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Homura had long been free of the nervousness she once felt on introducing herself to the class. The only person in the room whose opinion she cared for was Madoka, and even then—well, she could never afford to get close except to warn her. But this time was different.
Her palm felt clammy around the marker, not because she had to write her name in front of everyone, but because of the date in the upper corner of the board. 14 February.
Somehow, she had overshot the original starting point of the timeline by a month, and she now had no way of knowing when Walpurgisnacht would appear. It was all Homura could do to force her face blank of panic when she turned around to look at Madoka. In a numb haze, she found her seat.
She paid little attention to the morning’s lesson, trying to plot out every possibility for something far more important. Either Walpurgisnacht would follow her and show up a month early, or Homura would have an extra month to prepare—but even in that best case scenario, it still meant a month of uncharted territory: a month longer she had to keep herself and Madoka alive, and to keep Madoka away from Kyubey.
Selfishly, she wished she could do this the easy way, and tell Madoka everything. But she knew from the previous timeline that that would only push Madoka faster into making a wish for magic, to try to save everybody else. Still, if she could at least consult another magical girl, like Mami—but then, Madoka would learn the truth from her, and go down the same path.
Homura would have to face this alone. She was getting used to that, already, but the grief of it weighed heavier in her heart after her latest failure.
During the lunch break, she was still so wrapped up in her thoughts that she completely forgot to make an excuse to go to the nurse’s office, to talk to Madoka alone. She was off to an inauspicious start.
Something new was happening today, though. The girls who had always crowded around to ask questions about where she came from dissipated without her cutting them off. Homura watched as they brought out boxes and bags of chocolates, and everything clicked.
14 February. It had been so long since she’d had to worry about something so trivial as Valentine’s Day.
At her old school, before she had known anything of magical girls, they had been stricter. Between that and the time she spent in the hospital, she couldn’t remember ever truly celebrating the holiday. She understood well enough how it worked: the tomo choco for girls and the giri choco for boys, and the fanciest honmei choco to show your true feelings for someone.
Homura entertained, for a foolish moment, the idea of freezing time to…
No, this Madoka didn’t even know her, and any slight alteration could be the difference between Madoka dooming herself to the fate of a magical girl or Homura surviving long enough to reset. She couldn’t risk it. She didn’t have time to waste, anyway.
A few girls offered her chocolate, mumbling about not bringing enough for everyone when they hadn’t been expecting a transfer student. Homura politely declined and said she wanted to go somewhere quiet to eat lunch, which seemed to take care of the matter. It was a welcome change, how her arrival seemed to make less of an intrusion when the class was distracted with all this.
As she passed by the classroom windows in the hallway, her gaze fell on the head of fluffy pink twintails and red ribbons again, watching Madoka laugh with her friends.
Madoka looked back in just that moment, a dab of chocolate smeared at the edge of her smile, which turned down into a perplexed frown when she met Homura’s eyes. Feeling her cheeks warm, Homura walked briskly away to find the stairs.
She still had to find a way to speak with her, not for her own sake but for Madoka’s, of course. Maybe she could pretend to be unwell and ask to be taken to the nurse after lunch instead.
Not much pretending would be required, in any case. The fresh air on the rooftop did little to ease the roil of nausea in her stomach. Though Homura’s body had been healed, everything in her ached violently with the memory that tried to play out on the backs of her eyelids every time she blinked—Madoka ripped apart by the first witch she met after rushing in too soon, too brave, too innocent.
All because Homura thought telling her the truth about magical girls would make her want to be a hero any less.
She could never let that happen again, ever. She would prevent Madoka from becoming a magical girl and stop Walpurgisnacht by herself, at any cost.
*
Madoka found the transfer student sitting alone on the roof. In the last quarter of the lunch break, she’d slipped away, unable to shake the urge to talk to the girl she’d seen in her dream. She knew Sayaka and Hitomi would tease her if she told them, so she left them with their chocolates and boys, sure that they’d barely notice her absence.
It was curiosity, in part, but it was also sympathy. The new girl had seemed so—not lost, but out of place, here. Maybe because Madoka had first seen her in that awful nightmare world of broken skyscrapers, fighting for her life. Whatever it meant, Madoka had the sense deep down that the girl needed her help.
Of course, it probably wasn’t that drastic, but surely it was always hard to make friends as a new student. Even though a bunch of girls had tried talking to her, they all seemed daunted by her shyness and gave up so easily. On Valentine’s Day, of all days!
Madoka knew how it felt, to struggle to talk to anyone except her closest friends—like everything inside her was knotted up with the worry of how she’d be received. It fluttered in her chest, in her stomach, even now.
If the only thing she could offer was her friendship, though, maybe she could still make a difference.
“Akemi-san?”
The girl’s shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t move from where she sat on the bench, looking out through the fence. “You can call me Homura,” she said quietly. Her voice had a distinct quality, like the sound of a low, faraway chime.
Madoka blinked in surprise. “Oh – okay, Homura-chan. Would you… do you mind if I sit with you?”
