Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

May 24, 1999

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy was on the ground, writhing in agony. Screaming and incoherent like an injured child. 

Hermione had never heard a grown man scream as he did. Even with his face in the mud, the sound of his cries echoed perfectly off the dark alley walls. He was a mess, to say the least. His expensive cloak was torn, soiled with a mix of mud and whatever else littered the alley ground. His porcelain skin no longer looked white, there was blood streaking his angelic face, dirt covering his fingers and hands. His blond hair was matted with mud, he no longer looked like the great man she had feared while at Hogwarts. 

He gasped as Hermione released him of the Cruciatus curse, still twitching and spasming from the pain as he lay like a pig in the mud. She stepped around him, her boots sticking slightly to the wet earth underneath her feet. She knew it was wrong. She knew that she should feel some sort of remorse. Some sort of guilt. She had been brought up to believe that using one of the three Unforgivables was one of the worst things a wizard could do; but right now she wasn’t thinking about her morals. 

Hermione pushed her wet hair back out of her face and wiped at the steady trail of blood leaking from the shallow scratch on her cheek. There was a stinging pain that accompanied it, but it all disappeared when she uttered the curse a moment later. All feeling was swept away by the thrill of dark magic rushing through her veins. In that moment, Hermione understood why dark wizards and witches favoured the Unforgivables. To put it simply, it felt good. 

She released him.

Lucius managed the strength to prop himself up on his elbows and knees, dry heaving as he tried to gasp for air. It was comedic to see, honestly. A man she had once feared - one of Voldemort's most trusted Death Eaters - reduced to this. 

Hermione placed her foot on his side and pushed him over, he made no move to break his fall. “Please-” he wheezed, his back once more in the mud. “Please-” 

She hadn’t slept in days, she knew her mind wasn’t working properly. But she must have been more sleep deprived than she originally thought, because as soon as he began to beg, she started to laugh. It was a laugh of disbelief; a laugh of complete and utter perplexity. If Hermione had time to stop and address the state she was in, it would be clear to her: she was in shock. 

To an observer, she might seem crazed. Insane. Psychotic, even. She wasn’t, she was sure of that. She had never cast an unforgivable before, she knew it would take a toll on her mind. She also knew she shouldn’t have done it. But emotion got in the way of logic, and all she wanted was for Lucius Malfoy to feel pain. Agonising, unforgiving pain.

Her eyes were red and puffy with tears, all she could taste was blood. Her wand was no more than a featherweight in her hand as she pointed it in Lucius’ direction, he flinched away instantly despite no spell being spoken. She could kill him right here and now, and she wouldn’t feel guilt. No, Hermione was too far down the rabbit hole to feel anything but rage. She wanted him to suffer for what he did; she wanted him to pay for what he had taken from her. She would kill him eventually, but not before he had begged and pleaded for mercy. 

The death of Lucius Abraxus Malfoy would be a long and painful process, Hemrione would personally see to that herself.   

“Crucio.” The curse was effortless, she didn’t need to force it. Her pain, her anger, it was reason enough. Lucius was convulsing again, screaming. He wouldn’t die from the Cruciatus curse, she knew that. She wanted to torture him until his mind was numb. Only then would she kill him; and once his black, ugly heart stopped beating, Hermione would go on a long, all-inclusive vacation to Azkaban. She had made sure of that the moment the curse “Crucio” left her lips. 

Using an Unforgivable was where the ministry drew the line of war; determining the good guys and the bad guys. Hermione had never even thought of using one of them on another human being. Yet… she had done just that. And she didn’t regret it. Not one bit. She made the choice to cast it, knowing damn well what the consequences would be: life in Azkaban. 

It was silly, really - the fact that the Ministry had forbidden the use of the three Unforgivable Curses and any hex or spell that was overly gruesome… despite being in the middle of the Second Wizarding War. The Order had control of Azkaban, it was where they put any captured Death Eater or member of the Dark Lord's army they came across. It was also where the Ministry would put their own defecting members or defecting Ministry employees - like Umbridge - and soon, Hermione. It had put the Order at a severe disadvantage, and quite frankly, it was the sole reason they were losing the war. The Dark Lord’s army did not hold back when it came to killing and torturing the Order’s troops. They slaughtered anyone in their path, and their favourite method of murder was the killing curse.

It had been a little over a year since the Battle of Hogwarts, and things had only gotten worse and worse for the Order as the war drew on. They were down on supplies and troops, not to mention that their morale was dangerously low. 

They had been growing more and more desperate over the past few months, planning more raids, targeting more of the Dark Lord’s bases. And to their credit, most of their efforts did not disappoint. 

But eventually their luck had to run out. 

Hermione just wished they had been more prepared for when it did. Because when a dozen of the Order’s soldiers apparated into the town of Haltham, England, with the objective of intercepting a small group of Death Eaters, they had been anything but ready. It had all been a set up, meant to draw Hermione’s group close enough to attack. 

There had been too many Death Eaters to count, they were surrounded on all sides. When the fighting slowed, both groups had lost men, but the Order had taken the brunt of it.  

Now, all that remained were Hermione and Lucius Malfoy. The rest were either dead or back in the safety of their homes, having apparated away at the first sign of danger.

Hermione pulled her wand away from Lucius Malfoy, ceasing the curse. She was shaking with anger, boiling from the inside out. How dare he. How dare he steal from her. He had taken someone she loved away from her, he had tortured them, beat them, and killed them. And Hermione would like nothing more than to make him watch as she-

She paused and looked down at the man before her; shivering and trembling in the blood-soaked mud. She had done that to him, she had broken him easily - too easily. All it took to render a man helpless was four minutes of the Cruciatus curse. Four minutes. 

For a moment, she wondered if he was still sane. If he still had functioning motor skills, if he could still process critical thinking. But Hermione didn’t have to think long, because a few seconds later, he spoke. 

“Please–” he gasped, staring past Hermione, as if his eyes couldn’t focus. “Please-”

She didn’t move, all she did was stare down at him. His nose was bleeding, so was a cut on his upper lip. “I’m not going to kill you, Mr. Malfoy.” She said to him, her quiet words sounded loud in the small alley. Killing him would not serve a purpose, no, she wanted more from him. She wanted him to cry and beg just as she had. She wanted him to feel the pain of losing a loved one, just as she had. 

She would tie him to a fucking chair, and she would make the pain last for days. And then, maybe, she would kill him. 

Maybe. 

Once again, Hermione raised her wand. “Imperio.” The curse left Hermione’s lips before her brain could catch up with what she was doing. It was fluent, effortless. And it shouldn’t have been. She watched the pain leave his grey eyes, any and all fight left his muscles, he stopped wheezing for air. The alley was dead silent. “Stand.” She ordered, and he did. The air around them seemed to sizzle, the only plausible explanation she could think of was the dark magic she had directed upon Lucius. There was no going back now, she pushed any and all guilt from her conscience as she stared up at the man before her. 

She knew she could wordlessly command him, but she didn’t think her mind was calm enough to do so.  “Do not move.” The command was incredibly simple, but it worked. He didn’t so much as blink.

Hermione felt a tear drip down her face, warm against her cool skin. Her actions in that moment went against everything the Order stood for. She tore her eyes from the man standing before her and looked at the broken door to her right. It was splintered, hinges shattered from her efforts to kill Lucius Malfoy. The moment she found him, standing over Ron’s body, she couldn’t think of anything but murdering him. And God knows she tried. 

She left Lucius Malfoy and stepped through the doorway, instantly noticing the burn mark from when she had cast a ball of fire in his direction. He had countered it, sending the spell straight into the wall. The weight of the situation hit her as she stepped over chunks of wood and drywall, making her way into the large warehouse. 

Water dripped rhythmically from the holes in the rusted ceiling, collecting in sporadic puddles around the room. Since the Ministry had fallen at the beginning of the war, most towns had been taken by the Dark Lord. Haltham included. It was a small town with a tiny population to begin with, and that population shrunk when Voldemort claimed it. Its citizens had either been killed, or - if they were lucky - been fast enough to escape. But the buildings were left to rot, most had become overgrown by vines and mosses. 

Hermione couldn’t feel her legs as she walked closer to the body, sprawled plain as day in the middle of the warehouse. His eyes were dull as they stared blankly up at the ceiling, his red hair was plastered with dry blood across his forehead. Although Hermione didn’t want to believe it, it was clear that Ron Weasley was dead. 

She had only just reached him when her legs gave out, and she fell to the floor. She didn’t sense the pain as it radiated up her knees from the impact, her mind was focused elsewhere. Gingerly, Hermione touched his face with her hand, his skin was not warm; she hadn’t expected it to be. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at his still expression, her vision blurred as she reached down and brushed the hair from his face. 

A sob escaped her as she took his hand and kissed his bruised knuckles, pressing her forehead against his skin. Oh, how she wished she could lay down with him, close her eyes, and eventually wake up from this nightmare. She needed him, just as she needed Harry or Ginny. She needed him. There was no way she could function without his presence.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there, tears streaming down her face at the sight of her best friend. Minutes, hours, she didn’t know. The tears slowly stopped coming, her lungs eventually allowed her to take even breaths. Ron was dead. There was no changing that. Lucius killed him. And Hermione was angry. 

She stood, staring down at Ron, memories flashing in her mind. Memories of the two of them: the moment they shared their first kiss in the Chamber Of Secrets, the moment he asked her to be his girlfriend. And more recently, their mutual decision to take a break from their relationship. 

Hermione turned, tearing her eyes from his peaceless body. And she walked. The Order would come by to collect any casualties once they knew the coast was clear. With a broken heart pounding in her chest, she walked back the way she came. Passing the scorch marks on the wall. The fragments of Lucius’ broken wand. 

When Hermione emerged back into the alleyway, she had already decided what she would do to Lucius Malfoy. 

“Miss me?” She didn’t think it was possible to feel more rage than what looking at his face instilled upon her. Of course, he didn’t respond. Hermione’s eyes swept the alleyway, searching for any signs of the Dark Lord’s reconnaissance patrol. She knew they were coming, but she didn’t know when. 

The Dark Lord’s army was almost an exact replica of the North American military system: the same rank structure, the same terminology, nearly everything. Hermione guessed that the Dark Lord had decided on using it because most of the European wizarding world was unfamiliar with anything American, especially its military. He didn’t want his Death Eater’s to know that he was using muggle ideas, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. 

She stepped around Lucius Malfoy’s rigid body and moved her gaze to the rooftops. 

There was no sign of his fellow Death Eaters, Hermione felt slightly relieved. But she still needed to wrap this up. After each small battle between the Order and the Dark Lord’s army, the Dark Lord sent out a few men to collect any straggling Order members and use them for intel. She should take Lucius with her, get information from him somewhere else - without the Order knowing.

Her day had started well. Very well, in fact. Until they landed in this damn town. After that, everything seemed to go downhill rather quickly.

“Expelliarmus!” 

Hermione felt the weight of the disarming spell hit her, her wand flew from her grasp. She watched as it landed on the far side of the alley, then she turned slowly to look back towards her attacker. White-blond hair. Tall, thin frame. Death Eater robes. 

She instantly recognised the figure of none other than Draco motherfucking Malfoy. 

And he looked pissed. 

Chapter Text

May 24, 1999.

He was standing at the opposite end of the alley, his wand was raised in her direction. His black Death Eater robes shifted in the wind, bristling at his feet as he stood there. She had only seen glimpses of him on the battlefield as he fought against her friends and peers - his old friends and peers - but she had never realised how much he had changed. 

He was no longer overly pale, his skin showed the obvious signs of time spent in the sun. His hair had grown out slightly since their time at Hogwarts, and he had stopped bothering to slick it back. Blonde strands hung over his forehead, adding to the mad fury that clouded his eyes. 

“Granger.” His voice carried down the brick alley, there was a haunting tone to it; one that sent shivers down Hermione’s spine. He seemed calm. The anger clearly displayed on his face did not affect his voice, he was audibly relaxed. His eyes, however, told a different story. 

The sun was low in the sky behind him, casting his face in dark shadows. “Malfoy.” Hermione attempted to calm her rapid heart rate, convincing herself that she was safe. He would not kill her. He could not kill her - not when she had his father under the Imperius curse. She hoped. She smiled weakly at him, as if they were acquaintances. “The dark side seems to be treating you well.” 

“I can’t say the same for you. Let him go.” Malfoy’s gaze skipped to his father, only for a moment, before returning to her. The look in his eyes made her heart dip. Oh, he wasn’t just angry. “I won’t make your death too painful.”

Hermione tried not to show her fear, but when he tilted his head to study her she knew she had failed. “Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Malfoy. We both know you would take your time with me.” She tried to ease the pressure knowing he was going to attack her sooner or later. If she could get him to lower his guard maybe she had a chance. 

“Don’t tempt me, Granger.”

She slowly put her hands up in surrender. This was it. She was going to die. “This wasn’t my doing, Malfoy.” She lied, glancing at his father. “I found him like this, but it wasn’t me.”

His brows narrowed accusingly. “You’re a shit liar.”

She shrugged, forcing her nerves to calm. “I tried.”

“What did you do to him?” His eyes never moved from her face, never looked at his father. Hermione didn’t want to admit her crimes out loud. 

“Nothing worse than the atrocities you have already committed.”

“The difference between us, Granger, is that I won’t get sent to Azkaban for my crimes.” A pause. “Yet.”

“If you’re going to kill me just get it over with.” She began to lower her hands, testing his reaction. Or lack thereof. He just watched her carefully. “I’m beginning to think that you just enjoy my company.”

“I might if that mouth of yours stops moving.”

Hermione made a face. This was not the same Malfoy she grew up hating. This Malfoy was near emotionless, taking her insults and comments with pride. Whereas the old Malfoy would have denied it and threatened to tell his father. It had been just over a year, and Malfoy had matured beyond Hermione’s grasp. 

And not in a good way. 

“Why don’t you just wave that little wand and put me out of my misery.” She put her hands on her hips.

“Alright.” He said, his eyes locked on hers. “Crucio.”

“Fuck-“ Hermione drove out of the way as the curse singed the tips of her hair, behind Lucius. The mud covered her stomach and elbows on impact, then the palms of her hands as she pushed herself off the ground. She scrambled towards her wand and grabbed it. “Fucking hell.” She muttered, only briefly catching sight of Malfoy as she moved to hide behind his father. “Kill him.” She ordered Lucius, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. 

She would never beat Malfoy, not in a one-on-one duel. He was always the best in their Defence Against the Dark Arts classes at Hogwarts. He could - and definitely would - kill her the first chance he got. He had every reason to. 

Lucius advanced towards his son, and Hermione saw Malfoy falter. Only for a second. A split second, before he had his wand raised once more. “Stupify.” He called out, it didn’t take much for Hermione’s bodyguard to fail. To her despair, Lucius fell limply into the mud. “I thought you were smarter than that, Granger.” Malfoy shook his head, stepping over his father, towards her. His expression puzzled her; was he angry? Was he disgusted? Was he excited at the thought of killing her? She couldn’t tell, the only hint she got was the slight grin on his face.

A drop of rain landed on her forehead. Then another, and then three more. The sun had dipped slightly behind the horizon, but Hermione didn’t have the time to admire the array of colours in the sky. She kept her wand raised in Malfoy’s direction as she took a step back. She should have guessed that it would rain some more, the dark clouds rolling in from the water was a dead giveaway. Malfoy briefly looked up at the sky, Hermione took her chance. 

“Avada-“ she started, but was cut off by a loud boom of thunder. It shook the ground, resonating across the valley. She met Malfoy’s surprised gaze from where he stood a few feet away; he had not missed her weak attempt at the killing curse. She was certain that he hadn’t been expecting her to even utter the words. But she would prove him wrong. “Avada Kedavra!” She cried, pouring all her emotion into the one curse. All her hatred for him and his father, her sadness for Ron. Every last ounce. The green curse shot from her wand, waves of sick pleasure washing through her. Using the Killing curse was better than the Cruciatus curse in every way; while casting crucio seemed to take away her pain, the Killing Curse made her feel alive. She watched her magic arch, a perfect path to Malfoy’s chest.

He threw himself out of the way.

“Fuck, Granger.” Malfoy chuckled softly as he straightened, it was clear that he did not see her as a threat. “What would Potter say about that? Hm?” He stepped forward, she stepped back. Like a dance. “Weasel? Kingsley?”

At the mention of Ron, Hermione felt her throat tighten. “Confringo!” She aimed her wand once more at Malfoy, he stepped to the side and watched the magic whiz passed him. The rain was coming down heavier now, soaking her hair even more. “Fight back, you fucking coward!” She shot another deadly hex in his direction, but he easily blocked it as well. 

“Finally, something you’re not good at.” He sneered, and raised his wand. “Sectumsempra.” He used Snape’s own curse against her. Hermione had only barely escaped its path before he shot another hex at her. She didn’t have time to register what it was until it was racing towards her. She didn’t move away as quickly as she needed to, the spell clipped the side of her face. 

Hermione didn’t remember hitting the ground. But the next thing she knew, she was lying in the mud, gasping for air. She reached up, gingerly touching where it had hit. There was a cut on the side of her face. Blood was running down her neck. Hermione only knew the wound was there, not because it was painful, but because she could feel the deep gap beneath her fingers. It didn’t hurt, there was only a throbbing numbness where she felt it under her hand. Her palm came back slick with blood. Blood and mud. 

Fitting.

She could hear her own pulse in her ears, like a runaway train. Faster, and faster still. Hermione blinked back rainwater and blood, unaware that she was currently pushing herself up off the ground. She was on her feet. Glaring at the figure opposite her. Her vision was red and blurry, her own blood was seeping into her eyes. But she was able to see Malfoy’s upright figure a few feet away. Walking towards her. Behind him, she could still make out his fathers limp body on the ground. 

She raised her wand. 

She wasn’t angry anymore. She wasn’t sad. Quite frankly, she wasn’t feeling anything. She straightened.

Malfoy seemed to pause.

Before she even knew her own intentions, the words left her: “Avada Kedavra.” The curse was no more than a whisper, but it was enough. The alleyway was doused in green light, the magic sizzled as it left the tip of her wand and came into contact with the rain. Malfoy shouted, but he was too late to stop it. The curse had already struck true. 

Lucius Malfoy was no longer unconscious; he was dead.

Hermione was forced back onto the ground as Malfoy’s fist hit her face, the impact knocked some sense back into her mind. She could hear again. She could feel the pouring rain on her face, washing away the dirt and blood. Stinging as it flushed through her cut. 

