A Second Channe Through Time

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Page count: 13

Malfoy Manor – Wednesday 17th March 1982

It had been five days since Hermione's torture at the hands of Dumbledore.

Five days since she'd been transferred from St. Mungo's to Malfoy Manor and placed under the care of the Malfoy family's private Healer.

Five days of her boyfriends' suffocating protectiveness and an outright refusal to leave her bedside.

Five days of constant chaperones.

Five days of bed rest.

And—most infuriatingly—the Healer had declared her perfectly healthy two days ago.

The entire Weasley clan had visited during her forced confinement. She wasn't even sure how, considering the risks of being caught alongside her, but they'd all insisted they'd been careful. Bill had practically smothered her with affection, Charlie had babbled happily about dragons, the twins had mourned the fact that she wasn't well enough to create fireworks with them, and Percy had observed her silently from behind a book. Their presence had been a welcome distraction.

But now? Now she was losing her mind.

Despite the size of Sirius' apartment, she'd always had space—corners to retreat to, places to breathe. But at the Manor? They wouldn't even let her go to the bathroom without someone hovering outside the door. The moment she emerged, she was ushered straight back into bed as though she were made of spun sugar. They'd practically fed her by hand, citing "magical strain" and "fragile recovery."

Their reward had been several hours of stinging hex marks.

She wasn't sure there were words in the English language to properly articulate her current level of irritation.

Dumbledore hadn't even been there that long. Half an hour at most. He'd only subjected her to it twice—awful, yes, but she'd endured Bellatrix Lestrange. Bella was infinitely more skilled in the art of torture. Hermione had survived that. She could certainly survive this.

What she couldn't survive was another minute of being coddled like an invalid.

She needed space. Fresh air. A moment where she could exist without someone breathing down her neck. She needed to be alone—properly alone—for the first time in almost a week. And so, a plan formed.

Her gaze drifted to the House-elf stationed in her room—a guard, apparently, for when a human babysitter wasn't present. She was never alone. Ever.

Well. That was about to change.

"Gultri?" she called gently.

The tiny elf snapped to attention so quickly his ears nearly smacked the floor. "What cans Gultri dos for the Miss?"

Hermione offered her sweetest smile. "I would love a cup of tea, if you wouldn't mind."

His entire face lit up. "Yes, Miss! Gultri bes back!" And with a pop, he disappeared.

The second he vanished, Hermione exhaled sharply. "Right," she muttered. "Time to make a break for it."

She flung the blankets aside and swung her legs out of bed, crossing quickly to the open window. A warm spring breeze wafted in, carrying the scent of grass and budding flowers. She inhaled deeply—properly—for the first time in days.

Then she got to work.

With a flick of her wand, she conjured a sturdy rope, securing it tightly to the stone railing of the balcony above her room. She climbed out onto the ledge, braced her feet, and lowered herself hand-over-hand down the wall.