The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man

Title: The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Suspense, romance, angst
Warnings: Character Death, graphic violence, madness, non-consensual sexual acts, abuse, oral, M/F, and overall darkness. Dark!Harry included.
Summary: DH-EWE: Ten years after the fall of the Dark Lord, Hermione Granger leads of life of self-imposed obscurity, that is, until the day Headmistress Minerva McGonagall is murdered and a certain 'hero' is responsible.
Author's Notes: This fic is in 1st person POV, so take heed. It will eventually be a DM/HG, but there is a squicky scene that might make you think otherwise. There is some non-con in this fic, so if it squicks you, don't read it for Merlin's sake! Comments and ConCrit is welcomed!



The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man

Part 25





Realization led me to many conclusions. He had orchestrated everything from behind the scenes. He had been the one to tell Harry when to attack the Manor. He had been the one to tell Susan Bones where the goblin-warded box had been hidden. He had been the one to inform Harry when Charlie and his past self were getting to close to discovering his location.

And why?

To make sure that I killed Harry exactly when the Titans had said—in the exact place.

He had placed himself next to Harry, whispering in his ear, an Iago of sorts.

When I opened my eyes, it was to see a face obscured by blackness. I was on the ground, the phantom Erebus leaning over me. I sat up sharply and leaned back against the stone behind me.

Erebus peeled away his gloves, and then, a pale hand plunged into the darkness, pulling a familiar wand, an oak wand.

I was panting as the wand waved before the face, and like black smoke being waved away, a visage came into view. Long platinum hair fell about wide shoulders, reaching down a dragon hide clad chest and bare, muscular arms.

When I could see the face of Erebus, I cried out, my hands flying to touch the ivory skin and silver hair.

Draco. It was my Draco!

But his face was not as I remembered it, and I stopped short of throwing my arms about him and pressing myself against him.

Draco’s face was as pale as I remembered, but the right eye that had been destroyed, peered down at me. It was not the same color as his left, but a pale blue that seemed almost white. The scar remained, but had diminished into a pale violet mark down his face. He looked almost as I remembered before Harry attacked us outside of Hogsmeade, except the eerie color of his right eye.

If the sun were up, or if I had lit my wand, I was sure that the blue depth of the eye would be just as shocking in the dim evening light, only the stars and a three-quarter moon in the sky. However, it was not just the new eye, which was as natural as the left eye, it was the faint lines in his face, and the dark stubble that shadowed his strong jaw. He seemed older, not too much older, but older. He wore a ring of silver in one of his ears, and he reminded me of Bill Weasley, for a claw or tooth dangled from the ring.

His mien was strange, not like the Draco I knew, but he studied me with his mismatched eyes, and his hands moved to slip his wand away, Severus’ wand.

“Surely, you wish to pry answers out of me, my dear, but we do not have much time. The hour is late, the Order will be coming soon, and we must erase all traces that we were ever here.”

His voice seemed deeper, more controlled, and I wondered, as he helped me to my feet, if the man underneath the mantle of a black phantom had truly been Draco Malfoy. The phantom has told me a version of events, but I did not have the time or energy to breakdown the words and analyze them.

Draco’s cloak, the cloak of Erebus, was still made of wispy shadow as he strode across the graveyard and fetched my Transfigured cloak. I limped to his side, my hips, and legs sore from my travels, and allowed him to dispel the Transfiguration and set Hagrid’s hand-me-down coat upon my shoulders. The collar was slightly torn, and I sighed.

I watched Draco Vanish his blood from the ground with Severus’ wand, repair the angel statue, and move to walk up the embankment to Harry’s dangling body. He stopped just beside the body, and I closed my eyes for a moment, the image of the man I killed burnt into my corneas. Hesitantly, I opened my eyes and struggled up the embankment.

Draco Vanished the blood pooled on the ground, as well as the blood on Harry’s body.

“Even during the War, I had never killed,” I whispered as I stepped closer to Harry.

Leaning down, I forced Harry’s eyes shut.

“Ron and Harry had killed, but I had not. Not with a Killing Curse or by any other fatal method… But now I have, and I did not even use my wand,” I whispered, straightening, my eyes falling upon the green stone handle of the enchanted stiletto.