After a long pause, Homura gave the smallest of nods. Madoka seated herself at the other end of the bench, keeping her hands folded around the small white box she carried.
“Um, your name, it’s – different.” Hastily, she added, “In a good way! It’s very pretty, I mean.”
Homura’s face was obscured by the curtain of her silky black hair. Head tilted down, she said, “Kaname Madoka, do you treasure the life you currently live? Do you consider your family and friends precious?”
Madoka opened her mouth, though she found herself at a loss for words. How had Homura known her name? Maybe she’d seen it in the classroom somewhere, but then, what was this, asking about Madoka’s life?
“Yes, I – of course I do,” Madoka said with the nervous edge of a laugh.
If this was Homura’s way of getting to know someone, it certainly added to the air of mystery about her. She decided that must be it, and took advantage of the topic to keep the conversation going. Homura seemed like she might say something more, but Madoka blundered on ahead.
“My friends, Sayaka and Hitomi—I’m sure they’d love to meet you. Besides that, I have my little brother, and my parents. My dad stays at home, and my mom is a businesswoman. She’s so hardworking and confident and smart, and I hope someday I’ll be like her, but – well, what I was going to say is, she helped me make these special chocolates at home, and…”
Growing increasingly self-conscious, she pried the lid off the box with slippery fingers and set it down next to Homura before she could lose her nerve. Inside were two large, heart-shaped pink chocolate truffles, drizzled elaborately in white frosting and decorated with tiny strawberry candies. Homura was very quiet.
“I hope it isn’t too much!” Madoka burst out. “I know what they look like, but I don’t mean to – if it’s uncomfortable – it’s just that Mom was so insistent about me bringing some because she’s sure I must have a crush on someone and I felt too embarrassed to give them to anyone but I thought you, since you…”
She buried her face in her hands. Her cheeks were going to be bright red for the rest of her life, she thought.
“I thought it would be nice for you to get something special today, even if you don’t know me that well,” she mumbled finally.
“Madoka…”
Something about the way Homura said her name distracted Madoka from her mortified stupor. She sounded less… impassive, than before, the cold undertones of her voice cracking into warmth on those three syllables.
Homura picked a chocolate out of the box and held the other out to Madoka, still not looking directly at her. Almost in awe, Madoka accepted it. She watched Homura raise the sweet to her lips and copied her, biting delicately into the bottom corner of the truffle heart. It melted on her tongue, the firm layers of vanilla and strawberry coating blending into the golden caramel filling.
The crisp late-winter breeze played in Madoka’s hair as she sat there, conscious of her hand almost brushing Homura’s on the bench. It was silly, right? She’d been telling the truth; she’d only wanted to share the honmei choco as a friend. But her heart was warm in a way that had little to do with embarrassment.
It all felt like a dream, though a much lovelier one than the one from last night. She couldn’t explain it, but Homura’s presence made everything feel right, like that nightmare wouldn’t come to pass as long as Madoka was there for her.
Beside her, Homura sniffled. Madoka leaned forward to try to see her face, hoping it was a positive reaction to the chocolate. To her dismay, tears were welling up and falling from Homura’s eyes, but she devoured the truffle like she was afraid she would lose it. Her mouth curled in a wavering smile.
“Thank you,” she said, barely more than a choked whisper.
Madoka didn’t know what to do. The sight of Homura crying made tears spring to her own eyes, unbidden. Why did she feel like she’d witnessed this before?
Plucking up her courage, she scooted closer and put her arms around Homura as comfortingly as she could. Homura hesitated, then leaned into Madoka’s hug, her chest folding and unfolding with her sobs.
“Hey, don’t feel alone anymore, okay?” Madoka said, stroking Homura's hair. “I’m here. I'll be here for you.”
Homura’s hands tightened in the fabric of Madoka’s uniform, and then loosened. Her moment of vulnerability dissipated as quickly as it had come. When she dried her eyes and stood up, she wore the same carefully neutral expression she had when she introduced herself to the class.
"Promise me you won't change, Madoka," she said gravely. "Promise me you won't try to become someone else."
Madoka tilted her head in confusion. “I… I wouldn’t, or at least, I don’t think – you don’t have to worry about me not being your friend, Homura-chan!” Smiling, she took Homura’s hand. “We should get back to class, right? And after school, you can hang out with Sayaka and Hitomi and me!”
The look of despairing hope in Homura’s eyes was achingly familiar, somehow. She didn’t let go of Madoka’s hand.
*
Walpurgisnacht waited out the extra month, granting Homura the gift of too much time. There were picnics, and sleepovers, and quiet moments alone with Madoka in the rain.
All these things ceased when, two weeks before the witch was due to arrive, Madoka made her wish. The others died one-by-one, and in the end, it was just the two of them again; then, just Homura, lying in the wreckage with Madoka too far out of reach.
The last thing she was aware of, before her shield turned time back to the beginning again, was the taste of chocolate on the back of her tongue, drowned out in the bitter salt of her tears.
In the next timeline, it was not 14 February. She wouldn't let herself be distracted again, no matter how it pained her to shut Madoka out. It was the only way to save her.