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Chapter Text

Malfoy Manor, 1998

“Crucio!”  

Hermione screamed as the curse hit yet again. She convulsed as waves of fire pulsed through her body. It was too much to bear. For a moment, she was nothing but pain. She knew in some distant corner of her mind that the word Mudblood was carved into her arm, but she could not feel the blood dripping from her hand. She knew she was in a dark mansion, the once tasteful gothic decorations overtaken by Death Eater torture decor, but she could not see it. She knew there was a psychopath with crazed eyes shouting at her, but she could not feel the coarse curls against her face, or hear the words Bellatrix screamed. It was all just pain. Endless pain. 

“Where did you get the sword?” Bellatrix’s shrill demand cut through the pain, and Hermione gasped in relief as the curse slowly subsided.

She was delirious from the relief of it all. Musn’t say anything. Can’t tell her anything.

Bellatrix’s creepy fathomless stare was before her again, boring into her mind’s weak defenses. Pain, exhaustion, and a lack of occlumency training made her weak. 

Hermione wanted so badly to give up.

I can’t do this anymore. I just want it all to end. I’m so tired of fighting. 

“Yes, girl, that’s right. Let me in. It’ll be so much easier if you just let me in,” Bellatrix crooned in her ear.

Hermione shook her head in confusion. There was a reason she couldn’t lower her walls. She just couldn’t remember it right now. She wanted so badly to give in. She shifted her head wearily, trying to avoid Bellatrix’s gaze. There were others in the room, watching her torture. They liked it. They liked seeing her pain.

All except the boy. She knew him. Malfoy. She had known him for years. She didn’t like him, at least she thought she didn’t. But of everyone in the room, he was the only one that didn’t like her being tortured. She could tell. He stood across from her, shaking and sweating, pale and miserable. 

He’s a victim too , she thought absently. But the thought was fleeting, as another curse hit her. 

Pain, pain, pain, pain.

Hermione felt her body failing. She was trembling so badly, she could hardly feel it anymore, and her vision was going dark. She lifted her head wearily in one final last act of defiance, and found herself somehow meeting Malfoy’s gaze from across the room. 

Make it stop. Let me skip ahead to my happily ever after. Please, please, let me skip this. With a sickening rush, the world turned black around her as she finally, blessedly, lost consciousness, her last sight of stark gray eyes in a pale face.

Chapter Text

Hermione woke slowly to the feeling of complete comfort. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she was not on a hard cot, or cold from her warming charm having worn off in the night. Instead, she was in the softest bed; she could feel the smoothness of silken sheets and the coziness of being snuggled in a down comforter. 

Even half asleep, she felt a deep sense of disorientation. She could not remember falling asleep. The comfort of the bed was not familiar. Without opening her eyes, she could tell it was morning. There was the sound of birds chirping, and a haze of soft, golden morning light filtering through her closed eyelids. 

A man made a soft sleepy noise and shifted next to her on the bed, and she realized vaguely this is what had woken her in the first place. 

A man was in her bed.

Her eyes popped open, panic making her heart race. She was greeted by the sight of a man’s back. A very pale, very toned, very naked man’s back. He was facing away from her on his side, breathing softly in sleep.

Hermione bolted upright. She struggled to climb out of the bed, hindered by the down comforter and an inexplicable number of pillows. She noted vaguely she was quite high up, in a dark wood four poster king sized bed, as she fell gracelessly out of said bed and landed with a heavy thump.

The man made a sleepy groan. “Love, it’s Saturday, remember? I know you have an unholy need to be productive, but you could at least try to sleep in. For my sake.” He rolled over as he said this, blinking blearily. Hermione gasped when she saw his face. 

It was unmistakably Draco Malfoy .

Fearing he would recognize her and demand to know what she was doing in his bed, rather than the woman he was clearly expecting her to be, she turned her back on him rapidly. Intending to flee the room, she pulled upon the closest door and dashed in, closing it firmly shut and locking it behind her. 

She found herself in a bathroom and immediately cursed herself for picking the dead end door, rather than the exit. She took a deep breath, and tried to sort through her confusion and panic. How had she ended up here, waking up next to Draco Malfoy of all people?

Was it even Malfoy? She had only caught a glimpse of him, and now that she thought about it, it could not have been him. She had seen the blonde hair and pointed face and panicked. The man whose bed she had woken up in was older than Malfoy, and more filled out. He was muscular and didn’t have the sallow, starved look that Malfoy had.

She realized with a shudder that the last thing she remembered was being tortured by Bellatrix in Malfoy Manor. Perhaps this was some Malfoy relative that had somehow rescued her? Should she risk going back out there to explain that she didn’t know how she’d ended up here in his bed? See if he had any answers? His words made her hesitant. Why had he called her ‘love’ if she was someone he had rescued? He clearly thought she was someone else.

She wished she had her wand. She felt naked, and even more vulnerable and confused without it.

Her eyes wandered her surroundings as she debated what to do. The bathroom was modern with high end fixtures, a marble countertop, and two sinks that were clearly used by a couple. The closest sink had a shelf that was well organized and contained a variety of men’s products- men’s hair potion, lotion, a boxy metal toothbrush holder. 

She frowned at the other sink, noting the pattern of scattered objects littered around the space was vaguely familiar. It was laid out seemingly carelessly, but in a way that made sense to her. The witch who lived here would obviously need her face wash first, which is why it was next to the faucet, on the right. It was even the brand Hermione liked best. Hermione noted the toothpaste with some envy; it was her favorite toothpaste for whitening sensitive teeth, but was terribly expensive and she never bought it herself. There were also an astonishing number of hair potions for curly hair, a few of which Hermione recognized as being quite effective, to the left of the sink, just where she would keep them.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, and did a double take. She could not help the tiny shriek that escaped her when she saw her reflection.

Hermione Granger was most definitely looking back at her. But it was NOT the Hermione Granger she knew herself to be. This Mirror Hermione was older, she looked to be at least twenty five. Her cheekbones were slightly more prominent, with a few more freckles across her nose. She was healthier and much better groomed than Real Hermione was, without dark circles under her eyes or stress lines around her mouth. Her hair was not frizzy, despite her morning bed head, and her eyebrows were plucked into a perfect shape. Mirror Hermione’s body was curvier, with heavier breasts and hips, made more attractive by a pale blue silk nightgown. Real Hermione glanced down, palming her body incredulously to find the subtle differences she observed in the mirror to be true. 

Where was her wand? This had to be some sort of spell or trick. 

There was a rattle at the door and Hermione let out another squeak. The man she thought was Draco Malfoy tried to turn the knob. “Love?” He knocked. “Did you scream? What’s going on?”

Hermione looked at the door in panic. She really needed her wand. Who was he, and who did he think she was? And most importantly, how had she ended up here?

“Are you okay?” He was growing more concerned, pounding on the door more insistently now. She stared at it, frozen in horror. She tried desperately to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. She was not a good liar, she never had been. And she was so bloody confused.

