Chapter 1

Darkness enveloped her. It lay heavy on her body, suffocating her, restricting her moves so she was as stiff as a corpse. Her head felt as if there was a fire in her skull, in danger of exploding out. She tried twitching her fingers, but nothing would move. Her eyes were unable to adapt to the darkness, so she had no idea where she was.

"Hermione!" A familiar voice cried out. "Hermione!"

"I'm here!" She wanted to scream back. "I'm here." But the darkness stopped her from speaking. It didn't stop her from trying. Every fibre of her being fought to part her lips, to find her voice, to get herself out of this situation.

"Hermione!" The voice continued to call. "Hermione, where are you?"

The darkness was unable to stop the tears flowing down her cheeks. "I'm here." The voice wouldn't leave her body. "I'm here."

Hermione Granger woke with a start.

"Breathe." She told herself firmly. "Breathe. It was just a dream."

The nightmares had started when she was fifteen and hit with Dolohov's curse. Dreams of being trapped in her body unable to move, stuck in the darkness and feeling as if she would die there. As the curse was cast non-verbally, Dumbledore had been unable to find out what the full intention of it was. Considering her coma had been a lesser form of it, Hermione tried not to think too much what the real plan had been. Since Voldemort's defeat, the nightmares had turned into a memory.

Until now.

As Hermione's eyes adjusted to the darkness she frowned. This was not where she went to sleep. Not that she could remember going to bed in the first place. Her mind fogged as she tried to recall her last moments, memories leaping about and weaving together until they didn't make any sense.

From what she could see in the dim light, the room was far grander than anywhere she usually went to sleep. A hotel? Perhaps a drunken night had led her here, too drunk to head home. But where was home?

"Breathe." She told herself again, fiercely this time. "Breathe."

Every time her mind landed on a piece of information, it darted away again, too quick for her to remember anything about it. Her panic rose as she realised, she didn't even know what year it. A slight shift in the mattress alerted her that she was not alone in the bed. Fighting the urge to leap out and run away, Hermione cautiously slipped out of the duvet to get a better look at her bedfellow without waking them.

He had his back to her, but the striking white blonde of his hair made him unmistakable. Quickly Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth to stop her from crying out. This couldn't be happening. Her fingers touched the soft cotton of her nightgown for reassurance as she kept her gaze fixed on the sleeping form of her old classmate.

The Battle of Hogwarts. The memory swam into view clear and precise. Voldemort was dead. She was hugging Ron and Harry. They held onto each other as if they'd never let go. It was the last thing she remembered.

As a Death Eater, Draco Malfoy should not be sleeping on fluffy pillows under an ornate satin cover. By rights he should be sleeping on the cold floor of Azkaban awaiting trial.

Unless they'd not won at all. Had something gone wrong? Had their victory only been a rouse? Desperately she tried to move through her memories for some idea, but everything remained disjointed and confusing. But how else would she have wound up in Draco Malfoy's bed?

She needed to escape. Her eyes cast over the bedside cabinet next to where he lay sleeping, was his wand in there? Was hers? Having spent nearly 7 years with a wand, now being without one left her feeling naked. Often she would look at her parents and wonder how they managed to cope without one, how they managed to feel safe.

Heart pounding in her chest, Hermione slowly crept round the bed towards the cabinet. Every pad of her feet on the soft carpet felt like an earthquake and her breathing felt like a howling storm, but he did not wake.

The drawer knob was the face of a dragon, a pair of amber eyes watching her as she made to clasp her hands around it. She knew it was only a small piece of metal, but it seemed so real. The eyes watching her left her uneasy. Hurriedly she covered them with her hand. As gently as she could, Hermione began to pull at the drawer, desperately praying that it wouldn't creak. The drawer not making a noise was her only reward. Her wand was not in there. A handful of sickles, a broken quill and letter opener carved from jet. She picked up the latter praying she wouldn't have to use it.

A wardrobe stood in the corner of the room, but a voice told Hermione it would be a waste of time searching in there. Malfoy could wake up at any moment and rummaging through a wardrobe would be one way to wake him up faster. Not that she much relished leaving without her wand. This was Malfoy Manor, she'd guessed, how many others could be crawling around?

A decision needed to be made. The window in Draco's room gave no indication where they were, perhaps a cautious explore in another couple of rooms might help. Her hand curled around the sharp piece of jet, a crude weapon but it was all she had. She would have to be brave.

Her hand curled around the doorknob, flinching at how cold it was. Breath hitched; she slowly began to turn it.

The door would not open.

Trying hard not to panic, Hermione tried again, a touch firmer this time but it still would not budge. She tried again, shaking the doorknob, pulling and pushing with all of her might. She had to get out.

"Hermione?"

The witch whirled around pointing her newly acquired weapon at the source of the voice. Malfoy jumped back; hands held up. "Woah." He seemed surprised. "Steady there."

"Where are we?" Adrenaline was surging through her body, she tried not to shake. "Where have you taken me? Is this Malfoy Manor?"

To her surprise he ran his hand through his hair anxiously, bringing his hand to rub on the nape of his neck. "The Healers said this might happen." It was more to himself than to her.

"What might?" The statement had caught her off guard. Recovering, she gripped the letter opener tighter. "Tell me what's going on, Malfoy."

Malfoy's face softened. "It's ok, Hermione. You're safe. I'm here."

"Don't patronise me." She snapped. "I know you're here. That's precisely why I'm not safe. Why have you brought me here?"

"You live here. I know-" He held up his hand to silence her when she opened her mouth to argue. "I know you don't remember at the moment, but I hope you will soon. What year do you think it is?"

"1998." Hermione chewed her lip, frightened now for an entirely different reason. "It's May, 1998. Harry killed Voldemort." Her face paled. "Please say Voldemort's dead."

"He is." Malfoy said hurriedly, taking a step towards her. When she lunged with the letter opener he retreated. "Voldemort's gone. He's not coming back. He's not coming back."

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. It made her angry. She would not be weak in front of Draco Malfoy. "It's 1998." She repeated. "It's 1998."

"Hermione, no." Malfoy said sadly, his grey eyes looked at her with a kindness she had never seen before. "It's 2005."

The letter opener dropped to the floor.

Her head began to swim again. He couldn't be right. No.

"It's 2005, Hermione." Malfoy breathed. "And you're my wife."