Hey Lovelies,

It's been a while I'm afraid and I hope you all believe me when I say that I'm sorry for the long delay. Since transferring to my new university there's been so much work to do, and I fear my update schedule in the near future will be rather random. However, nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this first part of the chapter in Hermione's POV. In order to provide context for some of Hermione's past, I split it between some scenes that are happening in the original timeline and others at Hogwarts. Not much Draco in this part of the chapter, but the next one will be heavy on the Dramione interactions so you'll have that to look forward to.

Please review! I might not reply straight away but I appreciate the feedback and it's always nice to know that people actually read the story. Feel free to review earlier chapters as well. I'm currently rewriting some parts to smooth out the exposition and stuff like that, so there's a chance that I'll reupload some chapters in the near future.

All the best and stay safe!

Lena

PS.: I do not own Harry Potter...

Chapter 8: Lost and Found

Past:

Luna!
There was pain.
So much pain.
Her body screaming in protest.
Then she felt it.
Warm weight settling above her.
Moss, rain and cedar.
The gentle hum of magic.
Protection.
Her world fading away.
Mind lost to the sea of swirling memories.

Harry!

What little air she had left rushed out of her lungs, her muscles refusing to cooperate as she watched the walls of the Great Hall crumble. Desperate outcries drowning in the thunderous pandemonium of thousands of tons of stones tumbling to the ground and crushing everything in their wake. The earth shook, dust and debris making impossible to assess the full extent of the destruction. However, there was no time for her to gather her bearings, not with the curses sizzling through the air around her.

I need to get closer…

She sucked in a deep breath, her wandhand performing a complicated twirling motion, finishing the movement with a quarter-twist.

Praesidio Maxima.

Her magic flared against her skin, hot, almost uncomfortably so, the complicated shield charm settling over her as she broke out into a sprint. Forward. Towards the ruins of the castle she had called home. Another curse sent her down, ducking behind what little cover she could find. Her muscles burnt, heart racing inside her chest as she sent a slicing hex towards the back of an unknown Death Eater. Screams cut through the moonlit night, the air tasting of smoke and blood.

We've lost.

All around her Order members began to disapparate, the telltale cracking sound accompanied by curses and unhinged screeches of protest from the Death Eaters. However, whilst some of the fighters possessed the necessary presence of mind to pull some of the remaining students with them, Hermione noticed to her mounting horror that most of them, -teenagers who, despite their youth, had chosen to stand with them, to bleed and fight till the bitter end-, were going to be left behind.

Children.

Little children.

Greyback's pack was raging through a group behind her, fearful cries preceding the sickening crunch of tearing flesh and snapping bones and Hermione felt bile rise in her throat as she realised that there was nothing she could do for them. Not without abandoning her search for Harry entirely and she was not prepared to give up on her best friend, not when there was still hope.

Is there?

A curse sizzled through the air, barely missing her. Dark magic brushing against her shieldcharm as she pivoted, eyes falling on the two Death Eaters who had apparently chosen her for their newest target. Dolohov. At the sight of them her chest burned in recognition, the scarred flesh feeling as raw as it had the day Dolohov's curse had hit her in the department of mysteries.

Sectumsepra.

Cold seeped into her bones, her magic shuddering as she released the dark spell. She had seen the damage it wrought. Had traced the reddish swollen scars that her best friend's rage had left on another's skin. Death, slow and cruel, would be her reward, but Godric forgive her, she could not find it within herself to care anymore.

Damn it!

Her aim had always been one of her weaknesses, the vicious light missing its intended target by an armlength. However, her use of Dark Magic had not been entirely in vain, the shock of seeing Potter's pet Mudblood perform anything worse than a stunning spell buying her a few precious seconds of time and before she had the time for any conscious thought, her feet were once again flying across the bloodstained meadow.

Harry.

She chanted in her head.

Harry.

Over and over again, like a prayer.

Harry.

She stumbled, the sickening crunch telling her that it had not been a stone that had thrown her off balance. Pushing herself back onto her feet, she caught a glimpse of lifeless eyes staring towards the unforgiving sky.

Collin.

There was a sob tearing at her throat, despair clawing at her insides, but she could not, would not, allow herself those sentiments. Not anymore. Not now, after all they had fought for had turned into dust before their very eyes, their roles reduced to unwilling witnesses of the dawn of this brave new world.

Come on, Granger!

Pull yourself together!

Her fingers clenched around the handle of her wand, clinging to the faint sting of the vine-etchings scraping againt her skin. A welcome reminder that she was still here, still breathing, even as a new wave of curses came crashing against her shield charm.

Alive.

Fighting!

"Miss Granger!" Reinforcing her shieldcharm with a new wave of power, Hermione spun around, eyes scanning the battlefield before they quickly settled on her Head of House. She felt a small pang of pride, as she watched the older witch battle against a group of Death Eaters and snatchers with all the ferociousness Gryffindor was known for. There were flaming creatures, bursting from the tip of her wand, the elemental magic hauntingly beautiful, but Hermione did not pause to watch as it unfolded its destructive potential.

No time.

There's no time-.

All around her the fight was turning into a slaughter. Soon enough the Death Eaters would put up new anti-apparition wards, cutting off their only hope of escape. McGonagall's strained voice calling after her. "You need to leave, Miss Granger! There's nothing more that can be done here today…"

"I can't…" She shouted over her shoulder, picking up momentum as she forced her unwilling muscles to cooperate. "Not without Harry!"

Christ! This would be so much easier if I could just apparate.

However, even desperate as she was, Hermione knew better than to apparate into a collapsed magical building. There was simply no telling how the residual magic would react, now that it had no walls to anchor it to and apparition was already a highly volatile form of transportation. With the dust of the collapse further clouding her view the odds of splinching herself were frighteningly high, certainly not good enough to gamble hers and Harry's lives on it.

If he isn't dea-.

No!

Her shield shattered, two curses hitting it nearly simultaneously and forcing Hermione to snap around, night cut in two by an almost inhuman howl of frustration. Wild, bordering on feral, in a way she had not known herself to be capable off. She did not have the time to duel Death Eaters, not when every second squandered could seal her best friend's fate!

Godric, not again!

Protego maxima!

Diffindo!

