Chapter Text
Hermione scrambled for her wand with dirt caked fingernails, blinking grit out of her eyes. The smell of burnt flesh and the unmistakable coppery aroma of blood assaulted her senses. Dolohov lay a foot away from her, fingers still clutched around his wand, entrails spilling onto the ground.
Hermione swallowed the bile rising in her throat and clambered to her feet, swaying slightly and trampling shrubbery underfoot. The once manicured lawn was littered with bodies, all mutilated by fire or mangled beyond recognition.
Malfoy Manor was burning brightly in the distance, flames devouring the house and snaking across the lawn. Hermione was at once stunned at the vivid sight and smug at the sudden fall of what had been a symbol of Dark Power for the entirety of the war.
Hermione trudged across the battlefield, building up to a run. She slipped what she had just witnessed behind her overused Occlumency shields, beating back the exhaustion and terror. The adrenaline was kicking in now, allowing the scorch marks to fade to a dull ache and the thudding of her heart to become white noise to her screaming thoughts.
Hermione saw figures flitting in the distance, jets of lights bursting forth from wands in rapid succession. Glowing green engulfed body after body as Order members began to crumple. Hermione watched as Bill, the last remaining Weasley, was split apart by a Bombarda. She blinked as pieces of his skull fell at her feet.
Hermione put in a final burst of speed as she headed towards the now collapsing house. An arm jutted out from an outcropping of trees and gripped her firmly, pulling her towards the overgrown forest that bordered the property. The hand, cold and clammy against her singed clothing, caused her reflexes to surge to life. She threw her elbow back into her attacker's ribs, dislodging the grip on her arm, and sent another jab to his jugular. Her attacker grunted and reared back. Hermione twisted and aimed her wand at the Death Eater, a curse already spewing from her lips when the person murmured urgently.
"Vigilia pretium libertatis."
Vigilance is the price of liberty, Moody's favourite saying. A muggle saying Hermione had borrowed from Eisenhower and a safe word they used in his memory. Hermione relaxed slightly but her wand remained poised, muscles tensed in anticipation. Snape stood before her, robes dark with soot. Blood was dribbling from an open gash across his forehead.
He scowled at her and reached into the depths of his robes. When he unfurled his fist a gold time-turner and a small black bottle lay nestled in the crook of his palm. Moody hadn't believed in leaving things to chance and neither did Hermione.
"The situation is too dire," Snape said softly, almost as if he was coaxing her.
Hermione looked over her shoulder. Malfoy Manor was crumbling under their assault, stones and wards falling before her eyes, but it wouldn't be enough. The Dark Lord had fled, Horcruxes in tow, and the few remaining Order members were without a leader and a cause. Hermione turned back to Snape and threw her shoulders back, hopelessness more than resolve settling within her. Hermione held a hand out for the bottle.
"Bottoms up," Hermione murmured, raising a brow at Snape. His lips twitched.
Hermione uncorked the bottle and downed the thick murky liquid in long gulps. Snape watched impassively as she smothered a grimace. He handed her the time-turner and Hermione looped it around her neck.
"Good luck," Hermione said, voice wavering slightly.
Snape tilted his head in acknowledgement. Hermione gave the time-turner three swift turns and blinked out of existence.
_
Hermione nestled into the mattress and pulled the sheets closer to her body, early morning light fell across her cheek. She blinked awake blearily, blonde hair pooling around her in a halo. Hermione's eyes flew open and she bolted upright, mind scrambling to make sense of her surroundings. Hermione vaulted herself towards the ornate mirror at the far end of the room.
She stared at herself, mouth agape. She pressed the pads of her fingers to high cheekbones and a jaw rounded with baby fat. Hermione admired her reflection cautiously. The girl that looked back at her couldn't be more than ten or twelve years old, nightgown hanging off her gawky form loosely. She had the smooth features and ivory skin of a girl swathed in luxury. Hermione looked down at her hands. She had dainty wrists and fingers pink with disuse. She snorted and maneuvered awkwardly back into the bed. Her body felt as delicate as porcelain, soft with unused muscles.
