Chapter Text
Hermione Granger had had a relatively pleasant childhood. Easy, loving, thanks to her parents. But she had endured moments of panic, paralyzing fear of the unknown when fright or a fit of anger caused something strange and terrifying in her to spark and make itself known in unpredictable ways—once, Peter Jenkins shoved her into the dirt and mocked her for being a little miss know-it-all, his leg had drawn back to kick at her and then he fell forward with the blast as the entirety of the school building’s windows blew out behind him. It wasn’t until Hermione was home, seated on the edge of the tub while her father carefully dabbed at the scrapes on her knees, pressed a feather light kiss over the bandage covering the cut on her forehead where she’d caught a bit of glass, when she felt the overwhelming lack of oxygen in the room, a cold chill settling over her from head to toe as the air constricted in her lungs and her father was frantically calling for her mother in a panic because…well, she was. Panicking. Having a panic attack, they informed them when they took her to Hospital. Understandable—goodness, to have witnessed a side effect of crumbling infrastructure in a school building that she’d only just been in moments before would frighten anyone. But she had no further trouble with it, not until maybe two years later when she came home from the library one sunny summer day and found her parents seated with Professor Minerva McGonagall—a perfect stranger in even more curious clothing, billowing robes and a tall pointed hat. The discovery that she was a witch wasn’t…shocking. No, that did not hit her harshly—it felt like freedom, relief! There had always been something missing an answer to a question she didn’t have the words to ask. Now she had question and answer in one fell swoop—what am I? A Witch. She’d been breathless with excitement, questions bubbling up to burst from her lips the moment this beautiful, powerful Witch was done speaking and-
"No.” Had been mother’s initial reaction. No I- I mean absolutely no disresepect miss-“
"Professor.”
"Hogskin does not sound like a credible academic body and I won’t sit here and let you confuse my dau- you- please leave. I don’t know how you ch- changed our end table into a chair but you- this doesn’t make sense! You’re no longer welcome here.”
McGonagall had let out a sympathetic sound, sighing as she nodded, “I do apologize if I’ve overwhelmed you Doctor Granger. Please do forgive me I understand it is all a bit much to comprehend at once. You have my information and I’ve left instruction on how to contact me when you’ve questions. I do hope you’ll seriously consider this opportunity for your daughter.”
“W-wait!” Hermione cried, “Mum! I- I want to go! Oh my gosh I have so many questions, can’t she please-“
“Absolutely not, this is ridiculous-“
…mum hadn’t found it ridiculous when it appeared Hermione’s magic had a thing for lashing out at glass when let loose, wild. The living room’s window seat was full of glass as all three panes shattered to pieces, the delicate windows of her mother’s curio cabinet, the slender sliver of window in the top of their front door Hermione wasn’t yet tall enough to use to peek out at visitors before opening it. Fear that this woman who must have every answer to her every question was being banished, never to be seen again, that she would be left with the knowledge she was a Witch and never have any possible idea of just what to do with that. The anger that her mother would just cast this aside without so much as taking a moment to consider maybe Hermione wanted to listen, wanted her questions answered. She realized later it had been fear, her mother had felt overwhelming fear of the unknown, the very fear that sent Hermione’s first identifiable in the moment bit of magic breaking from her skin to wreck her childhood home.
“I- I don’t- I didn’t mean t-to,” Hermione had whimpered out, trembling so fiercely and her mother had cried out in fright—not of her daughter, but for her daughter, she’d immediately swept Hermione up, a litany of shushes falling from her lips as she rubbed her back, stroking her hair as she reminded Hermione to breathe her father promising they weren’t upset, that she was safe—no one was hurt, they were home, and together, and they could fix this. Broken glass could be replaced—broken pieces could always be worked into something more beautiful with care and patience and a little bit of glue…backed, eventually by sticking charms. When the dust settled, her parents and Professor McGonagall spoke—Hogwarts might be an appropriate educational path for her daughter after all seeing as…well, she was a Witch, that much was far more plain to see. Hermione had lost the energy to ask her questions then but she’d a sense of peace that she would get her answers in due time as the Professor took her leave—withdrawing a wand to first return the end table she’d turned into a chair back to its former state and then reparo…reparo, Hermione dedicated the word to memory as all the shards of glass from the window seat leapt into action and begun fusing together in the window frame once more. And her father swept up the glass from the curio cabinet, and sat her down at the kitchen table the following morning with all the pieces gathered, and a wooden picture frame, which now held her invitation to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was confused what the glass was for but…well it was very pretty, a shame to go to waste—paper thin glass inlayed with brass that shone like gold to form patterns of delicate vines sprouting with little rosebuds. Even broken it was lovely and her father had taken the perilous task of smoothing each shards sharp edges to make them into pieces that could be puzzled together with his young daughter. Using some glue that was…technically for dental use, they fused the glass to the picture frame as decoration, clear glass with broken patterns of brass backed by the light oaky frame that made what was one of Hermione’s most cherished possessions, made along with one of her most cherished memories. A morning with her father doing something fun while chatting away her excitement about- well, everything! She was a Witch! She finally understood why she never quite…fit in, connected completely with kids her age, her…her magic must have something to do with it, right? Made her different and strange to them, that was it! And she’d be going to school with children just like her now! And she wanted to learn every last thing there was to know about being a Witch and Magic and everything! Her father smiled, encouraging her, agreeing that yes—Hogwarts would be an amazing adventure for her. And sometimes adventures got scary, and hard.