Sidestepping an evil-looking, orange spell, Hermione ducked behind one of the destroyed statues McGonagall had called to battle. Taking a second to catch her breath, she risked a glance in the direction of the two Death Eaters, hoping to spy a weakness in Dolohov's defence. However, she had barely located the older wizard, before she caught sight of a flash of platinum, dancing mockingly along the edges of her periphery.

Malfoy.

Slightly dumbstruck, Hermione observed as her former classmate managed to hold his own against Kingsley Shacklebolt, ducking and dodging the auror's attacks with enviable graze while simultaneously firing off his own spells.

He's alive!

It should not have mattered. Definitely not on a day like this.

And yet…

Somehow it did. It fucking mattered!

She gritted her teeth as stone exploded around her, a well-aimed bombarda smashing her cover to smithereens. There was nothing for it, Hermione realised with growing trepidation, quickly adopting a proper duelling stance. Dolohov and his fellow Death Eater were too close, too focused on her to allow her to slip away without a fight.

Sectumsempra!

Preasidio maxima!

Stupefy!

It was while sidestepping yet another curse that she saw her.

Pale as a shadow, her hands raised above her head as if to signal her surrender Narcissa Malfoy stood at the very centre of the battle raging around them. Her face was turned skywards, gaze never wavering from the bloody bundle that was flying straight towards her.

A body.

Harry!

"No!"

The realisation shot through Hermione like lightning, her body moving before her mind had any chance to catch up. Her shield flared, two curses shattering against her back, but she paid them no heed, dumbstruck by the fact that the pureblooded witch had adjusted the trajectory of Harry's lifeless body, her slim figure shaking visibly from the strain as she levitated him further towards an unsuspecting Professor McGonagall.

Malfoys.

What is it with this magicforsaken family?

Praesidio Maxima.

Pushing renewed strength into her shield she swirled around, hope igniting in her chest. Chances were that she would never know what might have possessed Bellatrix Lestrange's sister to help them when her side had been about to win this war once and for all, but irrespective of the witch's elusive motives Hermione would play her part. Stepping forward she unleashed another salve of attacks, her creeping exhaustion yielding to the renewed surge of adrenaline rushing through her blood.

Diffindo.

Stupefy.

"Miss Granger!"

Crack!

Just as the crack of apparition signaled McGonagall's retreat a stray spell came out of nowhere, hitting Dolohov's Death Eater friend squarely in the back. There was nothing left for her to do. Nothing staying behind would accomplish. Not today.

Destination.

Determination.

Deliberation.

Darkness.
Empty and cold.
A phoenix's calling.
To war. To death. To love.

It was night, the air cold, but Hermione hardly had the energy to keep upright much less cast a warming charm. Healing, or so she had come to learn, was a draining experience and the Order had long run out of the necessary potions that would have helped to restore at least some of her strength.

People are dying.

Even now she could hear their screams echoing through the dark. She should be there. In one of those tents, fighting for their lives. Not sitting out here, useless, her body shaking with exhaustion.

How has it come to this?

Almost two weeks had passed since their devastating defeat at the Battle of Hogwarts, and yet they had already had to evacuate three of their supposedly safe gathering places. By now, they had lost most of their provisions, what few fighters they had left were either injured or dying and somehow Hermione had ended up as the inofficial mediwitch of their ragtag group of survivors.

What I really need are books and the time to read them.

Harry was still unconscious. Even worse, there was a part of her that feared he would not wake up.

We lost!

Lost!

A faint rustling sound made her head snap up. Truth be told she had not expected her body to have any adrenaline left, but miraculously she felt a small rush of energy, barely enough to allow her to raise her wand. Silently bracing herself to push her magic into one final spell.

Luna.

Hermione sagged back, relief crashing into her at the sight of the fair-haired Ravenclaw who was making her way through the trees. They were not friends, not in the conventional sense at least, but she could admit to having developed a certain fondness for the odd witch with her serene smiles and cryptic statements.

"Hermione." Concern flared in the younger witch's voice as she hurried in Hermione's direction, silverblue eyes narrowing in thinly veiled disapproval as they swept over her slumped form. "Sweet Circe!" Luna shook her head, hand disappearing in one of the many pouches she kept strapped around her waist before she let out a small sound of triumph. "Here, drink this."

What in Merlin's name?

She blinked uncomprehendingly at the small object that was glowing in the blonde's outstretched hand. "What's-."

"A family recipe." The smile Luna gave her was kind, if a little strained, gaze dropping as she uncorked the vial and crouched down at Hermione's side. "My mother's, actually, but I'd like to think she'd approve. For you, anyway."

Why?

The question was burning on the tip of Hermione's tongue, however before she had any chance to voice it, cool glass was pressed against her lips, her mouth flooding with the taste of honey and spice. She had barely swallowed it, when she felt her magic humming to life. Warmth spreading through her chest, bright and comforting, like a small ray of sunlight had chosen to settle somewhere deep inside of her.

Flitterby wings and dandelion root.

"Oh Luna, you shouldn't have…"

"Nonsense." Luna straightened, a shadow passing over her ethereal features. Anger, hurt and longing shining through the cracks until they suddenly disappeared, once again replaced by the air of otherworldly calm the Ravenclaw usually exuded. "You should rest now. Draining your magical core is not without risks, even for a witch as powerful as yourself."

I can't-.

It's not enough!

Never enough!

The fair-haired witch made to leave, skipping towards the tents, her silver locks shining in the faint light of the torches that lined the perimeter of their camp.

"Wait!" Hermione called after her, questions beginning to form now that the mysterious potion had worked its magic.

Luna turned around, her slow movements giving the Gryffindor the opportunity to scramble to her feet and take a hesitant step towards the younger witch. "You can't just leave like that. Not after you ran off into the woods without a word of explanation only to return hours later with fresh supplies and secrets weighing on your mind… What in Godric's name were you thinking? You could've been killed! Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

Another life wasted, another name joining the fallen.

Fred. George. Molly.

Remus and Tonks.

Collin and Lavender.

Her heart ached, eyes burning with unshed tears as their faces flashed through her mind. Perhaps it was selfish of her, but Hermione doubted that she could bear another loss, not so soon after all their hopes of resolving this conflict in one decisive push had been crushed underneath the rubble of Hogwarts' great hall.