She shook her head in disbelief, Snape was a fucking genius.
Hermione peered around the room with interest. The room was lavishly furnished with a collection of solid oak pieces neatly arranged in a semi circle, with the large canopy bed as the focal point. Hermione was torn between envy and disgust. She had spent the last few years running from safehouse to safehouse, confined to abandoned buildings and shoddy windswept tents. The sheer opulence of her surroundings left a bad taste in her mouth, even as she sunk further into the pillows.
Her gaze caught on a small jagged scar across her shoulder, almost invisible to the eye. Hermione had never seen the scar before, it was not one of hers, and she wondered how it came to blemish the young girl's skin. She traced it carefully, still unaccustomed to the girl's small gangly limbs.
Hermione let out a startled gasp as images assaulted her consciousness, tearing through her mind and warping it with memories. She saw a young boy with short cropped blonde hair playing with a toy, some sort of moving plushie. The toy disappeared and the boy pouted miserably, face pinched into an unhappy frown. He said something, staring directly at Hermione. There was the echo of taunts ringing in her ears.
The words are hers, Hermione realized. She was taunting him.
The blond boy was saying something again. He was saying please. Yes, that's right. His mouth was curving around the word please. But the sound was garbled. Hermione looked down. She was holding the boy's toy in her small pale hands. She looked up again and there was a surge of fear as something barrelled towards her.
Hermione jerked away from the pillows. She pulled her fingers away from the scar, blood stained her fingertips. The extravagant room suddenly seemed too small. Hermione scrambled off the bed and hurried to the door, eager to continue her exploration.
Hermione poked her head into the corridor and contemplated her situation. According to Snape she should be occupying the body of someone destined for an untimely death. That was the intention of the potion, reincarnation so to speak, breathing new life into the dead. It was a potion of Snape's own making and was the result of over three years of intensive labour. It had been intended for Harry.
Hermione stifled a sob.
In all likelihood the young girl may have had some unknown illness snaking through her veins or been destined for some ill fated accident. Snape had assured her that the potion would rid the body of death's mark. That, coupled with a rigged time-turner, would allow Hermione to assimilate in a time when the Dark Lord would be unsuspecting of resistance.
Here, she was no longer Hermione Granger, member of the Order of the Phoenix, one third of the Golden Trio. Here, she was a small girl with white-blonde hair and too big eyes.
It was a second chance. One that Hermione was determined not to squander.
Hermione pushed open the door and padded quietly towards the staircase, staring into the house' foyer below. The large foyer glittered with onyx and gold, familiar and untarnished by war.
Malfoy Manor.
She blinked. Well, I didn't go very far now did I?
Hermione placed a hand on the railing and was once again assaulted with images. This time she was more prepared. Hermione watched as the same blonde boy from the previous memory peered at her. He was younger now, maybe four or five. There was a dark haired woman next him, smiling and cooing at Hermione. Hermione reached a pudgy pink fist towards her. The blonde boy leaned over, over and over and over. So close his hair brushed her forehead. He kissed her forehead. The woman leaned over too. She brushed her lips against Hermione's fat toddler cheeks. She leaned over again and again, kissing one cheek then the other. Hermione was laughing, high pitched and childlike.
Hermione shook her head to rid herself of the images and continued her journey, trying to make sense of the memories and calm her racing thoughts. She was not frightened by what she saw, the memories were draped in feelings of familiarity and love, but she was unsettled by the affection she felt for people she had never met. Malfoys at that.
"Mione?"
Hermione startled, placing a hand over her heart in fright. She glanced down and frowned, what a completely impractical reaction. She turned towards the voice and found the boy from her memories at the top of the staircase. Already, he was easily six inches taller than Hermione, with wide flat cheekbones and flint grey eyes.
Hermione stared, Lucius Malfoy. Her brother.
