A Step in Time

Author’s Note: Thank you very much for all of your reviews, I appreciate them more than I can say. @aviendha, yeah in the last chapter the staccato glimpses were more to emphasize the dichotomy between draco and hermione’s sex lives, as that’s obviously going to come into play later. ;] but yeah, as you’ll see in this chapter, there’s much less jumping back and forth as they’re now interacting and on one storyline, so to speak. Also I’m sorry this chapter was so slow-coming, but life got in the way. :[ hopefully I didn’t lose any of you!

CHAPTER THREE: TIME IS RELATIVE

Six A.M. came far too quickly for Hermione’s tastes, and she found herself briefly cursing her and Ron’s little diversion, as it had pushed back her bedtime much further than she’d cared for it to. Groaning as her Muggle alarm clock went off on the bedside table, she groped in the darkness for the small plastic device assaulting her ears with its electronic screeching. After what felt like a lifetime she managed to find the button and press down hard, rubbing her eyes and extracting herself from Ron’s limbs.

She groaned once more as she sat up, the room spinning as all the blood rushed to her head and she rubbed her eyes sleepily. Outside the sun had only just barely begun to flirt with the horizon, and it was still dark enough in the room for it to take quite a while for her eyes to adjust. When she could finally see the outlines of the furniture in her room she pulled the sheets off, swinging her legs around and setting her feet on the carpet. Another few moments were spent just like that, rubbing her temples gingerly as she braced herself for standing up.

It was amazing how going through your morning routine was just the same on any old morning as it was on the life-changing ones. You brushed your teeth with the same motions, washed your face with the same water, and tamed your hair with the same hair brush. Yet it all felt much more poignant as you prepared to do something important. As Hermione straightened her gold and red striped tie, watching herself in the mirror, she wondered to herself how many times she’d done this exact same motion without it meaning anything. As she slid the buttons of her dark grey cardigan through their respective holes, the action felt so engrained in her fingers and yet so peculiar to be doing it today, here and now.

Slipping on her crimson-lined robes and adjusting them accordingly, Hermione couldn’t help but feel seventeen again, beaming with pride as she fixed her gleaming silver badge emblazoned with the letters ‘HG’. Being Head Girl was something she’d dreamed about since she’d stepped through Hogwarts’ front doors, and a dream she’d resigned as unachievable. Sure, in the aftermath of the war the position had been offered to her by Professor McGonagall in the event that Hermione decided to return to her studies, but there was far more good for her to do outside of her school than in it. After the war the heaps of reconstruction to be done in the wizarding world made it impossible for Hermione to be selfish and go back for a year of school when she’d already learned more on her own than she ever could within the castle’s stone walls.

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Draco ran his hands through his hair slowly, groaning as he looked at the clock on his nightstand. It read a time he’d only seen in the PM in the last few years, and he was not looking forward to another year or so of wake-up times such as this. In the bed behind him Yelena was snoozing peacefully, and Draco didn’t see fit to wake her up, wanting instead to just get ready and slip out unnoticed. If she was this deep into sleep he figured he might as well put on his old school uniform and hope for the best. Odds were in the bleary-eyed dark she wouldn’t notice he was dressed as a school boy.

Wearily he performed his morning ritual in his brightly-lit bathroom, splashing cold water on his face and shaving carefully, remembering that he had to look the part. While he still looked very young, he had far greater amounts of blonde stubble which only called attention to the far better and manlier definition of his jaw as a twenty-one-year-old. He ran the backs of his fingers over his smooth cheeks once finished, amazed at what a difference it made and how baby-faced he looked in comparison.

Slipping on his trousers, then his white shirt, belt, tie and green-lined robes, Draco couldn’t help but feel just a little bit like his old self; that is, the seventeen-year-old he would have been if his family hadn’t been ransacked by Voldemort’s reign of terror. Loosening his tie just enough to give himself that renegade devil-may-care look and un-buttoning his top button, Draco winked at himself in the mirror, running his hands through his hair and nodding with a smirk.

“You are one devilishly handsome man,” he affirmed his reflection, blowing himself a kiss before turning back to his bedroom and quickly grabbing his trunk-turned-suitcase before the bathroom light could even wake Yelena up. After setting down the good-bye note he’d penned the night before on his pillow he slipped easily out of his bedroom door, making his way over to his kitchen and grabbing an apple out of his fruit bowl. The clock on his Muggle microwave, an unfortunate rudimentary necessity, read quarter-til-seven. He grumbled a little, resigning his fruit to be to-go and heading for his front door with his baggage.