“Alohamora.” Dread curled in her stomach as she heard him mutter behind the door. She had to come up with something- run, or hide, or attack, or think of a story.  Anything but continue to stare motionlessly at the door, her mind completely blank, as it opened and an Older-Healthier-Draco-Malfoy-Look-Alike burst through it.

She flinched and braced herself for his reaction. Outrage, anger, confusion, she didn’t know what to expect.

What she did not expect was for him to stoop down and cradle her face in his palms, concern etched all over his face. 

“Hermione,” he murmured. “Love, what’s wrong?”

Confused tears sprang to her eyes. What was happening? Who was this man who looked impossibly like Draco Malfoy? Only instead of a sneer of disdain, he was gazing at her with love. Hermione , he’d said. He had called her by name and seemed not at all confused that she was in his bathroom.

“Did you have a nightmare about the war again?” He asked gently. 

“Wh-what war?” She seized on this. The war was the only thing that was familiar to her.

“Oh Hermione,” he sighed, and pulled her into his arms. She made a little sound, not quite of protest and stood stiffly in his embrace with her head tucked under his chin, her face pressed against his naked chest. His body was warm and firm. His steady breaths and the hand gently stroking her hair might have been very comforting if he were not either a complete stranger or Draco Malfoy.

“Where’s my wand?” she asked shakily, pulling out of his embrace. 

He frowned at her in concern. “Probably on your nightstand.”

She looked at him blankly, until he turned his body slightly, making space for her to walk out of the bathroom, and she realized he must mean the nightstand she had woken up next to.

“Hermione,” he said hesitantly, following her out of the bathroom as she marched determinedly to the bedside, searching for her wand. “Was it the nightmare about..” he trailed off.

Hermione nearly cried with relief at the sight of a wand on the nightstand. It was not her wand, but it was a wand. He seemed to think it was hers, and she was not so noble as to confess otherwise. She needed a wand if she was going to survive this bizarre situation she had woken to. She snatched up the wand, afraid somehow that the witch it really belonged to would suddenly return, and she would be revealed as an imposter. 

It felt surprisingly good in her hand. Attuned to her as well, if not better, than her own wand was. She frowned at it. It was beautiful as well. Intricate designs were carved into the delicate pale colored wood. 

“Was it about,” Malfoy-Look-Alike was talking again, haltingly behind her. “About that night in Malfoy Manor?”

She turned to him with a gasp. He knew about that? “Yes!” she exclaimed. She looked up at him, eager for more information, or some sort of explanation. He was looking at the ground. She was surprised to see pain etched on his face. It made him look even more like the Malfoy she knew. She realized with a start that the pinched look she had seen on Malfoy all of sixth year was remarkably like this. Pain-filled.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione decided to risk it. She had to know for sure if it was Draco Malfoy.

“Draco?” She almost whispered. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t express any surprise at the use of this name, but Hermione barely had time to process that, because he was letting out an angry sounding snort. “You ask if I’m alright? When you’re the one that was tortured in my home, and seven years later, you’re still having nightmares about it?”

He looked up at her then, his pale gray eyes burning with anger. She recoiled from him. She might not understand what was happening, but at least an angry Malfoy made sense to her.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” she muttered. She had a wand now. She could go anywhere. She had no idea what was going on, but she wasn’t going to figure it out here, and she could not stay in this room with Older-Healthier-Malfoy. Any second now he would realize she was not the woman he thought she was. 

Even though he had called her Hermione. 

Her mind was reeling. It came to her suddenly that she had no idea where her friends were, or if they were okay. “I’ve got to find Harry and Ron,” she murmured to herself. They had been with her, somewhere in Malfoy Manor, while she was being tortured.

“Hermione?” Malfoy’s alarmed voice cut into her thoughts. “I.. what did you say?” He was eyeing her nervously. “Did you say you needed to find… Harry? Umm, just Harry, right love? That’s all you said?” Something she had said was wrong. On top of concern, the look he gave her was alarmed. He was going to figure out she wasn’t who he thought she was.

“Right,” she agreed quickly, not sure what he was asking.

He looked at her skeptically, but then nodded. “I think Harry and Ginny were going to spend the night at the Burrow with James, didn’t you say that yesterday? That they were pretending they wanted to be there when Charlie arrived, but really they just wanted a night of free babysitting?”

Who was James? This was all so nonsensical. But the Burrow, at least, Hermione knew. She could focus on that. Harry was at the Burrow. 

She lifted her wand and apparated, barely registering Malfoy’s startled expression, before she was gone. Maybe she was supposed to have said bye. She was just glad to be out of his presence. Hopefully she would never see him again and that would be that.

Chapter Text

Hermione sighed with relief that the wand she'd stolen worked beautifully. She took in the familiar site of The Burrow, which somehow managed to convey both shabiness and coziness in the faint morning light. She approached the front door cautiously, wondering if she should knock, or do reconnaissance first, in case the home was compromised by Death Eaters.

She was standing on the front step, frozen with indecision, when the door suddenly swung open to reveal an old woman. Hermione gasped and stumbled.

It was without a doubt Molly Weasley, but she looked absolutely dreadful. She had aged at least twenty years since Hermione last saw her. Her hair was fully white, deep creases lined her face, and she had gained at least two stone in the belly and hips.

Old-and-Fat Molly peered at Hermione in concern. Her gently sympathetic expression was achingly familiar, and the appalled exclamation Hermione had been about to voice died in her throat.

"Oh dear," Molly tutted, giving Hermione a once over. Hermione was suddenly acutely aware that she was barefoot in a very short blue silk nightgown. It has not seemed particularly important when fleeing Malfoy, but she blushed now at Molly's pointed look. "You and Draco must've had a row. Come in now, we'll warm you up and you'll feel right as rain in no time," she pulled Hermione in with a quick hug and shut the door.

Hermione stood stiffly in the doorway, trying desperately to get control of a rising panic. Fear and confusion threatened to overwhelm her as she logically laid out the facts. She had woken next to an aged Malfoy, who was not surprised to see her. She had seen herself in the mirror, and she herself had aged. A very aging Molly was not surprised to see her, nor surprised by her association with Malfoy.

Hermione had always prided herself on her ability to reason, and reason was very clearly telling her something. She was in a future reality. She could not say when precisely she was, but based on the aging of her own body and Malfoys, it was more than five years from when she last remembered herself being. In said future reality, she was apparently associated with, it seemed, even in a relationship with, Draco Malfoy.

She processed this as she allowed Molly to wrap a throw around her shoulders and levitate a cup of tea from the kitchen. Despite her fear, she was comforted by Molly's familiar voice and concern. "Now then dear," Molly said. "What's happened between you and Draco, to bring you here at this hour?"

"I..." Hermione stuttered, searching for an explanation. "That is to say…" she trailed off. "I mean…" Her mind was blank.

Molly let out a little sigh and patted Hermione on the back. "Still too fresh to talk about, then, isn't it dear?"

Hermione nodded in mute relief.

