemort, though, she only felt a sort of sadistic glee.

When the
topic changed to the first day of term’s gossip, she was dragged into the
conversation by Asterope. “Riddle’s the most eligible boy in the school,” she
informed her, winking at the boy in question. “All the girls want him, but he
won’t associate himself with us mere mortals.”

“That’s
not true, Asterope,” Riddle replied haughtily, hearing his name and turning
from his conversation with Abraxas. “I’d gladly associate with ‘mere mortals’
if they interested me at all. It might be news to you, but males generally do
not find hair-curling and gossiping fascinating."

Asterope
rolled her eyes. “See what I mean?”

“Since
Riddle’s out of the question,” Denebola chimed in, “I’d say Abraxas, but he’s
your cousin.” She wrinkled her nose. “You could always go for-”

“Since
when was I out of the question?” Riddle cut in, an eyebrow raised. “Did I say I was out of the question?”

“No, but
your response before was clear enough. So anyway, Hermione-”

“I said
that I don’t find hair-curling and gossiping girls interesting. I never said
anything about the girls who aren’t obsessed
with the perfect crimp or perm.” Riddle looked directly at Hermione as he said
this, which made her feel slightly ill.

Great Merlin,
the Dark Lord was flirting with her.

“Unluckily
for you, Riddle, most of the girls here are like that. And the ones who aren’t are…well, I don’t like to think
about them.”

“I think
that’s enough gossip for me tonight,” Hermione finally said loudly.

“But
Hermione, I haven’t even told you about the fight Charlus Potter and Stephen
Cornwall had over Dorea Black,” Denebola whined. “She’s almost 10 years older
than the both of them!”

“Then by
all means,” Hermione replied sweetly, “continue telling Riddle and Asterope.”

Instead of
feeling offended at Hermione’s saccharine tone, Denebola just pouted. “Well,
fine.” She quickly turned to her sister, and began animatedly retelling the
account. The other girl looked like she knew all this already, but humoured her
twin anyway.

“When does
dinner end?” Hermione’s head was starting to hurt.

“Right
about now, actually,” Abraxas replied from across from her, and she turned to
see the other students all standing. He held out a hand for her, as a gentleman
would.

“I can
stand myself, thanks,” she said in a curt tone, staring at the hand as if it
had grown pus-filled boils. Honestly, didn’t the girls here have any sense of independence? Looking
around, she didn’t think so. Most of the girls around her were being taken by
the hand by the boys surrounding them. The only ones who didn’t have a man
pulling them up were the ones that she saw sitting alone. She sighed. Women’s
rights still had a long way to go.

Abraxas’
eyes filled with bewilderment. “I hope that confusion I see in your eyes isn’t
directed at my comment,” Hermione warned him, only half-joking.

“No, no,”
Abraxas said hastily. “It’s just that…you’re rather unconventional for a Malfoy
woman.”

“We-ll… in between being on the run, not
having a solid home for the majority of my life and trying not to get shot in
the back, there wasn’t much time for etiquette lessons,” Hermione retorted
dryly. “Let’s go.” They were the last two Seventh Years to leave the table.
Abraxas hurried to catch up with the others, and not wanting to be alone,
Hermione followed.

“Aren’t
you supposed to be going…another way?” Hermione asked in surprise when she saw
Riddle in the middle of the group, chatting amiably. “You’re Head Boy, aren’t
you?”

“Yes…” He
frowned. “So?”

“So you
have your own common room to get to.”

“I don’t
have to go there right away.” Riddle waved his hand at her in dismissal, and
Hermione was left to ponder yet another small change from her own time. “Why
does it matter? Do I make you…uncomfortable?” The last word was accompanied by
a strange ex
pression, but Hermione couldn’t figure out what it was. That was a
feat in itself, because with the war, she had learnt how to read people easily
from their body language and expressions. It didn’t surprise her, though, because
Lord Voldemort was the king of poker faces, from what she had heard from
Severus.

Hermione
didn’t answer him, so he shrugged and turned back to the conversation with
Araminta she had interrupted.

“So
Hermione…” Denebola sidled up to the blonde girl, eyebrows waggling. “Does he
make you uncomfortable?”

Hermione went
pale. “No!” That was a lie and she knew the other girl knew it. However, it
wasn’t for the reason Denebola was probably thinking, and although it made her
feel sick to let the girl think otherwise, at least she didn’t know the real
reason.

“Such a
vehement response from an otherwise indifferent person,” Denebola clucked. “I
don’t blame you. He captured the hearts of every female third year and above a long time ago.”

