Chapter Text
Long before wands ruled the Wizarding society, there were druids.
They needed no polished holly or dragon heartstring, no Latin incantations or Ministry decrees and regulations to keep them in check. Druids bent the world itself. They drew raw power from stone and stream, from blood and breath, weaving spells without boundaries. Healing, cursing, summoning storms—magic as old as the land itself.
Wizards feared them. For druids drew no lines between light and dark, no hex or curse was forbidden. They shaped magic like clay.
Six centuries ago, the Wizarding world declared druids officially extinct with the pathetic death of the last known and captured Druid called Armagan. He survived imprisonment for 27 years before a new ruler saw it fit to mark the beginning of their reign with his hanging.
Thus came the end of the Druid kind. Some whispered they had burned themselves out, consumed by their own untamed power. Others believed that the newly assembled Wizard's Council had quietly ensured their disappearance before beginning to work towards what would later become the International Statue of Secrecy.
Officially, they were gone. Tucked away in the footnotes of history.
Officially.
Hermione Granger knew better.
Or rather Hermione Greenfell did.
The name Granger belonged to a clever, bushy-haired Gryffindor, Muggle-born and best friend to Harry Potter. The name Greenfell belonged to one of the oldest families in Britain, descended from Morgana Pendragon herself.
Her ancestors had survived by hiding, blending into Muggle society, weaving wealth and titles into their camouflage. They married carefully. They kept secrets ruthlessly. And they never, ever admitted that their blood still sang with druidic magic.
Hermione was the first in centuries in her blood line to be born with both the druids' ancient gift and the spark that earned her a place at Hogwarts. A sign that perhaps the old curse Merlin had placed on her family, was finally beginning to ease.
On the last evening of her third year, she sat on the grassy slope above the lake, picking at the blades of grass and staring down at her reflection in the water. Behind her, the castle glowed golden in the setting sun. Harry and Ron were off somewhere—probably testing out Harry's new broom from Sirius.
She, meanwhile, was wrestling with an impossible question: where did she belong?
The Wizarding world thought her a Muggle-born. The Muggle world would never understand what she really was. And the Greenfell family…well, they had their own expectations. Wealth. Duty. Perhaps even marriage into some dreary Muggle aristocracy, chosen not for love but for safety.
Druidic marriages, which her family still practiced, bound souls together, sharing power in ways no wizard marriage ever could. Too dangerous with another witch or wizard, her grandfather always said. Too unpredictable.
She rubbed the chain of the Time-Turner between her fingers, watching the light glint off the tiny hourglass. Time. Past, present, future—it all seemed fragile, delicate, in her hands.
"Enjoying your little pity party, Granger?"
The voice was drawling, smug, and so very familiar. Hermione didn't need to look up to know who it was.
"Hello, Malfoy," she said coolly.
He dropped onto the grass beside her without invitation, blond hair catching the sun in a way that would have made him look angelic—if only he'd kept his mouth shut.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were brooding."
"I was thinking," Hermione corrected, flicking a blade of grass in his direction. "Not that you'd recognise it."
Draco smirked, but his eyes flickered briefly to the Time-Turner chain before darting back to her face. "Thinking about your boyfriend Hagrid? Honestly, Granger, if you're going to fraternise with half-giants, at least brush your hair first. One might mistake you for relatives."
Hermione's lips twitched. "I've already broken your nose once. Don't tempt me to improve on the symmetry."
He touched his nose reflexively, scowling, though there was no real heat in it. "You're lucky I didn't tell my father."
"And you're lucky you finally have a nose worth looking at. I should charge you for cosmetic services." She smirked.
That earned her a reluctant snort. The corners of his mouth betrayed him, tugging upward before he smothered them under his usual sneer.
They fell into the rhythm that had become oddly familiar—verbal fencing, sharp as hexes, but never quite meant to wound. Over three years, their enmity had shifted into something stranger, something neither would admit to.
"Admit it, Malfoy" Hermione said lightly, stretching back on the grass. "You'll miss me over the summer."
Draco scoffed. "The only emotion I'll feel is relief. Though perhaps I'll grow nostalgic when my ears stop ringing from your endless lectures."
She rolled her eyes, but the banter settled something inside her. For a moment, she wasn't a Greenfell heir or the last of the druids. She wasn't a witch with too much heritage and secrets to carry.
She was just Hermione, and Draco was just Malfoy, and somehow their ridiculous arguments kept her grounded.
She laughed suddenly, and before Draco could sneer at her again, she got up and scooped up a handful of lake water and flung it straight at him.
His gasp was indignant. "You didn't—"
"Oh, I did," Hermione grinned.
For once, Draco didn't retaliate with words. He got up and went over to the lake after her, he bent, scooped, and launched water back at her. Within moments, both of them were soaked, their laughter echoing across the lake.
It was reckless. It was undignified. It was completely against every rule Aunt Amelia had ever drilled into her.
And it was the most free Hermione had felt all year.
Hermione's laugh rang out across the lake as she leaned too far over the water, hair plastered damp against her cheeks. She reached down, scooping for another wave to splash Draco with—
And her hand slipped.
The world tilted. Cold swallowed her in a rush, water closing over her head with a roar in her ears. She kicked upward, but something coiled around her ankle like a chain.
"Granger!" Draco's voice cracked above, muffled by the water. A shadow blurred at the edge of her vision, the pale outline of him leaning dangerously over the dock.
Hermione thrashed, bubbles tearing from her mouth. The lake had never felt so deep, so heavy. The chain around her ankle wasn't a weed or a creature; it was pulling. Dragging her down into the dark.
"Stop fooling around—Hermione!"
She reached instinctively for her wand—only to feel the Time-Turner slip free from beneath her robes, its chain shimmering like liquid gold as it floated before her eyes.
The tiny hourglass spun. Once. Twice. Faster and faster, as though the water itself was winding it. The tug around her ankle grew stronger, spiralling her downward.
Her lungs screamed. The golden light from the hourglass flared, dazzling, then shattered across her vision.
The last thing she heard before the world bent inside out was Draco Malfoy shouting her name, raw with something that almost sounded like fear.