Something flitted across Luna's face, the emotion quickly smothered by an odd quirk of her lips. "You needn't worry for my safety, Hermione. The Daoine Sith might rarely concern themselves with the shortlived fancies of humankind, but this woods are part of their kingdom and no harm will find their kin as long as I remain within the boundaries of their domain."

Daoine Sith.

The fairy folk?

"Their kin?" Mind spinning from the sudden turn their conversation had taken, Hermione did her level best to keep her voice from betraying any of the scepticism she felt at the younger witch's reference to the mystical nature spirits.

Circe, she can't be serious, can she?

"So you are-?"

"A daughter of the old folk. In the widest of senses at least." Dreamily Luna smiled into the distance, talking with all the effortless confidence of someone who was stating a wellknown fact. "House Lovegood was founded by Minara, the mortal daughter of a willow nymph and the kindhearted wizard she had taken as her lover."

Dazedly Hermione allowed the blond witch to slip her arm around her shoulders, gentle pressure steering her towards the large tent the women were sharing amongst themselves. "Of course that was many centuries ago when such unions were not as unheard of as they are today. The Daoine Sith might be powerful but their magic is born from nature and their strength has been fading for centuries."

"I wished I could've shown you." For a moment Hermione felt Luna's step falter, the wistfulness that had crept into her voice laced with heavy sorrow. "However, while most might've forgotten the powers that once ruled this lands, Riddle has always been obsessed with the magics of old, rooted in blood and nature. He feared our connection, feared what the Order of the Phoenix could do if given the opportunity. And now there's nothing left of my ancestral home or the secrets we guarded. Only smoke, ash and death."

Oh Luna!

"Godric, Luna, I'm so sorry! If I had known, I would've-." As she pulled the taller witch into a fierce hug, Hermione's thoughts flashed back to Xenophilius Lovegood's sunken figure, the crazed panic in his eyes as he had pleaded with the Death Eaters for the return of his daughter. He might have betrayed them, but even at the time Hermione had found it difficult to feel anything but pity for the broken shell of a man

Is it really so wrong? So reprehensible?

To value the life of your daughter more than the fate of strangers?

"It wasn't the time to share this secret." Luna's breath ghosted over her skin. The softness of her melodic voice belied by the solemnity Hermione glimpsed on her face as she pulled out of her grasp. "It wouldn't have changed anything before tonight. Not for the better anyway. Now go get some rest! You are of no use to anyone if you kill yourself!"

"The others-."

"Will be fine." She gestured towards the bulging leather pouches strapped around her waist. "The Order might not have thought to take the necessary precautions, but you'll find that some of us were not entirely unprepared to fight this war, however long it may last."

'However long it may last.'

She woke up amidst ruins, flakes of ash drifting through the air. Smoke was burning in her lungs, eyes stinging as she scrambled to her feet. Her body crying out in anguish with every step that carried her further into the fire-ravaged wasteland.
She didn't know how much time had passed. Had it been minutes, hours? Days, even? But eventually she collapsed under a charred tree, thoughts adrift. There was something oddly fitting about the fact that she would die like she had lived, burning in the ruins of a broken world.
"You look lost!"
There were two of them. A girl, hair black as coal, her eyes shining in the greenish blue hues of the sea, and a middleaged woman, the first streaks of silver woven into her wild honeyed locks.
"Who are you?" She croaked out the question, her dry throat constricting painfully around the handful of syllables.
"Always so inquisitive-." A smirk tugged at the lips of the older woman, eyebrows rising in an unspoken challenge as her hand performed a delicate flourish, tendrils of magic lifting Hermione to her feet.
"Come. We've got much to see."

"Please, just please stop!"

"Luna, what's-?"

Scrambling from her bed, Hermione created a small light and hurried towards the tossing and turning witch. Her heart clenching at the desperation colouring her friend's voice. "It's enough! Can't you see that he can't take anymore? Please!"

"Luna, you need to wake up! It's not real."

"Rowena, he's had enough. It's too much!" Now she was almost sobbing, tears breaking from her closed eyes and painting streak of silver down her cheeks. "Useless-! It's all my fault, all my fault. What use is any of it if I can't see any other way than this?"

"It's not real. You're having a nightmare!"

"You don't understand." Thrashing against her hold Luna pressed out, her mind obviously stranded somewhere between dream and reality. "It's all real. Sometimes I can see-. Even as a child. So small, so alone, and I couldn't-. He deserves so much better than this. No! Please-."

"Luna!"

"Hermione-." Finally, Luna's eyes shot open, swirls of silver glowing in the dark as they frantically darted across Hermione's face. "Please, tell me you're alright."

Taking a step back, Hermione let out an incredulous laugh, inwardly wincing at the hysterical note that had invaded her voice. "I'm fine, honestly. It's you I'm worried about." She paused, weighing her next words with more care. For a while now, she had had her suspicions about the nature of the other witch's nightly torment, but now all she could feel was dread. "Those dreams of yours. They aren't dreams at all, are they?"

Visions.

So that's how she knew about Ronald.

All this time they thought-.

"No, they aren't." Pushing herself upright the other woman smiled weakly. "It started after my Ma died. There was this boy, I kept dreaming about, voices that were whispering to me in tongues I couldn't understand." She trailed off, her eyes focused on a point far away. "At first I thought I was going mad with grief. The witches in my mother's family might be known for being blessed with the gift, but it rarely awakens before we've grown into womanhood."

Oh Luna-!

"It wasn't until Da brought me with him to the Court of Light that Astraeya, one of the priestesses, realised that my sight had already manifested. She taught me focus and control in the ways of the fay, but as you've seen my powers can get much too volatile to be controlled by trances and dream drifting." For the first time since Hermione had known her, she could actually see the effort it cost the other woman to force her face into smoothness, too shaken to successfully hide the pain the last hours had caused her. "You should go back to sleep. I'm sorry for waking you."

"No."

The Gryffindor shook her head, sitting down by Luna's side, suddenly feeling more certain in the wisdom of her actions than she had been in a while. "It's not that I don't understand why you've had to keep it a secret, but you've been carrying this burden for a decade and now that I know there's no reason why I can't share your worries if you'd just let me. You do not have to do this alone."