Hermione swayed a little. She had faced far worse things than the prospect of Lucius Malfoy as a brother. Unfortunately, she was hard pressed to think of any at the moment. Belatedly, Hermione realized that she has been called by her given name. She felt nostalgic about being able to keep it.
"Why aren't you dressed?"
Hermione glanced at her nightgown. "I don't know what to wear."
The voice that came from her lips was firm. Hermione had expected a high-pitched whine, the kind reminiscent of spoilt young girls in old muggle films. Even at such a young age Hermione's voice reverberated with authority, words lilted with an unfamiliar pureblood accent.
Lucius snorted, amusement clear in the wrinkle of his brow. "Mum laid out your blue dress robes. Don't know why all the fuss though, you'll change into your Hogwarts robes soon enough."
Hermione stared at him. "Hogwarts?"
Lucius gave her a questioning glance and nodded slowly.
"Are you packed? Mum won't send anything by owl if you've forgotten it."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Mum's lying. Your first year she sent all of your books by owl because you used your trunk to sneak in sweets."
The random bit of knowledge momentarily stunned Hermione, though she knew instinctively that she was right. Lucius proved this by rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Either way, I'm already packed," Hermione said, tilting her chin haughtily.
"Get dressed and come down for breakfast, " he called over his shoulder as he descended the staircase.
Hermione huffed and turned on her heel. Her mother had indeed laid out blue dress robes, with a subtle white lace trim and matching white flats. The first time Hermione had been to King's Cross Station she had worn jeans and a knit jumper. Obviously, that would no longer do.
Hermione followed the clamouring voices into a high ceilinged dining room with an obnoxiously long dining table. Hermione faltered, only a few hours ago she had been laying waste to this estate, smearing blood across its manicured lawns and watching in satisfaction as it turned to ash.
Hermione stilled. At the head of the elegant hardwood table, laden with pastries, eggs and fruit, sat Lucius Malfoy as Hermione remembered him. She frowned, glancing towards the young boy to the man's right.
Abraxas Malfoy, Hermione corrected with a gulp.
Hermione slid into the seat beside the young Lucius Malfoy, who furiously devoured a plate of eggs and potatoes. This young boy bared no resemblance to the man Hermione would one day come to despise. His face was still unmarked by age and he smiled at her around a mouthful of potatoes, genuine and unabashed.
Abraxas, on the other hand, was an eerie replica of an older Lucius Malfoy. His long blonde hair, pulled back tightly with a clasp, was sprinkled with white and he shared Lucius' wide flat cheekbones. He surveyed the table imperiously, intimidating even at his own breakfast table. A heavy signet ring, the same one she imagined Lucius had worn in the future, banged ominously against the wood every time he reached for a plate. It did nothing for Hermione's frayed nerves.
Hermione stayed quiet and picked at her food as she was continuously assailed by memories that were not her own. The woman from her memories sat across from her, coal black hair pulled into a chignon at the base of her neck. She wore flattering indigo robes and smiled cheerily in the face of her husband's imposing silence. Amaryllis Malfoy, her mind supplied. Amaryllis gazed at Hermione fondly, biting her tongue in an obvious attempt to stop herself from pestering Hermione with questions.
Lucius was not saved from the same fate and he answered their mother's questions half-heartedly, staring longingly at the canister of coffee. When Lucius was a little too short with her Abraxas cuffed him upside the head. While Hermione jumped, expecting the worst, Lucius just laughed loudly. Hermione only just stopped herself from gaping.
"Darling, are you quite alright? You look a little peaky." Amaryllis leaned over in concern, brushing white blonde strands away from Hermione's forehead.
"Just nerves," Hermione explained as she squashed the urge to stab Lucius with a fork when he stole sausages off her plate.
–
Platform nine and three-quarters was a cacophony of happy shouts, raucous laughter and teary eyed parents. First years looked on in awe and seventh years dodged their parents embarrassing attempts at goodbye. Lucius had spied a crowd of his friends and was dancing on the balls of his feet, eager to be rid of them.
