A/N: I'm so, so sorry for the long wait. Quick recap: we're in Allen's time, Neah shows up for a hot second, Hermione gets a rude awakening.

Chapter 25

Hermione wasn't the cleverest witch of her age because of natural talent, or great genius, or any of the other whispered reasons she'd heard from her classmates over the years. Oh, she had power. She had brains. She had guts, too. (She was in Gryffindor, after all.) But Hermione was the cleverest witch of her age because she worked hard for it.

Preparation was the key to her success. Among her strengths, she could recall information at a drop of a hat and, better yet, make use of it in creative ways. She was logical and organized; she had a strong sense of right and wrong, and little tolerance for pretense. It made for a combination that resulted in stellar grades, some awkward social situations, and an identity formed around her brains and magical brilliance that left room for little else. It wasn't that Hermione wasn't interested in bettering her social skills; it was that she had been the "know-it-all" for so long that it was hard for others to accept her outside that box. Sometimes, she even let herself fall back in it as well. It was comfortable there. She was smart. She was clever. She could figure out puzzles. She didn't need friends when she had books.

That was the Hermione most people knew, and to those who didn't know her, that was all she was.

But Hermione had grown over the years. She decided that rules were fine unless they caused harm, and then all bets were off. She had relaxed, in her way, and grown confident in her skills as a witch. She forged a place for herself in this new world, and she loved it, despite its problems. Her righteousness both grew and curbed. She had learned a valuable lesson from the House Elf Liberation Front disaster, while also becoming emboldened by her resistance against Umbridge's tyranny last year. She, along with Ron, had stood by Harry as people denied the truth of Voldemort's return, stepping up to the fight in every sense of the word. Even her fights with Ron didn't change the fact that, together, the trio were an unstoppable team.

But that was when they were together.

Of course, Hermione had other friends: Ginny, and Luna, and the rest of the Weasley family. Until Ron and Lavender started dating, she had even begun to get on with her roommates. They would never be close, but they had adjusted to each others' quirks. But since her fight with Ron, she had drifted away, isolating herself. She even pushed Harry away, who meant well and reminded her she was his friend too. But Ron would always be his best mate and she couldn't stand to keep putting Harry in the middle of their fights.

So, in a self-destructive method clothed in consideration, she pulled herself out of the equation as best she could. She spent less time in the common room, burying herself beneath homework and tucking away in the library's shelves, where even Madame Pince couldn't find her. She stayed in her room long enough to catch some sleep and change clothes, but that was all. She had stopped taking meals at the Gryffindor table, for pete's sake. She was more alone than she had been first year.

She felt off-kilter. Anxious. Holding her breath, filled with tension, as if she were standing on the edge of a diving board and staring into the water below, seconds before the jump. She knew that when the war came to them at last, the tension would ease. There would be a goal, a thing to focus her energy on: a problem to solve, if you will. She and Ron would set aside their problems to help Harry, and the team would be together again. In a bizarre way, all would be right with the world.

Only now there was Allen.

She had stood on the edge of his problem and, ignoring all warning, jumped blindly into the storm. Ill-prepared and overconfident, Hermione had landed herself into a situation she had greatly underestimated, with no escape in sight.

xox

The young witch gave up on sleep while the night sky was still dark and the stillness of three A.M. was thick in the room. She got up from the chair, shut the door behind her with a whisper, and crept down the creaky stairs as quietly as they allowed.

No one was around, but this was not unexpected. There was a large communal bathroom on the ground floor, where soaps, lotions, and potions were laid out, along with towels and several taps for hot, cold, and bubble bath water. It was set up so that anyone could go in at any time, though three in the morning would be odd by any standard. Still, there were candles floating in the air, illuminating the room in soft yellow light. She filled a tub with hot water, undressed, set her clothes on a stool nearby, and soaked, letting the water wash over her.

It was Professor Lupin all over again.