"I-." Something flared in Luna's darkblue eyes, raw and devastating. "It's my cousin."

'Can't you see that he can't take anymore? Please!'

"It's our shared blood. My magic calls to his when I'm not awake to control it."

'It's too much!'

"Is he a prisoner? Perhaps, we could-."

"He would die."

Blood freezing in her veins, Hermione quietly watched as the words came tumbling from Luna's lips with such devastating certainty. "Not today or tomorrow, but I've yet to see a path where saving him from his current torment wasn't destined to end in tragedy. And yet-, even knowing that loosing him would quite literally drive me into madness, I'd offer him that choice: A short life of freedom in exchange for years of suffering."

'He deserves so much better than this.'

Luna averted her eyes, voice soft. "However, to let him find the happiness he'd never thought he'd have only to see it all ripped away? To risk him having to die in the arms of the woman he loves, when there's chance, however small, that one day they could have it all and keep it? I can't-."

'It's all my fault, all my fault.'

"But Luna, I don't understand-, how can you think that any of this is your fault?"

"He's the last family I've left, Hermione. We-. To him, I'm not some distant cousin, or Loony Lovegood with her strange ideas, but the little sister he's always wished for." "I'm the one person he trusts above anyone else-. Is it so selfish of me, that I can't stand the thought that he'd hate me for all I've taken from him?"

"I may not know him, but if he's even half the person you seem to believe him to be, he'd understand."

Suddenly the air grew cold, the chill invading her bones. The burning hellscape had faded, replaced by the damp darkness of what Hermione could only presume to be the cells of Azkaban, dementors lurking in the shadows.
Right in front of her, shackled to the wall, was Draco Malfoy, younger than the man she remembered from their last encounter, his emaciated body barley covered by a few dirty rags, exposed torso littered with fresh bruises and a fine spiderweb of silverwhite scars. Towering above him was Ronald, a cruel smile playing around his lips as he kicked down, boot crashing against Malfoy's ribcage with a sickening crunch that had Hermione stepping forward.
A hand landed on her shoulder, grip firm but not painfully so.
"There's nothing you can do."
It was the older one of her companions that spoke, her voice soft, compassionate even, although her expression remained carefully guarded, ashen eyes fixed on the scene that was unfolding in front of them as she added without any trace of her earlier teasing. "Believe me, I've tried more times than I can count."
"But-."
However, the rest of her protest was lost in a wheezing laugh that caused her eyes to refocus on the pale blond figure, anger rising as she realised that his painfully rattling breaths ricochetting from the unforgiving stone were hardly the result of Ronald's assault. A lung infection could fell even the strongest of wizards and if Malfoy's current condition was to be of any indication, he did not have access to proper medical care.
"You need to do better than that if you want to prove your bravery by teaching the big bad Death Eater a lesson Weaselbee-!" Even like this, damned to endure brutality at the hands of someone he had always deigned beneath him, the Malfoy heir appeared entirely too amused by the entire situation, his voice practically dripping with condescension.
"Shut your stupid mouth, Malfoy!"
Ronalds' fist collided with the Slytherin's face, head flying back against the stonewall.
Spitting out blood, the blond wizard stared at his tormentor for a long, tense moment, before something in his face shifted his eyes widening the barest of fractions. "No, you wouldn't-. Salazar, I knew you were a sorry excuse for a wizard, never mind a friend but this-. How could you, Weaselbee? How could you do that to h- them? They fucking trusted you!"
His anger, burning like fire in those silvery grey orbs, caught her off guard. When Luna had-, well, everything had happened so fast. Hermione had barely had the time to process the fact that Draco Malfoy had suddenly been standing in their small hideout, much less that he was supposed to be both, Luna's cousin and the Death Eater spy she had never quite believed to exist. To hear him angry, practically incensed on their behalf felt oddly jarring, like a fever dream she had yet to shake.
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
Ronald losing his temper.
Leering eyes, dark and dangerous as he towered above her.
'Bitch!'
'It's the Horcrux, Ron, please snap out of it!'
"STOP!"
"Please make him stop!"

"Quit hovering and say what you've come to say, Harry!" She did not have to look up from her reading to picture the sheepish expression her words must have painted on his face, but quite honestly she saw no need to make this any easier on him than it had any right to be. "The day doesn't have enough hours as it is, there's hardly a need to shorten them with indecision."

Better to get this over with!

"Luna's run off again." A pause, soon followed by the expected sigh. "You must talk some sense into her, 'Mione!"

"I must?" With a harsh laugh, Hermione clapped 'The Role of Metals in Magical Methodology' shut, her eyebrows rising as she stated dryly. "Kingsley's got to be truly desperate for control if he thinks he can manipulate me into doing his dirty work." Lowering her voice, she added, her eyes finally meeting the emerald green orbs of her oldest friend. "You've got no idea what it was like. You weren't there when…"

'Gods, Luna, what happened?'

'Kingsley, he-. Rowena, my head-.'

'Come, sit! I'll get you something against the pain.'

'No! Ugh. The potions won't work-. Just-, my robes, the left pocket.'

'A moonstone? But-.'

"I'm sure he didn't mean-."

"Harry James Potter, you know I love you like the brother I never had, but if you dare finish that sentence I swear I'll forget myself."

"Do you think I like this anymore than you do? I like Luna, I really do, but this is war, Hermione. How many more can we lose before the people lose what little faith they've left?" Abruptly he turned away, his voice shaking. "Andromeda and I've been talking-. Ever since Perce and Charlie were captured, she's been thinking about taking Teddy and going into hiding."

Good for her.

A war camp was never the right place for a toddler.

"Harry, I-."

"Doesn't matter." Harry waved her off, his face hardening. "But she's right, you know. The books, the potions, we'd all be long dead if it wasn't for Luna. Tell me, what would become of us if something were to happen to her? Not to mention how she always knows things anyone else would've needed weeks to find out. If she'd just tell us her contact-, just imagine what we could do! At the very least we'd stand a fighting chance."

What if I were to tell you that there isn't any secret contact at all?

Only Luna and the gifts that haunt her?

Would you protect her secret?