She blinked, her vision still clouded by blood and tears. She was on her back, the mud on her clothes weighing her down. There was no mistaking the sensation of Malfoy’s wand on her throat. It dug into her skin, so painfully that she thought he was going to draw blood. Lightning cracked in the sky, lighting up the narrow alley, and for the short moment that it lasted, she could see his face. 

There was no mercy in his grey eyes. 

There was no kindness. 

Hermione hadn’t expected anything less. He was - after all - a Malfoy. He had the same features as his father: blond hair, sharp jawline, even his sneer was the same. But he had his mother’s eyes: grey and unforgiving. Hermione had only met Narcissa a handful of times, but she was sure of her observation. 

In that single flash of lightning, Hermione thought she saw a tear. But in the rain, it was impossible to tell the difference. 

Malfoy kept her at wandpoint as he reached into his pocket, retrieving something that Hermione couldn’t look down to identify. He fiddled with it for no more than a second. She didn’t have to see it to know what it was, because once he began to turn it, she recognised the faint click that she had become accustomed to in her third year. 

Draco Malfoy had a time-turner. 

Hermione didn’t think before she reached up and grabbed his arm, attempting to stop him from successfully turning time back any more than one hour. One click, one hour. Two clicks, two hours. So far, she had only heard one. His elbow landed in her gut as he wrestled his hand away. 

She grappled with him, managing to seize the hand that held the time-turner. Malfoy pulled his hand easily from her grasp, her grip was slick from the rain. 

Click.

Hermione grabbed the sleeve of his robe and yanked his arm down, taking a hold of the cold metal device in his grasp. He didn’t let go. The two of them rolled in the mud, both attempting to take the time-turner from one other. 

Click. 

Once more Hermione had his wrist, she pried his fingers open to expose the time-turner. He yanked back. Mother Nature was not being kind, for the rain was in neither of their favours tonight. The moment he pulled back, the metal instrument flew from his grasp. 

Click. 

Click.

Click. 

Click. 

One after the other, click after click. The quiet clicking could barely be heard against the rain. Both Hermione and Malfoy froze. In the dark, clouded by rain, neither of them could see. The mud had grown watery, the alleyway was nothing more than an oversized puddle. The time-turner was still going, each faint click faster and faster than the last. It needed to be manually stopped. It was still going, racking up the hours. And neither of them could see it. 

Hermione and Malfoy scrambled up, desperate to stop the time-turner before it counted too many rotations. She was on her hands and knees, feeling the mud and water for the polished metal frame of the time-turner. Malfoy was doing the same. Neither of them cared how degrading the scene looked: on their hands and knees, searching for the product of their own idiocy. 

The clicking was nothing more than a steady tone. So fast that Hermione was sure that it would blow up. The sound was everywhere, it was not limited to one place. Malfoy was cursing, frantically raking the mud. Hermione was doing the same, trying to follow the sound of the steady clicking. It was almost useless. 

But then her fingers wrapped around something smooth. Metal. Rounded. She pulled it up from the mud and almost cried in relief. She stopped the time-turner, unsure how many hours had been added. It couldn’t be more than a few days, not when-

She stared down at it. Watching as it glitched and shook in her palm. Something was wrong. It wasn’t supposed to do that. She had used one just like this for most of her third year, and it had never acted like this. Hermione was too busy staring at it to realise that Malfoy had seen her. He knew she had found it. And he lunged. 

The moment he touched her skin, the turner dinged. Like a fucking microwave. It stopped twitching, it stopped shaking. 

There was only a second of silent peace before Malfoy managed to wrap his hand around the time-turner. And then the world was spinning, a blur of colours and shapes and textures. The rain swirled around them, elasticising like a whirlpool of elements. Hermione tried to pull away, to escape the time-turner’s clutches. She didn’t want to go to the past. If it was only for an hour, she wouldn’t care. But she didn’t know how many times that turner had spun.  

But then Hermione paused. 

Ron.

She could save Ron. 

She could prevent Ron from coming on the mission. She could prevent Lucius from finding him. She could prevent him from dying. She could even stop herself from torturing and killing Lucius Malfoy. 

But even as the time-turner spun around her, she had a feeling that she wouldn’t get a chance to prevent anything. 

The moment the world stopped spinning, Hermione felt a change in the air. Everything was still. Everything was dry. Hermione didn’t realise she had shut her eyes until she blinked. Sun streaming down onto her face. There was no rain, the ground beneath her was solid, dry, the red brick of the warehouse looked newer. There was no sign of the vines or moss that had covered the alley walls. She scrambled to her feet, still clutching the time-turner in her muddy hand. 

Her clothes were soaked. Blood and dirt stained her skin and outfit. 

Malfoy was on the ground beside her, lying on his back. Staring up at the clear, blue sky. His wand was grasped tightly in his left hand, knuckles white. Hermione staggered, suddenly dizzy and faint. 

She stared at the red bricks.

There was no sign of the vines or moss that had covered the alley walls. 

They were pre-war, she was sure of it. Maybe a few years before the Battle of Hogwarts. Before Haltham had been evacuated. She turned in a slow circle, her heart thundering in her chest. What year was it? 

She took a deep breath and looked down at the time-turner. It would only force them to be in the past for five hours. All she had to do was wait for five mere hours, and she could return home. And then she could use the time-turner to go back only a few hours to save Ron. 

Without sparing a glance at Malfoy, Hermione pocketed the time-turner and her wand and began to walk towards the exit of the alleyway. 

Chapter Text

August 26, 1952.

She stepped out into the road, spotting a few people roaming the streets. Two women walked down the sidewalk, both in Kitty Foyle dresses and carrying small purses. 

Hermione’s blood ran cold. 

In muggle Europe, Kitty Foyle dresses were mostly worn in the 1940s. Maybe the early 1950s. There was no way in Hell that the time-turner had swept them away to 1940s England; not when it had only been spinning for less than a minute. Unless… unless it was broken.

 She pushed down the growing dread in her throat and started down the sidewalk. Despite the beautiful weather, there were not many people out and about. She passed a charming man wearing dress pants and a knitted vest, no older than 35, he gave her a slightly concerned look as she approached. 

Slightly might be an understatement. 

“Excuse me, Sir.” She stopped him, pushing a lock of wet, loose hair behind her ear. “I fell into the river back there and seem to have lost my bearings. Can you point me in the direction of the nearest inn?”

His expression softened, but he still kept his distance. She didn’t blame him, she was covered in mud, blood, and she was drenched in water. “No inn, but there’s a church just half a kilometre up the road. St. Benedict’s. They should be able to help you.” He answered, his gaze quickly studied her face and clothes, the concern returning. “You have a nasty cut on the side of your face, how on earth did you manage that?”

“I was fishing with my brother on the bridge, the current pulled me into some rocks. I’ll be fine… I think.” Hermione touched the side of her face, it had grown horribly inflamed over the past few minutes. The blood hadn’t clotted yet, it was still running down her cheek. “Thank you.” She gave him a weak smile before she started back on her way. 

When she arrived at the church’s doors, the elderly pastor that answered hastily invited her inside once he saw her condition. She repeated the same story she had told the man on the sidewalk, and he took pity, offering her a warm shower, fresh clothes, and some newly-baked bread his wife had brought him for lunch.

As Hermione sat in the warm church, skin and hair clean, dry, in a pair of clothes that were two sizes too big, she watched the clock. Fresh bread and a glass of milk filled her empty stomach, and Father Robert - the pastor - tended to the gash on her face. He cleaned it with a damp cloth, then warned her as he dabbed it with alcohol. She hissed at the sting, knowing she would perform some healing charms once she had a moment of peace. She tamed the pain by focusing on the clock across the room. Counting each second. They had arrived at around 11:30, meaning she had about four and a half hours to go before she could go home. 

“You will need stitches, young lady.” Father Robert said, holding the cold, damp cloth against the wound. “And you may have a concussion.”

“Thank you. I don’t know how to repay your kindness.” She gave him a smile, but it felt fake. She was grateful, but she couldn’t bring herself to smile when Ron hadn’t been so fortunate.

“Do not worry yourself with that.” He stood, removing the cloth. When the cut did not bleed again, he placed the bloody fabric in the bowl of water at his side. “I will be right back.” He took the bowl and hobbled back down the aisle, turning out of sight. 

Hermione took the time-turner out of her pocket and sat back against the pew. She had rinsed it of any mud and dirt while she had been in the shower, now it was shiny and clean. It looked to be in fine condition, no visible problems, but she would soon test its serviceability once the five hours were up. It had acted weirdly before, shaking and glitching like it had been broken. Maybe that was why it brought them back so far - it was broken. 

She removed her wand from her pocket and pressed the tip to the edge of the cut on her face. “Vulnera Sanentur.” She muttered, closing her eyes as she felt the spell mend the two sides of the injury together. It was the spell Snape had used to heal Malfoy after Harry almost killed him in the boy’s lavatory during their sixth year. Hermione had found it very useful to heal any deep cut or wound quickly. 

But it would leave her with a scar. 

As she sat on the pew, she wondered if Malfoy was having a good time roaming the streets of this little Muggle town. It must be a culture shock for him, all the differences between the two worlds. Maybe he was still sitting in that alleyway, drenched and bloody. Or maybe he got hit by a car while attempting to cross the road. 

Hermione smiled at the last thought. 

Him dying would solve a lot of her current problems.

Almost all of them. 

At that moment, the church doors blew open. Hermione was instantly on her feet, spinning to face the person who had forced them open. She locked eyes with Draco Malfoy, still clothed in his dirty robes. 

Nope. He hadn’t been hit by a car.

“You fucking bitch.” Malfoy advanced quickly. Hermione found herself stumbling backwards in a haste effort to keep the distance between them. She pulled her wand, but Malfoy was faster. “Expelliarmus.” 

Hermione swore as her wand flew from her hand. To say she was confused would be a drastic understatement. He had been near calm when she had left the alley, just staring at the blue sky. He hadn’t attacked her the moment they landed in the past, it was unexpected that he just sat down and let her leave. 

But now… now he had snapped out of his reverie, and he was out for blood. She could see it in his eyes. It was the one thing he failed to keep hidden by occlumency: his rage. Hermione’s back hit the wall and she panicked as he grew closer. She had nowhere to go. All exits were blocked. She closed her eyes and looked away as he brought his wand to her throat. 

“Do you have any idea what year it is?” He asked, but it was clearly rhetorical. She didn’t know. He did. And the answer made him furious. “Do you understand what you just did? Messing with the time-turner like that?”

“This isn’t my fault.” She lied. It was. She had grabbed his wrist, she had caused him to lose his grip on the time-turner. And it was her fault that it counted back so many hours. “It’s fine. It’ll send us back in a few hours.”

He laughed then. Disbelief. Nervousness. She didn’t know. But all she knew was that he was laughing and she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed over something she didn’t know she did. His other hand came up to grasp her throat. He forced her to look up at him. Eventually, he spoke. “No,” he said,” it won’t.”

Hermione felt her blood go cold. “What?”

“It is not sending us back, Granger.” All the humour had vanished from his face. “This,” he reached into her pocket and pulled out the time-turner, holding it up for her to see. “This is not a normal time-turner. It isn’t meant to send us back after five hours, that’s not how it was designed. It only brings us to the past.” He hissed. “It had a sister, the one that could bring us back to the future. And that one is on my father’s body.”

Hermione blinked, the gravity of their situation crashing down on her. 

“What year is it, Malfoy?” She whispered. 

He had to look away, lowering his wand. “It wasn’t supposed to bring us back this far.” He stepped away from her, running his fingers through his hair. “I only meant for it to go back an hour.” He muttered, stopping a few feet away. “One fucking hour, Granger. That’s all I wanted. One Goddamn hour.”

The realisation hit Hermione like a bus. 

All he had wanted to do was bring his father back. 

One hour and he would have brought Ron back as well. But she had fucked it up, she had assumed he was trying to go back longer, long enough to-. 

“What fucking year is it, Malfoy.” She repeated her question, her eyes following him as he paced in front of her. 

“1952.” 

Fuck. He turned to her, and she realised that she must have spoken that word out loud. “How do you know?” She asked him.

“It was on a newspaper in the alley. It’s August 26, 1952.” He scowled. “This is on you, Granger.” He glared at her. “I wouldn’t have had to use the time-turner in the first place if you hadn’t killed my father.”

Hermione blinked, taken back by his sudden outburst.  “I had every right to kill him.”

Malfoy shook his head in disbelief. “What has he ever done to you-”

“Malfoy-”

“You crucioed him!” He took a step towards her, she pressed herself further back into the wall. “You tortured him and you stole his mind. And then you murdered him while he was unconscious, so don’t tell me that you had any right to-”

“He killed Ron!” Hermione practically shouted, planting both hands on Malfoy’s chest and pushing him away from her. The rage brewing in her body was unnatural. She almost laughed at the expression on Malfoy’s face. “Your father tortured and killed him and I didn’t get there in time. So don’t you dare tell me that I had no right.” She was too close to him for her comfort, her chest rose and fell with each heavy breath as she stared up at him. “An eye for an eye, Malfoy.” She said quietly. “A life for a life.”

For a moment, he just stared. “No.” He said. “You’re mistaken. My father wouldn’t-”

Hermione just scoffed. “Oh, he would. And he did.” She stepped away from the wall, Malfoy didn’t move to stop her. “I found him standing over Ron’s body, grinning like a bastard.” She took a breath, reminding herself of their current predicament. “But that does not take precedence, we have a larger problem at hand. We are stuck in 1952, neither Ron nor your father have even been conceived yet, it’s silly wasting our time over people that do not exist. We need to get back to 1999 before we alter the course of history.” 

“We only have one of the two time-turners.” He argued. 

“Then we’ll have to find the second one.” She proposed, Malfoy just scoffed. “Where did you get them?”

“They don’t exist yet, Granger. We made them last year.”

Hermione frowned. Well, that makes things a whole lot more complicated. She walked back to her spot on the church pew, and sat back down, placing her head in her hands. “Can you make another one?”

He bit out a sharp laugh. “Me? No.” He found this very amusing. “Theo figured out how to create them, I was merely the tester. I’m flattered, but I’m not that intelligent, Granger.”

She looked up at him. “Theodore Nott?”

“Who else?”

She shut her eyes, ignoring the pounding behind her eyes. They were stuck here, in the past. With a time-turner that could only bring them farther back in history. And the one they needed was in 1999, on Lucius Malfoy’s dead body. 

Hermione had heard that Theodore Nott was the mastermind of the Dark Lord’s forces. Creating new, deadly spells, and weapons of mass destruction. He was the reason the Order’s forces were depleting. And quickly, at that. 

But she couldn’t worry about that now. 

The war didn’t exist yet. 

The name Harry Potter was nothing more than a fraction of her memory, not yet the most famous child in wizarding history. She hadn’t been born yet. And Tom Riddle had not yet become Voldemort. 

Tom Riddle. 

Hermione’s head snapped up. 

Where would Tom Riddle be in 1952. Surely he wouldn't be known as Voldemort yet. He was nothing more than a boy, probably working at Borgin and Burkes. In 1952, Dumbledore was a professor, and it was known that McGonagall had been attending Hogwarts at the same time as Tom Riddle. She had surely graduated by now. At the thought of McGonagall, an idea came to Hermione.

For the first time since she had arrived in 1952, she felt hope. 

In her third year, McGonagall had given Hermione a time-turner so she could attend more classes than her schedule allowed. It was a ministry time-turner, given to the school for reasons unknown to Hermione. She didn’t know when Hogwarts had received the time-turner. 

What if they had it now?

A pair of footsteps returning into the room stole Hermione’s attention, and she turned to see Father Robert. She instantly covered her cheek. “Who’s this?” He inquired, blinking at Malfoy. He was carrying a glass of water and a clean cloth. In the corner of her eyes, Hermione caught Malfoy’s movement as he pocketed the time-turner.

“Father Robert,” she said, “this is my brother, Henry.” She sent a pointed look in Malfoy’s direction. “Henry, this is Father Robert.” Malfoy glared at her, his stare making her want to crawl into a hole and die. Father Robert hummed his response, looking between Hermione’s darker hair, and Malfoy’s blond. “He’s adopted.” She concluded.

“Ah, I see.” Father Robert nodded, holding out the water and damp cloth for Hermione. She did her best to hide the healed cut on her face, instantly placing the cold fabric over the irritated scar. 

She handed the water to Malfoy, acting as any caring sister would. She couldn’t care less if he died from dehydration, but they were in front of Father Robert. Malfoy took it, but he didn’t look happy as he brought the glass to his lips and took a sip. 

Hermione stood, flattening out the jumper Father Robert had gifted her, he had said: don’t worry about bringing it back, my wife won’t even know it’s missing. She felt guilty taking so much from him; food, water, clothes. But she was incredibly appreciative. “Thank you again for everything.” Hermione said. “I will be forever grateful for your hospitality.” 

“No worries, dear.” He smiled, glancing at Malfoy once he finished the water. Malfoy handed the glass back to him. 

“Thank you.” Malfoy said, his jaw tight. “For the water.” 

Hermione cleared her throat. “Mum must be worried sick by now, we were supposed to be home hours ago.” She lied, looking at Malfoy, then once more to Father Robert. “We best be getting on our way,” she took Malfoy by the elbow, “thank you, Father Robert. For everything.” She smiled as she and Malfoy turned towards the door. “And tell your wife that the bread was delicious, I might just fall into another river just to have an excuse to get more.” She winked at him. 

He laughed. “I’ll be sure to tell her. Take care now.” He waved as the two of them came up to the doors. Hermione waved back, then stepped into the sunlight along with Malfoy. Once the doors shut, she dropped her cheerful facade and instantly let go of his arm. 

“My life would be so much easier if you just got hit by a car.” She muttered, picking up her pace as they set down the street. Away from Haltham, and hopefully towards the nearest train station.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance.” He grit, Hermione almost didn’t hear him. He wasn’t matching her quick pace, and Hermione was silently grateful. His presence was like a weight. Dragging her down and ruining her mood. 

“Yes. You should have.” 

For a moment, he was quiet. “Careful, Granger, that ship hasn’t completely sailed yet.”

“Is that a threat?” She turned, walking backwards so she could face him. “Too bad you’re mistaken. That ship sailed the moment you told me that the time-turner that we need is back in 1999.” She sneered. “You can’t get me home. You’re just deadweight.”

“Deadweight?”

She stopped walking. “Hear this, Malfoy: I don’t need you, I could kill you right now and I could still get back home just fine. But you?” She laughed. “You need me.”

“Why would I need you?” His lip curled in disgust. 

Hermione smiled. “Because I know how to bring us home.”

Chapter Text

August 26, 1952.