I grasped the handle and pulled with my last reserve of physical strength, jumping back as one last spurt of blood spewed from the wound in Harry’s heart. Draco quickly Vanished the blood.

I wiped the blade into my dragon hide pants before kneeling to slip the stiletto into the sheath strapped to my leg, lamenting that I had lost my boots for the ground was quite cold.

Gently, Draco managed to cut Harry down, levitating him to the ground. I cast about, found the Invisibility Cloak, and held it in my arms, relishing the warmth of the enchanted material over my bare fingers. Kneeling again, I sat at Harry’s side, pulling his arms from his bonds and laying them over his heart—left hand and the stump at the end of right arm. With ease, I pulled the ring set with the Resurrection Stone from his left hand and dropped it in my bottomless pocket. Forcing his jaw shut, his face seemed almost peaceful despite the violent and painful nature of his death.

I sat for a long while, staring at Harry’s face, the scratches he had made with his fingernails and the bruises on his jaw. His hair fanned out about his head in black knots and tangles, but in the dim light, he almost appeared handsome. His clothes were rags, and I glanced to Draco who stood on the other side of Harry, his odd eyes staring down at Harry’s face. There were so many things I wanted to ask, but knew I was far too tired to be able to assimilate the answers.

I turned my eyes to Harry again.

My old friend, the source of so much joy for some, and so much agony for others. He had turned the world upside down, tempted the universe with his pain, and I had killed him because I had been destined to do so, how did that destiny begin? Had it been because I had decided to hide myself from the world? Had it been because I had worked with time? Had it been because I had been so innocent, even into my adult years?

Severus’ voice would not answer me, and I knew then that whatever spell had been used to place him in my consciousness was gone.

I began to cry, frame-shaking sobs. Even though Draco was near, I did not know him. Harry was dead, and Severus had left me. There was no one in the world that I knew.

I fell upon Harry’s cold body, resting my head near the wound I had created, grasping his ragged clothes, and letting my tears soak into his unmoving chest. If only, if only I had not hidden myself away, maybe Harry would not have…

No, what was done was done, but it did not stop me from weeping.

I had done my duty. Ginny, Ron, Severus, and so many others whom I had loved, had told me that I, and I alone, had to kill Harry James Potter. And so I had, but I did not feel one bit safer, one bit vindicated in killing the man who had killed so many I loved. I felt sick, and dirty. Darkness had welled up inside me, a darkness that would never go away. Perhaps that was what everyone felt when they killed another person.

But I felt no guilt, just loss.




We could not take Harry back with us.

I stared coldly at Draco, or the man that looked like Draco, and closed my eyes in tired agitation.

“One of us could go back, and then return here…” I began.

“No. It is too dangerous, Hermione.”

We had not planned on the fact that we would only have one Time-Turner, and I mentally cursed myself for not considering that before, it was wholly unlike me. Then again, so was murder.

I leaned back into the yew tree. We had wrapped Harry’s body in the afghan Minerva had made, which I had slipped into the pocket of my coat, so that I could not longer see my friend’s dead face. Harry’s body reminded me a parcel with a crocheted red and gold wrapping, and I knew that my brain was beginning to shut down.

Draco stood silently in the same spot he had as he had watched me cry over Harry, expelling all my grief. The shadow cloak he wore still moved even when the wind was still, and it unsettled me. I could not allow myself to consider his strange attire, how the shadows fell open like a regular cloak would, or how worn his dragon hide clothes appeared underneath.

I focused all my mental energy on what to do next. The Order could not find us, and Harry’s body could not be found. We could not travel back together and Draco had told me that we could not shrink the body.

“We hide it. We hide it under a stasis Charm until we go back, and then retrieve his body,” I whispered, my eyes running along the afghan.

“Hide it where?”

I closed my eyes.

“In one of the tombs, or make a barrow.”

I could not believe what I was saying, but it was the only course of action I could think to take.

“There is a tomb under the chapel, the entrance has been sealed. We could place the body there and reseal the tomb for now.”

Draco’s voice was flat and emotionless. I hated it.

I nodded, not opening my eyes. “Let it be so,” I whispered.