"Well, off you go, up to Harry and Ginny. I'm sure they'll have you feeling better in no time," Molly ushered Hermione towards the stairs. "You may not want an old woman's advice dear, but I'll give it to you anyway," she continued. "No matter how bad the fight, don't take him for granted. One day you'll be an old widow like me and wishing you could have just one more fight with him."

Hermione gasped. Arther was dead? She looked back at Molly, stricken.

Molly gave her a sad smile, as though the grief were old and familiar. "Now, now. I didn't say it to make you feel bad. Just to remind you how precious and fragile this life is. Not that you don't know that yourself, of course, but sometimes it's best to put it all in perspective, isn't it, love?" She patted Hermione's cheek kindly.

"Up you go," Molly continued with a shoo-ing gesture. "Mind you don't wake James, he's sleeping in Ginny's old room."

Hermione tiptoed quietly past Ginny's room, wondering who James was. She wound her way up the stairs to the fifth floor and opened the door to Ron's room. To her consternation, it was empty and had the faintly musty scent of a room that had not been used in quite some time. A few of Ron's belongings were messily strewn about, but covered in a thick layer of dust. She frowned as a sneeze overtook her. Why were all of Ron's things in the room if he had moved? And why hadn't anyone done a cleaning charm to clear the dust? She raised her wand to do just that, then hesitated. It wasn't her place to clean someone else's home. If Ron wanted to leave his room at the Burrow filled with things and dusty, that was his business.

She wandered back down the stairs slowly, wondering where everyone was. It seemed Ron might not even be in the house, as she had at first assumed. Harry and Ginny were definitely here though. Malfoy had said so and Molly had confirmed that. She stood outside Ginny's door hesitantly, wondering again who James was, and where Ginny could be, if not in her room. She gently knocked on the door.

She heard a door behind her open."Shh!" She turned to find Ginny glaring at her from the doorway to Bill's room. "Hermione, get in here," Ginny hissed impatiently with a little wave of her hand. "He's the lightest sleeper, the silencing charm won't do a thing if you knock again."

She nodded, as though she knew what Ginny was talking about, and followed Ginny into Bill's room. "It's lovely to see you," Ginny said apologetically in a normal voice once she had shut the door behind them. "I wanted to put a heavy silencing charm on James' room but Mum wouldn't have it. She thinks he needs to hear in case some fantastical emergency happens like a kidnapper comes or the hallway catches on fire. We settled for a very light one on the door only."

"Right," Hermione said vaguely. She'd never been in Bill's room before, but there seemed to be no evidence of Bill in the room at all. There was a large bed, with two night stands, a bookshelf, and a doorway which presumably led to a bathroom.

"Why are you here so early?" Ginny asked, taking in her nightgown clad state. "Malfoy do something?"

Hermione opened her mouth, unsure of how she was supposed to reply, when the bathroom door opened and out walked Harry. He was a taller, filled out looking Harry, with a healthy glow to his cheeks, and a better tamed head of hair, but she barely registered all that because all that mattered was that it was Harry.

A choked sob of relief escaped as she tripped across the room and flung herself into his startled arms. Some of the awful tension in the pit of her belly released as she breathed in his familiar scent. She didn't know where she was or why, but Harry was here, and that alone was enough for now.

"Hermione?" He asked, gently rubbing her back. "Shh now, it'll be alright," he murmured soothingly. Older Harry was much better at dealing with displays of emotion, she noted. Teenaged Harry was always quite uncomfortable with any sort of outbursts. Ginny too had come up behind her and was stroking her hair in a very comforting way.

Hermione took a shaky breath and stepped back. "Are you okay?" Ginny asked kindly. Hermione shook her head helplessly.
"Come sit," Harry said, conjuring a chair for her, and taking a seat himself on the bed. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," Hermione said slowly, unsure of how to explain. "Where's Ron? I don't want to have to explain twice."

Harry froze and Ginny went utterly pale at those simple words. She felt her heart hammering with sudden panic, though she didn't quite know why. Dread unfurled in her chest again as they exchanged an alarmed look. What was going on? What had she said?

"Hermione," Harry said very slowly. That was it. Just her name. Silence hung in the air, both of them staring at her with wide, scared eyes.

"What?" she whispered finally.

They kept staring.

"Where's Ron?" she asked again, her voice very small.

Finally Ginny cleared her throat, then cleared it again before looking imploringly at Harry. He looked Hermione directly in the eye and said softly, "Ron's dead. He has been for seven years."

Chapter Text

There was a horrible rushing in her ears, and the room was turning black around the edges. Someone was breathing in short erratic gasps, and she thought it might be her, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out how to stop. 

I’m in an alternate future reality in which Ron is dead. She forced herself to think it. And then she forced herself to say it outloud. “Ron’s dead,” she said. “Ron’s dead.”

It didn’t seem real when she said it outloud either.

Snippets of conversation penetrated through her panic. “...calm her down!” Ginny was shouting agitatedly.

A cup in her hands. “… feel better...” Harry’s calm voice cut in and out, but his hands gripped hers steadily and she obediently brought the cup to her lips.

Yes, she thought to herself. I’m having a panic attack. I need a calming draught.  

She somehow managed to swallow around her rapid gasps, but whatever it was, it wasn’t just a calming draught. Her breathing evened out, but an awful woozy sensation was also dragging her down to sleep. 

“... owl Draco…” Ginny’s voice.

“No,” Hermione managed to get out, before sleep dragged her under. “Not Malfoy.”

The sound of shouting woke her. She opened her eyes, praying it had all been a bad dream, only to find herself in Bill’s room at the Burrow. Not a dream then.

She could hear Harry shouting just outside the closed door. He sounded scary angry. As angry as she’d ever heard him before, and that was saying something. “No way I’m letting you in there, I don’t know what the hell happened this morning, but she shows up half naked in tears and then asks for someone who’s been dead for years. Did you hex her?” 

“Get out of my way!” Came an answering snarl that sounded suspiciously like Malfoy.  “How dare you suggest that. How dare you try to keep me from her! If something’s wrong, she needs me!”

“What she needs is rest!”

“What she needs is her HUSBAND!”

Hermione gasped. It couldn’t be Malfoy. He couldn’t be… The world was spinning again. In what kind of future reality would I ever have married MALFOY?

There were sounds of scuffling at the door, and a rattling bang, as though someone were being pushed against it.

“Draco, stop!” Ginny’s voice cut in. Calmer than Harry, but firm. “She specifically said ‘Not Malfoy’, right before she passed out. We can’t let you in.”

“She said… what?” The sounds of scuffling died. Malfoy’s voice was filled with so much shock and pain that Hermione winced.

“What happened between you two?” Ginny asked, her voice a little gentler.

“Nothing,” Malfoy breathed. All the wind seemed to have gone out of him. “This morning, she woke up sort of, panicked, I guess I’d call it. I thought it was just a nightmare. But then she said she needed to find Harry and… Ron. I thought I misheard. I wanted to believe I misheard. But then she just Apparated away, and I was so worried, I came here to look for her and now you won’t let me see her.”

There was an awkward pause and then Malfoy’s voice, “I guess it’s worse than that actually. She doesn’t want to see me.”