"Sometimes life gets overwhelming, little love,” her father said as their work neared its end, “But no matter how bad things might seem—you are a brilliant, resilient girl, you’re going to be meeting children like you, and soon you’ll make some wonderful friends, and no matter what, your mother and I will always be here for you. And now? Now you know you’ll always have something with you—your magic. It’s…done some unexpected things but you’ll learn to control it, and I’ve no doubt you’ll use it to do some amazing things. Remember that sweetheart, there’s always something, there’s always an answer, and if you can stop and take a deep breath and apply that brilliant mind of yours to the problem? I don’t believe there’s a single thing you can’t solve, no situation too dire, no thing too broken,” he smiled as he released the pressure he’d placed on the last bit of glass and they looked over their finished product that went on to be proudly displayed on her nightstand at home.
Now Hermione Granger lay bleeding and broken on the floor of Malfoy Manor. Her brilliant mind felt like miserable mush, her friends captured, and her parents a lifetime away with…with no idea they even had a daughter at all. And where was her magic? She didn't have her wand, but magic had never- there'd always been something, some form of intervention when things got dire. Peter Jenkins could barely push her in the dirt before her magic blew out the windows of an entire school building but Bellatrix Lestrange could carve an eight letters of hate into her arm and the Malfoy's got to keep their precious windows, not so much as a crack appeared in her defense.
She wasn’t sure why Bellatrix stopped all she knew was one moment her entire body had been wracked with the nerve-sizzling pain of a cursed blade piercing punishment into her skin, and then next the woman’s weight was off of her, somehow that was worse she could only focus on the pain now and that wasn’t the least bit helpful oh Merlin, Merlin why wouldn’t it stop-
Pressure again. Not on her body but on her arm. Soothing pressure—painful but a better sort somehow as a spindly fingered hand covered in a delicate, silken, slytherin green handkerchief wrapped around her forearm to ply pressure to the angry red swell of blood.
“I’m-“ Hermione hadn’t much realized to whom the hand belonged to until her voice got her attention—whispered words lilting low from Narcissa Malfoy as the woman knelt at Hermione’s side, eyes frantic as she met her gaze before looking about to ensure her sister wasn’t just about to burst back into the room again. “I’m sorry.”
Somehow the apology felt like pouring salt in her wounds as anger, fresh and powerful blazed in her chest, “You’re sorry?” Hermione snapped…wept but she’d her bite still as she wrenched her arm from Narcissa’s hold. “What good are your sorry’s? Even your son-” She- she still wasn’t certain how she felt about that. But he’d saved Harry’s life…spared it, for now anyway, “Draco had the courage to speak up, to protect people. To do the right thing for once.”
Narcissa’s hands ghosted before Hermione like she’d only just stopped herself from reaching out again, but chose to put her hands in her own lap, blood soaked handkerchief staining the fabric on her thigh which…well the woman did much notice, which felt…strange. Not very Malfoy-esque of her, Hermione had never seen so much as a hair out of place on the woman who now knelt on the floor of a room that hadn’t been touched by a House Elf in ages, hair falling from the knot where she usually had what would frame her face bound instead behind her head, face streaked with tears.
“I did not want this for him, for my son. I did not want...any of this," the words poured from her lips like bubbling potion boiling over, "I wish...I wish I never allowed him to set foot on this path. That I never stood by and let the Dark Lord brand his precious skin with his Mark.” She gulped in air as a shudder worked through her, “I wish for many things Miss Granger. If I could change the past, I would.”
She…
Her mind might be mush, friends captive, family gone. And still, something her father had said rang true.
Despite everything? Magic would always be with her. And in her last seven years at Hogwarts? She’d managed to do some pretty incredible things with it.
There was an eruption of sound from somewhere in the house—the basement? From above? She wasn’t certain but the clatter of calamity didn’t sound like anything working toward solutions to this- to this mess. This broken, brutal mess. So many things had gone wrong—everything, these past few years. She…she had one shot, she’d not wanted to risk it unless it was clear, absolutely imperative that she go to such lengths and now…well. This was about as dire as it got, it felt like.
So Hermione met Narcissa Malfoy’s gaze. “Well I hope you mean that Mrs. Malfoy because if I’ve a say in anything we’re about to do just that.”
Pink lips parted to question…well everything about that sentence was questionable. But the answer would be plain enough.
With little more than a seconds thought Hermione Granger unlinked the time-turner from around her neck and looped its chain around Narcissa Black Malfoy, raising her aching arm to pull the woman close as she gave time a carefully calculated turn and a half.
The world whipped around them at dizzying speed, air whooshing with such a fierceness Hermione felt her head might explode from the pressure and then-
And then they were in Malfoy Manor, in a pristine parlor that looked almost eerily inviting given just moments ago…several months in the future, she’d been tortured here.
