Chapter 8
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vii
It’s About Time
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—
2307 hours
18 October 1999
The Coal Hole, Strand
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“If it isn’t our favourite Muggle.” Blaise slid into the seat beside her, ordering himself a glass.
“Zabini,” Hermione greeted him. “I thought you and Malfoy were still rounding up the bad guys?”
“We finished that mission two days ago, Granger. Where were you?” Draco sat on the other side, angling his body toward her as he gave her a once over. “You look like shit.”
“I may or may not have been drinking my liver out for the last two days,” she answered, crossing her hands on the table. She hid her face, voice muffled as she said, "I thought I'd lost you all."
Beside her, Blaise moved, his arm wrapping around her waist, as he pulled her so close she was nearly on his lap.
“We’re here. Safe in one piece,” he murmured.
She tucked her head on the junction of his neck and shoulder and let her lips moved against his skin as she spoke. “And I’m glad for that.”
She felt their silent conversation, the air shifting as Draco said, "You know Granger, rather than wallowing in depression and self pity," he pushed the skirt of her dress up her thigh, stopping too soon, "you could celebrate this life we all appear to sharing this evening"
She lifted her head to look at him and wasn’t surprised to see his close proximity. She could feel his warmth even from the distance, and so she whispered, “What do you suggest?”
It was a rhetorical question. She knew. Draco knew. Blaise knew. They all knew.
She was relieved that they were alive. Death had been following her ever since the war, looming and swallowing her small self, leaving nothing but paranoia and dead bodies.
So instead of waiting for either young men to answer her, she pulled herself up and kissed Blaise without warning. He didn’t waste a second to process what had just transpired between them, he just took her, gently at first, and then roughly when Hermione moaned in his mouth.
She leaned back to meet Draco’s dazed gaze. “Loo.”
Draco gave her thigh one last squeeze before he got up and pulled her with him. Blaise was right on their heels after he paid for their drinks.
Once they found an empty stall, not minding of other occupants, Blaise cleaned it up as Draco was already busy pressing his lips on hers.
“Are you glad to see us, Granger?” Draco asked, kissing along her jawline and nip her ear, “To see us alive and not lying as some fucking corpse?”
She groaned when Draco pressed his hips on hers, pushing her legs wide so he stood between them. “Stop talking,” she managed to say and she pulled his head back to kiss him.
Draco spun them around, leaning his back against the wall as he held her close.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, propping herself taller with her hands around his neck. Draco looked up to her in a daze as Blaise fondled his bollocks, getting him harder than he already was.
“Fuck,” Draco said, pushing her spaghetti straps down, freeing her naked breasts and biting her nipple.
Hermione groaned, back arching against Blaise as she pushed her breast into Draco's face. The blond continued his ministrations, his hands hot on her hips as he kissed the bite mark and moved to suck the other nipple. She moaned in response, head falling back on Blaise's shoulder.
She saw stars as her eyes fell closed, Blaise's breath on her skin as she tugged his hair, their mouths finding each other briefly at the odd angle. As their eyes met, she felt his need as though it was her own, desperate and aching in her core.
"Guys. Please," she begged, aware of nothing in the world but the three of them. "Fuck. Me. Now."
"I think she needs it, Draco," Blaise murmured, his hand holding her face in place.
"I do," she breathed. "Draco, please—"
Draco pushed her thong aside, fingers brushing along her slit.
Hermione whimpered, Blaise kissing her mouth gently.
"How bad, Hermione?" Draco asked, rubbing his cock against her opening.
Angrily, she wrapped her arms tighter around Draco's neck, pulling herself closer to him as she said, "Just fuck me, alre— Oh!"
Draco growled, pushing himself into her roughly. "Holy shit," he ground out, pumping quickly. "Holy fuck."
Blaise supported her as Draco fucked her, his lips on her neck and shoulder as his hands explored her body.
"More," she breathed, voice breathy and needy, "Blaise, please— more."
"I got you," he murmured, one hand leaving her.
Hermione shivered at the feel of his lubrication charm, his fingers spreading it over her arse before he began to tease her entrance.
Draco's thrust slowed as Hermione leaned further into him. He kissed her, lips against her mouth as he said, "You look so beautiful, Hermione."
She felt Blaise's arm snake around her, holding Draco's hips still as he mumbled something in Italian. Draco must have understood, because his arms cradled Hermione closer, tucking a sweaty curl behind her ear.