Third year, she'd had to reconcile every horrible thing she'd heard or read about werewolves with her kind, thoughtful professor. She hadn't told anyone because it was a dangerous secret, and because she trusted Lupin. He was a brilliant teacher, a good person, a friend and father-figure to Harry. That was enough for her and, she thought, should have been enough for anyone else.

She realized, at breakfast the morning after Sirius escaped, that being good or bad didn't change the way the wizarding world treated you if you were found out. It didn't change that a werewolf was a person inflicted with something that caused them to hurt others, whether they wanted it or not. In absolute terms, they were monsters, and monsters were bad, and that was that.

It felt like justification. She couldn't help the comparison to Lupin when she thought of Allen, and it was then that she remembered a conversation she'd had with Luna not so long ago.

"I've no reason to trust him."

"But what reason has he given you not to?"

Her eyes smarted in shame. It hadn't been about trust before, just decency and not assuming that people who kept secrets were automatically guilty. People kept secrets for all kinds of reasons; she knew that. And she'd forgotten it—or willfully ignored it. So while it hadn't been before, it was about trust now, because Allen had asked her for time—time to settle with the idea of him being in the future, and time he needed for himself. He'd asked her to respect his wishes and she'd broken her promise to do so.

She could justify it like this: she hadn't been herself. Frustration with Ron had driven her away from friends and into a stronger obsession with Allen's situation than was really warranted. She could feel relief at this reasoning. Of course; she was doing what she always did, ignoring painful personal problems by flinging herself into some puzzle she was tasked to solve. Because that's what Allen had become: a puzzle, not a person. It rubbed against every instinct she had for justice and first chances and sheer simple fairness, because in this moment she hadn't embraced any of them.

She sunk into the bath until her eyes were just above the water, letting tears of shame flow down her cheeks. A moment later, she dunked her head, shutting her eyes and staying under the water for several seconds.

She could blame Ron all she liked, but Ron hadn't forced her to do anything. Ron had nothing to do with her actions, and she knew it. That had all been on her. Easy as it was, tempting as it was—to blame someone else for her behavior was wrong. Cowardly. Against everything she stood for and wanted to emulate.

She came up, breaking the surface of the water, panting from holding her breath. Squeezing water from her hair, she studied her knees, swallowing past the lump in her throat and the shame in her chest.

The very least she could do was own up to her mistakes, and face the consequences of her actions. That would require true Gryffindor bravery. Not the brash sham that had gotten her into this mess.

Shuffling and low conversation drifted through the door to the baths, and she stretched stiffly, rubbing her eyes. Soft, pre-dawn light was coming through the windows, and several more candles magically came to light with the rising of the sun. Outside, she could hear the innkeeper setting up for the morning: putting down chairs, pulling out mugs and silverware, chatting softly with the first shift.

The bath water had gone cold. She climbed out, fingers pruny, drying off and then washing her socks and underwear. Spelling them dry, she dressed, drying her damp hair with a warming spell. A mirror was hung by the door, and Hermione checked to see if she looked like she'd been crying. She didn't, but there were dark circles under her eyes from a lack of rest and her face was taut and stressed in a way it hadn't been since third year. Her hair was hopeless. The bath had done no good at all. Turning away she stuffed her socks in her boots and crossed barefoot over the freezing flagstone floor of the inn and up the stairs, every step a resolve.

She slipped through the door and almost yelped at Kanda staring at her from across the room, still in bed, hair sticking up every which way. He'd clearly just woken up.

"Sorry," she mouthed at him, but he merely grumbled unintelligibly and got up. As he collected his boots she came over and whispered very quietly, "The bathroom downstairs is free if you want it."

Kanda thought about it a moment and then nodded, grabbing his sword before he left, totally silent. Hermione wondered absently how he'd learned to be so quiet. Her stomach rumbled.

"Hermione," said a soft voice from somewhere on the floor. Hermione jumped, turning fast.