“You didn’t have an argument last night? Nothing traumatic happened recently?” Harry asked. There was still a slight edge to his tone, but he had calmed down considerably.

“We didn’t fight.” Malfoy answered. “And I can’t think of any trauma beyond the usual. She’s been working like crazy and is up for a promotion soon, but what’s new about that?”

“Today’s the seventh anniversary of Ron’s death,” Ginny said quietly. “It obviously has to be something to do with that.”

Hermione was reeling. Ron dead. For seven years. She couldn’t focus too much on that. The more pressing question was, how had she ended up here? Whatever reality this was, it was not one she wanted to be in. 

How did he die? The unwelcome thought intruded. She didn’t want to know. Knowing would make it too real, and she didn’t want it to be real. She wanted to figure out what spell had thrust her into this awful future world, and find a way to return to the world she’d left. So she could make absolutely sure Ron was alive and stayed that way.

“If she won’t see me, can you at least check on her?” Hermione had never heard Malfoy sound like that before. There was not a trace of arrogance in his tone. He was almost begging.

“I don’t know what to say to her,” Harry said. “What if her mind is suffering some sort of trauma and I made it worse by telling her Ron’s dead? Maybe we should’ve just played along.”

“I owled Percy to come over early,” Ginny said. “Blaise will know what to do.”

“We can’t leave her alone until then,” Malfoy said in frustration. “What if she wakes up and she’s confused or scared? Someone should be in there!”

“What if we say the wrong thing and do irreparable damage?” Harry countered. “We have no idea what’s going on.”

“Please, Harry. Please, just let me know she’s still sleeping and I’ll wait patiently for Blaise, I swear.” Malfoy was actually begging Harry. Hermione couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

Harry must’ve agreed, because the next moment the door was opening. Hermione had a split second to decide if she wanted to pretend she was still asleep, or admit that she’d heard the whole conversation. She closed her eyes and feigned sleep, but it must’ve been a moment too late because Harry walked up to the bed and sat down at the edge of it.

“I know you’re awake,” he confirmed. “You’re too tense to be sleeping.”

She opened her eyes. Harry was gazing at her, a worried expression pinching his brow. “I thought you’d want an excuse not to talk to me. Since I’m so crazy, one wrong word might do irreparable damage,” she couldn’t help the frostiness of her tone.

  Harry winced. “You heard all that then?”

She didn’t bother nodding, just kept glaring at him.

“You can’t blame me for being worried, Hermione.” He did indeed look so worried, that Hermione felt herself softening. She would be completely freaked out if the tables were turned. “Did something happen between you and Draco?”

“Why does everyone keep asking that?” She snapped. “It’s got nothing to do with Malfoy.” I’ve got nothing to do with Malfoy , she wanted to scream. But that did not seem to be true in this insane world she’d woken up in. The one in which Ron was dead.

“What’s it got to do with then?” Harry asked softly. “What’s going on Hermione?”

She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. Harry already seemed to think she was mentally unstable. What would he think if she told him the last thing she remembered was being tortured? But it was Harry. If she couldn’t trust him, there was no one to trust. 

She opened her mouth, unsure of where to start, when someone knocked on the door. “Harry? Hermione? It’s Blaise.”

Harry looked extremely relieved. “Come in!” 

Hermione shook her head. Who was Blaise? Zabini? That made no sense. Why would they call a Slytherin they had barely known at Hogwarts to come check on her? No more sense than being married to someone you hated. She pushed away that thought. She must’ve misunderstood. She couldn’t be married to Malfoy.

It was indeed Blaise Zabini that stepped into the room. He had always been handsome, and seven years had made him even more so. He had filled out in the shoulders, and exuded a self confidence she didn’t recall from their Hogwarts days.

Ginny snuck in with him, carrying a baby. Her eyes were darkened with worry, and Hermione noticed she too, had some telltale signs of aging she hadn’t noticed previously. A fullness to her hips that hadn’t been there before.

The baby had a thick head of messy dark hair, nearly identical to Harry’s. James , Hermione realized with shock. Harry and Ginny’s baby. 

She was reeling so much, she barely registered Zabini pulling up a chair by her bedside. 

“Hello,” he said warmly. “How are you feeling?”

“Confused,” Hermione answered honestly. “Why did they send for you?”

He smiled. “Do you know who I am?”

“Blaise Zabini,” she nodded.

“Excellent. I’m just going to ask you a few more questions, if you don’t mind. Do you know your name?”

She rolled her eyes. “Hermione Granger.”

Ginny tensed. Was that the wrong answer? Hermione felt the room start to close around her again. 

Blaise frowned at Ginny. “Maybe it’d be best if we did this alone,” he said. 

“No!” Hermione said, grasping for Harry’s hand. They couldn’t leave her.

Harry squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Do you still not want to see Draco?” He asked. “We thought you said ‘Not Malfoy’ before you passed out so we’ve been keeping him from you, but if you’d rather he were here, he’s just outside the door. He’s going crazy with worry.” Harry winced at the end, and she realized he thought it was a faux paus to say “going crazy.” They thought she was crazy.

She made the split second decision to play along as much as she could, and not reveal to them how much she didn’t know. The last thing she needed was to end up in St Mungo’s. Then she’d never figure out how to reverse this spell and get back to her reality.

“Yes, let him in,” she said, trying to keep the hesitation from her voice. “I want my… husband.”

Harry just nodded, looking relieved, as he went to open the door for Draco Malfoy. Confirming he really was her husband . How on Earth that could’ve ever happened when she despised him, she could not begin to fathom.

She had to admit, as he rushed through the door and to her side, he was the picture of a concerned and loving husband. His grey eyes were frantic with worry, and he seemed almost to be trembling as he gingerly sat beside her and gently took her hand. Looking at him objectively, she also had to admit he was handsome enough that she could possibly imagine scenarios in which he would’ve attracted her interest, in spite of her contempt for him. He was tall and almost perfectly formed, with well defined muscles that weren’t too big to be intimidating. His once pointed face had filled in a little, so that now the pointiness wasn’t so noticeable, and one more noticed the sharp cheekbones, and vivid grey eyes.

It was the eyes that caught her the most, filled with worry as they were now, they were still beautiful.

“You didn’t miss much, mate,” Blaise was saying. “Just starting to ask Hermione a few questions. We asked you to come in because we want her to feel safe. She should know that everyone here loves her very much, and only wants to help her. No one is judging her, no matter what she says.”

Malfoy nodded tightly and squeezed her hand. She wished Harry were still holding it, but she didn’t have the heart to pull her hand away. At least his hand was warm and dry.

“Hermione, do you know what date it is?” Zabini asked.

She took a shot in the dark and added seven years to the date she knew. “March 16, 2005.”

They all smiled at her. So she’d guessed right.

“And do you know where you are?”

“The Burrow,” she said confidently. 

“Great! Do you know who’s Minister?”

She thought frantically. Who was most likely to be Minister? Again, she took a shot in the dark. “Kingsley?” She couldn’t help the slight question.