She whimpered as the feel of Blaise's cock pushing at her entrance, the action painfully slow.
"You feel so fucking good, cara," he told her, kissing the back of her neck as he gently thrusted, giving both her and Draco time to adjust.
Hermione let out a loud cry , her mind feeling whole and body warm for the first time in too long.
She's missed them. This — the three of them finding solace in the middle of the bleeding war. She missed their hands roaming each other's body, desperate as they learned their pleasure over and over, memorising the shape, the taste, the smell.
As though it was their first time, as though it was their last.
"Fuck," Draco murmured, his cock twitching.
Blaise and Hermione moaned, his arm loosening around them as he held her thighs open for them instead. Draco continued to hug her to him, his thrusts guiding Blaise's as they found their rhythm.
Hermione touched them both, hands quick and eager against their skin, desperate to feel their heat. To feel their beating hearts and rushing blood as they began to fuck her more desperately. As though they were running out of time.
There was never enough time, she realised.
"Shit," Draco bit her neck, squeezing her tight. "I'm close," he breathed, thrusting faster and harder.
Blaise hummed in pleasure, their actions erratic and hurried.
It was only then that Hermione began to hear people pounding at the door, the ringing of desire finally lessening in her ears as she reached closer and closer.
Still, it didn't matter. All she wanted was them. Alive and real and alive and real and—
"Come for us, Cara," Blaise murmured, his arms snaking between her and Draco, rubbing her clit. He continued to kiss her shoulders and neck, tongue tasting her skin hotly as he matched his thrusts to Draco's. "Come for us."
She didn’t need to be told twice. The two of them filling her, pounding her vigorously at the same time was too much for her. And when Blaise pinched her clit while whispering their pleas for her to come, to take them with her, to let go, she let out the most satisfying cry, bringing them to their own release.
Hermione was still sandwiched between them, sweaty and slick, and she could feel their cum dripping out of her. She laughed. Her head falling back onto Blaise's shoulder.
He kissed her temple tenderly as he and Draco joined her laughter soon after, It vibrated off the walls, loud and real and alive.
Even if it was only for a moment.
—
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0601 hours
8 September 1978
The Tonks
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Hermione opened her eyes, her head resting against the edge of her bathtub. The steady sound of droplets from the tap rippling the warm water had lulled her into false comfort, warming her chest and allowing her to remember.
She drew her fingertips along her thigh, slipping her hand between her thighs as she palmed her core, attempting to release some of the pressure.
Damn it , she thought, unable to find the same release sex had given her.
You can if you want. The voice filled her head, a ghost as much as it was real.
She splashed the warm water on her face, frustratedly, and submerged her whole head to clean her dirty mind.
“Right,” she said as she stood up, “we’ll figure that out later, Hermione. Now, you have things to do.”
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1035 hours
8 September 1978
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
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Hermione looked at the first year students in complete amusement. They’re the size of my thumb! Was I this small?
The memory of stepping into Hogwarts for the first time felt like a lifetime ago. Even as Poppy's apprentice, she'd avoided it, unable to deal with the reminder of what she'd lost. Of what they'd lost.
It was the first time she'd entered the school since leaving for the Tonks' home, and the Great Hall held particularly fond and dreaded memories for her. Even now.
It's been four months since she'd entered this time, yet, Hogwarts still triggered the worst in her. Hermione rubbed her eyes with her shaking hand and hid herself behind one of the big column in the corridor. Once her trembling was bearable for her, she straightened up and took a very long breath. She could really use a cigarette now but she had more pressing matters to attend to.
“Did you wait long?” Minerva asked once she stepped out of her Transfiguration class, holding her arm out for Hermione.
“I lived,” she smiled and accepted Minerva’s waiting arm. “Such a gentleman.”
She smiled and put her hand on Hermione’s shaking hand, encouraging her to tighten her hold. “And a gentleman would never let their lady walk alone.”
Hermione chuckled, appreciating the support the older woman offered. As they walked hand in hand, they talked about the mundane stuff ー about Dora, the first year students’ antics, Poppy’s reluctance to accept new apprentices ー until they reached the big gargoyle statues.
“Woolen socks,” Minerva said.
“Still?”
“One can never have enough socks.”
Still holding Minerva’s arm, they climbed their way up to the Headmaster’s office.
“Ah, Minerva! Hermione! Care to join me?” He waved his hand over the various biscuits and tea on his table.