"Sorry," Allen whispered, and Hermione squinted her eyes in the gloom to see Allen crouched under the window, blanket wrapped around him. Timcanpy had shrunk to the size of a soccer ball and was resting in Allen's lap. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Hermione sighed, willing her rapidly beating heart to slow down. "It's alright. I didn't see you." She bit her lip. "Have you been there all night?" she asked carefully.

"I told Johnny to take the other bed."

Allen hesitated, and then patted the space beside him. She hesitated, and then threw her socks over the chair before joining him on the floor, tucking her bare feet in her jacket.

"I could start a fire," Allen offered.

She took out her wand and threw some blue flames into the grate nearby. They licked the iron grill merrily and Hermione attempted to smile at Allen. "Good idea," she offered.

They sat in silence for several moments, not knowing what to say next, hesitant to say what was on their minds.

The other bed springs groaned and Johnny sat up, groping for his glasses. Yawning, he spotted Allen and Hermione sitting on the floor, and smiled sleepily at them both. The bandage on his forehead needed changing. "Morning," he said, rising to his feet. Glancing at the other empty bed he asked, "Where's Kanda?"

"In the bathroom downstairs," Hermione said.

Johnny nodded. "I'll go join him, then," he said, finding his shaving kit and toothbrush and shuffling out of the room, leaving Allen and Hermione in silence, save for the quiet swoosh of magical fire. Allen stared at the door, the guilt on his face making Hermione squirm.

She didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to start.

After a bit, Allen looked away from the door and sat in silence, picking at the loose threads in his blanket. He didn't seem to be in a mood for talking.

"I'm glad you're awake," she said quietly. "How are you feeling?"

Allen frowned at the blanket, working at a particularly stubborn knot. Hermione clenched her hands together to stop them from fidgeting; forced herself to press her lips together to stop from speaking. She hated holding back like this, but she hated what she'd done more.

"I'm tired," he said at last, and he meant tired in his heart, tired in his whole self. She heard it unsaid and wished she knew how to help him, wished she knew what to say to make it better.

The light in from the window was changing from blue-grey to a muted yellow, the morning coming fast now.

Hermione picked at her coat, still stalling. Allen waited in silence, watching the room lighten in the gloom.

"Did he frighten you?" Allen asked quietly.

Hermione didn't need to ask who "he" was. "Yes," she replied, just as quietly. "Very much."

"I'm sorry."

"Please don't say that, Allen," she said quickly, not quite able to look at him, her throat closing around the words. Swallowing, she said, "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I put you in danger. I lost control."

"No, Allen, that's not," she began, than swallowed her words. All her thoughts and rehearsal conversations flew out of her head, leaving her blank, grasping for words. She took a breath and met his eyes at last, and found he was looking at her with the most carefully blank expression she'd ever seen on his face, as if he could sense what she was trying to do. "You tried to warn me, and I ignored it. You tried to keep me away, and I thought I knew better."

He said nothing, but she saw some emotion flicker in his eyes. She burst forward, needing to get this out, needing to face it and fix it. "I didn't respect your wishes, and assumed because I'm so clever that I could handle something I really didn't understand at all. I ignored you because…well," she paused as her voice thickened, clearing her throat. She was doing that a lot, but took another breath to steady her thudding heart. "Well, all the excuses in the world don't change it. And for that, I can never truly apologize."

Allen said nothing, but there were cracks in his expression. Creases around his eyes, between his brow; muscle tightening around his jaw.

She sniffed, forcing herself to keep eye contact. "But I am so, so sorry, Allen. I don't expect your forgiveness, but I will do everything I can to make it right."

Allen looked down at his lap, picking at the threads of his blanket again, his hair falling in front of his face. She waited for agonizing seconds, wishing he would say something. Anything. Even a "Fuck you, Hermione Granger," would relieve her of this awful waiting.

"Why should I believe you?" he whispered, not looking at her.