Well…maybe not. That wasn’t entirely certain, was it?
“What…what did you do?” Narcissa breathed.
“Mother?” Draco’s voice called from a nearby room and Hermione only had a split second to press her hand over Narcissa’s mouth to halt her before she overlapped herself calling back from the hall,
“Yes my Dragon?” Hermione’s brow raised at that as she mouthed ‘Dragon?’ before seeing realization dawn in the woman’s features and she nodded, so, Hermione lowered her hand.
“We have to get out of here,” Hermione whispered. “Apparation?”
“I can,” Narcissa whispered back as she looked like she was thinking rapidly of somewhere, anywhere to go or- or maybe it was that, “but I would have to alter the wards to permit you and that would be visible to any who examined them and this- just how far back did you-?”
“Before the Mark,” Hermione said. “At least…I think? Draco came back from break with it, there…there were rumors, anyway, sixth year. I brought us back to…July, I think—that was the intention.”
Narcissa stared at her for a moment and then nodded, “Well then. The Wards will be under examination soon. There’s nothing else to be done,” she said and that…that couldn’t be true! There had to be something! Maybe if she could let Hermione look at the wards she’d see something-
“We will be giving the Dark Lord full run of our every estate in…well anytime now, soon,” Narcissa was saying, “is there anywhere you know of we could go? If you could apparate us?”
“Yes.” She…well she’d actually thought that part through, a little. It came to her mind the moment it conceived of this foolish failing plan.
There were heels clicking in the hall, footsteps approaching and-
And Mrs. Malfoy breathed a hasty incantation before pressing the tip of her wand into her index finger, pulling it away to reveal a pinprick pooling with blood before she raised her hand to Hermione’s face, cradling her cheek, a painful press against a scrape on her cheekbone as Narcissa placed her bleeding finger into the wound which was all unsettling enough and that was before she whispered,
“Blood of my blood, bond of my word—you may pass all thresholds I am welcome, find refuge under my every roof, be seated at any table where I preside. From this day forth I pledge to thee my loyalty and fealty true—no harm will come to you of my hand, no foe may cross you unmet by my wrath. This, I do solemnly swear.”
Was…was she supposed to say something back? “…cool.” Cool?
And Mrs. Malfoy smirked, amusement sparked through the panic in her gaze and she murmured, “Indeed, Miss Granger. Now. If you’d be so kind? The Wards will permit you to pass without question.”
Oh. Oh! “Real-?” there wasn’t time for questioning even if now she was feeling the very real fear she was about to be double crossed and horribly splinched…if not by attempting to pass through unwelcoming wards, then by sheer risk of apparating while her magic felt like she could barely case a lumos let alone apparate side-along-
An arm snaked around her waist, a firm hand pressing high on her back between her shoulder blades as Narcissa Malfoy pulled her close, “You concentrate, do the mind work behind our journey and I will supply the magic-“
“You can do tha-?“
“Miss Granger!”
Right, right! Footsteps—definitely Narcissa’s and if she saw herself? Well, they’d hurdle after hurdle so far…but given her every adventure since darkening the doorstep of Hogwarts, the plan was going according to plan. Plan, scramble, don’t die, repeat. It worked for eggs and half-baked schemes, so.
So Hermione did her best to ignore sickly strange feeling of a stranger’s magic surging through her, catching and clasping against her own to pull, and put it in her mind exactly where they needed to be pulled to.
They landed on the floor a crumbled mess of limbs and hair, Narcissa’s caught in Hermione’s curls while the younger witch worked to unwind her fingers from silken strands she’d no idea just when she’d latched onto, a hasty, “Sorry, sorry,” falling from her lips as she scrambled to get off of her, Merlin! She'd landed right on top of the woman!
“I believe I’ll live, Miss Granger,” Narcissa supposed as she sat up, taking in their surroundings with confusion and mild distaste. “Where the devil are we?”
Hermione’s gaze swept across the empty, vacant living room of a two story house nestled in the heart of Hampstead Garden*, and then she looked to her guest, offering the Witch a hand that got stared at for all of a moment before Mrs. Malfoy took it to help her rise, and Hermione answered her question.
“Welcome to my home.”
She wasn’t certain her sanity was wholly intact. In point of fact, she was absolutely certain it wasn’t. This was all overwhelming to say the least she’d…one moment she’d been watching Bella blacken her soul as she held down a child for torture and now somehow, some way…she was a year and a half in the past with said child. She had known her sister was broken but Merlin, her actions toward Miss Granger were beyond the pale. It had- it felt unjust to claim it to have been torture to endure but it certainly smacked of torment, the only reason she could abide watching was for the sake of the girl herself, she…she would have needed Bella to be taking it to a place the Dark Lord would deem too far, and he would forgive the Mudblood’s death, but Narcissa had felt she could plead for the girl’s life but she…was grateful, especially now that she was in such a perilous situation with only Miss Granger as a tentative ally, that she hadn’t had to do. Somehow she doubted the girl would appreciate Bella, honestly, what fun is there in killing the filthy Mudblood so quickly? Allow her to recover and heal. You know you can mark her skin fresh as often as you like, I’m certain the Dark Lord would let you keep her, a reward for all your hard work. She was a Gryffindor, she’d have precious little understanding the Mistress of Malfoy Manor would have truly meant she was convincing her psychotic sister to spare the girl her life, to leave her healed under the pretense of being tortured anew only to hopefully be given escape before then.