Hermione remembered it was exactly like the first time they’d met. She let her eyes wander the office, watching as all the moving portraits gave her the side glance. It was her fault. She had asked them to leave the first time, and she was going to request now.
“Albus, can we have our own privacy, please?”
“Again, child?!” Headmaster Dippet whined.
Hermione looked at him apologetically as Albus asked them to leave nicely with his convincing “ please .” All the portraits obeyed his request with a loud grunt, glaring at Hermione as they left.
“I’ve received your letter, Hermione dear. I assumed it’s time to start?” Albus asked as he welcomed both women to sit across from him.
Hermione studied the old man. She was sure he sent Remus to spy on her. But some part of her heart tried its best to ignore the niggling intuition. She wanted to trust Albus, this man that Harry hero-worshipped for his whole life, this man who guided Harry into defeating Voldemort ー though in his own peculiar way ー this man who led the Order of The Phoenix both in first and second war. She wanted — forced herself — to believe him. Thus, here she was, sitting right across of said man, in the room where he’d once shared his knowledges of Horcruxes with Harry. Funny, she thought, how it’s all now in my hands to share that same knowledge with him.
“Yes,” don’t tell him, Hermione, “it is time to fight back.”
Minerva leaned closer to her, and as if she sensed her shambling resolution, she put her hand on the small of her back, reassuring her that she was there to give her her full support. Hermione smiled at her gratefully.
“He created Horcruxes, Albus.”
Albus dropped the cup that he was holding. His lips quivered, gaping as he lost his voice, at loss of words.
The room went silent. Only the sound of Albus’ cup mending back by Minerva’s magic filled the room. Minerva tremblingly put her wand back into her robe. “Horcruxes, you say? More than one?
Hermione turned to her. Minerva’s face had lost all its colour with her eyes wide open and her lips pursed into a thin line. Hermione closed her eyes and nodded.
“How many exactly, Hermione?” Albus enquired.
His voice was even, but Hermione knew how shaken he was by the news. Who wouldn’t? Voldemort was already a powerful wizard, and combined with immortality, he was invincible. Seemingly invincible, Hermione corrected.
“Seven in my time. But as we speak, I reckon it’s four.”
“Se ー seven?” Minerva stuttered. “And you reckon he already created four?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, I can’t share more. Not yet. I need to make sure of the location, or I'll be at risk of spreading misinformation.” She noted the twitch of Albus’ eye and comforted herself that it was nothing.
Don’t trust him.
Hermione swallowed the small voice in her head down.
“You to determine this alone?” He asked.
“Yes,” she answered shortly.
“Very well. But I believe it would be permissible to share the objects he's used, yes?”
Hermione agreed. They at least deserved to know that after all the help and trust they gave her.
Do you think he really trusts you?
“A worn out diary, with his name carved on it,” Hermione drew the shape of the diary with her wand and drew the remaining Horcruxes one by one, “Hufflepuff’s cup, Ravenclaw’s diadem, and a ring.”
“A ring?” Dumbledore implored, “belonging to whom?”
Hermione looked at the bright traces of the ring that she drew.
“Yes, Hermione. Hufflepuff’s, Ravenclaw’s. There’s obviously a pattern here. The ring must have been significant, too. Slytherin’s? Gryffindor’s?” Minerva pushed.
“Gaunt’s."
“Gaunt’s? What is so special with Gaunt’s ring?” Minerva huffed.
Seeing Albus’ widened eyes and his tightening grip on his wand, Hermione knew he’d figured it out. She sighed before she answered Minerva, “You do know that they are one of the Pureblood family that is the descendant of Peverell?”
“Yes, I know of them, of course. Also part of Salazar Slytherin’s.”
“Yes. And of course you’ve heard of the Peverell brothers?”
“Tosh! Only a bedtime story, Hermione.”
“It’s not, Minerva. It’s not,” she sighed again and caught Albus’ expectant eyes.
Don’t tell him. He knows, yes. But he wants the confirmation, Hermione. Don’t give him that.
“Marvolo Gaunt ー Voldemort’s grandfather, was in possession of a signet ring passed on from his Peverell ancestors. That’s why he chose it.” She paused, breathed in deeply and then breathed out before she continued. “It also contains the Resurrection Stone, one of the legendary Deathly Hallows, something Voldemort has no knowledge of.”