Behind him, his school robe billowed with every step, and he admitted he’d missed the way it used to swish around his legs. On his chest, the silver badge with the initials ‘HB’ shone brightly and he couldn’t help but bask a little in its light. He was actually Head Boy. He’d always expected it to happen, sure, but once he’d had to leave Hogwarts and enter the protection of the Order of the Phoenix it was simply a reality he’d never had the chance to make happen. And now here it was, as it had been all along. That was the one bit of good in this pot of shit, he supposed. That he, Draco Malfoy, was finally going to get what he deserved.

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“Ron,” Hermione whispered at his figure, poking him gently as she stood at the side of the bed. Ron grumbled, rolling over so that he was facing her and frowning in the light coming from their bathroom.

“What?” he asked, words slurred with sleep, “whatissit?”

“I’m leaving now,” she said quietly, brushing a strand of bright red hair off of his forehead, “I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’ll see you soon I hope. In your time at least…”

Ron seemed to momentarily forget what she was talking about and it took him a few moments to process, the light of recognition finally hitting his face after some time. He said nothing, but rather reached out with one long arm and pulled Hermione into him, holding her to him like that. It was awkward positioning, but surprisingly comfortable, and Hermione rested her face in the curve of Ron’s neck as he hugged her to his chest. Admittedly she very much wanted to cry, throw a tantrum and stay right there and let someone else go on this ruddy awful mission. But she knew she had a duty to fulfill, and it was time to be a big girl. She was twenty-one now, and she’d been more adult about decisions like this when she was seventeen. Then again, at seventeen she’d been defiant and fearless, and now she was returning to that time with the horrible knowledge of the truth of the world.

“I love you,” Ron whispered into her hair, kissing her shoulder before releasing her from his grip. Hermione could feel her eyes watering dangerously and she patted his cheek, smiling and swallowing hard.

“I love you too. I’ll be home soon, I swear.” Ron simply smiled as she said this and dropped his head back on the pillow. In a matter of moments he was snoring once again, and Hermione straightened herself up, wiping away the few spare tears that had managed to stray past the dam of her eyelid. This was no time for tears; this was the time for a stiff upper lip. This was the time for Hermione of the Golden Trio: the resourceful girl genius who powered through with little thought to her own well-being or emotions. That girl was still inside her somewhere…

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Draco reached the Apparation point down the lane from Grimmauld Place at ten ‘til seven, icy grey eyes locked on the roofs of the line of Muggle flats around him. He watched as he passed between numbers seven, eight, nine, ten and eleven, stopping still at the gap between buildings eleven and thirteen.

“Really?” Draco said in the most exasperated voice possible. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, home to Harry Potter and now-and-then headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, was no longer under the wards to keep it hidden from Death Eaters and other such individuals as it had been in the past. However, the protective charms placed upon it years prior could often be rather finicky, and would sometimes decide at random to prevent not only Muggles but anyone from gaining access to the house. Draco groaned, throwing his head back in an unconscious channeling of the seventeen-year-old role he was meant to be playing and fished in his bag for the slip of paper with the code phrase on it. Potter’d given it to him years ago, but this had only happened once or twice since then, and he’d always had a member of the Order with him when it had.

“Fucking brilliant,” Draco shouted, and a cat in a nearby alley skittered away as he disturbed the early morning air. Well this was hardly ideal. Here he was, early, and completely buggered. Shut out and screwed. He could only hope that someone would remember he was supposed to be there and think to go looking for him.

A loud pop from the alleyway a hundred yards down made Draco perk up, hoping that it was a member of the Order arrived late to let him in and help him out. However as the head of sunny brown curls, resting around a crimson-lined robe appeared Draco couldn’t help but groan. Watching Hermione walk determinedly towards him as she was, nose in the sky and red-and-gold tie blazing at him like a beacon of obnoxious Gryffindorism, he felt very much as if they were already back in school.