Blaise took note of her questioning tone, if his slight frown was anything to go by. “This isn’t a test, Hermione,” he said gently. “As much as I know you excel at those, I’m trying to get a sense of your mental state so that I can help you. Try to answer the question in the spirit in which it was asked. Did you truly know Kingsley is Minister, or were you just guessing?”

She could feel Malfoy beside her, tense as a slab of marble. Should she continue to lie? What if they put her in St Mungo’s? Harry wouldn’t do that. But Harry wasn’t her husband. Apparently Malfoy was.

She turned to him, squeezing his hand again, her wand held tightly in her other hand. “I need to speak to Malfoy first,” she said. “Alone.”

No one thought this was out of the ordinary. Leaving her alone with her husband was perfectly natural to them. They all filed out, Ginny muttering about needing to feed the baby.

Malfoy smiled encouragingly at her. “What is it, love? What do you need?”

She thrust the tip of her wand against his throat. “I need your Unbreakable Vow.”

Chapter Text

"What would you have me vow?"

There was no inflection in his tone, and his face was blank of all emotion. There was none of the wariness she expected, or the sullenness she remembered, or the love she had received from him all day. It hadn't felt natural to be the recipient of that love, but she was strangely sad, almost bereft, in its absence.

She took a deep breath. "I'm not the Hermione you think I am," she said in a rush. "I'm not your wife."

"I see," he answered evenly. "What Hermione would you like to be then?"

"It's not what Hermione I'd like to be," she exclaimed with exasperation. "It's just not who I am. "

His face briefly crumpled, as though he were in terrible pain, but quickly smoothed over. "I see," he said again, very quietly. "There were… easier ways you could've gone about approaching this conversation. This elaborate scheme hardly seems necessary."

"You're taking this wrong," she answered, rather alarmed at his reaction. "It's not like I'm breaking up with you. That is to say, I'm sure your wife Hermione loves you very much. I'm just not her!"

Before he could jump to more conclusions, she spoke again, not quite meeting his eyes as she explained. "The last thing I remember is being in the middle of the war. We, and by we I mean Harry, Ron, and I, had just been taken to Malfoy Manor by Snatchers. Greyback, specifically." She shuddered. "I'm not trying to hurt your feelings , it's just I somehow managed to end up in this Hermione's body. That is to say, this future version of Hermione, who is married to you. When, in reality, I'm an eighteen year old Hermione, that got transported away from the war. It must be some sort of spell or something. Do you see?"

Silence greeted her speech. She glanced up at him finally, to find him watching her with fathomless grey eyes. She realized that her wand hand had slipped a little and was no longer against his throat. He didn't seem eager to draw his own wand though, so she hesitantly lowered it, still pointed at him and ready to cast a spell.

"I don't think I see," he said finally. "What do you want me to vow?"

"I want you to vow that you won't send me to St Mungo's. And that you'll help me reverse the spell, or enchantment, or whatever it is. I need to get back to my own time, before Ron dies!"

He blinked at her.

She felt panic rising again. She had to convince him to help her, or at least just keep her out of St Mungo's. "I know you hate Ron, so maybe that's not so important to you. But you used to hate me too, so maybe one day you won't hate him either. Even if you do seem to still dislike Harry, but that's all right, even if you always dislike them both, you do seem to really love me, and I truly can't be happy without both of them in my life. So I have to get back and I have to save Ron. Please." Her rambling was barely making sense. She dropped her head in defeat. She would never get his Unbreakable Vow, she sounded crazy to her own ears. Even with her wand, short of Imperiusing him, she couldn't force him. Did Unbreakable Vows even work if made under coercion?

"Okay."

"What?" Hermione jerked her head up. His expression was still void of all emotion. "You believe me?"

"I believe that you believe you are an eighteen year old Hermione in the middle of a war," he said slowly. "And I believe that making this Vow will help to reassure you that you are loved and safe. So I will do it."

That was way better than she had hoped for. He didn't have to believe her, exactly. He just had to help her.

"But I have some conditions. I will Vow to help you, if it is possible, to return to your rightful… timeframe. In return, you need to promise me that you'll try to accept this life you find yourself in. Promise me that you'll really try to remember the life you have, and that you'll heed Blaise's medical advice."

"Unless he advises St Mungo's," she said quickly. That was the main point, and she didn't trust Malfoy not to somehow get around it.

He nodded and his emotionless mask slipped briefly. Eyes shining with a deep emotion she could not identify, he said fiercely, "I would never let you be sent to the St Mungo's long term ward. You can have my Unbreakable Vow on that without conditions."

She sighed in relief. That was really all she needed. But his Vow to help her reverse the spell would surely be useful. "I don't know if I can Vow to try to accept the life I'm in. It's not my life, and I'm not going to stop wanting to get back to the one I came from," she said hesitantly.

He shook his head. "I don't need your Unbreakable Vow," he said. "Just your promise. Your word that you'll do your best to assimilate to the here and now."

She stared at him in astonishment. A promise? He would accept her word alone, and in return give her a binding Vow that would kill him if he broke it?

"I trust you," he said gently, correctly interpreting her expression. "You are the one that doesn't remember. Not me. I love you, and I trust you, and your word is enough."

She felt some of the icy fear inside her melt, just a little. He really did love her. As bewildering as that was.

"Thank you for listening to me," she said softly. "I know it's hard for you to believe what I'm saying is true, but thank you for at least accepting that I believe it."

"It's a little hard not to, when the gap in your memory is so profound. It's not just Ron's death, is it? It's everything. You don't remember anything that's happened since that night at The Manor. You even think I still dislike Harry."

She frowned at him. "You don't?"

"He was my Best Man at our wedding," Malfoy answered. "I'm James' godfather."

She stared at him, open mouthed.

"James is Harry and Ginny's son," he clarified.

"I figured that out," she said absently.

He nodded. "At least you're still smart," he said, his lips twitching with amusement. "I don't know if I could stay in love with you if you had lost your giant brain," he teased.

She stared at him. A flirty, smiling Malfoy was almost unbearably handsome. She felt an answering tug at the corner of her lips, despite the fact that he wasn't being particularly funny or clever.

"But you were fighting when I woke up," she persisted. "It seemed just like how it's always been."

He shrugged. "Harry's my closest friend, but you're my wife," he said simply. "And he'll always put you before me. As he should. He and I are mates, but you're his family."

She had known that, of course. But she was surprised to feel tears in her eyes at Malfoy's words. Harry was her family too. At least that hadn't changed, in this future reality.

Malfoy smiled at her encouragingly. "He loves you the same, even perhaps more than what you recall. You're very close to Ginny as well," he added. "You talk to her every day. I'm sure I don't want to know half of what you tell her."

"Thank you," she said softly. "Thank you for telling me. It does… help. Knowing I'm loved by people I love. It makes it less scary."

He nodded. "I knew it would," he said. "I know you, and I want to help you. An eighteen year old Hermione probably doesn't understand that yet, but in the spirit of trying to assimilate, you need to stop being surprised that I'm on your side. I'm always going to be on your side."