Albus leaned back into his seat languidly. Mad at herself for going against her instinct, she shared something of his, too. “The same Deathly Hallows that you’re holding on, Albus.”
“What?” Minerva turned to Albus aghast. “This whole time, you have one with you? What is it? The wand?”
Hermione fought his gaze, “Yes. The wand.”
Defeatedly, Albus put his wand on top of his table. The Death Stick. Hermione beamed proudly seeing the wand for the first time in this year as she remember how Harry didn’t fall for the lure of its power.
Not Albus, Hermione. He strives for its power. He wants to be the Master. You shouldn’t give him that.
Hermione closed her eyes, “I’ll start right after this meeting. Once I‘m assured of their location, of our safety, I’ll bring the news straight away. We don’t want to waste more time.”
It killed her that Albus had the guts to look as though Christmas had come early. Her stomach churned, she could feel her bile rose.
What have I done?
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1126 hours
8 September 1978
Gringotts Wizarding Bank
Diagon Alley
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Griphook gave her a once over from the high podium. “You do understand we don’t abide to the Ministry of Magic.”
It wasn’t a question. Hermione was instantly reminded of when Tiberius told them how the Centaurs called them Ministry’s dogs. And honestly, Hermione wouldn’t expect anything less from the arrogant goblins. She knew that. She just had too much fun grinding them, — especially Griphook, the traitorous son of a bitch — to stop. “This is an inspection, Griphook.”
He sneered, “No. Ministry. Dogs.”
Hermione grinned at him and she had this sadistic satisfaction as she noticed his whitening knuckle from clenching on his quill too hard. The fact that she aggravated the creature made her squeal in glee — inwardly.
“Hush, you. Don’t be ridiculous. We are one in the Wizarding World. We got a job, we get paid, we serve our world under one constitution —"
“We don’t serve under wizards,” he said through his gritted sharp teeth.
“Oh? But, Griphook,” she leaned forward, cupping her hand around her mouth as if she was whispering Merlin’s secret, “I’m a witch.” She straightened back, smiling sweetly as he hissed. “Besides, we are colleagues in a sense that we both —"
“We are not the same!” He raised his voice an octave.
Happy that she managed to rile the goblin this much, Hermione finally had enough and waved her hand in his face to Imperio him. “Take me to the Lestrange’s Vault, alone.”
He smiled adoringly at her, “Yes, madame.”
See, she reminisced, we could’ve just confounded them from the beginning! No need for bad acting!
Her screaming on the ride was never an act, though.
“We’re here, madame,” Griphook smiled as he offered his hand to her.
Swallowing her sickness from the ride, she nodded and accepted his hand gratefully. She scanned the dungeon and took comfort in the existence of the same dragon. It had been one hell of an escape. She kept it in her mind as an emergency escape plan, if she somehow failed this.
“Lestrange’s vault,” Griphook announced jovially.
Hermione took a long breath before she stepped in. It never ceased to amaze her how filthy rich the Lestrange was. She lifted her robe up to her waist to avoid any contact with the vault’s content. She had learnt her lesson the hard way. It was dark, but the small light seeped through the opened door reflected beautifully against the glorious golden cup
She cursed herself for not being prepared. She should’ve brought a copy of the Hufflepuff’s cup and exchanged it now, without any hassle. Begrudgingly, she walked out of the vault and asked Griphook to send her back. “Let’s go back, Griphook.”
She was scowling when they got into the lobby, Obliviating him and the other goblins and guards at the front as she walked herself out of Gringotts. “Do your work per usual!” She yelled to them all before she pushed the entrance door in annoyance.
“What the hell, Hermione?” She berated herself, walking briskly away from the crooked building. “You should have known better!” She took a turn to avoid the rush of people. “No, you can’t do magic inside of the vault. The family magic could’ve traced you. Don’t take the risk, you fool.” She stomped in every steps. “Next time, be prepared. Next time, do—" she stopped her whines and steps abruptly when she noticed a suspicious movement behind her. When she turned, — wand out — she cursed the wild rats rummaging the bins. For a moment, Hermione thought she saw a man following her. “Fucking rats!” She shook her head and rested her back against the wall with her eyes shut tight. 100, 99, 97, 96,...
Hermione took out her cigarette, lit it up and took a long drag as her eyes roamed the alley, trying to make someone or something out of the dark area. She took another drag and nibbled her fag between her teeth.