I let my head fall back into the trunk of the yew tree, and kept my eyes shut. I listened as Draco moved Harry’s body, and walked away from me, toward the chapel.

I fell into a doze soon afterward. I tried to ignore the aches and pains in my bones, I tried to ignore the smell of death that I had not noticed before in the cemetery. I tried to ignore my fear and apprehension of Draco, and the questions I had.

And when I did, I slept.

This has happened before, and it will happen again…

A hand upon my forehead woke me, and I jumped, my wand, the Elder Wand, flying into my hand, the tip digging into the throat of the man kneeling before me. My eyes met Draco’s.

“What?” I hissed.

Draco did not flinch and did not move away.

“It’s time to go.”

I blinked at him, lowering my wand. He rose and stepped away, and from the shadows of his cloak, pulled a Time-Turner from the darkness, the chain about his neck.

I hesitated. I pulled the brother device from around my neck, and double-checking that the hourglass was secured, placed it in my bottomless pocket.

“Everything is taken care of?” I asked hoarsely, using the tree against my back to help me stand.

“Everything, even the puddle of sick…” Draco said softly, and I could hear a small sliver of humour in his voice.

I pushed my emotions down, and moved to Draco who was adjusting the dials on the side of the Time-Turner.

“May 11th, 2008, 9:00 am,” he said, his left finger on the catch to release the hourglass.

I nodded, as I limped to his side.

He seemed to sigh as I came near, closing the gap between us with a half step, draping the magical chain about my neck. He then pulled me close, ad I found myself engulfed in shadow. Draco’s arms felt the same, he even smelled faintly of citrus and sage. I wrapped my arms about his waist, resting my uninjured cheek against his wide dragon hide clad chest.

“Hold tight, my dear…” he whispered.

And we were off again.

I did not mind the suffocating trip, I did not mind grasping to Draco, or the flashing light of the sun arcing across the sky almost five thousand times. I, in fact, did not mind anything at all, but wanted to sleep, heal myself, and take a long hot bath.

Harry’s death—my murder of my best friend, was pushed far into the depths of my mind to stress over later.

The jarring of time around us did not knock us from our feet as it had before, but it did cause us to collectively fall to our knees.

Birds were singing in the morning light, the scent of death was gone, and all around us the blue sky and billowing clouds seemed to seep through our dark and ragged bodies.

Draco was on his feet almost immediately, his wand out to check the time. I turned to see faint green numbers and letters, reading the time and date Draco had said. We were back.

However, if it was truly our timeline, our world, remained to be seen.





Draco took me, by Side-Along Apparition away from the graveyard and to the gates of Hogwarts. He did not tell me where he was taking me, or asked me any questions; he did not speak at all. However, when we arrived at the gates, he barked to the Constables guarding the gates.

“Scruggs, take her to Longbottom, now!”

I wavered on my feet and fell into the arms of the Constable I remembered from before. And I was quickly pulled away. The other Constables moved to speak to Draco, but he was watching me watching him as I was pulled through the goblin enchanted wards and onto Hogwarts’ grounds.

Draco said nothing to the Constables and was gone again, a whirl of shadow even in the light of a beautiful May morning.

When I collapsed, the Constable hoisted me up into his arms and took off at a run across the grounds to the Entrance hall, the doors open. In my dazed state, I barely thought about the fact that I was passed from one pair of arms to the other, not until the arms that carried me, spoke.

“Have you done it, Hermione?”

The voice was familiar, and I opened my eyes as I was being carried to the Headmaster’s office, to see the face of Ronald Weasley.

“Ron?” I croaked.

“Yes, dear heart, it’s me.”

I studied his face, the thin ginger beard on his face and the way his eyes moved as he carried me to the spiral staircase.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe now.”

His words, soft, were a balm to my sore heart and body, and I pressed my face into his shirt weeping silently.

Kicking open the door to the office, Ron strode inside and set me in the Headmaster’s chair. I could hear the voices of the portraits, and the voices of Charlie Weasley, Kingsley, Hagrid, and Neville.

“Call for Poppy!” Ron called as he began removing my coat.