She’d made escape for them both now. And Narcissa needed to understand how.
…but Merlin did the girl need to recover. It had been jarring for the woman to be so suddenly thrown into the past, apparated to some horrible, dingy domicile in the middle of…wherever the hell they were, what country was this? The world outside had been relatively silent but now as the afternoon wore on there was the sound of children at play, and those horrible Muggle machines, automobiles, could be heard outside. Unpleasantness aside, she’d done this in good health. Miss Granger could hardly say the same. Narcissa could only imagine where the Golden Trio had been as of late, being on the run in the wilderness. The girl had been wan and pale, bleeding and injured before Bella’s playtime with her, she was certainly no better off for it now and Narcissa hadn’t any great idea how to proceed. Everything flashed through her mind erratically, and she wasn’t certain which was more frightening—how out of depth she felt or how alive it made her feel. It felt like the first bit of free agency she’d had in more than a year…far more than a year. The last few decisions she had full power in, had gotten precisely her way and had been free to have it was the moment she first looked upon her son, got to hold his precious body in her arms and said, “His name is Draco.” And when she’d pled to Severus for her son’s life, begged him to ensure his success on the path his father foisted upon him. She’d spoken in nothing but wishes in the stands of time between—requests and suggestions to her husband he listened to when it suited him…when it suited the Dark Lord, more over.
And the Muggleborn cohort of his worst enemy had heard her wishes and granted them in spectacular fashion.
She…did not maintain that spectacle. Or perhaps it was that she moved to make a spectacle of herself in a different fashion—Miss Granger looked around the empty home she brought them to, sat back down onto her bottom in a motion that looked like perhaps her legs had collapsed under her weight, sat there momentarily before laying back, sprawled on the floor and staring at the ceiling.
Welcome to my home, she’d said. And Narcissa felt a disgusting pang of sympathy for the girl as her gaze swept over the small, vacant space. She could see into a room that bore double doors into a back…patch of earth she supposed might pass as what she prayed was the world’s smallest garden, surely there could not be smaller. The room also had counter space and a faucet? A kitchen, perhaps, though only Merlin knew what sort of meal could be prepared in such a space. So she assumed the room they appeared in was some sort of…informal dining room? A parlor? Where had this girl slept? There was a staircase but she doubted this domicile’s upstairs was any more grand than its lower level. She’d known she grew up among Muggles, but Merlin, she’d not the faintest idea this was how she’d lived. There windows were bare of curtains, there were these strange…ugly, white…panels? Connected by strings? They blocked the view from the windows and did shield the room from sunlight to some degree. There wasn’t a bit of decoration or a single piece of furniture in sight. The chandelier overhead wasn’t lit, its candles looked like the muggle sort, light…something. Balls? Light balls, that were currently void of all light and Narcissa did not want to even begin considering how they were supposed to fill them with as much. She would not stoop to some inane muggle methodology. Though perhaps it wouldn’t be terribly difficult, Muggles didn’t strike her as the hardest working sort, if they all entertained these light balls, they must be easy enough to fill the Muggle way—she wasn’t certain just how much magic her surroundings would abide, nor was she certain her signature being so plain in the area would bode for them just now. The panels blocked direct sunlight, perhaps unblocking it would allow the light to fill the balls and they would have it for use once the sunset, that- that was imperative. She wasn’t certain where they would go from here but surely they couldn’t stay, but there were here for the time being and she would not endure this place in the dark.
She did feel badly when Miss Granger groaned as sunlight shone more blindingly as Narcissa tested her theory, tugging the pair of strings that hung loose for such a purpose, to be pulled so the panels could be drawn upward to uncover the window, oh. There was more garden before the…house, there was one that looked similar in…very dear proximity, almost directly beside them, this whole street seemed lined with matching domiciles on one side…how quaint. Oh Merlin they were surrounded by Muggles, weren’t they? Where were the girl’s parents? There were a great many automobiles lining up alongside the houses, she saw a woman on a massive stone paver that bore the weight of an automobile beneath it, stepping out of the contraption, the door closing with a slam as she adjusted the leather messenger bag over her shoulder, inserting keys into the side of the machine before moving forward toward her home. Returning from an occupation? Perhaps her parents were at…work. The two of them?
"I apologize,” Narcissa said…feeling flummoxed when the strings in her hands caught on something and the inane contraption refused to be righted. Infernal thing! It should do her bidding! Oh, she would figure it out, it would not best her, surely not. She cleared her throat, explaining, “I was merely catching the light.”
“…catching the light?” Miss Granger asked, sounding confused.
The damned strings were still being- ugh, obstinate! “The sun is out now but that will change soon enough.” A quiet, albeit frustrated growl escaped her.
…met with giggling. Ugh. The girl was laughing at her and it- well it was only relieving because she’d been through so much today, that was all. She…deserved a bit of laughter after such trials, Narcissa supposed.