Abraxas smiled at him indulgently. "Behave and have a good year."
Lucius nodded and turned towards Hermione, smug grin softening slightly.
"Stay to the front of the train, don't spend all your money on sweets and please for Salazar's sake don't get sorted into Hufflepuff."
Lucius placed a kiss to the crown of her head before hurrying off to greet his friends. He threw an arm around the shoulders of a sandy haired boy and disappeared amidst swirls of silver and green. Hermione stared after him with a suspicious frown, unsure how to reconcile this seemingly harmless boy with the man she once knew. The man whose death they had once crowed victoriously over.
Her gaze caught on a familiar mane of dark curls and her breathing stalled. Bellatrix threw her head back and laughed obnoxiously, uncaring of the way her voice carried across the platform, drawing the attention of parents and admiring students alike. An irrational fear that Bellatrix would recognize her clawed unbidden at Hermione's stomach. Bellatrix did notice her and the flash of recognition was enough to make Hermione clutch at her wand in pure uncontrollable fear. However, Bellatrix simply tilted her head and winked before she disappeared into the crowd.
Hermione, finally remembering to breathe, shook her head at her own folly. How is she supposed to rewrite history if she dies of fright on her first day? She was a Malfoy now, which meant that it was very likely that she was not only familiar with Bellatrix but also friendly. She threw her shoulders back and took three breaths in quick succession to calm her rattled nerves.
"Ah, Abraxas!" A booming voice called, derailing the Malfoys' path towards the train. Hermione turned to find a large man with a broad flat forehead and a bulbous nose greeting Abraxas. The man gripped Abraxas' hand in a firm handshake.
"Fleamont." Abraxas smiled warmly.
The men began chatting animatedly and Hermione gazed wistfully towards the train. Her earlier excitement, either a byproduct of this body or genuine eagerness to see Hogwarts again, disappeared quickly. Hermione stared at the train despondently, thinking of Harry's boyish grin and Ron's pink cheeks and the laughter that used to accompany their train rides to Hogwarts.
As if summoned by her thoughts Harry's face swam into view and Hermione, startled by the sudden delusion, jerked backwards. She blinked dazedly at the boy, who did not dissipate but instead dimpled at her and stuck out his hand.
"I'm James. I think we met briefly last summer."
The boy's large hazel eyes were set in a sun-kissed face. Hazel eyes, Hermione reminded herself, burying her sadness for a boy who was years dead and not yet born.
"Hermione Malfoy."
Hermione stuck out a bony wrist, hoping James didn't notice the slight tremor. James shook her hand, oddly formal. Something tugged at the edge of her subconscious, a memory, a flash of wild dark hair and honeyed teas tumbling to the floor amid shouts.
Hermione smiled. "The Wilkes' garden party."
James snapped his fingers. "That's right!"
Fleamont looked down at his son's exclamation.
"Euphemia has been asking about Amaryllis, says you should bring the kids by," Fleamont said as he ruffled his son's hair affectionately.
James ducked his head to avoid the gesture, eyes sweeping downwards in embarrassment. Hermione studied him carefully. He had the same lanky build that Harry once did but where Harry had been spindly James actually filled out his clothing, young arms woven with muscles and covered in a light tan. His large hazel eyes were framed by thick lashes and he glanced around the platform with impatience. Sharp cold longing pricked at Hermione.
"I'm a Gryffindor. Second year." James boasted proudly and Hermione smiled serenely, remembering another proud boy hailing from a family of Gryffindors.
"I'm rather set on Slytherin myself," Hermione replied, proud of her unwavering voice.
James grimaced and then valiantly tried to mask his knee-jerk reaction. Hermione muffled a laugh. Given the way Mr. Potter was chuckling alongside her father she figured James had picked up this animosity towards Slytherins at Hogwarts. Hermione didn't blame him, she was desperate for the plush red and gold familiarity of her old house. Unfortunately, she didn't think she would accomplish as much surrounded by lions.