I opened my eyes, my body hunched in the chair as saw that Hagrid held my coat while Charlie ran to the Floo. Neville was arguing with Albus’ portrait and Kingsley was kneeling beside me, his wand waving over my body.

The ‘whoosh’ of the Floo startled me, and soon Poppy Pomfrey was fussing over me, pouring potions down my throat. I gagged and spluttered, but almost as soon as the potions hit my stomach, I was feeling much more aware of my surroundings and myself. A sting on my cheek and at my temple told me that my wounds were being healed. Poppy tried to force another potion down, but I growled at her, snatching the potion to drink it myself.

“Would you all just back away!” I grumbled, every person in the room leaning over me, talking and shouting excitedly. But at my words, everyone had backed away, and I could finally see their faces properly.

Ron, Charlie, Neville, Kingsley, Hagrid, even Poppy and Albus, studied me closely as I managed to stand up from the chair, leaning my palms upon the desk before me.

“I assume that this is my time line?”

All frowned, some glancing to the other, unsure of what to say, or unsure as to what I meant.

I sighed. “Call Lucius Malfoy or Narcissa here. I need them.”

Charlie was the only one to move, a grin sliding across his lips, and I knew then that I was in my timeline. Only Kingsley or Charlie would know why I needed the Malfoys.

I waited patiently, but the rest assembled were not so patient.

“Where’s Malfoy?” Ron asked.

“And Harry?” Neville added.

I waved their questions away as I heard the Floo activate to allow a person to pass, and striding up to the desk was a face I was happy to see. With a cry, I slipped around the desk and fell into Narcissa Malfoy’s arms.

“Thank Nimue!” Narcissa cried as she gathered me into her thin arms.

Everyone in the room, except Charlie, seemed shocked, but I paid them no mind as I cried into Narcissa’s pale blue satin dress, much like the one she had worn when she had walked with me to the groom’s quarters the first time.

“Lucius is with Draco and Williamson. Mr. Weasley,” Narcissa sad to Charlie, “You will be needed soon. They are bringing the body back here.”

Charlie was quickly gone, but I ignored the movement and the voices as Narcissa stroked my dirty hair and cooed to me until my tears dried. Gently, just as my mother would have, she led me back to the chair behind the desk.

“The timeline has not been changed, Hermione. Everything is as it should be.”

I shook my head. “Not Draco, something happened…”

Narcissa’s eyes widened for a moment, but she smiled. “He’s alive, that is all that matters for now.”

I could not argue.

Producing a lacy handkerchief, Narcissa wiped away my tears before turning to the assembled bodies.

“She needs rest, gentlemen. I am sure your questions can wait until later?”

All eyes were upon Narcissa, shock etched upon their faces. For Narcissa Malfoy, wife of a Death Eater to be standing in the Head’s office was unexpected and unimaginable. However, all began filing out of the office, even Ron, who glanced wistfully at me, pain marking his features. Even Poppy, who had been hovering near the Floo, left, leaving Narcissa and myself…

…and Albus.

“Mrs. Malfoy, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Albus said brightly.

Narcissa whirled upon the portrait, a sneer contorting her lovely face.

“Do not speak to me, Albus Dumbledore, I have no use for you!” Narcissa hissed.

My sobs turned to laughter, quiet laughter.

Albus was too stunned to speak, and watched silently as Narcissa led me into a tiny parlour behind Albus’ portrait and laid me down on a red fluffy couch, wiping away a bit of dirt from my chin.

Sitting on the edge of the large couch, Narcissa adjusted a cushion under my head, her eyes moving down my body to my bare feet. With a sigh, she moved to wave her wand over my feet, cleaning them, pulling out what looked to be a small thorn. Again, she was at my side, stroking my healed cheek.

“Harry’s dead…” I whispered. “I killed him.”

Narcissa nodded.

“And Draco… He’s not Draco any more…”

I was nearly asleep, though my mind was clear.

“I missed him so much, I love him so…” I trailed as my eyes closed.

Distantly I heard Narcissa begin to cry, but it was not like cries, not of sorrow, but of relief.

I slept, but did not dream.