“I don’t
like him…like that,” Hermione croaked, facial ex
pression changing from pale to ill
at the idea. I don’t like him at all.

“Whatever
you say, Hermione.” They were now in the dungeons, and Hermione felt each goose
bump rise on her arm, despite the thick, heavy robes she was wearing.

“Merlin,
how do you people survive down here? It must be sub-zero degrees!” She observed
the cool stone of the walls surrounding them, and felt a bit claustrophobic.

“We’re
under the lake,” Godric answered. “The other Founders must have really hated
Salazar to put his students here. We’re used to it.”

Yeah, well, there was good reason.
He tried to kill the Muggleborns who came here. If that’s not reason enough to
hate someone, I don’t know what is.

“Hey,
Riddle, got the password?”

There was
a shuffling as the others parted way for Riddle to get through. Ah, there’s the Voldemort I know. He
looked at the stone snake guarding the blank wall, and with a sneer of disdain,
muttered, “Tree bark.”

There was
silence, and then… “Tree bark?” Hermione squeaked, her voice echoing in the stillness
of the Seventh Years. “Who chose that
password?” Her incredulity and mirth threatened to swallow her face whole, so
she quickly masked her glee. It probably wouldn’t sit well with the others,
judging by Riddle’s angry face. 

“Dumbledore,”
he spat venomously. “The old coot. Always trying to humiliate us.” His eyes
flashed red for a second, and Hermione witnessed, with horror, the first
glimpse of the true Voldemort in 1944. She took a frightened step back,
amusement forgotten, but the others hadn’t noticed as they watched Riddle’s
face apprehensively.

“It’s just
a password, Riddle,” Cephas said worriedly. No one said anything after that,
but Hermione watched as Riddle closed his eyes and attempted to calm down. He must really hate Dumbledore if he gets
this worked up over a stupid password, she thought.

A few
seconds later, and Riddle was beaming at them. “What are we all waiting out
here for? It’s cold!” He pushed the door that had appeared after he had spoken
the password open, and strode in arrogantly.

Hermione
was shell-shocked. That was the quickest mood change she had ever seen. She quietly followed the
others as they sauntered into the Slytherin common room as if nothing had
happened. The chatter of the younger years quieted considerably, but did not
stop.

The common
room was gorgeous. All thoughts about Voldemort, future Death Eaters and mood
changes faster than those of pregnant women flew out of her head as she stared
in awe at her surroundings. She wasn’t one to be impressed easily, but…wow.
This common room made Gryffindor’s look like the Shrieking Shack of her time.

“Impressed?”
Abraxas teased. Hermione had moved to the leather couches in front of the
golden fireplace, and was running her hand over the silver lining, smooth and
cool against her hand. With a sigh, she sank into the couch and closed her
eyes.

“You
people really like to spoil yourselves, don’t you?” Her voice held a blissful
lilt as she pushed herself further into the supple leather of the couch.

There was
no answer, and she opened her eyes. She immediately wished she hadn’t. Towering
over her were nine impassive faces, and one face tinged with guilt. Her eyes
widened at the sight, and she felt her stomach churn.

“What-
what are you doing?” Her voice shook as she gazed up at them, wondering what
was happening and why they were look at her like that. Looking around, she
realised that the common room had mysteriously cleared out, leaving only the
Seventh Years.

“Incarcerous,” said a voice on the right
– Riddle. Ropes were immediately wrapping themselves around her legs, torso and
arms, binding her to the couch. Out of reflex, rather than actual comprehension
of the circumstances, she started struggling, but the ropes were tight and they
only cut deeper into her skin.

“Stop
struggling,” Abraxas murmured, and shame filled his eyes as he stared down at
the girl he believed to be his cousin. “It will only make it hurt more.”

“Abraxas?”
Her voice was so high it was almost a shriek. She paid no heed to his warning,
clawing desperately at the ropes despite the burning pain. Tears began filling
her eyes as the situation sunk in. She had barely been with the other students
a night and she was going to be tortured – or worse, killed. She was going to
fail her mission. Why had she let her guard down around them? They were
Slytherins.

The answer
came to her instantly, but she tried to push it away in denial. They gave her
the sort of uncaring ignorance she hadn’t had in years, even if it was fake.
She had been able to sit down for one night and not wonder whether she, Draco,
Ginny, Ron or Harry were going to die. She didn’t have to think about the best
way to kill someone, without prolonging the pain. She didn’t have to think
about the people she had already lost.