A few hours later, Hermione had successfully stolen £37. She had already spent some of it on an ice cream cone for herself, and the rest was enough money to buy two middle-class tickets to London, England.

 Malfoy, however, remained empty handed.

 He hadn’t spoken to her at all during the four hour walk to the Metheringham Station. She was thankful. That last thing she wanted to hear was his voice. 

“Two tickets to London, please.” She handed the £35 over the counter, and the man on the other side picked it up, sliding her back two paper train tickets. And then Hermione was on her way, she didn’t look back to make sure that Malfoy was following. She didn’t care. But, unfortunately, she could hear the heel of his dragonskin boots hitting the stone floor behind her. They boarded the train, she took a window seat, and Malfoy sat in the compartment on the other side of the aisle. 

After half an hour, the train jolted forward, and they were beginning their journey to London. 

Another hour passed, and Hermione had solidified her plan to retrieve the time-turner. The first day of school was on September 1st, which was in four days. She would take the Hogwarts Express like every other returning student, and poise as a new 7th year. She would find Dumbledore or McGonagall and inform them of her predicament. They would be able to help her. And Malfoy… she didn’t know what she would do with him. If she brought him, he would just drag her down and make her life a living hell. But she didn’t trust him anywhere else. 

They had to keep their presence on the down-low, and if there was one thing Malfoy was good at, it was being the centre of attention. He had thrived during their time at Hogwarts, and if she brought him back there she was certain that he would do the same again. 

She couldn’t just leave him in muggle London, that would be a recipe for disaster. The last thing she wanted was to hear that he had killed some innocent muggle because they had messed up his coffee order. 

Hermione had no choice but to bring him along. 

A little less than an hour later, Hermione had dozed off three times; each time her sixth sense had jolted her awake. But contrary to her body’s reaction, when she looked around she found that no one was watching her. Malfoy was staring menacingly at the wall, a pained look on his face. Like he was being tortured by just sitting there. Hermione had just noticed that he had taken off his robes at some point along the two hour trip, now he was dressed in fighting leathers, daggers strapped to the fitted dragonscale armour on his torso. 

Shit.

“Malfoy.” she hissed, glancing around the train compartment. “Put your fucking robes back on.” 

He glanced over. “I’m good.”

“No. No you’re not. You can’t carry knives around in the open, that’s a big no-no in the muggle world.” She stood and walked into his compartment, grabbing his dried robes from where they were draped on top of the table. He had clearly used a drying spell, along with a cleaning charm on both himself and his clothes. “Put it on. Now.”

“Put it down, Granger.” His tone was warning, but Hermione didn’t care. Sudden interest spiked her, and she turned the black cloak over, searching for the embroidered rank patch on the left shoulder. She hadn’t cared to look for it before, nor had she even thought to. But she had decided that she needed to know how high-up Malfoy was in the Dark Lord’s army. If he was high enough to be a threat to her and the Order, she might just slit his throat in his sleep. 

An honourless muggle death. 

A muggle death, for a pureblood wizard. 

There was nothing more fitting.

She turned the fabric in her hands, Malfoy was making no physical attempt to stop her. “Granger.” He warned. “Put my robes down.”

“Ask nicely, and maybe I’ll consider.” She finally found the stitching she was looking for: four small stars in the shape of a diamond, and above it two crossed swords. A mixture of the American and Canadian military ranks. But she was familiar with both to know what it meant. 

Hermione stopped breathing. 

He was a fucking General.

The General.

Hermione pulled her eyes from the robe and slowly looked up at Malfoy. His face was blank, but his eyes were grinning, sparkling. “Surprised, Granger?”

“A General, really?” She shook her head, despite knowing it was true. He was one of the most powerful ranks in the Dark Lord’s army, only second to the Dark Lord himself. It had only been a year since the Battle of Hogwarts, how had he climbed the ranks that fast? “How? You only got your mark in year 6.”

“Perseverance.”

“Stop being vague. Answer the question.”

He leaned back, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I have become very good at killing people, Granger. It comes in the job description. You - of all people - shouldn’t be surprised.”

“It has only been two years.”

“I do what I am told.” Malfoy said plainly. “It just so happens that I have a talent for getting rid of people; muggles and blood-traitors and purebloods alike.” A pause. “Equality, Granger. That’s what this world has come to.”

“That’s how you justify killing? Equality?”

He tilted his head, enjoying this all too much. “Would you rather me just kill muggles? How politically incorrect of you, Granger. Your mother would be disappointed.”

Hermione scowled. “I would rather you not kill at all.”

“This is a war. People die. People kill. And from what I’ve seen, you have a knack for it just as I do.” 

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know you’ve been pushing to get Kingsley to allow members of the Order to use the Unforgivables. I know that if you have used all three yourself. And I know that you had no problem torturing, commanding, and killing my father in that alley. We are the same, you and I.”

Hermione slowly placed the black cloak back down. She was watching Malfoy with disbelief in her eyes, maybe it would be in her best interest if she did kill him. She didn’t care if that made her as bad as him, she only cared that he would rot in hell. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the table. “How many people have you killed, Malfoy?”

At that, he smiled. “I stopped keeping track after 100 .”

He was lying. She could tell by the way his eyes relaxed, a tell-tale sign of his occumancy walls sliding into place. Hermione let her lip upturn into a disgusted sneer. “I guess I’ll have to catch up then.” She stared at him for a moment longer, then straightened. “Put the cloak on. Don’t make me ask you again.” 

Oh God. She sounded like a mom.

“Or what, Granger?” He challenged.

Hermione’s brows narrowed, surprised by his boldness. Many things popped into her mind, but she pushed the darkest of thoughts away immediately. “I’ll leave that up to your imagination.” She said with a kind smile. 

They had half an hour to go until they arrived in London, as soon as Hermione sat back down in her seat, Malfoy was putting his robes back on. Smart boy- no, he was a man now. He was still her age, but he was no longer an egotistical little boy, calling her slurs in the hallway and glaring at her in class. 

The truth was that he was terrifying. A General in the Dark Lord’s forces, an esteemed man and feared by the Order. They had heard stories of Voldemort’s General, the unknown Death Eater that swept through the battlefield and cut down everyone in his path. He wore a mask most times, concealing his identity to everyone but his own forces, but sometimes he walked onto the battlefield without. 

Hermione should have made the connection sooner, because she knew that - without fail - whenever either of them were seen on the battlefield, every Order member died. Everyone except for one. One person, left alive to retell the horrors that they saw during the battle, to instil fear in the hearts of the Order with stories of the Dark Lord’s General. It was genius, if you really thought about it. Genius but disgusting. 

Hundreds of soldiers. Killed by his hand. 

And it was then that Hermione decided that Draco Malfoy would never make it back to 1999. He was far too dangerous to be left alive. 

Hermione glanced over at him, only to find that he was already staring at her. As if he could read her mind. Her occlumency shields were intact, he made no efforts to enter her mind. Surely, he was thinking the exact same thing about her. Both were a threat to the other’s existence, she had openly threatened to kill him - many times. And if there was one thing Malfoy valued more than his title, it was his life. 

If killing her meant he would survive, he wouldn’t even think about it. He had demonstrated that when he attempted to split her in two with the severing charm in the alley. And he had almost succeeded, giving her a nasty scar in the process. 

The train began to slow, and Hermione stood, locking eyes with Malfoy as she walked past him and towards the exit. She felt his gaze on her back as she waited for the train to stop completely; she didn’t wait for the doors to open. With one swift flick of her wand, the door unlocked and she stepped out onto the platform. 

Hermione was very familiar with the London Station, for years before she even knew Hogwarts existed, she and her parents would come to catch a train to her grandparents. Today, it was busy with both muggles and wizards alike.

She walked only until no one could see her, stopping in a tiny alcove, and then she apparated directly to Diagon Alley. 

She had 3 things to do: find new clothes, find food, and go to the bookstore. She stopped by a handful of stores, picking and choosing suitable clothing for her stay in 1952. She bought most things with the galleons she stole from unknowing wizards and witches, classic pick-pocket style. She discreetly charmed a bag to hold as much as she wanted, and swiftly emptied her haul inside of it. Hermione paid for the bag, and only the bag, and then she set out to find dinner. 

She didn’t feel bad for stealing from the old man at the clothing shop, not when he had customers crowding every inch of his store. He would make lots of money today, he wouldn’t even notice the missing jumpers and pants. 

Hermione found a nice little restaurant and ordered the most delicious looking thing on the menu, regardless of the price. While she was waiting for her food to arrive, she went to the washroom to change into one of her new outfits - a nice grey skirt and a white blouse. A little modern, but not harmful. 

As she dressed, she couldn’t help but think about her predicament. The time they had travelled back to was convenient - it was a year that Tom Riddle was still lurking around London. Hermione pushed the idea of finding him out of her mind. She shouldn’t. That would alter the path of time too much - killing Tom Riddle whilst he was still a man would stop him from becoming Voldemort, it would stop him from killing Harry’s parents, and it would stop him from starting a war. 

Really, it would make the future better in every way. 

But Hermione had no way of knowing the exact outcome. Harry would not be known as the-boy-who-lived, he would not be famous. Which in turn meant that there was a great chance that they might not even become friends, and maybe some people she knew would not even exist anymore. Hermione couldn’t even fathom the extent of change she would have to endure once she made it back to 1999. 

She packed up the clothes that Father Robert had given her and walked out of the stall, quickly washing her hands before returning to the main restaurant. 

Almost instantly, she wished she had stayed inside the washroom. Sitting at her table, digging into her warm plate of food, was none other than Draco Malfoy. Hermione stormed over and snatched the plate out from in front of him, placing it on the other side of the table and crossing her arms. “What the fuck, Malfoy?” She exclaimed. 

“What?” He swallowed the bite of food he had been chewing and looked up at her. “I was eating that.”

“Yeah? Well it’s my food. Fuck off.” Hermione sat down and stole the fork from his hand. “Order your own, for Christ’s sake.”

“For who’s sake?”

Hermione paused, glancing up. “Christ. You know, like Jesus Christ?”

Malfoy blinked. 

“Holy fuck.” She shook her head and scoffed, stabbing a piece of seasoned chicken with her fork. She made no move to elaborate. “Why are you here?”

He leaned back. “Why are you here, Granger?”

“Clothes. Food. Books.” She said in between her chewing. “You should go get some too.” She looked him up and down, eyeing his dark robes. “Unless you want to walk into Hogwarts looking like a depressed mass murderer.”

“I am a mass murderer.”

Hermione scowled. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” He raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather me not be a mass murderer?” 

Hermione was mid-chew. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and glanced up at him. “Yes, actually. If you were a normal wizard, then this,” she gestured between them, “would be a whole lot easier.”

“And what is ‘this,’ Granger?”

She stared at him. “Hell. This is hell.” He watched her continue to eat with a tight jaw, his arms folded across his chest. He only gave her the gift of silence for a few minutes.

“Why are we going to Hogwarts?” He asked. 

Hermione almost choked on her food at the sound of his voice, only then recalling that she never told him her plan. She recovered, placing her fork down on the plate. “We’re going to Hogwarts to steal a time-turner.” He stayed silent, so Hermione continued. “McGonagall gave me a time-turner in third year so I could take more classes than my schedule allowed. It was given to Hogwarts as a gift from the Ministry, and I’m going to use it to bring us back to the future.”

Us. 

There was no “us,” only her. 

But Hermione knew that at some point, as much as she hated it, Malfoy would be needed. Whether it was for his intimidating nature or his Slytherin charm, his skills would inevitably come in handy. But once she got her hands on the time-turner, she would slit his throat and return back to 1999, leaving him to decay in some secluded edge of the Forbidden Forest. But, if anything, Hermione was certain that he was currently planning the exact same thing for her.

She couldn’t let him kill her. 

That would be a real shot to her pride.

Somehow, she wasn’t sure exactly how, Hermione had to earn his trust. Give him a reason not to kill her, at least not before she got back home. She had to play nice. For now. She doubted he could be seduced, especially not by her. That was off the table.

She would have to become his friend.

So, in an act of fake kindness, she slid her plate in front of him. “Eat.” She nodded at the half-empty plate of food, rising from her seat. “I can hear your stomach from here. While you do that, I’ll go and get you some clothes.”

He hummed his response, turning his attention to the food in front of him. He didn’t speak again, instead using the fork to push the pieces of chicken around the plate. Hermione just shook her head and walked out of the restaurant, setting off to finish her shopping.

Chapter Text

August 26, 1952.

Malfoy looked considerably less threatening in normal clothes, not at all like the Dark Lord’s General. Black pants, black dress shirt - he looked less threatening and most definitely more handsome. Hermione almost forgot the version of Malfoy that had killed her friends. Almost. She couldn’t get past the hardened look in his grey eyes, as if he had seen too much for someone his age. 

Who was she kidding? Anything he could have ‘seen’ would have been by virtue of his own hand. He was 19, only just of the legal drinking age, and his actions had spilled more blood than years he had been alive. Hundreds of people, their lives cut short all because he was merely ‘good at his job.’

In only one year, he had killed more people than she even knew. 

As Hermione looked at him, decked out in normal clothing like he was a normal man, she couldn’t help but be disgusted. She was usually disgusted when she was in his presence.

But she was trying to be nice to him. 

So she didn’t say anything as they walked unsuspiciously out of the men’s clothing store. The store keeper didn’t even glance their way, despite his merchandise being worn by Malfoy. 

“It’s the 26th today, school starts in a few days. We’re going to stay the night, then floo to Platform 9 3/4 and then take the train into Hogwarts.” Hermione paused, turning to face Malfoy. “Headmaster Dippet does not know that we are coming, so the less people we interact with, the better. Try to blend in, don’t get yourself into trouble. Don’t make friends. Do not bully any poor first years. And do not kill anyone. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, like I was planning on murdering teenagers.” Malfoy sneered, his lip curling. “I only kill when I have to, Granger. Contrary to what you may believe, I take no joy from it. So don’t worry your pretty little head about my future eventualities and focus your efforts on getting me home.”

Hermione scowled at him, then continued walking. He followed, just a step behind her. “Your name will be Anakin Bradley, a halfblood boy sorted into Slytherin. Your mother was a witch herself, but died when you were young. Your father works as a doctor in muggle London.” Hermione elaborates, not giving Malfoy time to complain. “My name will be Emmaline Falthorne, also a halfblood and Slytherin. My mother works as a seamstress in muggle Edinburgh, and my father recently retired from his job in the Ministry. None of this is up for debate, Malfoy.”

And to Hermione’s surprise, Malfoy stayed silent. She only barely heard him mutter a few profanities directed to either her or Merlin. But he didn’t seem to catch onto the origins of his false name. Anakin. Hermione smiled to herself; clearly this poor boy hadn’t watched Star Wars. 

“And once we get to Hogwarts, where are we going to find this time-turner of yours, Granger?”

“That information is on a need-to-know basis.”

“Cunt.” He muttered. In truth, Hermione had no clue where the time-turner was. She was 90% sure it was in Hogwarts, somewhere. Maybe. Hopefully. 

Once they reached the inn, Hermione walked up to the front desk. “Two rooms please. Singles.” She smiled sweetly at the witch sitting behind it, a book in hand. 

“Sure thing.” The witch - Shirley, was what her name tag read - turned to the wall of keys behind her and handed Hermione two. “Each room will be 2 galleons.” 

“Perfect.” Hermione reached into her pocket and retrieved a handful of gold coins, but she hesitated before sliding them over the counter. “Actually, just one room will do.” She said to the witch, sliding only two coins over. The lady nodded and handed Hermione a single key. 

The witch gave them directions to the room; two floors up, about halfway down the hall. And Hermione and Malfoy were off. He only spoke once they were out of earshot. “One room, really?” He exclaimed from behind her, when she didn’t reply he grabbed her shoulder and forced her to stop walking. He pushed her into the wall, Hermione glanced around to make sure they were alone in the stairwell. “What are you playing at, Granger?” 

“Get your filthy hands off me.” She tried to push him off of her, but he held strong. “I am not letting you out of my sight, I don’t trust you.”

“Congradu-fucking-lations. Do you want a prize?” He mocked her. “I know you don’t trust me, that doesn’t explain why you want to sleep next to me.”

“Oh, I’m just swooning at the thought. It’s not every day that a witch gets to sleep with the famous Draco Malfoy.” She exaggerated. He only stared at her, unamused by her sarcasm. “What part of ‘I am not letting you out of my sight’ do you not understand?”

His gaze searched her face for a moment before he roughly released her and continued ascending the stairs. She followed him. 

Surely Malfoy was no more comfortable than she was to be sleeping in such close proximity. She understood his concern, she had no reason to keep him alive - she didn’t need him. And she had already shown her willingness to kill his father. He, certainly, was no different. 

Hermione unlocked the door, she did not spare Malfoy a second glance before she stepped inside the room. She dropped her bag on the bed and moved straight for the nightside table, she pulled the drawer open. Perfect. She pulled out the pack of cigarettes, silently praising her luck. She had read somewhere that inns in the 1950s left a pack in each of their rooms for the guests. God knew she needed one. With the room key in hand, she turned to leave. 

“I’m going for a smoke.” She announced to Malfoy. He watched her leave without a word. She made it to the alleyway beside the inn and lit the cigarette with her wand. She let her back hit the wall as she inhaled. 

Fuck. 

Holy fuck. 

What had she gotten herself into?

She closed her eyes. This had all started when she had tried to kill Lucius Malfoy, and then his son, and after that she had walked for four hours, taken a three hour train ride, gone shopping in Diagon Alley, and picked out clothes for none other than Draco Malfoy. 

It had been dusk when she and Malfoy had duelled. But when they had arrived in the past it was just after noon. She should have been in bed hours ago - were they in 1999. She just wanted to sleep, wake up, and then find that time-turner before she lost all morality and killed Malfoy.

Hermione brought the cigarette back up to her lips, then exhaled. The dim streetlights cast rays through the smoke, she watched as it dissipated into the darkness beyond her. 

Before the war, she had been very good at organising her thoughts and creating plans. Now, not so much. She had gotten too used to taking orders, not thinking them up. Before now, she hadn’t realised the toll it had taken on her. She had unknowingly traded her thinking skills for the more useful things in war; such as fighting and duelling. 

Hermione wasn’t the most skilled dueller, but she could get by. She could last in a duel with Malfoy, but she would not win. Her favoured style was more close combat fighting: knives, handguns, etcetera. Much easier to hide from the Ministry than magic. Her higher-ups knew every spell she cast and every person she cast it on. With a wand she had to be careful, but with a gun? She could do whatever she wanted. 