“Please, Granger,” he said as soon as her lips parted. His fingers darted up to the bridge of his nose, pinching as he pressed his eyes close hard and grimaced. “It is far too early in the morning to listen to your ungodly moaning. So please just shut your know-it-all mouth and make the house show up.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as he spoke, and then narrowed, choosing to tactfully ignore his comments and turning to face the gap between number thirteen and eleven where the residence of her best friend typically rested, unseen to the Muggle eye. She wrinkled her nose, pulling out her wand and pointing it at the space between the two buildings. They really ought to do something about that faulty old charm, it was an absolute nuisance.

“Number Twelve Grimmauld Place is the home of Harry Potter, heir to the legacy of Sirius Black and purveyor of his estate.”

Draco looked at her, disbelief in his eyes as the building spread before them like a sponge in water. “That’s it?! All I have to do is ruddy say that the house belongs to Potter and it just shows up?”

Hermione simply threw Draco a condescending smirk and a shrug, making her way up to the front door and stepping daintily onto the stoop. She knocked gently three times, not wanting to ring the bell if it was too early and Ginny was still fast asleep. They were standing there a minute or so before anyone showed up, and Hermione was lifting her hands to knock once more when a disheveled looking Harry yanked open the door. He was still rubbing his glasses on his shirt, and his hair was sticking out ridiculously at the back of his head. Still, he was a sight for sore eyes, and a beaming Hermione moved forward to hug him firmly.

“Hey there, ‘Mione,” he said with a warm smile, sliding his glasses on over her shoulder before hugging her back. His green eyes moved up over Hermione’s back to Draco’s, and he simply nodded once, acknowledging the other wizard’s presence but granting him very little familiar comfort. This was just fine by Draco. While the two boys were now grown men, and for the most part rarely resigned themselves to the petty disputes of their past, they still held a general dislike for each other, and neither was totally comfortable in the other’s presence.

“Ahm, come on in…” Harry offered after a sleepy moment, pulling back from Hermione and stepping against the wall to allow her and Draco to pass into his home. As Hermione stepped into the welcoming house, her past so close on the horizon of her future, she couldn’t help but remember the Grimmauld Place of her youth. The home of her best friend was so different from the shabby and neglected house in Sirius’s care that it seemed, apart from the architecture, to be a different building entirely. The walls of the front hallway were now lined with photographs of Harry, Ginny, their families and friends. The photograph of Mrs. Black had been bricked over when Ginny had finally had enough of her yelping, and the house elf heads had been respectfully transported to the basement for storage. It had taken a large sum of galleons and an even larger investment of time, but the Potters, with the help of a few easily-guilted friends, had transformed the house into something inviting and comfortable.

“Remus is in the kitchen. Kreacher insisted on making the lot of you a spot of breakfast before you left, so we’ll meet up in there so you can go over the plan,” Harry yawned, leading the way down into the kitchen/dining area that glowed in the semi-darkness in a most inviting way.