They were
really master manipulators. At the start of the evening, she had had her wand
out at Abraxas’ simple touch on her shoulder. Now, she had had been tied up
with ropes and she hadn’t even thought of getting her wand out, shocked that
her newfound ‘friends’ were tying her up. At least she was finding out sooner
rather than later. That thought didn’t do much to comfort her at all, however.

“Now,”
Riddle said, looking at his work with satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He observed
the welts that were forming almost clinically, and nodded absentmindedly. “We
need some answers, Hermione, and you’re going to give them willingly.” He
didn’t say it, but everyone heard the unspoken ‘or else’.

“Why- why
do you have me tied up?” Hermione’s head had cleared when she had successfully
answered each panicked question that came up in her inner dialogue, and she
figured she wouldn’t die if she played her part well. If she didn’t act as if
she was really a time traveler from a time when all these people had tried to
kill her or her friends at least once, if they were still alive. If she acted
as if she really was Hermione Malfoy.

Araminta
gave her a cold look. “Don’t play dumb, Malfoy.
Or is it Malfoy? I don’t know.”

“What are
you talking about?” Hermione tried to put as much spite as she could into it,
and as a result sounded as if she was spitting venom. Abraxas noticeably
flinched.

“We’re
talking about the fact that you aren’t a Malfoy,” Cephas said seriously. “And
we want to know who you really are, and why you’re here.”

“I am a Malfoy,” Hermione insisted, almost
growling. “I don’t know why you think I’m not, but I wish to be released right
this instant!”

“I don’t
think you’re who you pretend to be,” a new voice joined in icily, and she saw
Lycaon with his eyes narrowed on her. In the back of her mind, she noticed that
Godric, Asterope, Denebola, Alphard and Elias looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Tell her what you told us, Abraxas.”

Hermione’s
head almost made an audible crack; it turned so fast to focus on Abraxas. Her
eyes tried to plead with him, while she wondered what he had told them to put
them on their guard. Abraxas gave her a distressed look, his eyes flicking to
Riddle, before quietly saying, “Aunt Clarissa didn’t die.” He stared down at
his feet.

“What? She
did.” Hermione’s worry grew as she gave her best ‘my-mum-just-died’ look. Her
delicate web of lies was being trodden on, and she needed to salvage it. “What
are you talking about, Abraxas?" 

“You say
she died a month ago?” Still looking at his feet.

“Yes.” The
word was drawn out slowly, as if she was wondering why he was repeating what
she had already told him.

“I was talking
to her in the Floo a month ago.” His head lifted now, and he stared her in the
eyes with a fire that she had seen in Draco before. There was the bombshell.
Yipee. Her life was now forfeited; she had been found out.

“So you
see, whoever you are,” Araminta cut in, examining a fingernail, “we know you
aren’t really a Malfoy. You just created some cock-and-bull story. I don’t know
what you said to make Dippet believe you, but he obviously did. And now,” she
raised her head and gave Hermione a feral grin, “now, we’re going to hurt you
until you confess. Good thing you came, I’ve wanted to try an Unforgivable for ages.” She raised her wand, and pointed
it between Hermione’s eyes, her mouth already forming the words. “Cruc-”

“Stop!”

The curse
died on Araminta’s lips, and she gave Hermione a disdainful sneer. “Honey,
nothing you say will save you now.”

“Oh
really?” Hermione retorted, her voice a block of ice. “Abraxas, I want to tell
you something. Something important and confidential.”
She gave Araminta a pointed look.

“How dare
you talk to Abraxas like he is some- some common elf!” Araminta shrieked. “You-”

Araminta
was cut off when Riddle said, softly but emotionlessly, “Shut up, Araminta.”
The loud screeching stopped abruptly. “Abraxas, talk to her. See what she
says.”

Hermione
had all but forgotten he was there; he had been standing in the back, quietly
watching the proceedings as Araminta, Cephas and Lycaon attempted to threaten
her. Now, still standing in the back, it was clear that he was the leader;
Abraxas immediately gave a respectful nod, and Riddle moved to the other side
of the room, the others following. Araminta gave Hermione the most poisonous
glare she had ever seen as she also followed with her nose in the air.

Abraxas
approached Hermione and took his wand out. Hermione braced herself for whatever
spell was going to come out of it, but Abraxas only put up a ‘Muffliato’. He then turned to her,
conjured a plush chair and simply sat, staring at her. She knew he was waiting
for her to speak.

“I’m a
Malfoy.” The words came out softly. “I really am.” Hermione knew the best lies
were half-truths.

“I…don’t
know what to believe,” Abraxas admitted. “You look like me, sure, but nothing
you’ve said adds up.”