When I woke again, it was to find Ron leaning over me, his face grave. I could hear voices in the office, but were muffled as a curtain cordoned off the little parlour and candles were lit.

“It is the evening of the eleventh, Hermione. You’re safe…” he whispered, his fingers curling around one of my braids.

“Malfoy brought Harry’s body back, and it has been verified. Harry’s dead.”

I swallowed. “I killed him.”

Ron nodded, “We know. It was what you had to do, Hermione.”

No more tears came, and I was glad.

“…ow is it that you aided Potter in rousing W.A.T.C.H. to action, Malfoy?” a male voice shouted…a voice that I thought belonged to Williamson…or Charlie.

“What’s happening?” I asked in a whisper to Ron.

Ron’s eyes had moved to the thick red curtain and he forced a smile. I stared at his face, and the beard…

“Gumboil is trying to figure out why Malfoy helped Harry before you went back into the past.”

I blinked. How did Ron know?

“Malfoy has been giving his statement for the past few hours. Charlie, Williamson, Malfoy Senior, Gumboil, and Kingsley have been interrogating him since they brought Harry’s body back from Little Hangleton.”

“So…” I began.

Ron grinned. “Yeah, we know about the Time-Turners. But don’t worry, no one else knows—not Neville or Hagrid, or anyone who saw you earlier that did not need to know.”

I sighed. “What has Mal-Draco been saying?”

Ron shrugged. “When Charlie asked why Malfoy did not simply Apparate to safety after Harry was…” he trailed with mournful sigh. “Why he used the Time-Turner, he said he was not in his right mind. He said that he saw you disappear, and in his panic, all he could think to do was try to follow you…”

I frowned. But Draco would not have known where to go. The disc had been in my pocket, and I had travelled beyond time to a strange place that seemed more like a dream than reality.

“The future, he said he was found by a kind wizard. It seems that Little Hangleton becomes a bit of a tourist attraction to future generations—not because of Harry, but because of Voldemort…”

I licked my lips. “And?”

Ron sighed. “And he says he spent two years in the future. He was medically treated and released, all the while careful not to reveal himself or his origin. In the two years, he learned how to use the Time-Turner…apparently he had some problems using the device, and when he worked out the problems, he then realized that he could not simply return to the point in which he had left, and went back further to the point just before Harry escaped.”

Draco, in the shape of Erebus had mentioned this to me

“He orchestrated everything, the master holding Harry’s strings from the point he contacted W.A.T.C.H. But how Harry had been convinced that Malfoy was not Malfoy, we’ll never really know.”

I nodded. I would find out, with time.

“…the body, we might be able to end this nightmare!”

I winced at the sound of voices on the other side of the curtain.

Ron smirked. “Nothing to worry about, luv.”

I was not exactly convinced by Ron’s words, but settled back into the couch again.

Ron and I talked a while longer, avoiding the subject of Harry as much as possible. It was then I learned that Molly Weasley had passed away.

“It’s been hard on Dad, even now that he can go back to the Burrow. Ginny has left, moved off somewhere to be closer to Bill and Fleur in Egypt. I have my own flat in London, and Charlie’s engaged to a bird from Cardiff. Charlie might move back in with Dad now Mum’s gone, but who knows?”

I grasped Ron’s hand, but said nothing. Ron’s smiles were sad, he had lost his mother, brother, and now his best friend. I felt terrible for him, but knew that he did not seem to hate me after Harry…

“It’s funny how the universe works, isn’t it?” Ron asked softly.

“Yes…”

All of this has happened before, and all of it will happen again.

That was what the Fates had said to me.

“What will you do now?” he asked me.

I blinked at Ron. I honestly had not thought that far ahead.

“I don’t know…”

Ron stroked my cheek. “You’re a brilliant witch, luv. You can do anything, you can go anywhere, you’re just that damn brilliant.”

I chuckled.

I just wanted all of this nightmare to be over. I wanted to fall into Draco’s arms and laugh with him, argue with him, listen to Nat King Cole with him, listen to his voice reading me the rest of ‘Jane Eyre,’ have him teach me to ride a horse, fly with him, cook dinner together…

I wanted to see my cat, and talk with Narcissa about Temple Wood. I wanted to make Lucius Malfoy smile genuinely. I wanted to walk through the Forest and thank Magorian again for his confidences. I wanted to clean my bedroom in my cottage and expunge the presence of Harry. I wanted to see my parents, and tell them that I loved them. I wanted to hug Alex Roux…. I wanted my life to include love.