She nodded slowly. "I'll try," she said. "You'll really make an Unbreakable Vow to help me get back to my time?"

He nodded, but his face shuttered again. "Yes. If it's possible," he said. "But I have conditions, you'll recall."

"That I promise to try to assimilate, and that I listen to Blaise," she nodded. "I do. I promise."

He smiled, but it wasn't the warm teasing smile of before. It was slightly calculating, and much more like the Malfoy she knew.

"Great, but I said conditions. That's all part of the one condition. I have another one."

She eyed him warily. "What's your other condition?"

"I want a kiss."

She blinked at him.

"Powerful enchantments have been broken with a kiss before," he continued. "Who's to say that a kiss won't break this one?"

"But you don't even really believe that it's an enchantment! You think I'm traumatized and have lost my memories!"

He shrugged. "I still want to kiss you. My wife."

She blushed. She couldn't kiss Malfoy, no matter how much he seemed to love her, it was still Malfoy! She peeked at him, waiting patiently for her answer, his face again a blank mask. He was very attractive. She could hardly deny that.

Still blushing, it's not as though she had kissed many people in her life, and certainly none on a bed, she nodded. "Okay," she said shyly.

The corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile . "It won't hurt, I promise," he said.

He leaned in slowly, the warmth of his body seemed to flare around her, inside her, until she was uncomfortably flushed. His lips touched hers, gently, a soft caress. She could hear her heart hammering, and she thought her hands might be sweating. She awkwardly returned the pressure of his lips, blushing unbearably.

"Relax," he murmured. "Believe it or not, we've done this thousands of times."

And then, somehow, he deepened the kiss. His lips moved over hers, and she forgot to be embarrassed. She gasped into his mouth, as the stroke of his tongue awakened a deep pulse inside of her. She wrapped her arms around him, wanting to feel him.

His weight pressed deliciously against the length of her body. She moaned. She couldn't help it. His lips trailed along her jaw to her neck, then nibbled her ear. She could hear his heavy breaths, feel his heat. She cried out and bucked against him. It was a type of magic of its own. Wild, and nonsensical, and burning out of control. Fire raced from where his lips touched her ear, down to her too tight nipples, along her belly, to her very core.

She squirmed helplessly, a slave to sensation. She drowned in him. More, more, an insistent beat that took over her whole being. She wrapped her legs around him, trying desperately to pull him closer. He obligingly ground against her, hard and hot, spurring her onto even more sensation that was unlike anything she had ever felt before.

Abruptly, he flung himself off of her. She shivered, chilled by his sudden absence. Her body still pulsed, wanting more.

She turned to him hesitantly. He lay beside her, an arm slung across his eyes, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry," he said, finally turning to look at her. His eyes were filled with true remorse, and a touch of guilt. He reached out a gentle hand to stroke back a lock of hair that had fallen in her face. "I didn't mean for it to get so out of hand. I truly only wanted a kiss. I just wanted to feel close to you, for a moment. It’s… disconcerting when the person you love most in the world looks at you with mistrust. I just… I shouldn't have pushed the kiss."

She nodded hesitantly and sat up. "You have nothing to be sorry for," she responded. After all, he knew her as his wife. She was the one that had just kissed Draco Malfoy with complete abandon. A boy who, up until very recently, took every opportunity to ridicule and demean her. Even now, her skin felt hypersensitive and too tight. She was so much more aware of him than she had been just a few moments ago. She blushed as he sat up beside her, unable to stop herself from noticing the masculine grace in his simple movements.

"I think you more than held up your end," he said in a deliberately light tone.

She glanced at him through her lashes, noting his tight smile, and appreciating his attempt to move past the kiss.

"Now, how does one make an Unbreakable Vow?"

Chapter Text

Malfoy insisted that Hermione come clean to Blaise, Harry, and Ginny about not remembering anything for the last seven years. Blaise, who was apparently a well respected Healer in addition to being Percy’s husband, decided it was best for Hermione to proceed with her life as usual, in the hope that familiarity and the feeling of safety would restore her memories. “Hermione should just enjoy the day as planned,” he decided. “We needn’t make a big deal of it or tell everyone, unless it comes up.”

And so Hermione found herself sitting on a blanket, in the backyard of the Burrow, watching the others play Quidditch as they waited for “everyone” to arrive. It was apparently a special day to commemorate Ron’s death, and even Charlie was coming.

Hermione was pleasantly surprised to find they no longer tried to talk her into playing with them. When they’d all filed out to the backyard, Malfoy had conjured her a blanket, a cup of tea, and her book with a smile. The History of Werewolves in Great Britain was apparently what she’d been reading in her free time the past few days. It wasn’t a particularly good read, so Hermione concluded she must’ve been working on something werewolf related. She’d forgotten to ask what she did for a living.

If Ron weren’t dead and seven years inexplicably missing, Hermione might almost have felt happy. This life seemed so idyllic, so relaxed from the tense one she knew. The war was over and won. Everyone was gathering at the Burrow. She was, apparently, happily married. 

She gave up any attempts to read, and watched Malfoy’s body cut gracefully through the air. She supposed it was okay, now that she was married to him, to admit that she’d always found him attractive. Even when she’d known he despised her for being a mudblood, she had appreciated him from a purely aesthetic standpoint. 

She could tell, even from this distance, that he was a much happier Malfoy than the one she remembered. Despite the worried glances he periodically shot in her direction, there was a wholeness to him that had been lacking in their school years. She stopped counting the number of times he’d laughed and smiled. As astonishing as it was to see him smiling without jeering at someone, it was a natural expression on his face. As she thought this, he again shouted something to Harry, and took off across the sky with a laugh. 

“Teddy’s here!” Molly shouted from inside.

Everyone plummeted (or at least it seemed that way to Hermione) out of the sky. She gasped slightly, as she always did, at the speed of their descent. She was used to being worried about Harry and Ginny, but it was a new sensation to feel her heart stop as she watched Malfoy pull out of a break neck dive, to land gracefully on his feet. 

Teddy turned out to be a child of about six or seven with bright green hair, who came racing out of the house to launch himself into Harry’s arms, already talking a mile a minute. “...and then she said after dinner I could have some candy, but only if I was really good, so of course I sat very nicely all through dinner but when it was time for candy, it was all gone! Can you believe it Uncle Harry? So today I get two desserts, she promised!”

Hermione watched this scene in bewilderment. “Teddy is Lupin and Tonks’ son,” Malfoy murmured next to her. She jumped. She hadn’t seen him approach. “They passed away during the war,” he added sadly. 

Hermione absorbed this without any emotion. Arthur, Ron, Remus, Tonks… the list was growing and none of it felt real.

“Harry is his godfather, and he’s being raised by Andromeda, my Aunt,” Malfoy continued. “And you remember my mother, I’m sure?” 

Hermione turned with astonishment to find Andromeda Tonks and Narcissa Malfoy standing in the doorway. Narcissa had an indulgent smile on her face, as she watched Teddy greet everyone. As her gaze caught Hermione’s, genuine warmth infused her face. 