Her heart startled in her chest when a hand clasped the string just above her own, guiding it to the right and then sliding down the…newly freed things that now slipped between their fingers with ease and allowed the panels to close once more. She hadn’t heard Miss Granger move, but she had, and now she stood, meeting Narcissa’s gaze with an amused smile at her lips. “Feeling fickle with the sunlight?” she supposed.
“It served its purpose,” Narcissa shrugged, though- oh what utter nonsense! An aghast sound burst from her throat as she drew her gaze from warm glittering eyes to the darkened chandelier! Not even a spark of light in a single ball! “Why I nev- Miss Granger your light balls appear to be defective.”
“My what what?” the girl questioned in startled surprise as she looked between Narcissa and then, “Oh…you- you…”
Narcissa looked to the girl as she drew very, very quiet, confused as Miss Granger turned her back on the older witch and- oh Merlin, oh what had she done? Had she said something? The young lady had had quite a time of it today, it…must be catching up with her now. The girl was shaking, shoulders heaving as a choking sound escaped her-
And then Hermione Granger threw her head back and exposed her actions as laughter. Loud, entirely unprompted laughter.
…not…not wholly unprompted, Narcissa was embarrassed to realize.
“Oh I- oh I’m sorry,” the girl apologized as she fought to collect herself, sniffling and wiping at her eyes, she had cried after a fashion, her laughter invoking tearshed. She turned to Narcissa with a sheepish grin, “I- I’m not trying to be mean, I just- whoo,” she breathed, and then took a bracing breath, “you…want the lights on? Glad I paid up the utilities just…just in case, I never did anything with the place but I wanted the option in case it was needed,” she shook her head as if to clear it, and then she stepped away, to this square panel alongside the window seat, and the chandelier lit straight away with brilliant light once she pulled upward on a small lever she called a, “Lightswitches will turn on just about any light in the house—some of them will have pull strings but you shouldn’t have any problem with them you just pull to turn the light or fan on, pull again to turn it off. These you just flip,” she explained, pushing the lever down, light vacating the glass orbs before reappearing the split second she pushed it upward again oh- oh it was-
“Delightful I-“ Narcissa caught herself—she’d many questions and right now the least important were the ones forming rapid fire in the back of her throat, how does it work? Why? What muggle magic had been brought to bear to do such a thing? Was it magical in nature—had the muggles harnessed it or was this some such contraption the witch had come up with to bless her poor parents with light? She settled for a statement, which was true enough. “I did not expect Muggles to be so innovative.”
Miss Granger shrugged, “Science can have a magical cast of its own I suppose. I’ve always loved it, even after finding out about actual magic,” she confessed.
“I…would not wish to rush you,” Narcissa said, in full truth, but she felt no painful press on her magic that said her words would lead to the girl’s detriment, “but I’ve questions, and no clue just how long we have to answer them.”
“All the time in the world…insofar as the next year and a half is concerned. Um…” she swallowed, oh, she was tired, looked momentarily as her hand sought purchase against the wall briefly. “There aren’t any chairs just now and I’m not sure there’s anything fit for transfiguration around, but we could sit on the stairs?”
Delightful. There wasn’t anything at hand, Narcissa supposed and she stepped forward to tentatively brace the elbow of her uninjured arm, the girl flinched a bit but accepted the bit of contact as Narcissa walked her to the stairs and saw Miss Granger was seated securely before…well, it was no grand staircase, but she was hardly going to sit in the girl’s lap. It wasn’t ideal but she sat on the step just below the one Miss Granger sat on, sliding into the space between the railing and the young witch’s legs. “What do you mean we’ve a year and a half? How do you…where did you find a Time-Turner?” they’d been lost to the battle at the Ministry two years- well. A few months ago now. The entirety of their collection had been sent turning eternally, wholly unusable. So where had Miss Granger’s appeared?
…she wasn’t certain what answer she expected, nor what her response might be. But the young witch’s calm…sincere, “I made it work,” was a rather shocking claim. Mostly because the gentle brush of legitimacy she plied; the cursory glance she gave the forefront of the girl’s mind provided verification that she was being forthright.
“…you…made it work?” Narcissa repeated slowly.
She hadn’t expected the words to make the girl blush so fiercely, nor did she anticipate the stutter in her chest at how painfully shy it had Miss Granger seeming as she ducked her head, hair veiling her reddened cheeks as she confessed, “I…spent some time with a Time Turner. I…might have taken on a bit of a heavier course load and I was allowed to use one to do so, it gave me five extra hours a day to attend overlapping lectures and study.”
“And sleep I hope,” Narcissa drawled. “Heavier course load?”