She already had. No one knew about it, save for one person. Two, maybe.

Hermione had killed before Lucius. 

Kingsley didn’t know about it. Neither did Harry, nor Ron. Only Ginny was there when she had murdered the 4 Death Eaters last year. She didn’t know who they were. 4 masked, faceless men. And one woman. 

The woman managed to slip out of Hermione’s reach before the bullet hit her, meaning only 1 out of 5 Death Eaters escaped alive. Since then, Hermione had noticed a shift in the battles - how the Death Eaters tended to stay clear of her unless facing her was unavoidable. 

The Fallen Angel, they called her. 

It was fitting, really. It was a much better nickname than the ones she had in the past: The Golden Girl. Gryffindor's Princess. Harry Potter’s Whore. And on, and on. 

Quite frankly, Hermione was sick of all of her labels. They had all pinned her alongside someone else - she was only the Golden Girl because she was a member of the Golden Trio, she was only Gryffindor's Princess because she had been a member of the Gryffindor house, and Harry Potter’s Whore was self explanatory. 

She had earned the nickname The Fallen Angel. Because that’s what she was. She wasn’t a princess, or a girl made of gold, nor was she Harry Potter’s whore. She used to be an angel, a goody-two-shoes who did her homework and stayed at the top of her class. But then the war started. And she hurt people. She killed people. 

And suddenly, she wasn’t an angel anymore. 

She continued to watch the shadows, lost in her own thoughts when the sound of voices caught her attention. She looked towards the entrance of the alleyway, watching three figures come into view. Drunk men. Hermione scoffed quietly before bringing the cigarette back up to her lips. The motion caught the attention of one of the men. 

“Hey!” He called, either to Hermione herself or his friends. She glanced up. At first it was only the one man, then his friends came back into view. Hermione’s brows narrowed, unsure of their intentions. The first man approached her. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing around here?” He swayed slightly. 

“Just out for a smoke.” She answered, her hand wrapping around her wand. 

“That’s a shame.” The second man frowned. “You’re not like…” he made a gesture towards her. Hermione knew exactly what he was insinuating. 

She shook her head. “Try Knockturn Alley.” She straightened when the men didn’t leave, giving a dismissive wave of her hand. “Fuck off, respectfully.” 

 “Strong words for a lady.”

She tossed her cigarette onto the ground, putting it out with the toe of her boot. One of the men stepped towards her. “I’m not looking for trouble, guys.”

“Neither are we.” The first one spoke again, suddenly all three were advancing on her. “We’d make it enjoyable for you, no need to fret.” 

Hermione stepped back. “I’m not interested.”

One man pulled out his wand. Hermione raised hers in return. He frowned. “Don’t be like that, lass, we won’t hurt you.”

“Gentlemen.” The voice came from behind Hermione, she didn’t risk turning around to see who it belonged to. “She already told you to fuck off, don’t overstay your welcome.” She watched as the three men shared a look, then they pocketed their wands and turned. Once they were out of sight, Hermione turned to face her savior. He had clearly entered the alley through the other entrance that backed Knockturn Alley. 

She did not stow her wand. 

“I did not need to be saved.” She crossed her arms, watching his shadow move closer. He stopped a few feet away, still concealed in darkness. 

“That is a strange way of saying thank you.”

Hermione scowled at him. “I will not be thanking you for something I did not ask you to do.” She knew he was smiling, even in the dark she could feel his ego radiating off of him. “Would you thank me if I insulted you by interfering with a situation you very clearly had under control?” 

“You consider that under control?”

Hermione stared at him. “Did I scream for help? No. If I thought I was in danger I would have made a larger effort to deter them. If I were a man would you have interfered?”

He seemed to ponder her question for a moment. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I simply do not care what men do to other men. Men can defend themselves-”

“And women cannot?” Hermione interrupted.

He frowned. “No. You are putting words into my mouth. I was going to say that a three-on-one is an unfair fight, and that if you were not capable of deterring them then I would rather interfere than stand by and watch.”

Hermione blinked. “That is a good point.” She thought about his words. In theory, he was correct. She would rather him interfere should it be any other woman, just because she was capable does not mean he shouldn’t interfere for anyone else. “You are correct, I apologize. Thank you."

He seemed surprised. “You’re welcome.”

Hermione took another cigarette out of the pack, lighting it with the tips of her middle and index fingers. A cool trick she had learned while on the run with Harry and Ron. She glanced up to find the man still standing there. She offered him the pack. “Want one?” She asked, her own cigarette still between her lips. 

He took one, leaning forward to let her light it with her fingers. Hermione complied, tucking the pack back into her pocket as she brought her flame up to the cigarette at his lips. With the warm glow from her flame she was finally able to study his features. He was a young man, she had been able to guess that by his voice alone. Older than her for sure, but likely younger than 30. The dim flame did not give her good lighting to examine his features in depth. 

He straightened, her flame extinguished and once more brought them into darkness. He exhaled, glancing back towards the end of the alley he came from. “What can I call you?” He asked after a moment. 

“Hermione-” she paused, silently cursing herself for saying her real name. She was smarter than this. “You can call me Hermione.” She repeated. He couldn’t do much without a last name. 

He hummed in response. “Shakespeare, yes?”

She stared at him. “Yes, actually. How do you know that?” She asked, it was unusual for a wizard to know of Shakespeare. 

“Is it a crime to be cultured?”

“Not at all, I’m impressed. Many in the wizarding world are unfamiliar with his work, with him being a muggle and all that.”

“Are you a fan?” He asked carefully.

Hermione nodded, her interest perked up. “I am. My dad is to blame for that, he was also a big fan.” She gestured to herself. “I’m living proof of that.”

The man chuckled as he took another draw of his cigarette. “Which of his works are your favourite? If it’s a good one I might be inclined to stay a while longer.”

“The one that I read over and over as a kid was Othello, but I think that my all time favourite would have to be the Tempest." She enjoyed the simple conversation, even if it was with a complete stranger. It was so… easy. She let the stress of her current situation slip away. “Do my choices satisfy you?”

“They do, actually. I read the Tempest so much at the- at home that I ended up convincing my friends that I was Antonio reincarnated.”

“Antonio?” Hermione laughed. “You do realize that you’re not supposed to like him, right?”

“No one told a ten year old boy that, I just thought he was cool.” The man said with a shrug. “He lost to his brother, but his brother was stupid enough to let him live. If the play continued I’m certain that Antonio would have successfully overthrown him again.”

“I agree that letting him live was stupid, but I think Prospero would have stayed on the throne.” She tapped some ash from her cigarette, watching as the breeze carried it away. “The good guys always win in fiction.” She smirked.

“That is often the case, isn’t it?”

At that moment, the sound of gravel crunching behind her made Hermione turn. Despite not being able to see his face, she knew it was Malfoy by the way he walked. He was moving towards her with a purpose, she felt her new friend shift so he was beside her. Malfoy did not bother to look at the man before he addressed her. “Let’s go. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

Hermione glanced up at the dark haired man beside her, Malfoy seemed to be making a point of not looking at him. 

“You are not my keeper, Draco.” She snapped. First names only until they got to Hogwarts. She had already fucked up and used hers, might as well damn him as well. He made the choice to grab her arm and the man stepped forward. Malfoy let go instantly and finally looked at him. Hermione pulled her protector back gently, not wanting this to escalate any farther. “It’s fine.” She said, moving between them. “It is getting late. Thank you for the conversation.” Malfoy’s grip was back on her bicep as he pulled her away. “Goodnight.” She said with a smile, the man only inclined his head in response.

Chapter Text

August 27, 1952

“What the fuck are you doing?” Malfoy hissed as he led her out of the alley, he glanced back once before pulling her back into the building. She didn’t answer him until they were back in the room. 

“You are not my boyfriend, Malfoy.” She slammed the door shut. He was on her half a second later. Her back hit the door with a loud thud and he held her by the neck. “What the fuck-”

“Do you have any idea who that was?” He hissed. Hermione had no answer for him. “Granger, you dumb cunt-” his head whipped to the side as she slapped him. Slowly, he turned back towards her. “Do that again, I dare you.” 

“Try me.”

He laughed then, it was pure disbelief. “You should be thanking me-”

“For what!? It’s not like you saved me. Get off your fucking highhorse-”

“Granger-” He slammed her head against the wall. She gasped as white hot pain engulfed her. He gave her no time to recover before he spoke once more. “Either you’ve gotten dumber over the years or you’ve always been stupid, quite frankly I don’t care which it is but clearly one is the truth. That was Tom Riddle, for fuck’s sake.”

Hermione felt herself stiffen. 

“What the fuck did you say to him?”

“I- I told him off for being sexist, then we talked about Shakespeare.” She struggled against Malfoy’s grip. “I gave him a cigarette, that’s it.” 

His grip tightened considerably, right when Hermione thought she would pass out, he let go. She slumped against the door, gasping. “What did he tell you?” Malfoy pressed. 

“His favourite play is the Tempest, he wanted to be Antonio when he was a kid.” She rubbed her throat. “Nothing more.” 

“What the fuck.” Malfoy turned, running a hand through his hair. He turned to look at her. “Did he know who you were?” 

“He asked for my name and that’s it. I didn’t give him my last name.” 

“Granger how did you not realize-“

“I’ve never seen a picture of him!” She raised her voice, standing. “I had no idea what he was supposed to look like, fuck Malfoy. He doesn’t look anything like that in our-“

“Shut up.” He moved towards her. “Don’t talk about where we’re from. You never know who’s listening.”  

“Fine, fine. I understand.” She walked past him, to the side of the bed she had claimed. She needed him to stop talking. The only voice in her head was his, she couldn’t even think properly. 

“What are you doing?” He asked. 

Hermione didn’t even know herself. She was suffocating in this godawful outfit, her only priority was getting it off of her. She felt his eyes on her as she took her shoes off, then her outer layer of clothes. 

“Granger-”

She glanced back, annoyed. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to bed.” 

“It looks like you’re getting undressed.” 

Hermione laughed, pulling her shirt over her head. She looked back at him as she placed her shirt on the dresser, he had looked away. “Do naked girls make you nervous, Malfoy?” She removed her bra and threw on one of the jumpers she had stolen from Diagon Alley. 

“I have seen enough of you today, I do not feel like subjecting myself to agony any longer.” 

Hermione smiled as she climbed into bed in nothing but the jumper and her underwear. “If you’re uncomfortable feel free to sleep on the floor.” If she did not try and joke, she might explode. 

“I am not uncomfortable.” 

Hermione took her hair out of the ponytail, moving so that she was on her side facing the wall. She listened to Malfoy get undressed as well, the bed dipped as he slipped under the sheets on the other side. 

Against her better judgement, Hermione fell asleep almost instantly. 

~

She woke early the next morning, the sun had barely begun to crest the horizon. Malfoy was asleep beside her, not touching her but facing her side of the bed. 

So vulnerable. 

Slowly, Hermione reached for her nightside table, for the knife she had discretely placed there the night prior. It would be so easy - killing him now. She would save the lives of hundreds of innocent people if she got this over with right now. One movement and he would no longer be her problem. Hermione moved over top of him, watching him shift in his sleep but not yet waking. She stared at him, wondering briefly how this man, who looked so peaceful beneath her, had caused so much suffering. 

She pressed the blade to his throat, not yet pressing down. He moved slightly, turning his head and pressing his own neck into the blade. When the edge began to draw a bead of blood from his skin, his eyes shot open. They found her face immediately, he didn’t dare move. 

“Good morning, Malfoy.” 

He clenched his jaw but did not speak. 

“I have no use for you.” She said quietly. “Surely you have already come to the realization.” 

“If you get rid of me you will never know who you killed that night.” He said carefully, raising his hands slowly. Hermione’s brows narrowed, in her confusion she pulled the blade back only slightly. She realized her mistake too late. 

He grabbed her arm and forced her hand backwards, twisting. The blade fell onto the bed. A moment later she found herself on her back. Malfoy pinned her hands above her, keeping them bound with one hand. She tried to wriggle her way out, he had trapped her body between his knees. 

He straightened, that stupid grin playing at his lips. “Oh, Granger. You stupid, stupid girl.” He picked up the knife and brought it to her throat. “Don’t fight, I won’t kill you. Not yet, at least. You’re too valuable.” He said. “The Dark Lord would have my head if I killed his Fallen Angel.”

“I am not ‘his’ anything.” Hermione snapped, weary of the blade. 

“See,” he traced her jawline with the tip, “that’s where you’re mistaken, Granger. You’ve been his since the moment you murdered his previous General.”

She stilled instantly. “I did no such thing.”

Somehow, his grin widened. “Last year, September 23rd, 1998, you killed four Death Eaters with a muggle weapon, yes?” He stated. “Did you not stop and wonder who was under those masks? Did you not stop to look at their ranks?” He walked towards her, her own wand in his grasp. “Of course you didn’t.” He sneered. “If you did, you would have known that you killed Corban Yaxley, Vincent Crabbe, and Igor Karkaroff.” He stared at her, as if waiting for her reaction to the name of one of her past peers. When she didn’t show remorse, he continued. “And you killed my predecessor, Barty Crouch Jr, the former General.” A short pause. “How do you think you earned that nickname? Hm?”

Hermione looked away from him, towards the wall. She had killed the General of the Dark Lord’s army? Malfoy had no reason to lie to her. And it would explain why his Death Eaters had been so weary around her on the battlefield - they were scared. Scared of her. 

Hermione felt her lips twitch, and suddenly a small grin began to form on her face. She relaxed, resting her head on the pillows below her. And she laughed. Fuck, she didn’t care how insane she sounded. The thought that she, Hermione Granger, a Mudblood, had murdered the Dark Lord’s General sent a wave of pride through her. 

“Fuck. He must have been a terrible General. Killed by a Mudblood with a gun.” She snorted. “That’s pathetic.”

At that, Malfoy grinned, telling Hermione that he was keeping something from her. Her laughter was short-lived. “You don’t know, do you?” He asked, his head tilting to the side as he stared at her. “Holy fuck.” 

“Spit it out, Malfoy.” 

He shook his head, smug. “No. You will not make the demands here, I thought I had already made that clear. You will answer my questions.” 

“I will do nothing of the sort.” Hermione pulled on his grip.

“We can sit here forever, Granger. Well, I can at least. ” He leaned forward, drawing blood from her cheek. Right where he had marked her the day before. “I will find that time-turner with or without you, Angel, although I would much rather you cooperate. I would dread having to tell the Dark Lord that I had to kill you. He would be furious, certainly. But in the end he would understand.”

Angel.

Hermione’s lip curled. “Don't call me that. I am not the Dark Lord’s Fallen Angel, and I am most certainly not yours.”

“I think it’s quite fitting. The Fallen Angel.” He grins. God, she was getting tired of seeing him grin and smile and smirk. He didn’t seem to know how to do anything else. “The Golden Girl, the angel of the Order. Hermione motherfucking Granger.” He gestured to her, she felt her skin prickle under his gaze. “Pansy came running to the Dark Lord that night,” he explained, “everyone thought she had finally gone mad. She was scared shitless, saying that Barty Crouch Jr was dead. Murdered. Along with Crabbe, Karkaroff and Yaxley.” A pause. “The Dark Lord then asked her who it was; who had killed his precious General?”

Hermione felt her skin heat, the memories of that night bringing a whirlwind of emotions down on her. She felt guilty, empty, like a piece of herself had been ripped away the moment she pulled the first trigger. But she didn’t regret it. She was proud. 

She had killed the Dark Lord’s General. 

Barty Crouch Jr couldn’t have been very skilled, she was sure a true General would have put up a good fight. But he didn’t. He had just stared at her, as if he had been torn between killing her and showing mercy. It was that split second of uncertainty that allowed her to raise her gun and pull the trigger. A bullet is faster than magic, anyway. 

“We laughed at her when she said your name - Hermione Granger. No one believed her; no one thought that you, Gryffindor’s perfect angel, could have been capable of killing. So the Dark Lord demanded proof. And Pansy submitted her memories.” Malfoy said. “Angels don’t kill, Granger. But when Voldemort projected the memory, we watched you do just that.”

Hermione wanted to smile at the thought. But she kept her expression passive. “I shot them, yes. What of it?”

“You let Pansy get away.”

“Maybe I just missed.”

“You don’t miss, Angel.” A beat. “Why did you let her live.”

Hermione recalled how she had taken the shot at the female Death Eater, but the bullet had ricocheted off the wall, mere inches from Pansy’s head. And the girl had run off, physically unharmed. It wasn’t like Hermione to miss a shot, she was a damn good marksman. She had practised on the range for hours upon hours each day until she had perfected her aim. 

But that night she had missed. She had pulled her shot two inches to the right, narrowing missing the female Death Eater’s mask. And although she didn’t want to admit it, she had done it on purpose. To send a message. A message that Pansy would later deliver right to the Dark Lord’s feet. 

The Order was not above killing. 

She glanced up at Malfoy. “You know why.”

Another fucking grin. “No, I don’t. Tell me, Angel, why did you let Pansy live?” He pressed. “Was it out of pity? Out of the goodness of your big Gryffindor heart?” Hermione wanted to smack the mocking smirk off of his annoying face. Leaning forward, he narrowed his gaze on her. “Or did you want her to deliver a message?”

“God, just torture me already. This is painful.” Hermione said, wanting to change the topic. He was right. She had meant to send a message, which Voldemort had clearly received. But she didn’t want him to know that. She wanted him to underestimate her, to not think of her as a threat. And when he let his guard down, she would strike. “You’re not really living up to your reputation, General.”

There was a flash of excitement in his eyes. She had heard the stories of his torture methods; the Dark Lord’s General was notorious for breaking his victims. The only reason he wasn’t doing so to Hermione had to do with the fact that the Dark Lord wanted her alive. Though, she wasn’t sure why. Maybe so he could kill her himself, to avenge his former General.

It was clear to Hermione that Malfoy would enjoy breaking her, in all truth she would rather push through physical torture than endure the embarrassment of laying helpless on this bed. “Cruico me, hurt me, kill me, anything. Please.” She begged mockingly, putting a whine in her voice. “I’d rather hear my own screams infinitely than listen to your voice for another second.” She wanted him to let her go, and give her back her wand. But he believed that she would try to kill him. Would she?

He just stared. And it was clear that letting her go was off the table unless she told him what he wanted to know. But she also couldn’t do that, so she had to settle for annoying him.

“You don’t know what you're asking for, Granger. Being tortured is not as fun as you think it is.”