I told Ron about Severus, seeing him in the past. I told him about the spell and how I could no longer feel Severus there between my brows—how I missed him.

Ron was repulsed at first, but seeing how much Severus’ help had meant to me, Ron sympathized. I told Ron that I had lost so many mentors, that it was hard to know what to do with my life.

“Do what you want, luv.”

I smiled at Ron, and just then, the curtain was pushed back, light falling over my face.

“Ron, it’s time,” Charlie’s voice said softly. I did not move to look at Charlie, but I knew what he meant. It was time to take Harry’s body to the Ministry to be examined, and then cremated.

Ron pressed a chaste kiss into my forehead and left my side. I rose from the couch and moved to the curtain, watching as Charlie, Ron, Kingsley, Gumboil, and Williamson left the office. I dropped the curtain behind me, padding with my bare feet to the desk, sitting down in the chair, noting that I must have slept a long while since the sky was dark outside the windows.

Turning my eyes to the portrait of Albus, I saw him staring back at me, his hands folded under his bearded chin.

“Albus,” I said with a nod.

“Miss Granger. I trust that you are much rested?”

I scowled, but nodded.

“I must congratulate you on your success.”

I hissed. “You mean cleaning up your mess?”

Albus sighed, defeated. “You could say it that way. I am sure that your success did not come without a great deal of pain.”

I grinned darkly, “I murdered one of my best friends—for the greater good. Of course, there was pain involved. Pain when I stabbed Harry Potter through the heart, and pain in realizing that I made myself a murderer.”

The portrait nodded. “A burden I have laid upon you, a burden that never should have been, it was just the same with Severus.”

I said nothing in retort.

“From what Mr. Malfoy has described, when Harry died, there was a flash of light and wave of magic?”

“Yes?”

Albus sighed. “And how did it effect you?”

I bit my lip. Albus could not know about the embedded spell, or Severus’ involvement. Severus may have served opposing masters, but, first, he was a master unto himself. Would he have told Albus thirteen years ago?

“It knocked me away from his body.”

Albus’ blue eyes glittered. “And nothing more?”

I was resolute. “And nothing more,” I repeated.

Silence fell in the office as Albus and I stared at each other. I still held an extreme dislike for the man who was Albus Dumbledore. I still considered Vanishing the paint on the canvas.

“You have changed, Miss Granger,” he said finally, moving his hands to his lap. “Experience has changed you.”

Of course, experience would change me. That was how human life worked. We learn and grow through experience, and how our minds are set affect how experience changes us. I had known that truth for most of my life.

“I only hope that experience has not hardened your heart or damaged your wonderful capacity of love.”

I scowled. “Why should it?”

“Because of what you had to do.”

“Kill Harry? Of course, it has changed me, but it has not hardened my heart.

I am wounded; so deeply, that it will take a very long time to heal. But, if you are asking me if regret will somehow change my heart, or the way I love—it won’t.”

Albus smiled. “Regret is a dangerous thing, Miss Granger, and you know that better than most. You understand my concern, do you not?”

I did. Regret had twisted Harry. Regret had changed many of us who had lived through the War. But people like Lucius, Draco, who lived with no regrets had come to terms with their past actions with easy acceptance. I knew I had to be the same; else, I would never be able to move on with my life.

I rose from the chair and moved to lean against the desk, closer to Albus’ portrait.

“Albus, I will learn to regret nothing. I must learn to regret nothing.

Not so long ago, the Fates told me that everything happens for a reason. This is something that most people tell themselves through their life, perhaps to be able to cope to the events of their life, but I know now, without a doubt, that everything…everything happens for a reason, whether we like it or not.

And coming straight from the voice the Universe itself, I was convinced.

All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again,” I whispered, my arms cross before my chest.

Albus’ eyes shimmered, but not from his usual twinkling, but from tears. It was strange to see a painting cry, but cry it did, silently.