“Why
didn’t you try to threaten or hurt me?” Hermione asked, abruptly changing the
subject. Abraxas raised an eyebrow slightly at the less than subtle subject
change, but didn’t call her on it.

“I like
you,” he murmured. “I don’t know why, but I feel this pull. Right here.” And he
placed a hand on his stomach. “My magic calls out to you, as if…as if it
already knows you.” He shook his head,
his short blonde hair falling into his eyes at the movement. “I don’t know
why.”

Hermione
knew. His magic was recognising its kin – Draco’s and her magic had already
bonded, and some of his resided in her. She didn’t say that, though.

“I’m a Malfoy,”
Hermione repeated. “And I can prove it.” She was pulling out her trump card,
and although she knew she would regret it later, it was the only thing she knew
would help her. She took in a deep breath. “I know a…Malfoy family secret.” If
Draco knew that she was going to reveal what he had told her in ‘express
confidentiality’, he’d probably kill her. Or maybe not, seeing as she was
telling a family member who already had this problem.

Abraxas’
eyes widened, and he doubled the Muffliato
instantly.

Hermione
watched him, her voice sarcastic. “You people must have a lot of dirty secrets
to be this paranoid.”

“Well, if
you really are a Malfoy,” Abraxas’ tart reply came, “then you’re one of us and
therefore have your own fair share of ‘dirty
secrets’.”

Hermione
grimaced. “I concede. Now…” She shifted awkwardly in the ropes. “Um. I don’t
really know how I’m supposed to say this. Er…” She blushed.

“Just spit
it out, Hermione,” Abraxas sighed.

“Um. Well,
the Malfoy men who aren’t married…they have a certain problem,” she began, and
was abruptly cut off by a hand slapping itself onto her mouth. Abraxas was
looking at her with wide eyes, his face the colour of a tomato. He glanced at
the others, and then back at her.

“You don’t
need to say anymore,” Abraxas said weakly, removing his hand from her mouth.
She gave him a sheepish grin. “I know you’re a Malfoy now. I’ll…go tell the
others.” He hurriedly put down the privacy charms he had put up and, with
alarming speed, was on the other side of the room, talking to Riddle and the
gang. Hermione, despite the situation, was amused. She had only ever seen a
Malfoy blush once, and that was when Draco was telling her this secret; the
reason that he couldn’t make love to her.  

Sighing
and sobering immediately at the reminder of a happy moment with her now-dead
husband, she watched as the Slytherins began to walk in her direction. Abraxas
was still scarlet, and was not meeting her eyes. By the looks on the others’
faces, he hadn’t told them how she had convinced him that she was a Malfoy. She
didn’t blame him; if she was a man, she wouldn’t have wanted them to know,
either.

“We’re so
sorry, Hermione!” Asterope cried, rushing forwards first. She took her wand out
and vanished the ropes binding Hermione. Hermione winced, and then gave a soft
sigh as relief washed over her. She wasn’t going to die today. “It’s just…we’re
really paranoid, and we needed to make sure you were okay to be around.” She
shot Riddle a look as she said this. “You probably have your own reasons for
lying to us, and that’s okay.” She gave Hermione a hug, and Hermione saw over
her shoulder that not all the others were happy with this last statement.
Riddle, in particular, looked very sour.

Straightening
up, the girl gave Hermione a beam, and then was immediately pushed aside by
Denebola, who exclaimed the same sentiments as her sister, only worded
differently and more dramatic, and embraced the blonde-haired witch. Both girls
immediately then said ‘good night’ and rushed to the stairs, followed by a
sullen Araminta. Hermione presumed they were going to the Girls’ Dormitory, and
watched them go, now sitting up straight on the soft sofa.

“Well…good
night then,” Abraxas said awkwardly to Hermione, still not looking at her. The
other four boys, save for Riddle, echoed him (she noticed Lycaon looking a bit
bitter at it, though) and they too left. Then it was just her and Riddle, and
she stood up, wanting to get away from him as quickly as possible. She was sure
it was him who had called out the interrogation squad, and she needed to think.
If Voldemort was onto her…it didn’t bode well. Her foot was on the stairs when
he called out. “Wait.”

Hermione
stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“I know a
liar when I see one.” The voice sent cold chills down Hermione’s spine, and
dread pooled in her stomach. “For now, I’ll keep your little secrets, but I
will find them out soon.” Footsteps moving away from her, and then, “By the
way, you look better with brown hair.” More footsteps, the soft click of the
door opening and closing, and he was gone.

Hermione
was pale, and trembling. One thought echoed through her mind: How did he know?