“Oh, I can only imagine.” She chuckled quietly. “Did you know your father was the first person I ever Crucioed?” She baited, certain that he wouldn’t kill her. Not when the Dark Lord seemed to want her alive. Malfoy’s features twitched, only slightly, but he stayed silent. How far could Hermione push him before he snapped? How much would it take to make him hurt her? It was a challenge Hermione took with pride, and she smirked up at him. “He screamed like a little girl when I tortured him, begged like a whore too.” She mimicked Lucius’ pleas, grinning. “Please, kill me.” Malfoy’s gaze darkened considerably. One point for Gryffindor. “I can beg too, if that’s what you would like.” 

He was suddenly tense, and even though Hermione was the one under him, it was obvious that he was no longer in complete control. Maybe if she annoyed him enough, made him uncomfortable, then he would disobey his master and make her bleed. He might be a killer, but he was still just as reactive - if not more - than he had been at Hogwarts. And she had been really bloody good at getting under his skin when they were teenagers. After a moment, he spoke: “All I want is for you to tell me what I want to know.”

Hermione smiled sweetly at him, batting her eyelashes innocently. When he looked away from her, she relaxed her body, easing herself into the pillows. “Please, Draco. I’ll do anything.” She begged, her voice soft and seductive. She watched him react to his own name coming off her tongue, his eyes snapped back to hers. “I won’t fight you, look at me. I’m completely at your mercy.” Hermione pushed her hips into him. He tensed abruptly. 

“Stop, Granger.” He pressed the blade against her lips. “I have three questions, and only three. You will answer them, and then I will let you go.”

“And here I was starting to think you just enjoyed having me beneath you.” Hermione met his gaze, unsure what spurred her to react this way. “Shame.”

Malfoy pretended not to hear her. “Where is the time-turner?” He asked. 

Hermione snorted. “I already told you that.” 

“Tell me again, I seem to have forgotten.” 

Liar. Hermione didn’t know why he wanted to hear her say it, but she didn’t see the point in fighting back at this moment. “Hogwarts, dipshit.”

“Yes, you did tell me that.” Another pause. God, this guy was so dramatic. “But you never specified where. Where in Hogwarts is the time-turner, Granger?”

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

“Do muggles not have the same view on manners as we do, Granger?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Because my father taught me that it is polite to answer when spoken to.”

“And now your father is dead. See where that got him?” 

Malfoy just smiled. “As you said, Angel, my father hasn’t even been conceived yet. Now, be a good girl and answer my question. Where is that time-turner of yours?”

Hermione scowled. “It’s at Hogwarts, I told you that.” She thought about biting at his hand. “McGonagall gave it to me in third year so I could take more classes. All I know is that it was gifted to the school from the ministry, but I don’t know when. It might not even be at the school yet in 1952.”

“Why not just go to the ministry first?”

Hermione scoffed. “And get caught? No thanks.” She yanked hard his grip on her wrists, despite knowing what the outcome would be. All she wanted was to escape this wretched time period and go home. He pressed her hands harder into the mattress. She winced. “If it isn’t at Hogwarts, the Ministry is the second place I will go.” She watched him take the information in. “Now seeing as I would really like to be free of you, next question please.” She wiggled her restricted hands. “Not that I would mind-.” 

“Why did you kill Crouch Jr.” Malfoy dismissed her last sentence entirely. 

“He was an easy target.” 

“No. There’s more to it.”

Hermione glared at him. “I was on patrol, they were in the forest. They were the enemy. I had a gun. I raised said gun. I pulled the trigger. Once, twice, four times. There’s nothing more to it.” She said, a half-lie. There was more to it.

“Very well.” Malfoy was still sceptical, his eyes narrowed in on her face. As if he could read her thoughts. Hermione waited for the third question. But it never came.

“If you have nothing more for me, why don’t you be a good little General and release me.”

Malfoy just stared at her. No smirk. No smile. “How many times did you crucio my dad?” 

She blinked slowly. “I don’t remember, three times maybe.” 

He nodded, satisfied. The pressure left her wrists and he stood. Hermione sat up, touching the cut he had left on her cheek.

Chapter Text

August 27, 1952

After a long - slightly violent - discussion, Malfoy had convinced her to make the Ministry their first stop, not Hogwarts. While Hermione did not want to risk Azkaban by breaking into the Ministry of Magic, Malfoy was correct in the sense that it would save them an unnecessary trip to Hogwarts. If the time-turner was not there, Hogwarts would be their next step. 

But when he stated that he would be going without her, she instantly protested. 

“No, that is not the plan. I will be coming with you.” She crossed her arms to prove her point. 

“Do you even have proper robes?” He shot back. 

“Well, not really, but-“ 

“You can snoop around Knockturn Alley. I’m sure there’s a chance someone is willing to sell you an illegal time-turner.” He smirked, knowing she had no money. “This is not up for discussion.”

“I will not-”

At that exact moment, he apparated. 

Hermione’s jaw dropped at the audacity. 

She had two options: follow him to the Ministry and risk blowing their cover because she was mad at him for leaving her behind, or she could scope out Knockturn Alley. She could only hope that if he found one, he wouldn’t leave her behind. There had to be more than one time-turner floating around 1952, even if he did leave her she could definitely find another one. 

She kicked the bed in frustration, then grabbed her wand and set off to search for her own time-turner. God knew that if she did find one she would not be bringing Malfoy back with her. 

Hermione found herself standing once more in the alleyway beside the inn, torn between Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. She knew she would not find a time-turner in Diagon Alley, but she also did not want to spend the day in Knockturn Alley. Not when she could risk running into Tom Riddle again. Him being present last night was proof that he still worked at Borgin and Burkes. 

To Hermione’s dismay, that was exactly where she needed to go. 

If any place would have a time-turner, it was there. 

With a deep, calming breath, she stepped into Knockturn Alley. She did not know her way around this side of town, she took a moment to look around and take in her surroundings. It was a lot less vibrant in Knockturn Alley, the street wasn’t busy with back-to-school shopping, it seemed bland. 

“Excuse me.” She caught the attention of a passing witch. The lady stopped and glanced over at Hermione, annoyance blatant on her face. “Could you point me towards Borgin and Burkes?” She asked. The witch said nothing, but pointed down the road. Hermione thanked her and started walking. 

If luck was on her side, Tom Riddle would not be working today. 

When she found the shop, she knew she would not be so lucky. She saw him through the window as he slowly made his way down a ladder, an object in hand. He handed it to an elderly witch, a warm smile on his face. 

Fuck. 

Hermione pushed her nerves aside, shutting them behind her occlumency walls, and made her way to the entrance. 

Riddle looked directly at her when the bell atop the door announced her arrival. He smiled in recognition as he tucked the ladder back into its place. “Hermione, to what do I owe this pleasure?” He wiped his hands on his pants before placing them in his pockets.

She cleared her throat. “I apologize for leaving so quickly last night, I realized this morning that I never got your name.” She smiled back, hoping it didn’t seem too strained. 

He extended his hand towards her. “Tom.” He said smoothly, she shook it. She had expected him to be cold, lifeless, but he was the complete opposite. “How does your boyfriend feel about you coming to find me?” That smile seemed to spark embarrassment into her. 

She stuttered out her response. “No, um- I actually… he’s not-“ she closed her eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend. Just a little protective, is all.” While she did not want to be associated like that with Malfoy, it might have been smart to let Tom Riddle believe they were together. She made a mental note to kick herself later. 

Tom hummed. 

“I’m actually here because I need to find an artifact, you just happened to work here,” she swallowed her pride and gave him a sly grin, “an added bonus, for sure.” 

He raised an eyebrow, smiling. “What are you looking for?” 

Hermione glanced around. “My mother mentioned that she had lost a family heirloom, a bracelet given to her by her own mother, and her mother got it from her mother, and so on.” She took her eyes off of Tom, turning to one of the shelves. “It is bound by blood magic, of course. She lost it in Diagon Alley, I assumed it would have turned up here or at a different pawn shop.” 

“Feel free to take a look around.” Tom watched as she picked up a smooth ball and lifted it to her eye. Inside she saw a swirl of darkness, she placed it down gently. “Careful when picking artifacts up, some things may be cursed.” He said from over her shoulder as he placed his hand on the shelf above them, leaning over her. Hermione glanced up at it, noting the infamous Gaunt ring. 

She decided to take a risk. 

“Your ring.” She said, glancing up at him and then back to his finger. She lifted her own hand closer. “May I?” She asked, Tom hesitated before bringing it down. She took his hand between hers, letting her thumb brush the metal surface. He noticeably stiffened. “I can feel it,” she looked up at him once more, “very powerful dark magic.” 

Tom’s eyes darkened considerably. 

But he did not pull his hand away. 

Hermione did not know what she was doing. This was stupid. So stupid. But she pressed on despite the warning alarms going off in her brain. “I am familiar with this magic, Tom.” She searched his eyes, it was clear that he was occluding. 

“Careful.” He hissed, but did not pull away from her touch. 

Hermione tilted her head as she watched him. Gone was the charming man that had talked about Shakespeare with her, in his place was Lord Voldemort. She knew this version of him very well. “How much do you know about them?” She asked. This could very well get her killed. 

“You first.” He was tense.

Hermione released his hand, stepping around him and scanning the shop for other customers. No one was around to hear their conversation. “I know how they’re created.” She turned to face him again. “I know what it feels like to create one.” She half-lied. She believed she did in fact have a horcrux, despite creating it accidently. Hermione hadn’t thought it possible to unintentionally create one of the darkest magical objects in the wizarding world, but yet the necklace sitting around her neck buzzed with the same energy as the locket she had worn while on the run. She assumed it had been created when she had killed Barty Crouch Jr., even though she had not used magic to do so. In all honesty, she was at a loss for how it had happened, or even if it had happened. But her gut told her that the soul she carried in her body was not complete. A piece of it was in the necklace her mother had given her for her 15th birthday. 

Tom’s jaw clenched. 

“And I know how they wear you down, make you feel empty inside.” She said, unable to back away as he took a step towards her. 

“You’ve made one?” 

Hermione nodded. 

Tom glanced around the store, then took a hold of her arm and pulled her towards the back of the shop. She found herself in a room, a desk sat to one side with spare parts and tools scattered about the surface. She assumed this was where they did repairs. He slammed the door behind them.

 “Who are you?” He asked dangerously. 

She put her hands on her hips. “I did not lie about my name, Tom.”

“Who sent you?” 

She blinked. “That is a stupid question. You found me, remember?” 

“I felt your magic last night.” He advanced, she unintentionally stepped back. Her thighs hit the desk. “How do I know you didn’t orchestrate all this? Hm? For all I know you could have led me to you on purpose.” 

Hermione scoffed. “You think I asked three drunk men to pretend to come onto me just so that you would come and save the day? Oh, get off it.” She tried to escape sideways, he put his arm in the way. Hermione stared up at him and frowned. “Let me go.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Slowly, she raised her hands in the air. “I did not mean to offend you, Tom. I honestly meant no harm, I have just never met another person who has split their soul.”

He stared at her. “Prove it.” 

Hermione sighed. “The bracelet. It’s not my mothers.” She gave her false confession. “It holds a piece of my soul, it was stolen from me a few days ago.” At that, Tom backed off slightly. Her horcrux was not the bracelet, and it certainly was not stolen. She kept it around her neck as if it were a piece of mundane jewellery.  “And they destroyed it. I felt it.” She saw the brief flicker of something cross his face. He schooled it instantly. “I’m not here to find my bracelet. I’m here to find a time-turner.” 

“Who knew that you made one?”

She sighed, glancing away. “A friend.” 

He scoffed and pulled away from her. “That was stupid. You never tell someone about this type of thing, no matter how close you are to them. That is a one way street to death, Hermione.” 

“I know.” She hissed. “That’s why I need to get it back. I don’t want to die.” She let the fear she had hidden seep into her voice. “Fuck.” She pulled at her hair. 

“There is no time-turner here.” He said. 

“Shit.” 

“But I know where one is.” 

At that Hermione whipped around to face him. Was he going to help her? “Really?” She asked in disbelief. “Where?” 

“This is not a situation where I just tell you and send you off to find it. If you go, I would need to accompany you.” 

Hermione felt herself freeze. That was the last thing she wanted. “I am perfectly capable of retrieving a time-turner by myself, thank you.” 

“That is not why I would go with you. I have business to do with the lady who owns it.” He paused. “I was hoping to complete this trip a few years down the road, however I could be persuaded to push it forward.” 

She watched him carefully. “Why are you helping me?” Her question inflicted a long moment of silence. 

“As you said yourself,” he tucked both hands into his pockets, “I have never met someone who has also split their soul. It seems we share the same values.” 

“I doubt that.” 

“Oh?” Suddenly Tom seemed very interested in her. She had begun to notice a pattern, his demeanour seemed to instantly change when she opposed him. His eyes lit up with the challenge she offered. 

“I made a horcrux so I could ensure I could protect my friends. You, however,” she gave him a once over, it was impossible to keep the distaste from her face, “seem like the type to do it out of self preservation.” 

“You would be correct.” 

“Then how could we have the same values if you care only for yourself?”

“That is a bold assumption, Hermione.”

“Is it wrong?” 

He seemed to consider her question for a moment. “Not entirely. While I do care for some people, they are just not the reason for my ambition.” 

Hermione watched as he leaned against a filing cabinet on the other side of the room. For the first time since entering the shop she let herself admire him; he was tall with a lean build, she didn’t feel bad admitting that he was a very handsome man. Harry had said so himself a few years ago. She knew now why he had gained so many followers in the early years of his reign, he was charismatic and a good conversationalist, his looks were an added bonus. Hermione had noticed that she dropped her guard slightly, this man was not at all what she had expected him to be. She had expected him to become defensive when she inquired about his horcrux, and he had been at first, but in the end he had opened up. If she knew anything about Tom Riddle, it was that he never did anything without a reason. She narrowed her gaze on him. “What’s the catch?” 

“Smart girl.” His smirk was now reflecting his intrigue. Something Hermione had noticed about Tom was that he had a very nice smile, it made sense that he would use it to charm others. It was working on Hermione, she realized that immediately and pulled herself back. “I just expect something in return.” He shrugged. “I will help you obtain a time-turner if you do something for me, either along the way or after the fact.” 

One thing. That was a small price for her freedom. “Okay. What is it?” 

“All you have to do now is agree to it.” 

Hermione frowned. “That is not a fair deal.” She didn’t want to agree to something she didn’t know, especially not when he had a reputation for fucking people over. “I’m not going to blindly follow your orders.” 

Tom straightened and began to approach her, Hermione’s heart was pounding in her chest with the realization that she had nowhere to go. Her eyes darted to the door. It was too far away to make a break for it. When her eyes found him once more he was close enough to touch. 

His fingers brushed her chin, then tilted her head up to look at him. “You’re scared.” He pointed out. 

She swallowed nervously. “You’re scary.” 

That twinkle in his eye was back. “Why do you think that?” 

“For starters, you’ve killed somebody. For all I know I may be next.” She pressed herself further into the desk. 

“So have you, how do I know you won’t kill me?” 

“Well, between the two of us you’re the only one with a horcrux. I can’t kill you completely. You, however, can kill me.” 

He nodded, then stepped away. “This is true.” Hermione felt herself exhale deeply with the lack of his immediate presence. Tom stole a glance down at his watch. 

“Somewhere to be?” She sneered, annoyed that his attention was suddenly elsewhere while they were in the middle of a conversation. His etiquette was not very good, that much was clear. As soon as the annoyance hit her, she chastised herself for caring. This was the Dark Lord. She should not care about his conversation etiquette, her only job was to con a time-turner off of him. 

His eyes were on her once more. “Yes, actually. I have a meeting in 5 minutes.” By the way he looked at her, he knew she was annoyed. It seemed to humour him. “Why don’t we make our way back into the front. We may continue this conversation after, alright?” He phrased it as if he were leaving the decision up to her, to see if she would stay. With him. 

She straightened her shoulders, pulling purpose back into her posture. “That won’t be necessary,” she pulled her wand out of her pocket, putting her entire being into casting a wordless patronus charm. She felt pride wash over her as her little otter danced around them, Tom followed it with his eyes. If he was impressed, he didn’t show it. “If you see this, come find me.” She stowed her otter away, the room plunged back into the dim, yellow lighting they had been in before her display. “Enjoy your day, Tom.” She turned away from him and swiftly left the room, walking back into the main store. 

When Hermione rounded the corner, she ran directly into somebody. “Shit, sorry-“ she glanced up and was met with striking blond hair. “Malfoy-“ she took a step back. 

He looked at her strangely, his eyes flickering to something behind her for a long moment. “Yes,” he found her gaze once more, “and you are?”

Hermione blinked. For a second her mind failed her, but then she realized that this was not her Malfoy, but one of his ancestors. Abraxas, if she had to guess. Lucius’ father. “I’m Hermione.” She said quickly, turning to look at what he found more interesting behind her. Tom stood in the doorway of the repair room, leaning against the frame. “I was just leaving.” She glanced between the two of them, she could handle Tom Riddle, but Abraxas Malfoy too? She wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible. 

“We will only be a moment, Hermione.” Tom said, pulling her gaze towards him. “I was quite enjoying our conversation.” 

“I really must be going.” She stepped closer to the exit, but away from Abraxas. “I have… I have brunch with a friend in half an hour. I really do apologize-“ 

“With your boyfriend?” Tom was smirking. 

“No! I-“ her shoulder hit the wall, making her stumble, “well yes, but he’s not my boyfriend. I already told you that.” She scowled at him. “Either way I must go.” 

“Pity.” Tom seemed to enjoy how flustered she was. He gave her an inward tip of his head as a farewell. “Until you summon me, Hermione.” 

She pulled herself together and looked between the two men. “Goodbye, Tom. Malfoy.” She gave them both another quick glance before turning on her heel and leaving the shop.

Chapter Text

August 27, 1952

She only allowed herself to take a breath once she was standing in the streets of Knockturn Alley. The humid August air hit her straight in the face as she began to walk back in the direction of Diagon Alley. It was barely 10:00 and the sun was beating down on her like she owed it money. She needed to go back to the inn and change into a more forgiving outfit. 

She did not expect Malfoy to be back so soon, but when she entered the room he was sitting on the edge of the bed, unlacing his boots. He glanced up as she walked in, his eyes narrowing. 

“No luck, I’m assuming?” She tossed her cloak onto the bed. If he had been lucky and gotten his hands on a time-turner, she doubted he would have come back for her. 

“Time-turners are not common, Granger. It was a long shot and you know it.” He refused to give her a second glance. 

She moved so she was standing directly in front of him. “That sounds like an excuse.” 