"What makes you so sure that you or Kingsley could do better than her? Whoever Luna's contact is, they are already putting their life on the line for us and you'd repay them for their efforts by demanding more and more until they could no longer hope to evade discovery." Hermione stared at her friend incredulously, surprised by the stab of betrayal she felt on behalf of a person that did not exist. "Has it ever occurred to you that that's the very reason Luna refuses to tell you anything? That she might actually care for the person who's saved all our lives?"

"Don't make it sound as if we were talking about risking the life of a good man." He chuckled darkly. "With access on that level he's a Death Eater and a high-ranking one at that. It's not as if you get to that point by being a good fucking person."

"Perhaps." She had to concede, inwardly shuddering as her thoughts sped through the list of potential candidates. Rowle. MacNair. Dolohov. Nott. In a way it was hard not to see Harry's point. "But that's what it all comes down to it, isn't it? In the end I trust Luna's judgement and you don't."

"What in Merlin's name was that supposed to be?" She asked, still shaken by the flashbacks.
"A future." The younger one answered simply, her eyes distant. "One of the few where destiny triumphed over reason. However, their world continued as it had been, full of fear, hurt and mistrust, their collective blindness giving way to an evil so dark it would eventually consume them and their families. Tom Riddle was but a symptom of a world that had long lost its balance."

Dread swept through Hermione's body, cold horror gripping her heart. "So you're telling me that it was all for nothing-. That even if we'd won, we'd have only set the stage for the next conflict, dooming our children to suffer for our mistakes?"
"I'm telling you to remember that while wars may be waged on battlefields, but true change must begin in the minds and hearts of the people! Otherwise what little peace you may achieve can only ever be temporary in nature." Pity shone in those sea green eyes as they met hers, empathy warring with the clarity of someone who knew far too much. "Sometimes winning isn't as simple as seeing your enemy lose."

Hermione breathed in, fresh morning air filling her lungs as she took in the thick layer of fog that covered the quiet moor in front of her. Soon, she knew, all too soon the apparent serenity of this lonely landscape would be lost to screams, and death. Her arm ached, the dark magic pulsing viciously underneath her skin as Hermione's thoughts returned to the reason why she had ignored Kingsley's direct command and sacrificed precious vials of Dreamless Sleep and Polyjuice potion in order to take Susan's place on this mission.

Draco Malfoy.

The Black Prince.

Heir of Darkness.

He would die today. Entrapped in the carefully laid snare the Order had devised to end the sadistic maniac he called his aunt and Circe help her, but the thought should not have bothered her half as much as it did. After all, as far as the Order of the Phoenix was concerned, assassinating Riddle's young protégé was almost as good as the madwoman he had crowned his queen.

'Mudblood.'

The Gryffindor shook her head, trying to chase away the memories of blood, pain and cackling laughter that were threatening to burst through her mental defenses. She would not allow Bellatrix Lestrange to break her. Certainly not now, two years after she had escaped the dark witch's clutches with her body and sanity largely intact.

Only because you had help. A traitorous voice whispered in her head. And this is how you repay him?

Hermione still remembered Draco Malfoy's eyes holding her gaze, molten silver guarded and cold even as his magic enveloped her like the soothing fumes of a perfectly brewed Calming Draught. Remembered how the unbearable agony had numbed and the broken shards of her shattered occlumency shields were pulled together, her secrets safe and protected.

Why me?

Why would he even-?

Does it matter?

Whatever had fuelled Malfoy's bewildering act of mercy, Hermione was not so naïve to think that the man they were about to face today was the same as the one who had saved her life. In the two years that had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts he had turned from the heir of a disgraced family to the rising star of Death Eater politics, Head of two ancient Houses and founder of the Black Guard, the handsome face of Riddle's regime, silver tongued and sharp of mind.

Dangerous.

Though, admittedly, she was half inclined to thank him for having been the one to rid the world of Ronald's pitiful existence.

Crack.

Heat flared around her wrist, words carving into the charmed bracelet she had stolen. For this ambush they had mustered twenty people, all that was left of their official forces, united by the hope that striking one decisive blow against their enemy would breath much needed life into a cause far too many had already deemed to be lost.

'Close the circle. K.'

Hermione raised her wand, lowly chanting the incantation of the Anti-Apparition-Jinx, her own magic humming contentedly as it began to weave through the air, soon joined by the energy of the eleven others that had been positioned on the edges of the perimeter. Taking a step forward, she switched to the construction of the physical barrier, the last step they had to complete before they would join the seven others under Kingsley's command who were already inside the circle.

Soon.

A shudder went through the halffinished barrier, Angelina's magic flaring before it was suddenly gone, the chain broken, their task incomplete.

So much for keeping my head down-.

'Hold! S.'

Sweat building on her brow, Hermione pushed more of her power into the circle, keeping the thin magical wall from collapsing. The underlying calculations had been fitted to require the strength of twelve witches and wizards, but wards and protective spell work were her specialty, second only to her healing powers.

We can finish this!

The thought had barely crossed her mind before two more corners collapsed.

No!

Sturgis!

Hestia!

"Agh!" She gasped, feeling her magic drain from her core as the strain intensified, the powers flowing through her forcing her to her knees.

I can't-.

It's a trap.

Releasing a frustrated scream, she severed the connection, pushing herself back to her feet as the air flared and the barrier finally collapsed. As one of the few capable healers of the resistance Hermione had not seen much active combat, but even she realised that closing off their only means of escape might not be advisable at this point.

'Retreat! S.'

Twirling her vinewood wand above her head, she wrapped her body in a disillusionment charm, stumbling straight ahead into the fog that was alight with the screams of her fellow Order members.

'Need reinforcements! K.'

It was chaos. Utter chaos. Spells cutting through the air left and right and suddenly Hermione found herself standing on the edge of an area that had been cleared of fog, Kingsley and Malfoy engaged in a duel unlike any Hermione had ever seen. A battle of wills just as much as a fight fought with spells and magic, their gazes not once wavering from the other.

What now?

Suddenly something shifted, their movements frozen in time. Then, shock spreading across his battleworn features, Kingsley dropped to his knees his wand slipping uselessly from his slackened fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Someone screamed, a bloodcurdling sound of cold terror, but it was not until Malfoy raised his arm in her direction and the world faded to black that Hermione realised it had been Susan's voice, her own voice for the time being, that had done the screaming.