“Mistress Granger, Master Malfoy!” Kreacher called out with excitement as he set down a massive tray of sausages on the table before a surprisingly chipper-looking Lupin. The werewolf and reinstated professor helped himself greedily, smiling up at the newcomers as he forked a few sausages onto his already laden plate.
“Well come in then, have a bite before we get down to business,” Lupin said with laughter in his voice, obviously trying his damndest to alleviate the tension of the situation. Hermione and Draco stepped forward with slight reluctance, taking opposite sides of the table and ignoring each other as entirely as possible as they lifted food from the trays before them onto their own plates.
“Alrighty then,” Lupin started as Harry took a seat next to Hermione with a cup of tea in hand. “I know we’ve gone over the plan roughly with you individually, but let’s go over it now that we’re all together.”
We’ll be sending you back to what would have been your seventh year at Hogwarts to act as Head Girl and Boy there. According to a number of accounts, you were both present at Hogwarts during this time despite your recollected endeavors elsewhere during that time. As of late there has been a palpable shift in the very fabric of time around us, and the Order has become concerned that it has to do with your remaining in the present-“
“Do we really need more exposition?” Draco drawled, and Hermione shot him a look that was daggers in her eyes as she deftly buttered a biscuit.
“I’m almost done, I just want to eliminate plot holes,” Lupin said, his good cheer slipping just a bit into a tone of the slightest irritation. Harry and Hermione exchanged looks of confusion as to his meaning, but shrugged it off and returned their attention to their former professor.
“Anyways, we’ll be sending you back by Time Turner. It’s not ideal, as you’ll have to wait it out until the present, but it’s the only confirmed safe means of time travel that we’ve developed to this point. Now here’s the important part. It is imperative that while in the past, you two do all you can to ensure that your true pasts are more or less unaffected. Nobody can know that you’re from the future, or anything about your mission. Unfortunately we don’t have much more to tell you about your mission besides that as we have no idea what may have happened the first time you went back-”
“The first time?” It was Harry’s turn to interject now, rubbing his temples as his coffee began to do its work.
“Yes Harry, the first time. Look Time Travel’s awfully complicated and it’s really necessary that we just get to King’s Cross and get going so enough of that.” Lupin took a swig from his goblet and then stood up, dusting himself off and gratefully accepting the robes that Kreacher was offering him. “Off we go then, come along…”
The four of them headed for the door, Harry catching Hermione’s wrist before she was on the stoop so that the other two carried on in front of them. “Hermione, hang on a second,” his voice and eyes were filled with concern as he turned her to face him, Lupin glancing back and obviously catching on as he pulled Draco around the corner to the Apparition point.
“Look, I just want you to be careful. Remember that even though you’ve apparently been to the past, something could still happen to you. I mean this you. And I want you to come back safely. Can you just do that for me? Be safe and watch out for yourself?”
Hermione nodded, eyes tearing up just a little and one or two rogue tears slipping past the dam of her lids. She wiped them away quickly, smiling just a little. Harry lifted his hand and rubbed her cheek fondly, tilting her head down to plant a kiss on her forehead.
“And watch your ass around Malfoy. I know he’s helped us out a bit, but I don’t trust him one fecking ounce; especially not living so close to you.” Hermione snorted just a little, rolling her eyes at the very idea of what Harry was implying.
“Trust me Harry, it’s a non-issue. If he’s anything but a stellar gentleman, he’ll be wondering exactly what sort of book held such demented and perverse curses as are being emitted from my wand.” A warm smile curved the corner of Hermione’s lips upwards, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh, the seriousness on his face slipping into a look of relief.
“Just take care of yourself,” he patted her cheek affectionately, and Hermione had to hug him goodbye and leave the house quickly to avoid another unnecessary onslaught of tears. She waved to goodbye until she was out of sight, sighing as she rounded the corner to a disgruntled looking Draco glaring at Lupin and obviously irritable.
“Merlin, could you have taken longer?” he grumbled, the werewolf elbowing him hard in his ribs and clapping Hermione on the shoulder.
“You alright then? Ready to head out?” Hermione nodded, smiling gratefully up at Lupin and casting Draco a hateful look before turning on the spot for their Apparition point outside of King’s Cross. Malfoy and Lupin followed close behind, dusting themselves off once they gained ground on the concrete out by the dumpsters.
“Right then, off we go,” Lupin said with a nod, heading for the street entrance to the massive train station at a brisk pace. Hermione and Draco followed both carrying transfigured versions of their trunks that were more suitably transportable, their school robes swishing around them and as usual gathering a small bit of attention from the few stragglers in the early morning air. It was probably nearing eight at this point, and the morning commuters were beginning to flood into the train station. The three of them slid in with the people clad in business suits too busy to notice the queerly dressed trio and made their way into the station, easily tucking into a free reception area and casting a confounding charm to keep their privacy.