“What? Like you had more luck than I did?” He kicked his boot off and rose to his full height. Hermione placed her hands on her hips and stared up at him, she said nothing. The realization hit Malfoy almost instantly: she had been successful. “Fuck.” He looked away. “How?” 

“I think you should let me lead the search from now on, okay?” His obvious annoyance fueled her confidence. She reached up to pull his face back so they were making eye contact. He tensed but did not push her away. “Say: ‘thank you, Hermione for finding us a way home. I’ll be a good boy and listen to everything you say until we get home.’”

“Get your hand off me.” 

Hermione smirked. “So sensitive.” All she wanted to do was get under his skin. Maybe he would lash out and give her an excuse to kill him. She doubted she could if she tried. Despite herself, she gave him a pat on the cheek and released him. “If you must know, Tom Riddle said he would help me get one.” 

At that, Malfoy instantly looked at her. “He what?”

She shrugged, downplaying the gravity of what she had just said. “Get your boots on, I’ll explain on the way.” 

“On the way to what?” 

“Brunch.” 

Malfoy stared at her for a long moment, then when he realized she wasn’t joking he grabbed his boots from the floor. “The fuck do you mean ‘brunch?’” He began lacing them back up. 

“Your grandfather showed up so I told them we have brunch as an excuse to leave. Hurry up.” 

“My grandfather?!?” He stopped to gape at her. “Granger what the fuck.” When she made a ‘hurry up’ motion with her hands he began tying his boots once more. She refrained from giving him too much information until they got to the cafe that sat on the edge of Diagon Alley. It had just recently opened in 1952, and it had been her go-to until it closed during the war. When she and Malfoy apparated directly in front of it, she admired the differences the cafe had with the one from her time. Before they entered, she stopped and looked at Malfoy. Pointedly, at his hair. With a quick flick of her wand, she transfigured it into a darker shade of blond. Less Malfoy-like.

He gave her a questionable look, Hermione just rolled her eyes. “You’re clearly a Malfoy, it will draw too many eyes. We can’t have that.” She thought back to how she had confused Abraxas with him, if someone else made the same mistake it would blow their cover. And furthermore, if Tom saw Malfoy without the cover of darkness he had had in the alley the night prior, he would raise some questions - questions Hermione would not be able to answer. If Tom Riddle found out she was from the future, she doubted he would let her go back. 

She pulled Malfoy into one of the booths in the corner, making it so they sat across from each other. “Their French toast is really good.” She stated, looking at the menu. 

“Granger-“ 

“Or the breakfast sandwich-“ 

“Granger.” He snapped, pulling the menu from her grasp. “Focus, for fuck’s sake.” 

“I am.” She grabbed the menu back. “On food. I’m hungry.” 

He rolled his eyes, they went so far back into his head that he must have been able to see his own asshole. He stole the menu once more and put it on the seat beside him. “No. First you’re going to tell me what the fuck you were doing with Riddle.”

Hermione sighed and leaned back into the chair. “I went to Borgin and Burkes to see if they had a time-turner, or even pieces of one. Turns out Tom works there.” She gave Malfoy the half truth, she knew he had worked there when she decided to go. Part of her had been hoping he was working today, the other part knew interacting with him was no good. Maybe if she got on his good side she could learn more of his weaknesses; the intelligent part of her knew any efforts of that nature were useless. Tom Riddle would not be swayed, nor would he reveal any more of his weaknesses to her. He would be more cautious from now on, he definitely did not want her finding out he had more than one horcrux. 

“Stop calling him Tom.” Malfoy covered his eyes with his palms. 

Hermione bristled with annoyance. “That’s what he introduced himself as, what am I to call him instead?” 

“Riddle, the Dark Lord, he-who-shall-not-be-named. Anything but Tom.” 

She shook her head. “No. He did not give me his last name, I will not risk slipping up and calling him Riddle just because you don’t think I should be on a first name basis with him.” 

“You shouldn’t be.” 

“Jesus, Malfoy.” She held her hands up defensively. “Do you want to continue arguing about how I should address Tom Riddle or can I continue with my story?” He planted his elbows on the table, not looking up from his hands as he motioned for her to continue. “He recognized me from last night and came over. I told him that I had lost a family heirloom, a bracelet and asked if it had come through the shop. Then I noticed his ring, his first horcrux.” At the mention of Voldemort's horcrux, Malfoy glanced up. The question was evident on his face, but Hermione continued without acknowledging it. 

“I took a risk and told him I recognized the type of magic, at that point he became sort of defensive. I said I also had one, and that I had just recently lost it. I confessed that I wasn’t exactly looking for a bracelet, but a time-turner so I could go back in time to make sure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands.” Malfoy watched her speak, his eyes showed zero emotion to her story. She knew he had his walls up. “That’s when he offered to bring me to meet a person whom he knows has one.” 

“You don’t want to be involved with him, and you certainly don’t want to owe him anything.” Malfoy said after a long, silent pause. “Trust me.” 

“Scared I’m going to get hurt?” She teased, but Malfoy did not look humoured. “I can handle myself, don’t worry your pretty ass about me.” 

“I don’t care about you. You just happen to be my ride home.” 

“That sounds suspiciously like caring for my wellbeing.” 

He gave her a pointed look. “I care very little for anyone, you definitely do not make the cut. After you get that time-turner I may just leave you here, then you can fuck around with Riddle all you want.” While his comment disgusted her, she couldn’t let him see it. Something she had learned throughout the war was that if you denied something, people would always assume it was true. She had dealt with this exact same thing with Harry and Ron. People always assumed she had been with both of them at one point, it didn’t matter how much they denied it. It was one of the things that had led to her breakup with Ron. 

Hermione wasn’t going to let those types of comments get to her anymore. She leaned in closer to Malfoy, smirking. “I might just take you up on that. Hermione Riddle has a nice ring to it.” She said.

He couldn’t hide his disgust. “He would never go for someone like you.”

“What? A mudblood?” 

“A whore.” Malfoy spat the word, Hermione’s playful smile turned sour instantly. 

“You know, Malfoy? This is why no one ever liked you.” She leaned back again. “You’re too quick to label and too egotistical to self reflect. How many women have you been with?”

“That is none of your business.” 

“Answer the question.” 

He resigned quickly. “Like 11.” He said after a moment, shrugging as if the number were unimportant. 

Hermione almost laughed. “I would like you to think about something, okay?” She watched him. “I have kissed two men and fucked zero. It seems like you are the real whore between the two of us, does it not?” Malfoy’s jaw ticked at her conclusion. “Give me the menu.” She outstretched her hand, he placed it in her waiting palm. 

As if on command, the waitress arrived at the end of the table. “What can I get you, darlings?” The older witch asked with a smile. 

“The French toast please, with a glass of water.” Hermione smiled back as the witch sent a note back to the kitchen with a flick of her hand. 

“And for you?” She looked at Malfoy.

“The breakfast sandwich.” He was staring at Hermione. The waitress sent his order back to the kitchen as well, then left them to their conversation. A second later a glass of water appeared in front of Hermione. 

“Would it kill you to say please once in a while?” Hermione chastised, glaring at him. 

“Would it kill you to shut the fuck up?” 

Hermione grinned. “Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” 

“I woke up to you on top of me, so I apologize if I’m in a shitty mood.” He ignored her and chose to look out the window instead. 

“Wanted more, did ya?” 

His eyes shot back to hers. “What? No. What the fuck, Granger?” He calmed himself quickly. “Is this what war has done to you? Made you… confident? Is it a coping mechanism?” 

“A coping mechanism?” She was taken aback. 

“You don’t think you’re good enough, so when people point out your flaws you find a way to take the upper hand.” 

“You should really go into therapy, I hear it’s much more mentally rewarding than killing people.” She hissed the last two words, crossing her arms over her chest. “But then again the first step to helping others is to first help yourself, and you have failed miserably at that.” 

“I have things greater than myself to worry about.” 

“The Dark Lord?” 

“No.” 

Hermione pondered for a moment. “A lover?” 

He made a face. “No.” When he saw that Hermione was opening her mouth to guess again, he interrupted her. “Why do you think I’m doing this? Hm?” 

“Passion.” She guessed. 

“You think I enjoy killing people? My old classmates, my old friends?” 

“It sure seems like it.” 

He took a breath, as if holding himself back from finishing her off right then and there. “The only thing - the only person - I care about is my mother.” He seemed torn between staring at Hermione and staring out the window. He chose to look at her. “That is why I am doing this, that is why I kill my friends. To protect her from him.” 

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, she didn’t even know what she wanted to say; was she going to apologize? Certainly not. But she didn’t even get the chance to speak the unknown words. Someone slid into the booth beside her. 

Hermione knew it was Tom Riddle without looking at his face, she knew what clothes he had been wearing earlier that morning. Black pants, black button-up shirt, black shoes. Black, black, black. “Tom.” She bit at the inside of her cheek. “What are you doing?” 

“I thought I’d come meet the famous friend.” His thigh was touching hers, Hermione was painfully aware of it as he smiled at Malfoy. The man across from them was tense, although his occlumency shields were doing a stellar job at hiding his emotions. Malfoy’s eyes slid to Hermione, then back to Tom. A beat passed before Tom stuck out his hand. “Tom Riddle.” 

Malfoy accepted it, shaking it slowly. “Draco.” He said, avoiding any use of his last name. Both he and Hermione were out of place, and they were most certainly a few power levels below Tom Riddle. If anything, Malfoy was the closest thing she had to a weapon against the Dark Lord. Hermione was well aware that the two of them were tense and reserved, unable to differentiate this version of Tom Riddle and who they knew as Voldemort. Hermione couldn’t kick him out, she needed him. And Malfoy certainly couldn’t either, not without his Dark Mark burning with the pain that came with insubordination. Hermione knew in her gut that his Dark Mark would still react to Tom, even if it was his younger self.

If Tom found out he held a significant amount of power against Malfoy… Hermione did not want to even think about it. 

Tom turned to Hermione, she shut her eyes to calm herself before meeting his gaze. He was enjoying this. The discomfort was evident. “Have you not seen enough of me today?” She asked, making her prickly mood known. 

“I told you Abraxas and I would only be a moment, yet you ran away anyway.” He reached in front of her and took her water, bringing it to his lips. He let his words hang in the air as he took a sip. “You’re making this very difficult for me, Hermione.”

“This?” She inquired as she pulled the water glass from his hand, setting it farther away. Out of his reach. 

“Our arrangement.”

She glanced at Malfoy, finding him watching them with a bored look on his face. She knew he was anything but. “I promise I will meet with you tonight to discuss it, when are you free?” 

“I’m not, unfortunately.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “So you are allowed to show up uninvited and interrupt my brunch, but heaven forbid I take up 15 minutes of your time tonight. Do you realize how ridiculous that is?

“Hermione.” Malfoy’s voice cut through like a warning. She glared at Malfoy for a second before looking back at Tom. She knew Malfoy was trying to reel her in, they both knew that she shouldn’t be trying to provoke the Dark Lord like this, not when he could easily and quietly kill her if she said something he didn’t like. She already knew about his first horcrux, that was enough reason for Tom to rid himself of her. But Hermione had noticed something curious about Tom Riddle, and she intended to test this theory to its limits. He reacted peculiarly when she was difficult with him, when she disagreed and gave attitude to him his eyes flickered with interest. 

When she looked back at Tom, he had a satisfied look on his face, a slight grin had his lips curving upward. “I will be having guests over this evening, but if you insist you may meet with me before they arrive.”

“I do insist.”

He nodded, removing himself from the seat beside her and standing. “Very well then,” he looked at Malfoy and gave him a quick, but thorough, once over. He turned back to Hermione. “4:45, my place.” 

“And where would that be?” 

Tom smirked. “No need to worry about that, I will come find you. Room 16?” He asked, Hermione’s eyes widened slightly at the idea of him already knowing the number of the room they were staying in. She felt Malfoy tense across from her. She nodded weakly. And with that, Tom Riddle made his leave just as their food floated out of the kitchen. 

Chapter Text

August 27, 1952

“This is fucking stupid, Granger.” 

Hermione stopped pacing to scowl at him. “I know.” She snapped. “I don’t want to be going to his house just as much as you don’t want to share a room with me. We all have to make sacrifices.” She continued walking the length of the room, it was nearly 4:45 and she was stressed. 

“Sure doesn’t seem like it.” Malfoy muttered. 

She stopped again, placing her hands on her hips. He glanced up from where he sat on the bed. “Spit it out, Malfoy. What do you want to say to me?”

He stood, moving over to her. “Are you not afraid of him?” 

“Of course I am.”

“Yet you find every single way on the planet to provoke him. He is the Dark Lord, Granger. He will kill you.” Malfoy barely whispered the two words, glancing to the door as if he would find Tom Riddle standing there. “For fuck’s sake stop being… you, and just find the damned time-turner.”

“Stop being me?” She crossed her arms. 

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s dangerous. You can’t treat him as if he were me. He doesn’t need you.”

Hermione ignored the confession he just made, instead focusing on the other aspects of his words. “I know he’s dangerous. God, Malfoy, I have watched him kill my friends and torture people I care about. I know how dangerous he is. But he doesn’t know that I know.” She turned away from him, walking to the window. She watched the witches and wizards walk on the street below. “I have no reason to be scared of him, I will not walk on eggshells around him when I have only just met him. He has done nothing to make me afraid so I will not show my fear. It stays hidden.” She turned back around. “What do you think he would think if I came around looking for a time-turner while being utterly terrified of him? He would assume I knew who he was, and therefore assume I am from the future.”

Malfoy only sat there. 

“I treat him like I would any other man I meet.”

They stared at each other for a long while, at a stalemate. He knew she was right, but she also knew that he had a point. She should be more careful. Neither of them wanted to admit that the other had said something of consequence. 

Hermione was saved by a knock on the door. 

‘Saved’ may not be the best word to use. Her blood ran cold as the anticipation that had been building for the past five hours spilled out of her. She would rather endure petty banter with Malfoy than leave this room with Tom. After a long pause where neither of them moved, she realized that she had to open the door at some point. With a deep breath, she made her way over. 

It was indeed Tom Riddle who was standing on the other side, his hands were casually in his pockets. “Hermione.” He greeted her. 

“Tom.” She looked back at Malfoy, he was watching them from the same spot she had left him. He made no action towards giving Tom a polite pureblood greeting, he was making it blatantly obvious that he did not like the man standing at their door. 

Tom moved to the side so she could exit the room, placing his hand lightly on her arm to guide her. “Shall we?” He asked, but he was watching Malfoy the entire time. To break the tension between the two men, Hermione shut the door as soon as she stepped foot outside the room. She nearly recoiled when Tom offered her his arm. She stared at it, then looked up at him. Swallowing her pride, she looped her own arm through his. 

He led her outside, guiding her towards the alley they had met in. He stopped halfway down and looked down at her. “Are you good with side-along apparation?” She assumed the question was supposed to be a mere warning, she didn’t think she had a choice. Hermione had always preferred apparating herself, less risk of spinching. Either way, she nodded. 

With little warning, Tom Riddle apparated the two of them out of the alleyway with a crack. Hermione tightened her grip around his arm as darkness clouded her vision and she felt her heart jump into her throat. Less than a second later, she was standing in a dimly lit room. Leather couches sat neatly set in front of the fireplace, arranged for conversation with a coffee table in the middle. The floor was hardwood, the walls had been painted a dark maroon colour. The lights brightened a few seconds after their arrival.

She stepped away from Tom. 

“Please, sit.” He gestured to the couches. He, however, walked to the other side of the room. There was a small bar in the corner, the wall was lined with shelves and bottles of alcohol. “Would you like a drink?” He poured a glass for himself, briefly glancing over at her. 

“Yes please, whatever you’re having is fine.” She sat on the couch facing him, watching as he took another glass and poured her a drink as well. He took his time placing the bottle back on the shelf, he brought both drinks with him as he took a seat on the couch opposite her. He watched her curiously as she lifted the glass to her nose, sniffing it. 

She raised a brow at him. “Tequila? Really?”

“I got it from Mexico while on my last trip.”

Hermione smiled at the image of Lord Voldemort tanning on a palm beach, she took a sip of the tequila to hide it. She knew better than to think he made the trip for pleasure. He had probably killed many people before buying this bottle of tequila. “I was expecting firewhiskey, if I am being completely honest. I love tequila, but it is most definitely a muggle drink.” She savoured the aftertaste of the sip she had taken, pushing the memory of her father out of her mind. He had loved tequila as well, she had taken after him. 

 “Firewhiskey is for shots.” He continued watching her, taking a sip of his own glass. “Much too harsh for sipping.”

“A big partier, are you?” She teased, trying to prove to him - and herself - that she was calm. 

“Sometimes.” He smiled as he set his drink down on the coffee table, a coaster appeared underneath it as the bottom of the glass approached the table. “With the right people.”

Hermione washed her nervousness down with another sip, she desperately hoped he hadn’t noticed her anxiety. “So,” she cleared her throat, “our arrangement.” She leaned forward while he leaned back, sitting comfortably back against the cushions as he motioned for her to continue. “I would like to know some specifics, starting with when and where.”

Tom nodded. “Next Friday. We will be visiting the home of a friend of mine, an old lady named Hepzibah Smith. I have met with her only a few times for work, the last time I saw her she mentioned being in possession of a time-turner.” He explained, she knew exactly who he was talking about. Hepzibah Smith possessed both Slytherin’s locket and Hufflepuff's cup, Hermione also knew that Tom had killed her to obtain them and placed the blame on her house elf. 

“And you expect that she will be perfectly fine parting with this time-turner?” Hermione was unconvinced. 

“She won’t have an issue with it.” The casualness of Tom’s voice set Hermione on edge. She narrowed her gaze as he stared at him, she knew he would kill Hepzibah whether Hermione was accompanying him or not. Hapzibah would not care if Tom took her time-turner if she was already dead. Although it was against Hermione’s moral compass, she also could not stop Tom from killing the poor old lady. It was meant to happen, she couldn’t alter the course of time too drastically. 

But then again, had she not done so already?

As Hermione opened her mouth to reply, the sound of voices cut through the air, she looked at the open door. Tom glanced at his watch. “My guests are early.” He said sharply, taking his glass in his hand and downing the rest of his tequila. “You are welcome to stay, I’m sure my friends won’t mind. You already seem to be familiar with Abraxas.” 

“Yes.” She blushed slightly, remembering her slip-up from earlier that day. “Well, he is quite famous. I do not know him personally.” 

