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Hermione Granger expected the man to be a brute with no way of words like his grandson; she might have even expected him to be a snobbish bigot like his son, but Hermione wound up quite surprised with herself.
Because Abraxas Malfoy was a young man with wit and ideas that did not sound like they were influenced by blood. A black sheep one might call him. Hermione did not know how to come about accepting this vision in front of her.
He wore quidditch attire. Blue because they were out of Hogwarts and House affiliation meant very little anymore. The enemy wore purple. At times it was a tad difficult to differentiate. The teams moved so fast on the pitch. Practically flying at light speed. Logically, Hermione knew that was not the case.
However, her skin prickled as she watched Abraxas dive for a bludger, his bat ready at hand. He knocked it away, consequently saving his team's chaser from an injury. She still failed to understand why people willingly subjected themselves to play quidditch.
It was barbaric.
Abraxas, though, made anything into an art form. He swiftly moved through the air, his silver eyes kept a vigil eye out for any bludger moving near his team. And when he spotted it. His eyes glowed a beautiful colour. It was like he transformed into another man. Another creature altogether. Akin to a fairy from the unseelie court.
Hermione sat. She was transfixed on the sight he painted above. Like an eagle he soared through the game. How he had ended up a Slytherin failed to crystalize itself to her. So she wondered. It was not hard to wonder about Abraxas.
God. When she had turned back time to escape the madness of war, the very last thing she thought would happen to her was for her to become enamoured by a Malfoy. This was a terrible joke the universe was playing on her.
Hermione did not think it was funny.
His team did not win. He did not mind particularly. It was all up to the snitch in this game and there was no blame on him. Abraxas laughed amicably with the other team. He even wished them good luck on their next match. What Malfoy she knew was a good sport, for crying out loud? None!
Only Abraxas seemed to rise above the horror his family would be infected with. His hair was mussed with sweat and he panted, slightly. Aching and yearning for a shower.
Hermione watched from the bleachers. She had to stand up now and go back to her rented studio apartment. London seemed to be as equally brutal in the 40s as it was in the 90s. Luckily she had galleons to spend.
For a brief, unforgettable moment Abraxas locked eyes with Hermione. He wore a smile on his face that had nothing to do with her, but something a teammate of his said.
Abraxas laughed and turned away. His laugh was a rich sound, but it was not beautiful like the rest of him. Oh no. The man sounded like a peacock being butchered when he laughed. It was a tad unfortunate and it did ruin Hermione's fantasies.
When Hermione landed in the past, it was Abraxas that helped her up. She had fallen right from the sky into dirt. He called her a novelty and offered to pay for her lunch and a change of clothes. Hermione, quite off guard and disoriented, had accepted. But that was a mistake. Because Abraxas turned out to just be friendly while she was now saddled with a crush.
It was especially cruel of a prank by the universe when Hermione saw Tom Riddle apparate behind Abraxas and chat him up.
He stopped everything he was doing to greet Tom. Tom Riddle, who made up an explanation why he couldn't make it to the game, but that he was certain Abraxas had been brilliant at.
And Abraxas still glowed fiercely with love even when lied to.