Hermione froze, her heart in her throat. She hadn't seen that coming, and her thoughts halted with shock.

She had no answer for him, and when she said nothing, Allen looked over at her, and she saw the pain there, the mask broken. It stabbed at her. She bit her tongue, afraid of saying another thing she might regret.

"If you couldn't follow my request before, why should I trust you to now?" he said, looking straight at her. His eyes were glassy and Hermione found she couldn't meet them anymore.

"I don't know," she whispered, hating how wet her voice sounded. She cleared her throat, blinking furiously to clear her eyes. She would not cry.

Allen didn't reply to that. They sat, listening to the fire, to the sounds from the street below, to the sounds of their neighbors in the next room getting up and ready for the day. The world came alive around them, but they were frozen, stuck, waiting for some kind of solution, some magic word to make it better.

"I don't know you, Hermione," he said at last, speaking to the wall, not looking at her.

Hermione bit her lip, wiped at her eyes, just keeping herself together. She didn't want Allen to see her cry. His eyes were tight and she didn't see the way he held himself stiffly, trying to keep his emotion in check despite the pain in his eyes. "But I know you mean what you're saying now. Luna is your friend and that means something, because Luna isn't friends with hurtful people. She can't be. Hagrid believes in you, and, and your friend Harry…" He paused, clearing his throat. "All these people who seem good and decent, they like you." He stared at the wall, eyes trained on a spot with an almost fierce determination.

"I should be so angry with you. I feel it, just here," he said, tapping his chest with his fingertips, still talking to the wall, his voice no louder than it had been but intense, pressing around her.

He looked at her at last. She met his eyes, tears escaping despite her efforts to hold them in. Then he said something that truly blew her away.

"Do you think if I'd told you the truth earlier, none of this would have happened?"

She stared at him, unable to think of anything at all to say.

"Because I do, when I think about it. You were there to help, even if I didn't want it. Maybe I was foolish to dismiss you without giving you a chance to prove yourself. Maybe this all could have been very different, if I'd listened to Hagrid and Luna, and hadn't shut you out in the first place." He huffed, the sound oddly wet. "I'm so good at that," he whispered to himself.

After another silence he continued, "I screwed up, too. I didn't make this any easier; I didn't do enough to convince you to stay out of it, or to make myself less suspicious. I didn't want to pull anyone into this, but you were already into it before I could stop it."

As he paused to collect himself, Hermione suspected that, like her, he'd been up all night, thinking of what to say. "I didn't owe you my story just because you wanted to know it, but it was such a mess already...I thought by telling you..." He covered his face with his hands, and took a deep, deep breath, letting it out in heavy, tired sigh. From behind his hands, she heard him murmur, "But it doesn't matter anymore."

His hands fell into his lap, shaking slightly. His eyes crinkled at the edges, glassy. Something was happening here...this wasn't forgiveness, but…

"I understand," she whispered. She truly did.

She wiped at her tears, swallowed past the lump in her throat. She tried to say she was sorry once again, but no words would come. Nothing that would sound right, nothing that she felt wouldn't sound like excuses.

Allen nodded, clearing his throat. He started playing with the threads of his blanket again, busying his fingers. His hair fell in front of his face again, shielding her view.

"So what do you want to do now, Hermione?" he asked her quietly.

She sat in silence for a long while. The light in the room was fully yellow, the morning risen.

"I'll follow your lead," she said at last. She didn't try to make him a promise; he wouldn't believe it. She added in a soft murmur, "It's the least I can do."

It was a new day.

A/N: This was an incredibly difficult chapter to write and there are five separate versions of it sitting around on my computer. Since this is the version I'm least upset with, here you go. So that's part of the delay. The other part is sheer dumb writer's block and "how do i get to where i want this story to be from here?" Lastly: Please consider this story canon-divergent from here on out.

So who's excited about Hallow because I am. Alma Karma live and in color. Bring on the pain. :)