“I will try to find comfort in knowing that I have saved my world. That is the only comfort I can find now.”

I straightened and moved to the steps leading down into the main part of office, before stopping and turning to Albus once more.

“You will never see me again, Headmaster, so if there is some bit of information that you need to impart, do it now—a prophecy, a riddle, anything.”

Albus wiped his tears and regarded me soberly. “Just one thing, Miss Granger.”

I blinked. “Oh?”

“Severus…years ago, a week before I had him kill me that night on the tower, said something to me about you, something I have never forgotten.”

I turned back to Albus, my hands falling to my sides.

“He praised you highly, and expressed an interest in what sort of woman you would become when you were older. He did not say anything specific about his interest in you, per se, but he told me, in his own words, that you would find a book called ‘Slaughterhouse-Five’ and be quite enlightened. He said that your love for books would not be wasted, as you would convert the knowledge within into wisdom of the human race.

I thought that maybe he was talking to himself when he said these things to me, but I remembered his words, finding them strange. Not all of these words seem so strange now, except the title of the book. Do you know ‘Slaughterhouse-Five,’ Miss Granger?”

I nodded, chewing on the inside of my cheek.

“That is all I can tell you, Miss Granger. Your role, your skill, and your power have kept you alive, able to fulfill your role. And I am grateful to you.”

I turned away. I had no need for Albus’ placating words. He called to me, but I kept walking. There was nothing more to be said, and I hoped, even thought I said it in earnest, that I would never have to see Albus’ Dumbledore’s face again.



The castle was empty, though the torches were lit, and I saw no one as I walked into the lonely Entrance hall. I lingered before the open doors, the night air warm coming into the caste. Distantly, at the gates, I saw the Constables standing in the light of braziers, talking amongst themselves.

With Harry gone, I wondered if security would change, if Hogwarts would reopen earlier to accommodate time lost. I glanced to the clear sky and sighed. I wondered if groups like W.A.T.C.H. would begin to disappear with Harry’s death, or would their conviction only strengthen?

I turned away from the door, walking barefoot toward the dungeons. I was not sure what I was going to do, or where to go, but I wanted to go to Severus’ chambers once more and look for Kurt Vonnegut’s ‘Slaughterhouse-Five.’ If I were interpreting Albus’ words correctly, Severus possibly left me another message in the book.

When I came upon the corridor leading to the hidden door, I found that the door was standing open and that lamplight lit the threshold. Music was playing from within…and I knew it was David Bowie’s album ‘Low,’ for ‘Always Crashing the Same Car,’ had finished and ‘Be My Wife’ began. It was perhaps my favourite album, and I knew that only one person would be playing David Bowie records in Severus’ chambers.

I gently pushed the door open wider, and peeked inside.

The centre table was loaded with a dinner fit for royalty, a bottle of red wine open and filet mignon on the plate. The scent wafted toward me, and for the first time in what seemed like many days, my stomach growled and my mouth watered.

I could hear water running in the bathroom, but I moved into the parlour, passing the food, and going to the gramophone beneath the window, picking up the dust jacket for the record on the turntable. Gently, I moved the needle back to the fourth track on the ‘A’ side began, ‘Sound and Vision.’ As if on cue, the sound of water stopped. I stood very still as the bathroom door opened, studying the front cover of the dust jacket and David Bowie’s profile.

The sound of a chair scrapping on the floor made me turn, and in the chair facing me, was Draco Malfoy.

Under the lamp, his hair was almost completely white, longer than Lucius’ and pulled back in a tie of green velvet ribbon. His clothes were different, the shadow cloak gone, and he wore a loose fitting white dress shirt, buttons only down halfway up his body, and blue jeans, similar to the ones he wore at the groom’s quarters, his feet bare.

“You must be hungry, come eat,” he said softly, raising his face to me, his mismatched eyes reminding me of the photograph of the man on the dust jacket I held—one silver eye, one pale blue eye—with a thin, mostly healed scar running over the right side of his face.

He was clean-shaven, and I could see that he had a new scar on his chin, near the curve of his jaw. His mouth was relaxed, and the lines I had noticed before seemed shallower.