“I might have elected to take…every available course third year. I did drop Divination and Muggle Studies eventually,” she shrugged. “The point, Mrs. Malfoy—I had an entire school year with it…more than that given the nature of a Time Turner I could turn back as far as I wanted, as long as I only stayed there for five hours and didn’t run into myself, I could study anything for however long I wanted and what I studied an awful lot was the Time Turner itself. It was…stupid but I knew Mc- I knew I would eventually have to give it back, if not for the summer than permanently one day. And it was something that would definitely come in handy given Harry Potter is my best friend. So…I experimented with it. Overstayed my welcome and nearly erased myself from time,” she shuddered. Good heavens. She did not necessarily consider the girl dear, but Merlin was she grateful she’d not met such a fate. “But I did it while running diagnostic charms and that let me look at the internal magic, the wards and mechanics behind the why of how the Time Turners restraints worked and I was able to work out a way around them. Its…” she looked like she wasn’t certain she should continue speaking but, “well. We’re working together and you’ve got to be able to trust that we won’t break time itself or end up erased, so,” she cleared her throat, “Time Turners worked with the restraints their creators put on them. They were regulations to instate accountability and structure to their use, not laws of Time that magic must adhere to. It was meant to stop abuse of the world’s timeline—making great stands of time harder to calculate with accuracy by making the turner operate on ‘one turn per hour of time you wish to move through’ and putting a five hour limit on how long you could be displaced in time before needing to return to your natural present. When I began preparing for Harry, Ron and I’s…seventh year excursion, I went to the person who gave me the Time Turner and she let me have it back with a few…conditions. I promised not to alter major points of history, or abuse the timeline in a way that would unravel it…and if I used it, to make it unusable once I return-“
“You swore an unbreakable vow?!” Narcissa questioned, alarmed.
“Oh gosh no,” the girl assured, oh. Oh thank Merlin. Though, “I signed a magical contract. I won’t die if I don’t keep my word but I don’t exactly intend not to keep it—I understand how dangerous the turner is, I nearly set it unusable a few times this past year…future year?” she waved her hand dismissively, “Whenever I was tempted to use it for something frivolous or asinine.”
“You’d a single opportunity to turn back time…and you chose to use it now?”
“Well it seemed like the only chance we have,” Miss Granger shrugged. “I…I’m not even sure where to begin with getting back, but we have time to figure it out.”
“Do we?” Narcissa questioned, “I counted a single turn and perhaps half, of your turner.”
The girl shook herself, blinking as if she was seeking to regain focus from her exhaustion, “I…” she thought momentarily, mouth moving to murmur words to herself and Narcissa caught a recap of sorts as she retraced her explanation to see what she’d missed. “Oh! I got the Time Turner back and unwarded it. Well. I mean I unwound the wards that placed the time restrictions on it and adjusted the arithmancy a bit—it used to be more of a mechanical thing, where you just turn and appear wherever you are with a few hours difference. Now it requires a bit of intent, like all casting. I put the intent to travel back in the space of years—making it so a single turn counts for a single year, half a turn…”
“Prompts half of a year,” Narcissa nodded. Merlin…
Hermione Granger might just truly be the brightest Witch of her age.
The young witch nodded, smiling as if pleased Narcissa had kept up with her explanation, of course she entertained the company of the likes of Ronald Weasley, if she’d gone over as much with that boy he likely wouldn’t have been listening for half of it, and need what he did hear repeated further still to even begin comprehending. And he, a Pureblood. “Do…you have any more urgent questions?”
Oh. “I don’t suppose there’s anywhere you could rest here?”
“I can get furniture out of storage but that will take time,” Hermione said, “there’s a few stone benches fixed to the ground out back, a bird fountain? I don’t have my wand or I’d help but if you wouldn’t mind transfiguring us a few beds…?”
“Certainly,” Narcissa nodded, rising, though it struck her, “…Miss Granger, your homes furniture is in storage? Do your parents vacate these premises during your schooling? Or are you all vacationing now?” that would make sense, it wouldn’t do to run into the past’s-present Hermione Granger.
“I’m at Ron’s right now, I won’t be coming here period,” Miss Granger said, sounding nervous. “No one…no one will disturb us here, that’s why I brought us. Um. My parents are out of the country rather indefinitely. The house is ours for now, I…it’s mine, sort of, I’m renting the place. The owner’s furniture is in storage. Um. I just need to use a phone, I don’t think it’s too late to put a call in to see about having it delivered.”
None of this…sounded necessarily right, as in it did not feel as if it made much sense, there was certainly more to the story but, “You should rest—I’ll manage our sleeping arrangements if you would be so kind as to use your ‘phone’ for delivery. You can do that now?”
Miss Granger nodded, reaching up to grab the railing along the wall and hoist herself up, “There’s a landline in the kitchen. Um…I- no one is supposed to be here right now so there’s not exactly any groceries—are you hungry?”
Not in the slightest, not after…her appetite had fled when Bellatrix launched herself at the Muggleborn Witch left to her tender mercies. It had yet to return. “Not particularly, are you?”
She shook her head, ‘no’. “We’ll see about supplies and such later then. I can show you how to use the phone in case you get hungry later—most places will deliver until ten.”
‘Most Places’…around here…would likely be Muggle establishments, and she doubted more than dual stars. So. “That is…kind, but unnecessary. I would not wish to break this…it is a means of communication?”