“Good morning,” working her way over to Hermione, Narcissa engulfed her in a hug. “You look lovely, dear. I’m glad we came early, I didn’t realize you’d be here already! That werewolf project must be coming along after all!”

Hermione couldn’t think of a reply, and stared back at Narcissa in mute astonishment. It appeared that she was very close to Narcissa Malfoy, her mother in law. “I can see from your expression it isn’t. Well, I’m glad my son was able to convince you to put your work aside. I know this day is always difficult for you, but there’s no better way to spend it than with friends and family who all knew and loved Ron,” she concluded with a sympathetic pat on Hermione’s arm.

Hermione could barely comprehend the casual way in which Narcissa seemed to put herself in the category of those who knew and loved Ron. Luckily, Narcissa had moved on and was now greeting her son.

“Aunt Hermione, you’ll have to lean down if you want your kiss,” Teddy appeared before her. His hair was now chestnut colored and falling in thick curly waves. “I saved you for last because I want to play with you,” he said magnanimously as he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a noisy kiss. He grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the house. “I’ve been waiting all week to show you the new trick I learned.”

Hermione passed the rest of the day in a state of mute bewilderment. Malfoy was never far from her side, and always seemed to know when she needed an explanation. She was surprised to find it was natural for her to lean slightly towards him whenever she couldn’t work out what was going on. His warm presence as he murmured gently in her ear eased the shock of his revelations. 

“Where’s Bill?” She asked when Fleur arrived with a handsome French wizard.

“Bill passed away during the Final Battle,” he replied solemnly. His hand rubbed soothing circles against her back, as he watched her absorb this information. It seemed to be a completely subconscious gesture. She nodded, but surprisingly felt nothing. “The twins also,” he said hesitantly, when she didn’t react to the news.

Hermione let out a choked laugh. She was aware, in some distant way, that this was an inappropriate reaction. But the laughter seemed to bubble up from some desperate place deep in her chest. “Who else?” she asked. “Who else died?”

“Professor Snape,” he said softly. She shrugged. 

“Colin Creevy,” he added very hesitantly.

She could tell from his expression there were more. She made an impatient rolling gesture with her hand. “Go on.”

“Dobby, Lee Jordan, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, Mad-Eye Moody, Dean Thomas, and…” he trailed off.

She could scarcely believe there was someone else he was hesitant to name, after that list.“Who else?”

“Lavender Brown,” he said. 

She nodded. 

“Professor Sprout.”

She took a deep breath.

“And Neville Longbottom.”

It was too much. It was officially too much.

“Neville?” She couldn’t help repeating. He just nodded and gripped her hand tightly.

It wasn’t real. She just had to remember that. None of this was real. She would get back to her world and she would save them all. Ron, Neville, and the other Weasleys. And anyone else she could.

The day progressed merrily despite the many missing members. To everyone else, the grief was old. Everyone told stories, especially about Ron, as it was the anniversary of his death. Molly and Percy shed a few tears, but there were no deep sobs. It was an almost joyful day, as they commemorated his life.

Eventually Charlie arrived with Luna Lovegood. “They started dating about six months ago,” Malfoy informed her. “She moved out to Romania about a year ago to study Moon Frogs.” The most astonishing thing about Charlie’s arrival was that Draco seemed to be good friends with him. They greeted each other with enthusiasm, and Hermione found herself standing alone, as Malfoy caught up with Charlie. 

“How are you doing?” Harry asked, coming up to her quietly. “Are you remembering anything?”

She shook her head. “I just don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand how we got here,” she gestured towards where Malfoy had his arm around Charlie. “I never could’ve believed I’d marry someone who fought for Voldemort.”

“He didn’t,” Harry said.

“What?” She turned to him, baffled. “He tried to kill Dumbledore.”

“He switched to our side during the Final Battle.  We couldn’t have won without him.”

Her breath caught. Malfoy fighting against his Dark Lord, his pureblooded Death Eater friends, his father . She couldn’t picture it. “Why did he switch sides? What happened?”

Harry shook his head. “The Final Battle was extremely traumatic, for all of us. I don’t know if I should get into it.”

“Blaise said to answer honestly and fully any question I ask. I want to know what happened and Malfoy’s role in it.”

Harry sighed. “Very well…it was bad. Really bad. You and I were tracking down the final horcruxes, and trying to destroy them. Voldemort and the Death Eaters had descended on Hogwarts, and the Order and all our friends were trying to hold them off, to give us time to find them all.”

She nodded slowly. She could picture that.

“Our side was losing. Badly. You and I found the diadem that was hidden at Hogwarts, but we couldn’t figure out how to destroy the Horcruxes we had. In the meantime our friends were dying.

“You weren’t… doing well. I shouldn’t have let you come. You hadn’t recovered yet from the torture, or from Ron’s death.” Harry’s expression was bleak, reliving the worst hours of his life. 

“We ran into Bellatrix and Greyback, and they attacked us. It was… not pretty.” Harry pulled at the collar of his shirt, and she saw deep scars running along his neck. “Greyback clawed me and started dragging me away to Voldemort. I couldn’t help you. Bellatrix was torturing you again, I thought you were going to die. I thought I was going to lose both of my best friends.” Harry’s voice descended to a whisper filled with pain.

“And then all of a sudden, there was a flash of green, and Bellatrix was dead.”
“Malfoy?” Hermione whispered incredulously.

Harry nodded. “Something about that moment, it made him finally take a stand. He drove off Greyback, he stopped my bleeding, enough that I could keep moving. 

“Up until that moment, it would never have occurred to me to trust Malfoy, but… everyone was dying, I had no one to turn to. I needed someone to take care of you while I took care of the Horcruxes. Getting clawed had reminded me, finally, that there was a basilisk corpse at Hogwarts I could use. 

“I told him about the Horcruxes. I told him to kill Nagini if he could. I made him promise to take care of you. No matter what, no matter who won.

“You were passed out at that point, so you wouldn’t have remembered this anyway. But I’ll never forget his expression. He promised to protect you and he meant it.” 

Harry smiled at her open mouthed expression. “I was rather shocked myself, at the time, by the intensity of his feeling for you. I’d had no idea.”

She shook her head mutely. She could scarcely believe it. If Harry were to be believed, the Malfoy she knew and remembered despising her was only a few weeks away from killing his own Aunt, in order to protect Hermione. It made no sense.

“And he did kill Nagini. I’ve always wondered if it was instinct, or a twist of fate, or just pure dumb luck that I told him about her being a Horcrux. But he was the one to kill her. He broke out from the rank of Death Eaters, while Voldemort was trying to intimidate all the survivors into surrender, and sent fiendfyre at her.”

“ Fiendfyre? That’s so dangerous! Did it spread?” Hermione demanded.

Harry shrugged. “Voldemort put it out trying to save Nagini. Luckily it was too late. She was already dead.”

Hermione turned amazed eyes on Malfoy, where he was still talking to Charlie. All day, she had noted to herself that he had filled out in adulthood, and she realized suddenly that it was not just a physical thing. He was not just tall and broad, he stood with a confident grace he had previously lacked. This man was comfortable in his skin. 