Present:

"Vannozza dei Catanei? The mistress of Rodrigo Borgia?"

At the thinly veiled incredulity lacing Granger's tone Blaise felt his mouth twist into an amused grin, not so secretly pleased that the Golden Girl had recognised the name of his great-great-whatsoever grand-aunt. Her honey-coloured eyes lighting up with honest interest rather than the cautious politeness she had maintained all morning, as the two time-travellers followed the small groups of first year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs down the steps that would lead them down to the Great Hall and a well-deserved meal.

And yet-.

There was something haunted in the way she carried herself with, sorrow stubbornly lingering on her youthful features, untouched by whatever lightheartedness the Italian had tried to create.

Gryffindors.

They tended to be like that. Their emotions strangely transparent in ways Blaise, used to the hidden darkness and smooth masks that marked out the members of his former House, found equal parts bewildering and strangely refreshing. Charlie had been no different, although his pain had been less of the quiet melancholy the Golden Girl seemed to favour and more of a raging inferno of anger and bitterness. Fire, simmering right beneath the surface, waiting to burst forward just like that of the winged beasts his lover used to tame.

'I love you.'

'Caro, I-.'

'Don't. Not yet anyway.'

Covering up the stabbing pain of guilt the memory invoked, Blaise nodded lightly, his voice betraying none of the anguish he felt welling up inside of him. "The very same. We Zabinis have somewhat of a taste for scandalous romances." Lips drawing up into a sly smile, he elaborated. "Nonna Venere, the gods rest her soul, used to say it was a curse that lasted on our family. However, if you were to ask my mother she would simply say that our ancestors were strong enough to take what they wanted and wise enough not to concern themselves with the opinions of lesser men."

"She sounds like quite the character. Not that much of a surprise really, considering-."

"Considering-?" Blaise hedged questioningly, enjoying the slight flare of embarrassment that added a hint of colour to Granger's cheeks. There was an odd sense of insecurity in the way she ducked her head, a sharp contrast to the selfassured front she had presented all morning. Her voice just a note too high as she stumbled through the words. "G- uh- Rowena, I didn't mean to imply anything, I wouldn't want you to think-."

"What?" He challenged with a sharp grin, suddenly intrigued, now that their conversation had left the spheres of idle chitchat and reserved smalltalk. "That you believe the rumours about my mother? That she uses her beauty to lure unsuspecting noblemen into her trap because she wants their money and influence? Believe me, it takes more than some bits of idle gossip to faze me."

Ridiculous-!

As if we Zabinis aren't powerful in their own right.

"I suppose the rumour mill at Hogwarts isn't exactly known to pull its punches, is it?" The Golden Girl paused, her childlike features turning absent. When she finally spoke, wide eyes searching out his, her gentle voice was barely audible against the buzzing backdrop of their fellow classmates. "Why did you do it? Coming back here, I mean?"

"Well, I didn't do it for the food you Brits have the audacity to call cuisine, that's for sure." A mischievous grin spread across Blaise's boyish features when the brunette responded with an unwillingly amused eye-roll. However, jokes and deflections would do little to earn Granger's trust and that was what this entire conversation was all about, wasn't it? To earn the trust of the woman, who, entirely unbeknownst to her and the rest of the world, had laid claim to Draco Malfoy's untouchable heart.

"I might have convinced the Sorting hat to put me into Hufflepuff, Granger, but in the end Slytherin is my home." It always would be. "If there is one thing you can rely on when it comes to us snakes, then it's that we'll protect our own. Always! No matter the cost!"

I failed the last time!

Doesn't matter that Draco did it on purpose.

I allowed myself to be pushed away! Left him to fight this war on his own.

Never again!

Never again, Blaise had vowed to himself that fateful night as he had looked into his best mate's unflinching grey eyes, his muscles still spasming with the aftershocks of the cruciatus curse.

Never again would he allow Draco fucking Malfoy to play him for a bloody fool, because, as the former Slytherin Prince's actions demonstrated rather clearly, the dunderhead did not have an inkling how much he meant to the people in his life. No concept of the pain it had caused Blaise to find out that the man he loved like the brother he never had, had suffered their ill-advised judgement without complaint. Not because he did not care, did not value their friendship, but because he did not want his own, impending doom to spell out their own.

He was prepared to die.

Expected it even-.

Merlin help Granger if she ever hurts him!

Love could not be forced, of course. Blaise probably knew that better than most. He could no sooner stop his own heart from aching with longing at the sight of the boy he had once loved more than life itself, not prevent his mind from straying towards memories of breathless kisses, stolen in the dead of the night and olive eyes, warm and soft, not darkened by anger and betrayal, than he could make Granger fall for the Malfoy heir's charms.

Hermione fucking Granger-.

Of all the people Draco could have fallen in love with.

When they had been younger Blaise had not wasted all that much thought on the Golden Girl. She had been a nuisance in class with her unrepentant know-it-all attitude, her academic success a constant thorn in their side since it meant that Draco would inevitably suffer Lucius Malfoy's wrath and, of course, a mudblood, which in and of itself would have more than sufficed to mark her as a persona non grata.

Not that blood purity had mattered much to the Italian, but Slytherin was not exactly the place to flaunt that kind of scepticism openly. They had all shared a good laugh at her holier-than-thou demeanour, but as war began to brew, these kinds of conversations were more often than not relegated to the Slytherin Common Room. Their discussions meant just as much for the benefit of their housemates as their own.

And yet he must have loved her all this time-.

It still baffled him just as much as it had when he had seen the brokenness and sorrow shine from his friend's eyes at the sight of the scar that marred Granger's skin. Sweet Salazar, if it had not been for their unsuspecting audience, he would have laughed at the insanity of it all. Well that, or burst into tears, the odds were actually pretty evenly split on that. A decade's worth of friendship and yet, every time, every gods-be damned time, he thought he had finally figured out all there was to know about the secretive Slytherin, the sneaky bastard had to turn around and pull something like this.

The Black Prince and the Mudblood Princess.

I frutti proibiti sono i più dolci, indeed.

"Wait-." Granger, until then lost in quiet contemplation, stopped right in her tracks, the heavy wooden dors of the Great hall in sight. Delicate brows furrowing ever so slightly as an unreadable darkness settled on her face. "So you did it for the girls, then? Surely Draco would've taken care of them."