“C’mon, I’ll show you,” the girl invited, carefully treading the path into the kitchen, using the wall for support as she guided Narcissa and approached a…object attached to the wall made of a material Narcissa hadn’t a name for but could associate with some of the things she’d seen—the panels that made light happen. It made an alarming sound—this drone Narcissa could hear even without pressing the part of the machine Miss Granger pulled from the wall to her ear, as the young witch did now, cradling it between her ear and shoulder as she pressed small numbered buttons, producing a series of strange short tones that seemed to alter based on the number she touched…was it a communication device or some horribly tuned instrument? The former, apparently, as after a few groaning noises there was the sound of a voice coming through, and Miss Granger smiled and nodded to Narcissa expectantly…like a dismissal, she’d gotten through to whoever she needed to and Narcissa could be about her own business. And as the Witch moved to do just that, opening one of the double doors to exit into the garden, “Good afternoon. My name is Monica Wilkins, I was wondering if I could speak to…”
…an alias? The girl had been speaking…strangely, voice lowering and softening as if endeavoring to sound older to whomever she was speaking to before her voice became an uninterpretable muffle as Narcissa closed the door behind her.
It was her first moment alone. The gardens had…passable fencing, she supposed—wooden, but it surrounded the entirety of the garden and offered appropriate privacy, and Merlin did the sun feel incredible. When last had she stolen a moment to herself outside? She hadn’t been permitted to set foot outside the manor in…well far too long, her gardens suffered for it, she was certain, but the Dark Lord…well. His word had been law. He’d been absolutely paranoid about their movements even throughout the house, stepping outside had been prohibited.
Now she lived outside of them. She took a moment to breathe and feel light on her skin and…calm herself. She was someplace strange with someone she barely trusted, under strange circumstances of epic proportions. She’d-
She’d vowed herself to the girl. Merlin. It had been necessity, but still. Something didn’t sit right, saying Blood of my blood, to someone born from Muggle stock. But she’d needed her to pass through the Wards without detection—permitting her as she would an acquaintance or…or as she would soon be doing so for the Dark Lord, would be visible. When the Dark Lord was keyed into the Manor’s wards, it would be there for all to see—that Narcissa Black Malfoy had granted Hermione Granger permission to pass through their wards, and her current self would be just as shocked as everyone else in that situation and that…did not bode well. So. She’d done what she needed to do.
…she’d done a bit more than what she’d needed to do. She could have stopped after making the girl be seen as a member of the household. Pledging her fealty—that no harm would come to her of Narcissa’s hand, no foe may cross you unmet by my wrath. That…
It had been necessary, she was certain. For their current circumstance, more so than for the purposes of passing through wards unharmed. Too, if the sharing of blood hadn’t quite taken, Narcissa’s vows would have shielded the girl from harm as she used her own magic to propel their apparition—her magic could not hurt Hermione Granger now, it could not stand idle by while she was harmed either, it would have defended her, taken the brunt of any trap that might have ensnared the stranger moving through Malfoy Manor’s wards. It had…ultimately been unnecessary for their travel, Narcissa felt no maleficence against her magic as they apparated. Still. It was better safe than splinched. And the girl needed assurances, guarantees that the Malfoy she’d entrusted with this insane plan they hadn’t even fully formed yet, wouldn’t turn on her, take it into her head to torment her as her sister had.
Still…vows were serious things and that she’d made so many so swiftly with a girl who was little more than a perfect stranger was…unsettling to say the least. She needed a rest too. So she taxed her magic further still, taking up the rather challenging task of altering solid stone into soft beds she plied shrinking charms to for transport to wherever in this home they would lay their heads tonight.
…it only just occurred to her, a thought that had her bursting back into the house with battlefield urgency, “The Ministry-“ she fell silent when the girl looked to her, mildly alarmed, shaking that implement, the piece of the phone she’d been speaking into. She shook it at Narcissa with a bit of attitude that silenced and riled her to a degree—impertinent girl! This was serious!
“Yes, nine o’clock, someone will be here. Thank you sir. Certainly, I’ll tell my husband you say hallo,” husband?! “do give your wife my regards. Uh-huh. Take care.” which was apparently a wish of farewell as the young woman placed the piece of phone back into its counterpart on the wall and she turned her attention to Narcissa, “Problem?”
“I’ve cast to procure us beds—how closely does the Ministry monitor your home for underage use?”
“Not very closely at all,” Miss Granger assured. “I’m of age.”
"You’re of age,” Narcissa snapped, impatient. She thought the girl more intelligent than this- “Your presents self, however is-“
“Of. Age.” Miss Granger steadily insisted.
“You’re the same year as Draco-“ and then, “Time travel,” she caught on. “You traveled so much you’ve aged yourself that greatly?”
“I really did use the Turner to it’s full abilities during third year. I would plot out my day each morning—based off my friends schedules I’d coordinate around them so they didn’t spot me too many different places at once, and avoid running into myself. Usually four or five places at once. On a good day I could spend my five hours…my record was seven different places at one time. Library when it was supposed to be closed for the afternoon, the Astronomy tower, my dormitory…Ginny’s dorm, Ravenclaw’s common room—it was empty of students in my year because they were…with me in my Arithmancy class and…the kitchens. Dobby let me study there on busier days like that to make sure I ate.” She blushed, “I usually relived five hours in the morning and then again in the afternoon setting back five hours, in at least two to three places, so. That adds up. I’m technically nineteen?” she supposed, “Twenty, twenty-one by the time we’re through here I guess.”