"You know Granger, rather than wallowing in depression and self pity, you could celebrate this life we all appear to sharing this evening"
She bit the filter and vanished the small stick from her mouth. “Fuck it.” She muttered before she disapparated herself from the dirty place.
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1223 hours
8 September 1978
Ogden’s Place
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It didn’t take longer than a minute before Tiberius opened the door for her.
“Hermione,” he said, smiling at her with his wet hair as he smothered his shirt down.
She didn’t bother to greet him. She pressed herself hard against him, kissing him desperately, as though he was air and water and life itself. In a way, he was — her saving grace. She took off her robe and pushed him further towards his bedroom. Tiberius stopped her midway and leaned back to look at her questioningly, heaving from their short make out session.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he smirked when he saw her rolled her eyes, “but I need you to be sure.” He lifted her up and sat her on the small hallway table. His veiny hand traced her exposed arm up to her neck as he said in a deep voice, “Because, love, once you say yes, I don’t think I can stop fucking you.”
Hermione’s breath hitched when he wrapped his hand around her neck, biting her chin and tilting her head up with his thumb as he dragged his open mouth down to her throat. She pulled his hips closer to her and rolled her hips wantonly, rubbing her centre against his as she answered him, “I’m sure.”
He sucked on her throat hungrily and she shivered at the sensation. Moaning and slapping herself mentally for denying herself this pleasure for far too long. She pulled his shirt off and Tiberius groaned when he was forced to let go of her.
“I have no time for this, love,” he growled, pushing his pyjama pants down and pulling her jeans off. He got down to his knees, running his tongue along her thigh, shouldering her legs as he lapped on her waiting cunt.
It was jolting, so electrifying, and she shuddered from the intense pleasure that was the man’s tongue between her thighs. Her hands flapped awkwardly, looking for something to grab, to hold herself up. She scratched at the wall behind her before knocking everything off the table and gripping the edge deliriously. When that didn't work, she pulled her feet onto the table, holding onto her legs as she opened herself wider for him, grinning when he pulled her closer to the edge, his hands gripping at her hips as he continued to lick and suck at her.
"Tiberius," she whispered, needing to feel him deeper. She touched his hair, subconsciously drying his auburn locks as she ran her fingers through it.
He looked up at her, hunger in his eyes, kissing her thighs before straightening up.
He leaned into her heavily, the wait of his cock causing her to whimper. As she looked up at him, he chuckled, observing the lust blown wide in her eyes.
His fingers brushed up the backs of her thighs, pulling her arms to circle his neck before taking hold of her legs for himself, spreading her wider still.
"About time, huh?" He questioned, leaning in and pressing his lips against hers. Sucking at her tongue and nipping at her bottom lips, he let go of her thigh long enough to guide his cock in, rocking back and forth almost instantly.
The table rattled, her head banged against the wall, his thighs hit the table. They didn’t care. They had their eyes locked on each other. Their short breaths mangled together as they moaned and whispered each other’s name.
“Fuck! Please, Tiberius— Tie, faster,” she pleaded.
Tiberius moved her legs to rest on his shoulders and his hands now held each end of the small table, caging her. “All you gotta do is ask, love.”
He fucked her faster and harder and for the first time since she arrived in this time, she let herself completely lose all control and just enjoyed the feel of his cock inside of her wet cunt. “Faster! Oh, you’re gonna make me come so hard! So fucking good— Oh! I’m coming, I’m coming, Tie!”
“Fuck!” Tiberius grunted loudly and pumped even harder, his balls heavy against her with each thrust. He came just after she did, fingers bruising her skin.
She plopped her head back against the wall while Tiberius rested his forehead right beside her. His shaft still hard inside her, sheathed by their cum.
She turned to him and gave a weak smile. “I can’t believe I abstained myself from that.”
Tiberius chuckled, kissing her cheeks before he returned to the same spot again. “Worth the wait.”
Hermione hummed and smiled mischievously. “Round two?”
He gave her a boyish grin and Hermione swore her heart jumped out of her chest, seeing that on his glowing face.
“Round two,” he agreed, still grinning, his eyes never wavering from hers.
She let out a soft moan as he moved his hips slowly, grinding against her.
“You’re missing out, sweetheart.”
Hermione giggled over her moans as she recalled what Andromeda had said to her before. She smiled to herself in contentment, for at this moment with Tiberius, she finally felt so alive.