How interesting.

Not letting on that he had found anything odd about her confidence in Draco's commitment to Daphne and Pansy's safety Blaise shook his head; it had been Draco, who had saved the girls, not him. Draco, who, overprotective dunderhead that he was, had somehow accomplished the miracle of keeping all of them alive. The girls did not need him, certainly not in the ways Granger had inferred.

Merlin, he'll probably watch over Theo too.

"Hermione, Blaise, there you are!"

"Hermione, Blaise, there you are!"

"Pansy!"

The excited voice of Pansy Parkinson was all the forewarning the two time-travellers received before the group of Slytherin first years descended upon them. Right in their midst, greeting her with a decidedly too awkward smile stood the younger incarnation of Hermione's oldest friend. Harry James Potter, his cheeks slightly hollowed, demeanour skittish in a way that made her heart clench. She had seen too much cruelty to harbour any illusions about the pain people could inflict on another human being, but to abuse a child that had been entrusted to your care, on your own flesh and blood?

Oh Harry!

Why did you never tell me?

To think that we sent you back, summer after summer-.

I'll find a way to protect you this time!

Maybe then you wouldn't have-.

No!

Slamming her Occlumency barriers into place, Hermione forced back the memories that were about to rise to the surface. Nothing she did would ever change the past. Could possibly hope to erase the images that had been irrevocably burned into her mind or make her unhear Luna's mournful cries as they had both wept over Harry's lifeless body. Nothing could take away her fears that it had been her fault, her lack of real-life experience when it came to magical pregnancies that had not only caused the death of Ginny and her unborn child, but also sent her friend into an early grave.

I'll make this right!

Craving the distraction, Hermione allowed herself to steal a longer look at Harry than the one she had taken at breakfast, marvelling at the small, but nothing less significant changes the events of the previous night had already brought. Two days ago she was sure she would have laughed in the face of anyone who would have dared to suggest that her consummate Gryffindor of a friend would one day look somewhat comfortable, at home even, amongst pureblood princesses and Death Eater sons alike.

And yet-.

There he was, clad in emerald and silver instead of the familiar crimson and gold, the badge that proclaimed him as a member of Slytherin House pranging proudly on his chest. His arm was linked somewhat awkwardly with a girl Hermione vaguely recalled being one of the less prominent Slytherins in their year.

Lara?

Lea?

Lyra, perhaps?

Anyway, someone, most likely Daphne or so Hermione had guessed, must have sacrificed a good portion of their morning so they could groom Harry in accordance to some unwritten pureblood standard because her friend's outward appearance was startlingly less messy than anything the muggleborn witch remembered from their past live.

His Slytherin tie was straightened out and the lightning bolt scar, the never fading reminder of the destiny that had been forced upon him prominently on display rather than hidden behind the dark fringe of his unruly mob of black hair, now skilfully tamed to resemble a roguish version of the more conservative hair styles the other boys in his House adopted.

Of all those changes, it was the scar that bothered her the most, a change so radical it would cause anyone whiplash who had known the Boy Who Lived beyond his role as Order figurehead, never mind the girl turned woman who had fought at his side for the better part of a decade. Harry Potter, her Harry, the wizard she had loved like a brother, had come to hate his scar with a dark and twisted passion that had sometimes frightened Hermione in its intensity.

No wonder after Riddle-.

The goddamned hubris!

Ever since their careless attempt to glean a glimpse of the Horcrux in the run-up to the Battle of Hogwarts, many of Harry's nights had been filled with night terrors, his days haunted by crippling visions he barely found the words to describe. Not even to her, even before he had begun to resent her for her inability to help him without keeping him on a strict regimen of Dreamless Sleep and Calming Draught. For someone like Harry who believed himself ever responsible for the fate of others, being condemned to shameful inaction while others were risking their lives for the cause had been as torturous as the images themselves.

Fortunately, Blaise appeared to sense her preoccupation, since he let out a goodnatured chuckle, the lingering rigidity in his arms the only sign that he had taken note of Theodore's presence, and not for the first time Hermione found herself grateful for the Italian's easygoing personality. Merlin knew, engaging in social interactions with people her age had never been her strongest suit and somehow she doubted she would prove anymore skillful while her mind was still wrestling with the reality that their past, be it good or bad, no longer existed.

Though, Pansy and Daphne seem to like me well enough.

"Panse, our saviour-. I swear by all the gods; History of Magic is even more of a bore than the stories would lead you to believe. Hermione and I barely managed to keep our eyes open and we were by no means the only ones." The Italian smuggled a playful wink in Hermione's direction, his lie so clearly and outrageously untrue that, irrespective of her sombre mood, the muggleborn witch had to exercise quite a lot of self-control not to let out a snort that would make the late Sir Anthony Puddleton turn over in his grave.

Granted, as was to be expected, History of Magic had certainly lived up to its mind-numbing reputation, but it was not as if either of the two time-travellers had truly bothered to listen to Binns' tiresome monologue about the Great Vampire Hunt of 1643. Anyway, originally Hermione had planned on putting the time to good use by immersing herself in the library copy of the advisory on pureblood etiquette which Pansy had mentioned in passing the day before.

For all his outward charm she had yet to get a proper read on the former Slytherin, who, contrary to his less extroverted friend, hid his true intentions beneath a thick layer of infectious humour. Nonetheless, Hermione had soon found herself enthralled by his stories, the book in her hands forgotten as she listened to the silly tales of the loved but somewhat isolated youth the Slytherin turned Hufflepuff had spent in the care of his grandparents.

'He's my son. My heir. The only one I'll ever have.'

"-just great!" Pansy groaned exaggeratedly, as they slipped onto their places at the Slytherin table. "That's just what we needed, spending the next seven years getting bored to death by someone who's already too dead to notice his own dullness." Then a more pensive expression fell across the Parkinson heiress' face, her bright blue eyes lighting up speculatively. "You've taken notes, though, haven't you?"

"Of course."