“…nineteen?” Narcissa asked incredulously. Merlin, the hours really did add up. What utter fool allowed this girl to traipse about time that much to pick up the entirety of Hogwart’s course load?
Miss Granger nodded. “Drives Ron mad I won’t kiss him because he’s underage,” she shared like a bit of fun conspiracy.
Well, she seemed to be going for amicable joviality. Which Narcissa preferred to her earlier utter disdain. Just as it was, if Miss Granger was endeavoring to be friendly, the least she could do is meet her halfway. So, she gently teased, “Oh is that why you wouldn’t wish to kiss the boy?”
The younger Witch’s cheeks pinked at that…a touch more embarrassed than Narcissa had intended as she indignantly questioned, “W- Why else wouldn’t I want to kiss boys?”
… “I was not suggesting his boyishness bothers you, Miss Granger, save for its accountability for his lack of tact and intellect.”
Oh, that brought out her indignancy further still, less embarrassment and more resilience, fire, as she defended, “Ron’s a brilliant mind for tactics!”
“Perhaps in battle,” Narcissa allowed, “But we’re at war, Miss Granger. Battlefield bravado is nothing without cunning conspiracy to support it.”
“Oh- oh whatever,” the girl snapped, Narcissa had expected a bit more…refined an argument than that, but Miss Granger slumped against the wall. She felt a bit of sting in her magic, oh. She should not have- she knew the young lady had precious little in her to give just now. She should not have teased her quite so much it was…unbecoming, honestly. Fun. But she was not here for that.
“Where shall I place our beds?” Narcissa wondered, stepping forward and offering her arm.
Miss Graner looked at it momentarily before sighing and accepting the bit of help…a great deal of help more than Narcissa had initially expected, she put her weight onto the older witch’s arm but that was easy enough to bear. “Upstairs,” she said. They returned to the stairway, making the journey upward which left the young lady panting softly, unsteady on her feet as they reached the top and Narcissa caught her against her side as she went to her knees to go down with her, ease her fall and- and just be level with the girl, see what she could do to help, panic spiking across her magic in warning that the young lady she’d vowed to protect was in some sort of peril.
“Hermione?” Narcissa pressed, alarmed.
“Sorry, sorry. J-just tired,” she promised, shaking her head as if to clear it. “There’s a room at the end of the hall—you can have it. There’s an en suite,” she offered…kindly. Well, Muggle’s apparently raised their children with an insistence on hospitality, Narcissa supposed. “My room was the first door on the left.”
Was, she kept saying. But Narcissa would not question that just yet. Perhaps it was a condition of their travel, speaking of what they were currently experiencing in past-tense. Something told her that was not the case, she’d have to wait and see. “Very well. Can you stand?”
She nodded, and Narcissa helped her rise, moving gingerly forward to the first room at the top of the stairs. Vacant, as the rest of the house, and Narcissa withdrew one of the beds from her robes and cast it out, removing her shrinking charm and once it was a more useable size, she cast to levitate it to rest with its head against the window that looked out of the side of the home, a line of houses visible. Merlin that was disconcerting, made the space feel even smaller. She focused on other things. “Do you need to bathe? You…should cleanse before lying down. Infection would be less than ideal just now.”
“Pretty sure I’d pass out in tub, drowning to death probably isn’t ideal either,” she supposed, wincing as if something hurt, “…probably.”
“Would you permit me to cast a cleansing charm?” Narcissa gently offered. And when the girl hesitated, “I cannot cast on you in harm. I’ve vowed as much.”
Miss Granger nodded, though that did little to keep her from flinching as Narcissa cast. But her skin was clean, hair silken and the young witch took a handful of it to sniff, a bit of a wry look on her face. “Lavender?” she spoke the word as if she suspected insult.
“It’s a pleasant scent, associated with calm. It will…I hope it will assist in giving you peaceful rest. I am sorry I’ve not any useful potion on hand,” she said as she helped the young woman to bed, she relaxed against the mattress with a bit of a groan that was followed with a more contented sounded sigh. She…was glad she could offer that much comfort. “It has been…you’ve had a trying time,” Narcissa said carefully. “If you’ve need…if you find yourself distress-,” she cleared her throat. “If you’ve need of anything, you’re to come to me. Is that clear, Hermione?”
“That’s twice now,” was the younger Witch’s…nonsensical reply. Was she already asleep? Her eyes were closed, voice a bare whisper. Some private amusement seemed to get to her, an amused hum in her throat, “They say third times a charm you know.”
“A charm?” Narcissa murmured before questioning, “What has happened twice now to set such a thing in motion?” A question which proved the girl’s consciousness—her eyes drifted open albeit sluggishly and she stared at the older witch for a moment before articulating,
“You called me ‘Hermione’,” there was a bit of an amused quirk to her lips, gentle teasing crossing them as she said, “You’re lucky no one’s listening—it almost sounds like we’re friends.”
…well. “Someone is listening,” Narcissa supposed. And if it was some sort of charm, it would do well to be something of use to the girl, so she offered the wish, “Sleep well, Hermione.”