To a Better End

Chapter 43

January 24th 1977

Antonin stopped coming inside the shop, but he didn't stop his daily visits. He walked by, looking into the window every day. He still desired to make sure that she was safe. Every day she watches his inner turmoil, fighting the urge to go inside and grab her. But there was an understanding. They couldn't. They couldn't do all the things they wanted.

When she wasn't at the shop, she was with Bella, practising spells or having drinks. The witches were at ease with each other, as though they were truly family. Hermione often found herself viewing Bellatrix as sweet and caring.

On occasion, Hermione would catch even Walburga smiling as she let her into the house, offering her a cup of tea or something stronger depending on the hour she was at Grimmauld Place.

Hermione was exhausted. She had barely slept, tossing and turning the whole night. Something felt off, and she couldn't piece any of it together. She felt dead on her feet but still had to keep the facade of the shopkeeper.

Hermione was filling out order forms when it hit her. There was a shift in her mind so strong she nearly collapsed. She gripped the counter she was standing at, leaning forward. She squeezed her eyes shut and a flash of memories invaded her.

"Don't you dare turn your fucking back on me, you bitch. Cru-"

"Looks like we don't have common goals. Confringo!"

"Protego! You don't have to do this."

The images swirled in her brain, almost as if they were rearranging. She was duelling, throwing hexes and blocking everything that came her way. Nott stirred in the corner of her eye. She was ready to turn, and then behind him, she saw Draco. But that couldn't be right, because he was on the other side of her. She replayed this memory in her mind more times than she wanted to admit.

She didn't even have time to turn around to reassess the scene. The new Draco threw golden sand in the air, speaking a single word.

" Duratus ."

Everything stopped. She stopped. Thoughts stopped.

A warm hand touched her cheek, and she heard, " Vide ."

Draco stood in front of her. She still couldn't move, but she could see and think. He hadn't removed his hand. Instead, he caressed her cheek with a look in his eyes. It was caring and protective. She didn't know why he was doing this, but she knew it was real. She knew he was making something better.

Better.

"To a better end."

She looked up at him, questioning. She wanted to ask him a question, but she couldn't move her tongue.

"I'm fixing it, Granger."

Hermione couldn't think about what it was that needed fixing. She was only focused on the hand on her cheek. Draco stepped away, leaving her cheek cold, and stepped to Nott, leaning over him like a predator. His lips moved but the words were inaudible. He looked menacing, threatening. Even as he stood and walked over to Nott's wand, Draco looked graceful. His boot came up and then crashed down on his wand. The crunch was so loud that it would be forever imprinted on her memory.

She saw him choreograph everything. Moving limbs. Loosening grips on wands. Moving the hand of the frozen Draco to close around Hermione's. He whispered into his own ear. Draco talking to Draco. It was a sight.

He stepped back to her, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I'll be seeing you soon, Granger."

Hermione closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she was back at the shop, still gripping the counter. No one was here. She was alone. But the memory. Was it possible? Did he just change the past that they were both a part of? Did he avoid a paradox?