Summary: The timeline changes drastically with the birth of one Hermione Edolié Malfoy. Timetravel/Marauders Era.

The Future Isn't Set in Stone

Chapter 10.

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Hermione had barely managed a goodbye to Alice before her brother whisked her away from the platform, eager to abandon the overcrowded station in favour of the manor. After a brief floo trip she and her brother now stood in the outer hallway of their home. Lapsi, one of their most recent additions to the elf staff, quickly led them inside the second hall.

Lucius discarded his coat, practically throwing it at the elf, without a word and swiftly made his retreat upstairs, probably headed for his room, if Hermione knew him right.

"Miss let Lapsi help with Misses coat?" the bat eared creature inquired timidly, to which Hermione could only oblige happily, giving Lapsi a smile and a thank you as the heavy fur coat stopped weighing down her small body.

When her shoes had been switched to an indoor pair, Hermione turned to venture the halls making her hopeful way towards the kitchens. If the crisp and sweet scent in the air was anything to go by, then Ronja was baking her cinnamon yule cookies.

Hermione had always quite liked those.

She briefly stopped by her mother's sitting room, peeking through the open door she entered, only to be met with the rustling of clothes as her mother abandoned the quilt she had been sitting beneath, in favour of making her way towards her. Hermione did not know what she was more surprised by as slender arms made their way around her tiny build, "Hermione, sweetheart, welcome home," the complete dismissal of manors from her mother's side, or the physical contact that she with the exception of Alice hardly ever indulged in.

Hermione froze at the unexpected greeting, not quite sure what to make of her mother's actions, but slowly circled her arms around her mother's back. Perhaps that did not matter all that much.

"I'm glad to be home," she greeted, voice small, ultimately adding, "I've missed you, mother."

Because she realized she really had.

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The parlour was not anything she had not seen in their own manor, in fact it was a little plain in comparison to her mother's - furniture not quite as extravagant, expensive, and unique. Hermione could not say she disliked it, there was a certain home-y feeling about it, reminding her slightly of the gryffindor commons.

They were seated around a large round table, in big comfortable chairs, all with their own cup of matching china - cakes, sandwiches and tea in the middle of the table, procured by the Missus' elf, Flinky, if she recalled correctly.

It was an odd feeling, sitting in the tea parlour of Missus MacDougal, politely sipping her own cup of earl grey as she quietly listened in on their happy chatter and delighted giggles, surrounded by the group of older women.

Despite it being her first time there, she felt very calmly about the matter, it was actually pleasant - not at all what she had been expecting. Despite her indifference to their meaningless gossiping, it felt nice to just enjoy a cup of tea in the company of witches that didn't loathe her very being, if that meant that she every couple of minutes was acknowledged with an "isn't that right, Hermione, dear?" or "what does the young Miss Malfoy think of this?" then perhaps even better - there was nothing more infuriating than being treated like a child.

Maybe this was what it would have been like to be sorted into Slytherin? Mutual respect, to a certain degree at the very least.

She loved Alice above everything else, the girl was her best friend, but sometimes defending oneself could become exhausting. She also rather doubted she would see as much of Potter and his lot if she could escape to a different common room, Lucius would probably let her have a longer leash too if she had managed to get into Slytherin.

It was all the fault of that blasted hat - all she had wanted was to live her life in peace and calm, read some books, deal with her illness, maybe gain a couple of friends.

She placed her teacup down, a fluid and graceful motion that had come with hard practise when she was younger, refocusing on the conversation her mother was having with Missus Flint, only barely managing to form the correct answer when she was asked her opinion of her son, and how their interactions had been in Hogwarts so far.

"Why," she said, "your son has been most kind to me, Missus Flint, I'm afraid my placement in the gryffindor house had some lesser individuals doubt my ideals and adequacy, but not Tristan... I've grown rather fond of our friendship," she admitted, pleasing the older lady greatly.