Turning back to the gramophone, I turned the volume down and set the dust jacket aside. With tentative steps, I moved to the table, and slowly sat, still feel a bit of soreness in my back. Without prompting, I grasped my knife and fork and began eating, ferociously.

Every bite was heavenly, and every sip of wine soothing to my throat. My stomach gurgled happily as I ate, and I ignored Draco’s pointed stare until my plate was clean. He had barely finished half his meal when I dabbed my lips with a napkin and threw it on the plate. I then met his gaze.

“You need a bath next, and some clean clothes,” he whispered.

I crossed my arms before my chest. “Answers first.”

Draco mimicked my pose, dropping his silverware onto his plate, crossing his arms before his pale chest.

“Answers need questions first, my dear.”

I quirked my lips, amused.

“You told me that you travelled two hundred and twenty years into the future, and there was no record of us?”

Draco sighed and relaxed, resting his elbows on the edge of the table. “That was a different timeline, before you returned to the cemetery. I might ask where you went, but I have learned patience…”

I scoffed. “Since when?”

“Since having to wait to catch up with you through time.

I told you I spent two years in the future, in the year 2220 Common Era, two hundred and twenty years from now, from 2008. But I did not tell you that I, in my idiocy spent another three years in the fifteenth century, and another four years in the eighteenth century, all of which I had to hide myself in a place I knew no one would find me. So in the year 1428, I built your little cottage in the Forbidden Forest, and every time I travelled, trying to get back to 1995, I started and ended in your cottage.”

My jaw had dropped, but slowly my eyes narrowed. His words were similar to that of someone reading directly from a text, so matter of fact. “I cannot believe what you’re saying.”

It was then Draco began laughing, throwing his pale head back to howl with laughter, clutching his sides as he did so. I did not know whether to take his action as meaning that he had been trying to play a joke or not. I watched him laugh, his face softening, his eyes, mismatched, glittering with mirth. And I began to see the man I knew, the man who had protected me, the man who had made love to me on the ancient stones at Beltane.

“But there wasn’t anything…” I began as Draco’s laughter began to subside, but paused. “The Greek inscription on flue stones…”

“Drakon, 1429, that was the only mark I left behind, something that time would have a difficulty erasing. I built that cottage with what I could obtain at the time, and even then, leaving the confines of the Forest put me at great risk of being discovered.

I made the tunnel into Hogwarts, I placed the statue of the troll, I nicked food from the Kitchens late at night, I saw what our world was like, and how it would be, and it only made me mad with the desire to come home.”

He was leaning over the table slightly, his eyes piercing mine, every word growing colder, and more painful for him to utter.

“Nine years I can never have back, nine years that I did not have you by my side!”

I shivered as he sat back in his chair and grabbed his fork and knife again. The gramophone had fallen silent, and the ambience of the room was uncomfortable.

“Then your eye, the cloak you wore—it came from the future?”

Draco chewed his meat thoughtfully, his eyes drifting to a point past me. “Yes.”

“And you did not reveal yourself?”

He shook his head, cutting his meat.

“And you only went to the places you mentioned?”

Draco did not answer, but ate quietly, his face stony and alien to me again. I wondered suddenly what he really did see in the future, and in the past.

I grasped my wine and drank, my eyes still upon his face. I wanted to know if he truly was the man I knew, albeit nine years older than I. The time he spent travelling explained why he seemed older, but it did not really explain why he felt like a complete stranger to me.

Loss gripped me again, and I felt a tear streak down my once wounded cheek. Draco did not notice.

Mumbling that I needed a bath, I rose from the table and strode toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind me, drawing my walnut wand to seal and ward the door. Then, angrily, I slid out of my clothes and stared at myself in the mirror above the basin.

I was filthy, coated in dirt, dust, dried sweat, and grains of sand, caked high up my legs around my ankles. I knelt to brush the sand into my fingers and examined it in the light, and realizing that my travel to the end of the world had been real.

All of this has happened before, and it will happen again…

I could only assume that the lapses in time, looping over and over again, is what the Fates had meant. But for me, as I stood in the bathroom that Severus had called his, slipping into the tub of hot, scented water, my travels, I hoped, were at an end.