Despite her lack of attention, she had almost thirteen inches of neatly written transcripts, documenting every detail their ghostly professor had mentioned over the course of their two-and-a-half-hour lecture, no matter how insignificant. The limited amount of Galleons Hogwarts awarded to muggleborn students like herself as a stipend might not have sufficed to cover the cost of a self-scribbling quill, but she had found a way to work around that problem with a bit of precise charm-work.

Raising an eyebrow at Pansy's hopeful expression Blaise let out a chuckle. His eyes were sparkling with barely concealed fondness at the little witch, a gesture that cause Hermione's chest to tighten. She had been way too preoccupied yesterday to remember that both Daphne and Pansy had not survived the last time, the unfortunate victims of attacks carried out by an unidentified Order member.

Daphne's entire family and then-.

They found no corpse, just splitters of her wand.

"-History of Magic and in exchange we get your Herbology notes?" Distractedly Hermione listened as the conversation around her continued, her senses assaulted by flashes of blood and screams, her chest growing tight with anxiety.

"You've got yourself a deal, Zabini." After loading her plate with food, Pansy asked. "Do you think he would care if we did homework during class? We have Transfiguration and Charms right after and two and a half hours should be more than enough to get some revisions done."

Did she just-?

"Uh, probably not, I guess?" Hermione frowned slightly, not quite managing to contain her incredulity at the turn the thoughts of the young Slytherin had taken. The school year had barely even begun, and quite frankly academic ambition did not exactly fit the image she had of Pansy Parkinson, be it the stuck up pureblood princess who had demanded Harry to be handed over to Riddle, or the lively young girl who had welcomed her with so much enthusiasm ever since they had met at the train station in Hogsmeade. "You're already thinking about doing revisions?"

Harry would have called me mad.

To her surprise the younger witch ducked her head sheepishly in response to the inquiry, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks as she replied with a lowered voice. "I know it's not proper-. My future husband will hardly care for my charmwork, not when marrying me will bring him the Parkinson fortune and a good standing at the Daily Prophet. Mother even, well, she said it would hurt my prospects if I were to show true promise in a subject. According to her men do not take kindly to being surpassed by their wife to be."

Godric!

If that isn't fucked up, then I don't know what is.

"Are you-?" Only Blaise's look of warning reminded Hermione that she was supposed to be a pureblood heiress herself, born and bred in a society that would not bat an eyelash at the injustice of having eleven-year-old girls wondering whether their academic achievements would be pleasing to their future husbands or not. Forcing a mocking smile to her lips, she quipped conspiratorially. "Well, I'd imagine that would turn out to be a rather sorry marriage, would it not? If your intended's ego is too fragile to handle a little friendly competition from his wife to be, then you two would probably never get to touch one another for fear of shattering the poor boy completely."

Pansy giggled, gratitude swimming in her blue eyes and suddenly Hermione could hardly bear to look at her, at this sweet child with her cheeky laughter that had been killed by bombs the muggleborn witch had had a hand in creating. The thought made her sick. Apart from her outburst during the Battle, Pansy Parkinson had never taken part in the war effort, had never raised her wand to do them harm, and whilst there was a case to be made, condemning the dark-haired witch for her silent complicity in the Dark Lord's new world order, the Parkinson heiress had not deserved to die like she had. Killed mere days before the wedding that would have made her the second most powerful witch in Britain, just because she had the misfortune of being in love with the wrong person.

Does Draco know-?

"And here I thought you Puffs were supposed to be all about hard work and honesty." This time it was Theodore, olive-green orbs resting on the boy his older self had once loved and betrayed with an expression of mild intrigue, whose joking interjection prevented Hermione from losing herself to doubts and regret.

"Not my most pronounced traits, I'll admit." Blaise agreed with a shrug and an unconcerned grin. "However Hufflepuff is also the House of justice, friendship and loyalty and I think those values suit my own rather well."

Loyalty.

Godric, Blaise-.

Not looking at the dark-skinned boy for fear he would mistake the compassion in her eyes for pity, Hermione gave his arm an inconspicuous squeeze before she turned towards a startled Harry. "How was Potions? I'd imagine Professor Snape is a rather unforgiving taskmaster."

Traitor.

A voice whispered at the back of her mind, the response near automatic, even though it lacked much of the vehemence it had once carried. It would have been terrifyingly easy to blame the secretive Potion Master for all the pain they had suffered. After all, Dumbledore's death had removed the last restraint on Riddle's ambitions, had paved the way for the destruction of Hogwarts, the triumph of pureblood supremacy and dictatorship. However, even if it had taken Hermione a truly embarrassing amount of time, she had eventually figured out that the headmaster had already been a dead man walking, long before Severus Snape had taken it upon himself to cast the killing curse in Draco Malfoy's stead.

The boy he had sworn to protect.

"Uhmh-. He's actually not that bad."

What on earth?

Hermione was painfully aware that her eyes must have been bulging from her head in a rather unflattering fashion, but Merlin-. Of course, on a purely rational level, she had known that getting sorted into Slytherin had the potential to change a lot about Harry's perception of the Wizarding World. That being said, Nimue, hearing the young boy in front of her speak of the Slytherin Head of House with anything but distaste would take some getting used to.

"I mean-. Sure, he's expecting a lot, but everyone seems to know that and there's so much that could go wrong with potions. Nobody wants to end up with a face full of boils like Finnegan and Weasley."

Seamus and Ronald?

I could've sworn Neville was the one who messed this up the last time around.

"Oh, it was glorious." Daphne threw in, not even bothering to hide her schadenfreude. "The look on Weasley's face when he had to thank Draco for his quote on quote 'flawlessly executed boil cure' was absolutely priceless! The classless twat looked like he might just explode from the indignity of it all." To Daphne's right, Pansy let out a gleeful snicker, her bright blue orbs sparkling viciously.

"Oh please Daph, as if Weaselbee has any concept of the word dignity."

"Potter is right, though." Obviously mistaking Hermione's stunned silence for insecurity, Pansy's features softened. "There's no need to worry if you've read through the first handful of chapters of our potions book and even if something goes wrong, you can always ask Draco for help. He knows better than anyone how to meet Professor Snape's expectations."

Draco.

Suddenly acutely aware of the Slytherin Prince's absence, Hermione let her gaze dart across the Great Hall, searching in vain for a flash of the distinctive platinum blond hair.

"Where is he anyway?"