Her mother smiled proudly, "There should be no doubts about your abilities, dear, you've after all got the best grades of your year, a future valedictorian." not very subtle, but she doubted it was meant to be.

"My, Miss Malfoy, beautiful and intelligent?" Hermione turned her head curiously towards Missus Lestrange, she noticed her mother flinch - for some reason it seemed her mother did not like the other woman much, "Makes one wonder what your mother was thinking, hiding you away all these years…" Hermione did not like the arrogant, domineering look that was sent her way as she said this, not one bit. She was prying, and very obviously so.

Missus Rosier took that moment to intervene, "I hear from my Evan that the two of you are on good terms as well?"

Hermione nodded politely, "Yes, we share the same year, and thereby multiple classes. We partner up if need be," they were not exactly friends, per say, though, but good manners impaired her from saying so, "he's a kind boy," she added for good measure.

"It's so good that coeval children can get along so well, don't you think Missus Flint?" The question was almost challenging, and Hermione could not understand the sudden hostility between the two ladies, her mother seemed greatly amused though.

"Perhaps," answered Missus Flint, "though I don't believe age to be an all that important factor in the matters of the heart, I myself was but fifteen when my Frederic was twenty-five, after all,"

Missus Lestrange decided to take this as her chance to re-join the conversation, "Speaking of which, my oldest, Radolphus, recently got married to the Black girl - Bellatrix, is the girl's name. Charming girl, really, however…" she said as she let her eyes slide in Hermione's general direction, "I'm still on the lookout for a bride for Rabastan, it's so hard to find pureblooded girls of quality these days."

Missus Flint huffed, "I've already found the perfect match for my Tristan, but I suppose I will tell you all more of this when it becomes official," gathering the attention of both Missus Rosier and Lestrange.

Missus Lestrange smiled sweetly, "Oh, you have? And are you certain your family has what it takes to attain a bride of that calibre? Even if you do, what's to stop others from pertaining this mystery bride - perhaps there are better candidates for her out there…?"

"I have an arrangement with her mother!" Missus Flint declared, clearly enraged.

Missus Lestrange sipped her tea, "What of her father? Surely you must know better than anyone that it is the will of the father that is the deciding factor… and you must know how he favours my husband. Best friends since Hogwarts." The amusement she portrayed at Missus' Flint's discomfort and anger was almost sadistic.

These women only had each other's backs if there was a common enemy, if not it seemed to be a free for all.

Missus Flint rose from her chair, turning to Missus Dougal (who had until now been preoccupied in a heated discussion with Missus Longbottom, Missus Greengrass and Missus Bulstrode,) "I'm afraid I must go," she said snappily, "I've important matters to attend to, it was lovely to see you all again," she huffed and left.

Hermione's mother frowned at Missus Lestrange, "So you would go about it that way?" her mother said tight lipped, amusement gone.

Missus Lestrange smiled pleased, "Of course, I'm a slytherin, am I not?"

"I see," her mother's eyes narrowed greatly.

Missus Rosier looked between the two ladies suspiciously, suddenly very quiet compared to her earlier chatter.

"What a dark mood, we simply can't let young Miss Malfoy get the wrong impression at her first tea with us, now can we?" Said Missus MacDougal

Hermione, still confused as to what had even happened, smiled politely at Missus Dougal who was trying to save what was left of the good mood, "These biscuits are quite delicious, but the sandwiches are even more so," to which the older witch giggled delightfully.

"Why thank you dear, you see my Flinky-"

The mood remained somewhat dark, despite the overplayed happiness of the hostess, and throughout the rest of the entire tea party her mother did not initiate another conversation. They even cut the tea party short, her mother giving the excuse that she had promised her husband they would be home early - which they had not.

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When they finally returned home her mother practically threw her jacket at Lapsi, something Hermione sure hoped was not becoming habit of her family members, the poor elf hardly stood a chance when heavy snow coats were thrown at her tiny form, before disappearing up the staircase towards her parents' bedroom, clearly infuriated.