Tom smiled as he stood. “Let’s change that.” Hermione stood as well, she felt her heart pound heavily against her chest as the voices drew nearer. She tipped the rest of her own drink down before the figures of three people appeared in the doorway. The three men entered, she only recognized Abraxas Malfoy. They slowed their conversation as their eyes caught her, each one of them looked from her to Tom, then back. 

“Gentlemen,” Tom stepped out from around the couch, “this is Hermione. She will be joining us tonight for some drinks.” He did not give them a chance to oppose, not that they were even allowed to. “Hermione, this is Avery and Nott, and you already know Malfoy.” The three of his friends gave her tight smiles. 

“Pleasure to meet you all.” She appreciated the warmth of the alcohol as it settled in her stomach. 

“Likewise.” Abraxas was watching her with more interest than the other two. “Did you go to Hogwarts, Hermione?” He asked her, his friends had made their way over to the bar already. 

She blinked. Fuck. “I did not, actually. I attended Durmstrang until two years ago.” She lied, making up her cover story on the spot. Abraxas took Tom’s old spot on the couch opposite to her. As soon as he sat, she did the same. Her eyes quickly searched for Tom, finding him also at the bar, watching her as he poured another drink.

“Durmstrang, you say? That’s very impressive.” Abraxas leaned back, unbothered that he did not yet have a drink. “Do you have family in Bulgaria?”

“My mother is Bulgarian and attended Durmstrang as well, my father is English. I spent the school year with my extended family and holidays and summer break back home in London.”

“So you are bilingual?” 

He was asking so many questions, Hermione was beginning to think he was trying to find a hole in her story. Either he was honestly invested in her backstory, or he suspected she was lying. “I speak four languages, actually.” She sat a little bit straighter. It was true, she had very little to do while on the run and when not fighting Death Eaters. Learning languages was one of her favourite pastimes. Bulgarian was one of them, she had only learned it to communicate with Viktor easier. “English, French, Bulgarian, and Spanish.” She said. 

“Very impressive indeed.” 

Hermione looked up as Tom approached her, he had two drinks in his hand. He sat beside her this time. “Stop bothering the lady, Abraxas.” He handed her another drink. “I would rather you not scare her away this early.”

Hermione met Tom’s gaze, slightly insulted. “I do not scare, Tom.” She laced her voice with annoyance. Avery came to sit beside Abraxas. Nott was still at the bar. 

“Where did you find her, Riddle?” Abraxas’ eyes had not left her face. She was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. He was speaking about her as if she were not here. 

Tom just chuckled, taking a sip of his new drink as he let the tension linger in the air. “Careful, Abraxas. I would consider speaking to her before you get on her bad side.”

Abraxas clenched his jaw. “I meant no disrespect, Hermione. I am not good with new people.” He glanced at Tom then back at her. “How did you two meet?” The new question was posed to both of them. Tom took another sip of his drink, obviously wanting her to answer. 

“He saved me form some men in an alleyway-”

“She made it very clear she did not need saving.” Tom interrupted. 

Hermione stared at him. “Would you like to tell the story?” He put his hands up in surrender, she continued. “I did tell him off for interfering, but then I realized that he was just trying to help. I offered him a cigarette and… yeah. We talked for a bit.”

“The lady attended Durmstrang and she smokes. What next?” Abraxas stood, finally going to get himself a drink. Hermione took a breath, not liking his attitude at all. Much too Malfoy-like. Beside her, Tom took a long sip of his drink, Hermione looked at her glass for the first time since being handed it.

“Firewhiskey?” She grinned. “I thought this was for shots?”

“Would you like to do some?”

She gaped at him. “I- um… I’ve only been drunk once. And I’ve never taken a shot before.” She confessed. She knew she would be a lightweight, and she didn’t trust herself drunk around the Dark Lord. 

Tom didn’t make a big deal about her lack of experience. To Hermione’s defence, her teenage years - the ones she was supposed to spend drinking - had been taken over by the war. Her mood soured slightly at the thought of what Tom Riddle would take from her in the future. He nodded to the drink in her hand. “A little alcohol in your system will make this thing a whole lot less painful, trust me.”

“Is he always like that?” She asked, looking at Abraxas. 

Tom shook his head. “Something about you just set him off. Once he gets to know you, you’ll like him. Just don’t let him flirt with you.”

“Flirt with me?”

“He's a Malfoy. He is most definitely going to flirt with you.” Tom muttered as Abraxas began to walk back over with a rather large drink in his hand. Hermione took a long drink of her firewhiskey, trying not to wince as it burned her throat. She had only ever had beer with her friends back home, even then she had only been allowed once at a time because of rationing. Straight whiskey would hit her hard. 

“So, Hermione.” Abraxas fell back into his spot, and suddenly all eyes were on her. Nott had perched himself on the arm of the couch, beside Avery. “Tell us about yourself.”  

“What do you want to know?” She crossed one leg over the other. 

“What’s Durmstrang like?” He asked. 

“Dark. Lots of torches, it’s hard to find your way around at night once curfew hits.” She took another sip. “But that also makes it harder to be found.”

“You get to learn dark magic, right? I heard that Durmstrang teaches their students the Dark Arts.” Avery asked. 

Hermione nodded. “That is true.”

“I can see why Riddle has taken an interest in you.” Nott elbowed Avery in the side, a warning to shut up. Tom did not react, in fact she thought she saw him smile before he raised his glass to his lips. 

She broke the awkward silence. “I almost went to Hogwarts though, but my mother insisted that Durmstrang was better. She did not like the fact that Hogwarts only taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, she thought it was important to learn real magic.”

“Have you ever killed anybody?” Avery’s questions threw Hermione off. She nearly choked on the firewhiskey she had just drank. She recovered quickly, glancing at Tom. He gave her a slight shrug.

She looked back at Avery. “Murder is illegal, if I recall correctly.”

“You didn’t answer his question, Hermione.” Tom said smoothly. She could feel Abraxas’ eyes drilling into her head as she stared at the man beside her. He shrugged again. “No one here is going to snitch.”

Hermione turned her focus to Avery. “I have.” She said steadily, her mouth was suddenly as dry as cotton. The urge to gain respect from Tom’s friends was astronomical. Respect from these men meant they not only respected a woman, but a mudblood at that. 

“He must have been quite the bastard if he found himself on the wrong side of your wand.” Abraxas said coolly. 

She regarded him for a moment, juggling her options. “See, those are your first two mistakes, Malfoy.” The alcohol was getting to her, her confidence had skyrocketed. “I never said I used my wand, and I certainly never specified how many men I killed.”

“How many, then?” Abraxas, again. 

Hermione took a breath. This was stupid, so stupid. But she was in it now. “Five.” Lucius’ face flashed in her mind. He hadn’t even been born yet, his father was sitting right in front of her. She scanned the shocked faces in the room, she even found Tom staring at her. Five men, she had killed five men. If her memory served her correctly, Tom still had yet to kill more than four. 

It was clear that she now had the attention of every man in the room. Hermione was beginning to wonder if she should not have said anything.

Chapter Text

August 27, 1952

“How old are you?” Abraxas broke the silence with a completely unrelated question. Hermione had to stop and think for a moment. She had not kept track of her birthdays while she had been in the middle of a war. The months had gotten away from her. 

“Nineteen.” She said. “Turning twenty.” Saying the number out loud felt almost insane. She knew what was going on inside their heads, she knew what their thoughts were in that moment without needing to break into their minds. How had she, a girl who was just barely allowed to legally consume alcohol, killed five men?

Abraxas, of course, was the one to voice the collective question. “You’re nineteen, and you have managed to kill five men?”

She flinched. “When you put it that way it seems worse than it is.”

“Worse than it is?” Avery laughed outright. “It sounded pretty bad before too. Remind me not to get on your bad side.” 

“I think you should be reminding Abraxas of that instead, Avery.” Tom did not seem fazed, if she had shocked him it was impossible to tell. 

Abraxas frowned. “I think it’s acceptable to ask how and why you killed them. Is it not?”

She smirked. “Why? Afraid you’re next?”

“Yes, actually.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I used a gun, and I killed them because they hurt my friends. It was well deserved.”

“A… gun?” 

It was Tom that answered Avery’s question. “A muggle weapon. Very hard to deflect with magic.” He was watching her closer now, his presence felt farther away despite his physical body being close enough to touch. “And the fifth man?” He asked. 

Hermione was about to answer when she stopped. Her mouth clamped shut as she looked over at him. “I never mentioned killing the fifth man any differently than the first four, Tom.” She stared at him peculiarly. She had not felt him slip into her mind, if he even had. But somehow, someway, he knew the fifth man had not been shot. She hoped she had succeeded in selling her innocence as Tom nodded and sipped his whiskey. “May you point me towards the washroom, please?” She asked the room, a few of the men pointed towards the door, but it was Abraxas who spoke. 

“Third door in the first hallway, on the right.” 

Hermione stood smoothly. “Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen.” And she swiftly left the room. The washroom was indeed where Abraxas had said, she entered it and found that it was nothing more than a powder room. A toilet, a mirror, and a sink. Hermione locked the door behind her, moving to the sink to splash water on her face. What on earth had she gotten herself into? Malfoy was right, this was stupid. Tom clearly knew more than he was leading on, he was playing with her. He knew she had used the killing curse on the fifth man, whether or not he knew that man had been Abraxas’ son was unclear. Either way, he knew something. 

She knew this was going to happen at some point, she had just been hoping that it wouldn’t be this soon. She should have prepared better, Tom Riddle was just like her: intelligent. He was notorious for his intellect and intuition, and his ability to play people. He would not have made it as far as he had without the brains to back up his ideals. 

Hermione would have to step up her game. 

She dried her face and magically touched up her makeup, a simple spell calmed the slight frizz of her curls. With another spell, they relaxed slightly and became defined waves. She took a few calming breaths, in and out, in and out, and repeated it four times. 

“Get a fucking grip.” She stared at herself in the mirror. In, out. Fix yourself. She heard Kingsley’s voice echo in her head, every time someone fucked up on a mission - fix yourself, goddamnit. She unlocked the door and stepped back into the hallway, smoothing the fabric of her blouse before she began making her way back to the room. 

Halfway down the hall, a hand wrapped around her arm and she was yanked into one of the rooms lining the wall. She shrieked as a hand covered her mouth, the door shut behind her and her attacker pushed her back into a bookshelf. “Shhh.” She found herself staring at Abraxas’ shadowed face. Hermione tried to shove him off of her. “Quiet, I won’t hurt you.” He slowly released her mouth, a good choice seeing as she had been a split second away from sinking her teeth into his palm.

“Get the fuck off of me.” She hissed, unsure as to why she was being quiet. 

“I’m sorry if I offended you before.” He said. Hermione already had a witty remark charged and ready to go for whatever insult he threw at her, but then her mind registered that he had said an apology. She blinked.

“You’re a dick.” She wanted to break his nose with her forehead. “I don’t like you, and a half-hearted apology will not change that.”

“I don’t need you to like me.” He said, this was the first time Hermione had seen him smirk. He released her arms, one hand reaching up to touch the side of her face. “This can stay between the two of us, you can go back to hating me in front of an audience.” He was not drunk, these were very much sober words. And to Hermione’s dismay, she was not drunk either. There was no excuse for her body to be reacting the way it was, and it was most definitely not the alcohol that made her glance up and meet his eyes. 

He looked so much like her Malfoy, she knew which side of the family carried the strong genetics. Abraxas’ hair was a bit longer, messier, and he was a tad bit skinnier. Less war-hardened, for sure. But he was no less handsome. She briefly wondered what he would taste like, and successfully convinced herself that the thought had been the alcohol - her two drinks worth - talking. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “I barely know you.”

“It can stay that way.” He dipped his head, pressing his lips to the nape of her neck. “Like I said, I don’t need you to like me.” When he pulled on her earlobe with his teeth Hermione let out a soft sound, she found her hands gripping the fabric of his dress shirt. 

“This is a bad idea.” She wasn’t trying to convince him. 

“Maybe.” He kissed her neck, sucking slightly at one spot and pulling away just as she felt the sting. 

“I really don’t like you.” She breathed, moving her head slightly. He pulled away from her throat, his other hand coming up to grab the back of her neck.

“I really don’t care.” 

He kissed her. 

Abraxas both pulled her closer to him and pressed her harder into the shelves. Hermione was in no rush to take the lead, she had only kissed two men before this: Viktor and Ron. But Abraxas didn’t seem to care at her inexperience, his mouth took over easily and he pulled at her bottom lip. He used his grip on her head to tilt her face upwards, giving him a better angle. As he kissed her, his other hand found her waist, then slipped upwards to her breast. She moaned as he began to knead it, feeling her body under his hand. 

Her own hands were flat against his chest, grabbing at his shirt whenever his hands found something new. Abraxas pulled back slightly, not skipping a beat as he started to kiss her throat once more. Her mouth fell open in a silent moan just as her fingers found his hair-

The door burst open, Hermione gasped in surprise as her eyes tried to adjust to the light spilling in from the hallway. Abraxas pulled back, Hermione found herself slumped against the bookshelf. Tom was standing in the doorway.  

“Out.” Tom was glaring at Abraxas, who apparently had no issue with doing as he was told. Tom watched him leave, he fixed his blond hair without a word and left the two of them alone. Hermione straightened, pulling herself back together. Her blouse had been partially undone, showing her new black bra and the gold necklace sitting against her chest. She began to button up her shirt, torn between fixing the rest of her shirt and taming her hair. Tom watched her fingers work at the buttons. “I warned you.” He said. 

She pulled her hair back, tying it up in a ponytail. “I can make my own decisions.”

“Abraxas is not the type of man you get involved with, Hermione.”

She snorted. “I don’t want to get involved with him. It was a kiss, Tom. I didn’t fuck him.”

“Yet.”

The playful smile she had been wearing disappeared in a flash. “Excuse me?” She could only blink in disbelief. He was dead serious. “First of all, what I do - who I do - is none of your business. I have known you for less than a day. Second of all, I would never hand out my virginity to a man like Abraxas Malfoy.” She confessed. His brows narrowed slightly but his features returned to their natural positions almost as soon as it happened. “I am not a whore.”

“I never said you were.”

Hermione laughed. “No, but you were thinking it.” She tapped her head mockingly. “You and everyone else I meet, apparently.”

“Is this a common occurrence?”

She thought back to the allegations about her, Harry and Ron. And to what Malfoy had said that morning. It was a common occurrence, but she had never let it bother her before. “Something like that.” Hermione wiped at her face, unsure if her lipgloss had been smeared across her skin. Tom’s gaze dropped to her throat, had Abraxas given her a hickey? Another reminder that she wanted to get away from both this man and his blond friend. Her relationship with Tom Riddle had gone from very simple to very complicated in less than ten minutes. Somehow, he knew something she had never told him. That made him more dangerous than she originally believed. 

“I can see your mind working.” 

Hermione snapped herself back into the real world, out of her head. “Can you now?”

“What are you thinking about?” 

She lied. “Malfoy.” 

“No, you’re not.” The distance between her and Tom was both too small and too far at the same time, she was torn between running away and staying put. Her mind was screaming at her to get out, her body didn’t move. “I doubt he fascinates you as much as you want him to.” 

“He is plenty fascinating.” 

“Elaborate.” 

Hermione did not have anything to elaborate on, not in regards to this Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, however, she could go on for days about what she assumed was going on in his head, or why he made the choices he did. Was it fear? Was it his desire to be recognized? Her Malfoy was interesting. Abraxas, however? There was very little she knew about Abraxas, and to be honest she did not want to know anything more. She realized Tom was waiting for an answer. “Why?” She shot back. “Do you think you’re more fascinating?” 

Wrong answer.

His lips twitched, almost a grin. Almost. “I know I am.” 

Oh. She definitely needed to get the fuck out of this house. She doubted he would accept an excuse, nor would he believe one. He knew she just wanted to get away from him, he was cornering her in a conversation he knew she didn’t want to have. The only thing that worked on Tom Riddle was disbelief. She had to say something that would make him think. Hermione let her eyes linger on his face, on the shadows the light behind him cast over his skin. She reminded herself that this was Lord Voldemort. “I know more about you than you think, Tom. Fascinating is not a word I would use to describe you.” 

That’s it. 

She got his interest, and swore she could see the gears turning in his mind. She had played on his weakness, his hunger for knowledge and power got the best of him. He now needed to know what she knew about him. It was something that she held over him in that moment, something he didn’t know. “I doubt that.” He said.

Hermione tilted her head. Now she would insult him, and she might die trying. It would be worth it. “Your occlumency abilities are average.” She said and watched his eyes immediately darken. All playfulness had disappeared. “You may not be a complete open book, but you are also not as interesting as you seem to believe. I know what it is that you try to hide away from people. I know your weaknesses.”

“Careful.” This was the second time he had spoken that word to her, and yet he had yet to act on it. Lots of threats, little follow-through. She knew his type, he was the same as her. She had caught his attention, he wouldn’t let her leave without an answer. “You’re bluffing.” 

“Try me.” 

“If you know so much about me, tell me something about myself.” He seemed closer to her than he had before, Hermione was tempted to step away. He was a predator, she was his prey. If she showed fear he would certainly pounce. 

“Myrtle.” She said the name of the muggle girl his basilisk had killed at Hogwarts. The moment the girl’s name left her mouth she knew she had crossed a line. “I know what you did. What it did to her.” 

Tom was upon her install, his hand wrapped around her throat. He was so close. Hermione gasped for air that couldn’t make it to her lungs, she grabbed at his forearms. “Stop.” He hissed, when Hermione did not stop fighting he pulled her forwards by her throat. “Stop.” She was still gripping his arms, but she had stopped hitting him. “How do you know that?” 

Interesting. 

He was less appalled that she knew of one of his most sacred secrets, and more intrigued with how she had come across the information. It was true. All Tom Riddle wanted was knowledge and power. He loosened his hold on her enough to allow her to talk. “I can see it.” She gasped. “The memory. It’s a genetic ability from my mothers side.” 

“What else do you see?” 

She looked up at him, into his eyes. “Your grandparents, your father.” Hermione muttered, his grip tightened. “I know what you did to them-“ 

“Stop.” He angled his head strangely, as if listening for something behind him. Satisfied no one was close, he met her gaze once more. “You will tell no one, is this understood?” 

“Why not just kill me?” Her nails dug into his skin. 

His eyes studied her, she could see exactly which parts of her he found the most intriguing. “That would be a waste.” He released her throat, then before she could pull away he grabbed her hand and used his wand to slice a thin cut down her palm. He did the same to his own hand. “Swear it.” He whispered, forcing her palm against his. His skin was slick with blood, he had to keep a firm grip on her hand to prevent it from slipping away. 