“Okay, since very little is known about time travel we wanted to cover as many of our bases as possible so that we had a little wiggle room here. That’s why we’re at King’s Cross so early; to ensure that you two are already in the location you need to be with enough time to avoid a fault number of turns.” Lupin pulled a long gold chain out from under his robes, at the bottom of which was a round dial encasing a spinning hourglass. He carefully slid it from around his neck, handing it to Hermione who just as carefully threw the chain around her own.
“How many turns then?” Hermione asked as she let the Time Turner fall against her breast, running her finger absentmindedly over the smooth gold.
“We’ve done quite a bit of calculating, and we think about thirty ought to get you within proper range of the train leaving for Hogwarts. We could be wrong, of course, but this is the best we’re going to be able to do…”
“Oh wow, well that’s confidence-inducing,” Draco drawled icily, moving towards Hermione with the look of someone sniffing spoiled milk and reaching to move the chain around his neck. They had to stand uncomfortably close, and he stooped down just slightly in order to make up for his greater height. It would have been an extremely comical sight if each party’s hatred for the other wasn’t so clearly written on their faces.
“Oh, Hermione, here’s a letter then for Professor McGonagall. And one for Professor Snape for you, Draco. Obviously there are bound to be a few people who will be intersecting both of your lives, so it’s imperative that we head them off as quickly as possible. You must find the both of them as soon as you get on the train and intercept them with these letters before they can complicate things and risk the fabric of time tearing more than it already may have. I’m sure they’ll be on the train for crowd control and to generally keep the peace. You shouldn’t have much trouble searching them out.”
Hermione nodded with purpose in her eyes, while Draco just huffed. This was all annoyingly complicated and really rather ridiculous, and he was getting sick of playing all of these Order games of “imperative” and “of the utmost importance” and all this life or death bullshit. Didn’t these people get bored of playing hero?
“Well we’d better get on then, hum? Burning valuable time here, or something like that…” Granger blinked up at him with this stupid doe-eyed look like she was just waking up, the wide-eyed look rather adorable for the moment it lasted before her large brown eyes narrowed at him.
“No, Hermione, Draco’s absolutely right. I shouldn’t keep the two of you any longer. Good luck to you, and we’re all hoping to see you in the very near future. We have the utmost faith in you.” Lupin smiled at Hermione warmly, patting her once more on the shoulder before stepping back and allowing Hermione to turn the hourglass in her long fingers. She counted carefully, not letting the hourglass slip from her fingers until she’d turned it exactly thirty times.
Draco had never actually seen a Time Turner before, and he couldn’t help but marvel just a little at its affects as they rapidly watched five years’ worth of activity pass before their eyes in tandem with the whizzing hourglass. People streaming into the room, interacting, kissing goodbye, the lights flickering, janitors cleaning, people fighting, people embracing, people sleeping. All the activity of the last five years flew by them in a way that was really rather marvelous until all at once time stopped. Time felt lethargic as it moved by in its normal pace, and it took a few moments for Draco to become accustomed. Hermione likewise blinked heavily, shaking her head and finally reaching up to slip the Time Turner from around Draco’s neck and tucking it in her blouse.
“What’s the time?” Hermione said, more to herself as she searched the room for a clock. She found it easily, mounted up on the wall, and read that the time was nine-thirty in the morning. About half an hour before the train left for Hogwarts; they’d actually made it. She smiled widely, throwing the door open and heading out into the throng of people. As a businessman passed she spied the newspaper tucked into his bag, and she pinched it off him easily, flipping it open and taking in the date with an ever-broadening smile.
Malfoy had just made his way to the door, dazed a bit from the affects of time travel and unable to keep up with Hermione momentarily. He glanced down at the newspaper over her shoulder, obviously checking for the date as well.
“Merlin,” he said with a half-cocked smile on his face, almost forgetting his reason for being in the past entirely and purely excited that their plan had for some reason worked. “Merlin! September first, 1997! We made it!”
Hermione turned around, a wide grin splitting her face. “I know! Isn’t it incredible?! Oh I do hope they saved that formula, who knows what possibilities there could be with more precise time travel a reality!” She could have hugged Malfoy with joy until she remembered that he was, wait a tick, Malfoy. Ugh, what the fuck was wrong with her? Hermione’s blonde counterpart seemed to have the same revelation, and he stepped back a foot from the curly-haired girl, his lip curling just slightly.
“Right, well, let’s off to the platform then. We still need to find Professors Snape and McGonagall as soon as possible, and make out way onto the train if we’re to fulfill our duties as Head Boy and Girl.” He said briskly, making his way down the platforms towards the gap between platforms nine and ten. Hermione followed, shoes clicking on the tile, and a small frown on her pink lips. Would it really be such a shame for them to get along? It wasn’t that she blamed him entirely- after all, she’d had the exact same habitual reaction to their brief moment of friendliness. And why? What was so wrong with it?
“Come along then, Granger, just because you Muggleborns aren’t as light of foot as we classy folk doesn’t mean I’ll sit around waiting on my arse whilst you dally like a fool.”
Ah, right. How could she forget. It was so wrong because he was a complete and total git.