"What in the world was that about?"

Hermione turned to find her brother standing in the entrance, slouched against the wall in an undignified manner, there were no one here but her so of course he did not care.

Hermione sighed, "I honestly have no idea…" she trailed off, still trying to puzzle together what she had experienced at the tea party, "I think she and Missus Lestrange had an argument during tea though? At some point Missus Flint even left early…"

That got his attention, "Missus Flint left early?"

Hermione shrugged her jacket off and handed it to Lapsy with a polite 'thank you,' "Yes… I think Missus Lestrange insulted her, something about claiming her son's bride? At the very least it made tea somewhat amusing."

Lucius frowned, "I see," he turned to the staircase, "father wanted words with you, he's in his study," he said before disappearing up the steps.

The walk to the study was slow, she had not seen her father since summer, and had only heard from him once during the course of the first semester. To say she was nervous was an understatement.

She combed her fingers through the lose parts of her hair and tried to straighten out any wrinkles her dress may have gotten during tea, before she knocked carefully on the door.

"Enter," rung the voice of her father, who appeared to be seating in his armchair, near the well-lit fireplace. He had a book in his hands, and his reading glasses on, which was an almost unfamiliar sight at this point, he was even wearing his robe and slippers. Perhaps the busy times at the ministry had born fruit and he could finally relax?

"…Happy Yuletide, father," she greeted weakly, slightly afraid of what was to come.

"Your mother tells me you did well on your studies. Outscoring even Lucius at that age," he commented, not moving his gaze from the book, "we're glad to have you back home with us, your mother has especially missed you."

Out of everything that was not what she had been expecting, "You are?" she blurted out accidently.

Her father sighed, removing his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose it what seemed to be annoyance, before throwing her a look of indifference. A look that was quickly replaced with something akin to shock, "...Yes," he said, watching her carefully like she was a puzzle he could not quite figure out. There was a long stretch of silence, as he tried to find words. "You've grown," he finally decided, closing his book, not even marking the page before doing so, discarding it at his side.

He kept watching her, studying her face.

"F-Father?" she asked nervously.

He placed his glasses down on top of the discarded book, "come sit with me," he ordered.

Hermione's face lit up in a nervous smile, "Of course," she said, obeying quickly.

He brushed falling locks of her updo out of her face, "You've started to reassemble your mother quite a lot," he commented, almost pleased. He smiled a warm fatherly smile she was not often in the honour of receiving. "I know you are much too old for fairy tales… but humour an old man and listen to the one I used to read to Lucius when he was a child."

They spend an hour like that, her seated against him listening to the tale of the Dragon and the Demiguise – her father had a practised reading voice. He had probably read a lot to Lucius when he was a child. It was when she pondered over that, deciding that her father had the best voice for fairy tailes she had ever heard, that she eventually fell asleep. Squeezed between the armchair and her father's body, her face gently nuzzled into his chest as he kept reading to her.

The reading might have continued if it was not for Semele entering the study clearly infuriated, "Abraxas," she hissed, cutting herself as her body too came to full stop at the sight.

The display of affection between him and Hermione was a rare one.

His expression changed quickly, the warmth hastily transforming into his usual cold demeanour, "Semele," he said dismissively as he rose from her chair carefully, as to not wake his daughter, "inquire Ronja about the state of our dinner, I think we're all quite hungry."

With that he left the study, Semelee and Hermione behind

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The reason this chapter took so long is because I just didn't know how to write it, I've rewritten it so many times and it still feels wrong. Maybe someday I'll go back and rewrite it again, but for now I'll try to focus on getting a few more chapters out. A lot of reviewers have requested I published and didn't give up on this story – don't worry, I won't. Thank you very much for showing such support despite the long wait. I hope to have the next chapter up quite a bit quicker – but no promises.