"Oh Merlin, look at the time. James why don't you help Miss Malfoy board the train."
James nodded agreeably, throwing an eager glance towards the train. Hermione shared a tight if awkward hug with Abraxas and by the time she pulled away James had already gallivanted away. Hermione rolled her eyes and scurried after him, hauling her trunk behind her with a smothered curse.
When Hermione boarded the train she found that James had already ensconced himself in a compartment. He was sprawled across a bench and chatting animatedly with a pair of dark haired boys. Hermione raised her chin and marched forward.
"Hullo," Hermione offered. The smaller of the two dark haired boys jumped up from his seat and quickly helped Hermione with her trunk. James and his companion snorted their amusement, even as James mumbled an apology for leaving her on the platform under his breath.
"Malfoy, right?" The boy asked, looking down at Hermione. He was a few inches taller than her and already his face was carved of sharp angles, unusual for someone so young. His black hair fell around his face in rivulets.
"Hermione." She smiled, trying desperately to place his face from among her half-formed memories.
"Malfoy? James, really." The elder of the two said with a scoff, leaning back into the bench.
Hermione sat primly beside James, across from the boy who had spoken, and quirked a brow. He was no older than twelve or thirteen, with a gleaming smile and curly black hair falling around his ears. Sirius and Regulus Black, Hermione ascertained.
"I could say the same about you, Black," James retorted, unruffled by the way the other boy scowled at him petulantly.
Regulus shuffled awkwardly and took a seat beside his brother. Hermione gazed at them, trying to stifle her awe. They were very similar in colouring, pale and dark haired, but where Sirius was destined to grow into his admittedly compelling smirk and squared jaw, Regulus seemed destined for a waifish figure.
"I'm Regulus," he introduced, smiling charmingly, "and this twat is my older brother, Sirius."
Sirius squawked indignantly. James covered a laugh with a badly placed cough. Sirius appeared prepared to launch into some sort of tirade in his own defence when James intervened.
"You're an alright sort, aren't you Hermione?" James said teasingly, looping an arm around her shoulders.
"Well, I've never been told otherwise."
Not technically true, Hermione mused, thinking of her proficiency with the Entrail-Expelling Curse and the slew of expletives which usually followed.
"See! Play nice, Sirius."
Sirius rolled his eyes long sufferingly, as if James had just asked him to complete some sort of insurmountable task. Hermione was about to voice her displeasure when the compartment door slid open and a fourth boy poked his head in. Hermione's eyes were drawn to the rough planes of the boy's face, tracing the uneven scar that marred his left cheek and reached towards his right eye. Remus cringed away from her probing stare but smiled brightly when he spotted his friends.
He ambled into the compartment with an ill concealed limp, closely followed by a short, plump boy with a cheerful smile. The Marauders reunited, Hermione thought dryly if a touch sadly. Remus fell into the nearest bench with a heavy thump and Sirius scrambled to put his trunk away. Without having to be asked, Hermione noted. Remus shot him a grateful, albeit tired, smile.
Peter shimmied into the seat beside Regulus and went about unwrapping a small treasure trove of sweets. He promptly offered everyone in the compartment a choice of the delicacies, angling the bag towards Remus first. Hermione smothered the urge to find the gesture charming.
"Who have we here?" Peter asked baldly, waving at Hermione.
She smiled, trying for genuine. "Hermione."
"Malfoy," Sirius hissed out the corner of his mouth. Regulus looked ready to thump his brother over the head, but the name had the intended effect. Remus drew subtly away from her, practically plastering himself to the bench even as he introduced himself. Peter raised a brow.
"Yes, well. Family can't be helped now can it?" Hermione said archly, pointedly looking at Sirius.
Sirius scowled at her. Regulus snorted.
Peter blinked and turned to the others. "Are we collecting Slytherins this year, then?"
Hermione rolled her eyes but she felt Regulus stiffen beside her. Brilliant start, Hermione thought as she curled into her seat and watched the boys bicker over the chocolate frogs.