Tom impatiently muttered the incantation for an unbreakable bond, Hermione watched the golden cords wrap around their hands. She gasped, unable to take her hand away. “Tom-“ 

“Do you swear that you will never tell a single person about my horcruxes, or about any information you may learn about me?”

She swallowed. There was no way out of this. “I do.” She said, but she had a condition of her own. He must have expected this, because he didn’t react when she started speaking. “Do you swear that you will never kill me or maliciously harm me in any way?” 

He rolled his jaw, taking a second before giving her his answer. “I do.” The gold cords burned into their skin, glowing brightly for a long moment before casting the two of them once more in darkness. Silence followed. Strangely, Hermione felt more relieved than she had before the unbreakable vow. She didn’t have to risk Tom Riddle killing her now. She removed her hand from his, muttering a simple healing charm to mend the cut on her palm. “I probably should have killed you when I had the chance.” Tom said, having caught the satisfied look on her face. He was right, killing her would be a waste, however he was a fool for not doing so. 

“Yes. You should have.” 

“You do realize that I will not let you leave without telling me how you got into my mind.” 

“I figured as much.” Hermione reached up to rub her neck, knowing that if she left the tender skin alone it would be bruised tomorrow morning. “I don’t necessarily go into your mind. I more go around it.” She lied. “It is easier to kick in the unlocked back door than the guarded front door.” 

“Both doors are locked and guarded.” His gaze narrowed. “I never felt you enter.” 

“Would you like me to show you again?” She asked innocently. “You will be able to feel my presence once you know what to look for.” Oh, how exhilarating it was to trick the Dark Lord. Hermione closed her eyes to sell the performance. After a few silent moments, she opened them and looked up at him. “Did you feel me?” 

Tom shook his head. 

He looked pained. 

“What did you see that time?” Clearly his curiosity was getting the best of him. 

“Your name.” She whispered. Tom did not move, did not speak. He watched her with dark fire burning behind his eyes, knowing exactly what she meant. Hermione let the silence stretch on, if only for dramatic effect. She made sure to meet his gaze as she gave him what he wanted. “Voldemort.” At the sound of his name falling quietly past her lips, he shut his eyes and took a deep inhale. She thought maybe it was pleasurable to him. A moment passed before he opened them again and looked down at her. 

He did not give her the satisfaction of a quick response. Instead, he slowly, painfully, raised his hand up to grab her throat once more. His hand could not make it more than a few centimetres away from her neck, the vow would not let him strangle her. Tom seemed to realize this fact the same time she did, his hand flexed into a fist before he retracted it. “I would kill others for less than this.” His tone was clipped.

“How unfortunate for you, then. I took that privilege away from you.”

Tom shook his head slightly. “You misunderstand. Even if I could kill you, I would not. Abilities like yours are not something to be thrown away like common trash.”

Abilities like hers. 

Her ‘abilities,’ were nothing but a lie. A lie that now ensured her survival. 

But what would happen if he found out?

Chapter Text

Before Hermione could formulate a response, Tom reached forward again. His fingers stretched towards her throat. Gently, this time. She felt his touch grace her neck, he wrapped his fingers tenderly around the same spot he had just bruised a moment prior. The only difference was that this time he didn’t do it with the intention of hurting her. His touch moved upwards, his fingers brushing her jaw, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. It moved again, behind her head to thread his fingers through the base of her hair. His hold on her scalp tightened, but only enough to control her. No pain came. 

“You don’t know how badly I want to hurt you, Hermione.” 

“I know.” She knew it was pointless to try and pull away.

He was doing a phenomenal job of hiding his emotions. He watched her with bored eyes, she knew deep down he was anything but. “Are you thinking about Abraxas now?” The question took her off-guard. 

No. She wasn’t. 

She only had one thing on her mind: what is Tom Riddle thinking? Abraxas Malfoy did not occupy a single sliver of her thoughts in that moment. Tom, however, did not need to know that. “He is a very good kisser.” She said.

Tom bristled. “I would hope so, he has had lots of practice.” 

Hermione put her hands palm-first against his chest, finding nothing but toned muscle beneath his shirt. She tried not to be too surprised. He was what? 25 years old? Give or take. It was normal for a 25 year old man to have muscle. She only applied a small amount of pressure, not enough to push him away but more as a warning. “I am going to leave now.” She stated. He made no move to let her go. “Tom.” 

“You know too much.”

“I swore to you-“ 

“Do not play dumb, Hermione.” His hand tightened slightly in her hair. He winced as if it had pained him as well, he loosened it almost immediately. “An unbreakable vow has loopholes. You’re a smart girl, I know you already have found a way through my conditions, just as I have found a way to get through yours.” She felt a shiver run down her spine, she had not, in fact, found a loophole yet. But she would make sure to do so before their next meeting. He stared down at her. “Just know that I will always be watching. I know things about you, just as you know things about me, Hermione Granger.” 

She froze. 

Tom smiled. “That’s it.” His other hand brought his wand up to her throat, the tip of the bone-like yew wood pressed against the underside of her jaw. “How does it feel?”

“What?” She breathed, he used his wand to tip her head up at an uncomfortable angle. 

“To lose control.” Tom’s fingers tightened individually around the base of her neck, he pulled upwards so her heels lifted a centimetre off the ground. “You and I are the same, Ms. Granger.” He said quietly, moving the tip of his wand up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. There were so many unspoken words that drifted between them, all the similarities they shared were pushed to the forefront of her mind as if he pulled them out of her. “The only difference between us, is that I’m not foolish enough to believe that I’m in control when I’m not.”

“You can’t hurt me.” She gasped. 

“No. But your friend does not have the same protection. Draco, was it?”

Hermione could feel his breath on her face, the scent of firewhiskey overcame her senses. She could care less about Malfoy, but Tom did not know this. “Please.” She begged for all the wrong reasons. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Why don’t we pay him a visit, hm?” Tom tugged on her hair, causing her to cry out; not from pain, but from the sudden movement. 

“I can’t tell anybody your secrets, Tom. Let me go.” 

His eyes flickered between hers, but instead of releasing her he glanced downwards. Hermione felt his wand leave her throat, he used the tip of it to push the collar of her blouse to the side. She flinched as he began to trace one of the ugly scars Dolohov had left her with. “This is not about my secrets, Hermione.” He said as the buttons keeping her blouse together began to undo. His magic slowly pulled her shirt open, revealing her bra and the remainder of the scars. 

“What are you doing?” Panic filled her voice. No one but Ron had seen those scars before. Even when she had changed in front of Malfoy, they had been hidden. 

“I can’t hurt you, remember?” 

“I don’t see how this is productive-” 

Tom used the hand he had on the back of her neck to force her head down. To look at her scars. “Where are these from?” He pulled the cup of her bra down, just barely revealing both her nipple and the scar that streaked across her breast. 

“That is none of your business.” Hermione snapped, suddenly remembering that she still had access to her arms. She reached up and pulled his hand away. “Get off of me.”

He met her gaze. “I had assumed, by the way you held yourself, that there have been very few times you have not been in control.” His eyes fell back to the scars covering her torso. “I am willing to admit that I may have been mistaken.”

“That’s what this is about? Control?” She tried to pull away, but he held fast. “Are you just butthurt that I managed to get into your head? That you weren’t in control?”

“Where did you get these?” He asked again. It was obvious that he would not be asking again.  

Hermione resigned. “I was attacked. There is not much to it.”

“By whom?” 

“I don’t know, he had a mask. I couldn’t see his face.” She lied. The truth was that the man she was referring to did not exist yet. She pressed her hands to his chest gently, this needed to descalate. “I am going to be honest with you, Tom. I am very rarely in control, I apologise if I insulted you.”

His lip upturned. “Don’t do that.” He sneered, he released her and turned away. He took a few steps before turning back towards her. “Don’t get all soft, it doesn’t suit you.” His eyes latched onto her, burning holes through her face. Hermione stood there, exposed and unsure what he wanted her to say or do. She was suddenly very cold.

“Tom-”

“You are a sly little witch, Hermione.” He tightened his fingers around his wand, still staring at her through the darkness. “You say all the right things, do everything I expect you to. Even now I can see it in your eyes, you know exactly what I want and how to give it to me.” Hermione said nothing, unsure how he had come to this conclusion. It was not wrong. His eyes shimmered with newfound intrigue. “Is this on purpose? Or do you not know you’re doing it?”

“I don’t understand.” She swallowed nervously. 

“It worked on Abraxas,” Tom scoffed, “I bet it has also worked on your friend. You are the most tempting witch I have ever met.”

Hermione blinked. Tempting? Had Lord Voldemort just called her temping. “Tempting?” She repeated the word with a raise of her brows. Maybe he had simply misspoken. 

Tom approached her once more. “I have an assignment for you, a small one, just to test a theory.” His eyes ravished her face, devouring every detail he could make out in the darkness of the room. “You’re going to go back to the little inn you’re staying at and do exactly what you did with Abraxas to your precious Draco.”

Hermione glared at him. “What on earth will this prove?” She was not the type of girl to kiss two men in one night, especially not when those two men were related. Abraxas was one thing, he had obviously fancied her from the start. But Malfoy? Malfoy had recently tried to kill her, this ‘assignment’ was impossible. Tom did not know her history with Draco Malfoy.

“I will tell you everything once you come back to me with proof that you completed the assignment.”

“Proof?” 

“A memory.”

Hermione stared at him, gaping. “You want me to go back to my friend, and what? Seduce him? He will not take kindly to that, I assure you, and I may lose the friendship in the process. I have nothing to gain from this.” She began to button up her blouse. Tom grabbed her hand, stopping her before she could complete the first button. 

“And if he does take kindly to it?” He asked, Hermione was so appalled that she could not form words. “Do this assignment, and if it works I will have you complete one more task for me. Then your debt is paid off.” He said. “I will get you a time-turner and you will never have to see me again.”

She swallowed the minimal amount of saliva left in her mouth. “I don’t believe you.”

At that, he smiled. So charming and sweet. “Goodnight, Hermione.” He took a step back from her, Hermione knew she could not bargain with him, if he was anything like her he would not back down once his mind was made up. Without another word of protest, Hermione took her wand out of her pocket and stared at Tom for a moment longer. He had put his hands in his pockets, watching her carefully as she scowled at him.

Without wasting a second more, she apparated out of the room.

~

Hermione reappeared directly to the inn, drawing Malfoy’s attention from where he was on the bed. He held a book in his hands, the front half curled backwards and held out of view. She stared at him, finding the sight strange. She had never seen Malfoy with a book before. He was staring at her as well, but his eyes were not focused on her face. Hermione didn’t have to look down to know what he was staring at.  

She had apparated before rebuttoning her blouse. 

She reacted instantly, pulling her shirt closed and covering her scars from his view. Malfoy’s gaze moved up to her face, his eyes narrowed slightly but he said nothing. 

Then his eyes slid to her throat. 

Hermione watched as he stared intently at the hickey his grandfather had left on her skin. He did not give her a reaction, she knew his occlumency walls were up. She also knew what he assumed. She knew what this looked like. Her first instinct was to explain herself, to deny that anything had happened, but she knew he would not believe her. Malfoy had already made up his mind on what had taken place between her and Tom.

She felt his eyes follow her as she walked to her side of the bed. “Do you want to take a picture, Malfoy?” She glanced over at him briefly as she searched her bag for a set of clothes to wear. Preferably comfortable clothes. He finally returned his gaze to his book.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Granger.”

She looked at him once more. “With all the staring you’re doing I thought you might want something that’ll last longer.” She turned away from him to pull her shirt off completely - her bra and skirt as well - before she slid on one of her stolen jumpers. It hung just to her mid-thigh, enough to cover her knickers. 

“I'm just trying to figure out when you became a whore.”

Hermione smiled, immediately thinking about his grandfather. “Do you not want to know how my night was?” She asked, propping her hands on her hips as she watched him lower the book into his lap. He gave her his full attention, motioning sarcastically for her to continue. She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her hair up into a bun before speaking. “Tom and I discussed a plan to retrieve the time-turner, I will be accompanying him on Friday evening.” She explained. “But I was convinced to stay and socialize with his friends, including your grandfather. Quite a handsome wizard, if I must say.” 

Malfoy gave her a look that said: I don’t give a fuck, get on with the story. 

Hermione felt giddy at the idea of telling him how her night ended. “Abraxas was the meanest of them, actually, always trying to contradict me and prove me wrong. That is until he cornered me in Tom’s study and gave me this.” Malfoy’s gaze narrowed as she tapped the hickey, obviously having a hard time believing her. He was one blink away from rolling his eyes. “Tom stopped it, however, and I apparated back shortly after.”

“Everybody knew my grandfather got around, you’re nothing special.” 

She laughed. “I doubt he ‘got around’ with many mudbloods. Wouldn’t that tarnish the family name?” 

“As long as he didn’t knock any up, I really don’t think people would care.”

“Tell that to Astoria.” Hermione mentioned Malfoy’s late betrothed, the same pureblood girl that had run off with a muggle-born wizard she had met at Hogwarts. She had been hunted down by the small group of Death Eaters and killed for her traitorous actions. 

“I had nothing to do with her death.” 

“Which is redundant. The point is that people do care who pureblood wizards and witches sleep with. Do not try to justify your grandfathers’ actions.”

“Did he know you were a mudblood?” Malfoy inquired. 

“If I am really that different from your kind, then he should have noticed himself. Yet,” she bit her bottom lip, “he still kissed me.” Hermione made a mocking face, standing up as she walked around the bed and towards the window. “Maybe your ideology is flawed.” She closed the blinds, leaving them open only enough for the outside light to guide her back to her side of the bed. 

“Then my grandfather is as stupid as they say.” 

“Stupid?” Hermione found her way back to the bed, she got underneath the covers. “I think anybody would do what he did if the right person came along. Attraction is a normal thing to feel, Malfoy.”

“Not towards your kind.” He sneered. She heard his book hit the bedside table as the bed shifted. Hermione wanted to make a smart retort, something mean to get a rise out of him, but then she remembered the assignment Tom had given her. Riling him up would not help her in any way.

“What do you have against ‘my kind’ Malfoy? What truly makes us so different besides who my parents are?” 

He was quiet for a long moment, Hermione shifted her body so that she was facing him. She could make out the outline of his body against the darkness of the room. His bright hair helped with that. “What determines the difference between the Queen of England and a beggar on the street?” He seemed to be facing her now too. 

“Are you calling yourself the Queen of England?” Hermione wanted to smile at the thought, but this topic was a sensitive one in her books. She still had no idea what purebloods had against muggle-born witches and wizards. The fact that Malfoy knew who the Queen of England was did not go over her head. “Regardless, we all bleed the same colour.”

“It’s not your blood that makes you worth less than me.” He sat up. “It’s how you think you can just show up in my world and claim the same privileges that I earned.” 

“Earned?” She was torn between laughing and gaping at him in disbelief. “Malfoy, name one single thing that you have earned, something you didn’t get because of your blood status or your family’s name.” She urged. “I’ll wait.” They sat in silence, Hermione swore she could feel his mind working as he tried to think of an answer to her question. She knew he would not come up with anything. “I came into your world with nothing, but I still worked my ass off to learn your way of life. To become someone that the wizarding world would accept. I earned my grades at Hogwarts, I earned my reputation and I damn well earned my position in society. Everything I earned was handed to you on a silver platter.” 

“That is not-“ 

“Yes, it is.” She needed to prove her point. “How did you make the quidditch team in your first year? Hm?” She didn’t let him answer. “Everyone knows your daddy bought brooms for the entire team, you didn’t earn that for yourself. Honestly Malfoy, do you really think you would even have rank in the Dark Lord’s army if your last name wasn’t Malfoy?” 

“I earned my position, Granger. Watch yourself.” 

“By killing people who just wanted to live in a world that accepted them. That is all I want, don’t you understand that?” She might have cried if she hadn’t been so angry. “My magic is much stronger than most of the pureblood Death Eaters you claim are above me, and yet all you care about is heritage?"

“You know nothing-“ 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Hermione threw her hands up in frustration. “I know nothing? Malfoy, do you even know what biology is?”

He remained silent. 

“The Sacred Twenty-Eight are fucking inbred. If purebloods only reproduce with other purebloods in the name of blood purity, then you will eventually develop genetic conditions, which will then be passed on, and on, and on. That is how bloodlines end, Malfoy.” She had not realized how close to him she had become. They were both sitting up now. “Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why it was so difficult for your mother to have even one child-“ 

“Do not talk about my mother-”

Hermione shut him up by grabbing his face, he reacted instantly and took a fistfull of her hair. “The whole blood purity bullshit is going to kill you all.” She hissed, pulling against his hold on her. 

“I know!” He released her, bringing a hand to his face. “Fuck, Granger. I fucking know, just shut the fuck up already.”

She stared at him. 

Was that an admission of fault?

“What?” Was all she could say. 

Malfoy stood up. “Brightest witch of our age, my ass.” He muttered, running his hands down his face. Hermione watched him begin to pace, she had never been so confused before. “Is it that impossible to think that I know what goddamn biology is?” He sneered. “Of course I know what fucking biology is, you know-it-all cunt.”

Hermione was at a loss for words. 

“I know that everything about pureblood supremacy is bullshit, it’s so fucking obvious, Granger.” He turned to look at her. “I’ve known since I was a boy. I know that there are problems that come with inbreeding, I know that a pure bloodline does not guarantee stronger magical blood. And I know what biology is, for crying out loud.”

“I-” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

He laughed. “All I wanted was to find that stupid time-turner and get back home before this happened.” He gestured between the two of them. “You’re fucking everything up.”

Hermione blinked. “If you know blood purity is bullshit why did you fight so hard to prove me wrong?”

“Don’t you see?” He was on the edge of insanity. “I’m surviving, Granger. Just as you are. Just like my mother, and every single one of our classmates, despite the side they’re on. This is war. Merlin knows I wouldn’t survive if I gave myself to the Order, someone would find a way to kill me in my sleep. Just as you wouldn’t survive the Dark Lord.” He walked to her side of the bed, she stood to meet him. “I know I’m on the wrong side of this war, but I can’t leave my mother to die. Everything I do, all the people I kill, it’s all to keep her and my father safe.”

Hermione had stopped breathing completely. 

“You’re fucking everything up.”

She shook her head. “Why didn’t you just say something? Why didn’t you get help-”

“And risk the information getting back to him? I would happily kill whoever he tells me to if it meant he would keep my parents safe.”

Hermione was still shaking her head, no words left her.

“Now you know.” His voice was low. “I never hated you because of your blood, Granger. I hated you because you were right.”