The Malfoy she remembered was a coward, and he knew it. It pervaded the way he stood and walked, and certainly all his actions. He would never break the line of Death Eaters and risk his life defying Voldemort. Somehow, between when she was tortured at his home and the Final Battle, he had shed that cowardice.

“You killed Voldemort then?”

Harry gave a small nod. “His avada rebounded on him.”

“And then what? I just ran into Malfoy’s arms, thanking him for switching sides and saving me?” Hermione asked skeptically.

“No…” He said slowly.

“What happened?” She looked at him sharply at the hesitancy in his tone, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

He sighed again. “You weren’t… doing well. You were barely conscious. Even after the battle was over, you didn’t seem to comprehend any of it. You were still fixated on the Horcruxes.

“I felt so guilty. I think… when we couldn’t figure out how to destroy the horcruxes, you tried Dark Magic on them. You told me it was just a spell you wanted to try, but it felt really cold when you did it. I knew it was Dark Magic, and I let you continue because we were desperate.

“It did something to you, coming so soon off of being tortured, and then being tortured again right after by Bellatrix…

“The healers recommended you go to St Mungo’s. They said it would just be for a little while, so you could heal. But they just kept extending and extending your time. For months. Nearly a year. I didn’t know what to do. They told me the damage would be permanent if I removed you from their stable environment, but I couldn’t bear to have you trapped in there. 

“And then one day, Malfoy showed up with all his money and had you transferred to a flat in London. He set up the whole building, with a flat for me, and one for Ginny right next door. He hired round the clock medi-witches and a personal Healer. We started taking you outside, and had you visit places you liked from before the war. It made a difference immediately, removing you from the hospital. Within just a few weeks, you were almost fully recovered.”

Hermione shook her head at Harry, a strange melancholy coming over her. So this, now, was not the first time she had suffered a mental malady. No wonder no one believed her. 

A tendril of self doubt stole through her, and she shuddered slightly in an attempt to push the fear away. If this world she found herself in was really her world, then more than half of her friends were dead.

“He saved you,” Harry said quietly. “Not just during the battle, but afterwards too. He promised me he’d protect you, and he did. 

Chapter Text

Blaise determined that Hermione shouldn’t drink alcohol, so she found herself distressingly sober while the rest of the party got progressively drunker. She got dragged into playing drinking games with Ginny, Fleur, and Narcissa of all people, while Malfoy disappeared with Charlie out to the back yard for some manly fire whisky shots. 

She did her best to enjoy herself despite everyone else being able to drink, but drew the line once Harry and Percy joined. From there, the game quickly escalated as Ginny and Percy started targeting each other. 

Hermione excused herself, pleading the loo but really just wanting a quiet moment to herself. She thought about going up to Ron’s old room, and had started to move in that direction when she noticed Blaise and Malfoy in an alcove with their backs to her, suspiciously quiet  compared to the rest of the party. She suspected they were talking about her and crept into hearing range, keeping herself hidden. 

“You shouldn’t have done that!” Blaise admonished Draco in a low tone. “Especially not under coercion like that! Especially with what happened to her during the war, kissing her without consent was bloody stupid Draco.”

Hermione held in a gasp, a low feeling of dread in her stomach. What happened to her during the war? She shuddered. She didn’t want to know. 

“I know that! Okay? I’m an idiot. I’ve been beating myself up about it all day. I didn’t mean for it to become a real kiss. I just. I wanted to hold her. She’d been looking at me like a stranger, or worse, an enemy! I just wanted a moment to pretend she knew who I was. But it got out of control. If she’s really eighteen in her mind then she’s never really even been kissed. Of course it got out of control.” Draco hung his head in his hands. “Do you think I really fucked things up?”

Blaise shook his head slowly. “No, she seems fine. It’s okay Draco,” he said, laying a hand on his back. “Just don’t initiate any kind of intimacy from now on. She needs to come to you. Even for something like hand holding.”

Draco nodded. She could only see part of his face, but it looked grim, resigned. Her heart went out to him. How strange it must be to have your wife look at you like a stranger. She resolved she’d at least hold his hand. She might not love him the way his wife did, but he’d treated her with unerring love since she’d woken in this world, and if Harry were to be believed, then it made perfect sense that this Hermione had fallen in love with that Draco. 

“We’ve been trying, you know,” Draco murmured after a moment. 

Blaise let out a low whistle and squeezed Draco’s shoulder. “Sorry mate.”

Trying what? Hermione frowned, confused. 

Draco just shrugged and started standing up. “I haven’t checked on her in a little while. I’m gonna go rescue her from those drunken idiots,” he jerked his head towards the circle of game players, who’d gotten progressively louder. 

Hermione jerked back, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. She decided to go up to Ron’s room after all and slipped up the stairs. It would take Draco a minute to find her up there and she did want a moment alone. 

She did a charm to clear the dust, careful not to move anything else. She made her way to his bed and lay down, her movements stiff and the urge to cry rattling around her chest and bubbling in her throat. She’d spent the whole day hearing about his death, surrounded by people who had already accepted it as a fact. For the first time since waking in this world, she let herself consider the possibility that Ron was really dead, and there was nothing she could do about it. 

She heard the faint shuffle of someone walking up to his room. She turned her head towards the door, half expecting Ron to barge through the door and demand to know what in the bloody hell was going on. 

But it was only Harry that walked through the door. She ignored the flash of intense disappointment and sat up with a smile for Harry. 

“I saw you go up the stairs and figured you were coming here,” he said softly. 

She nodded. “Its strange that everyone’s so used to it. And I never got to say goodbye.”

Harry shrugged. “I can take you to his grave. But it doesn’t help me much. There’s no magic ritual that makes it possible to say goodbye to your best friend.” He sat heavily next to her. 

For a long time they sat there, on Ron’s bed, not speaking. It was not quite a comfortable silence, despite the fact that it was Harry, and there was no one in the world she was more comfortable with than him. She watched his chest rise and fall with each breath, heard her own stuttered breathing, and felt the lack of Ron’s presence deep in her soul. 

There was something she’d wanted to know, since the very beginning. She wasn’t sure how to ask, when she woke up married to Malfoy. But it was just her and Harry now, in the quiet seclusion of Ron’s bedroom. 

“Do you think he knew,” her voice was hoarse and too loud in the silence. “Before he died. Did I ever get to tell him?”

Harry gave her a puzzled frown. “Tell him what?”

“That I’m,” she stopped and took a deep breath. “That I was in love with him?” She whispered. 

“Oh Hermione,” Harry murmured, his face crumpling in quiet sympathy. He wrapped his arms around her. 

She held herself stiffly for a moment, and then it was like a dam broke and she was sobbing in Harry’s arms. 

Ron was dead. He was really dead. 

“He knew,” Harry’s hoarse voice murmured. She pulled back to look at him. His face was wet with freely running tears. “I don’t know if you ever told him. But he knew, where it mattered most,” Harry lightly touched his heart. “He knew.”

She nodded shakily. It would have to be enough.