Chapter Text
“You,” hissed Hermione Granger, thrusting her wand out from underneath the folds of her robes. The frigid air of the Ministry’s Hall of Prophecy raised goosebumps on her forearm. She’d never have expected to end up back here, especially after the Ministry tightened its security following You-Know-Who’s last break-in.
Yet here she was, shivering among the hundreds of towering shelves full of dusty, glowing orbs.
She glared hard at the back of the familiar silhouette, reminding herself to keep a cool head. Harry was only a few aisles away; they had decided to split up to try and find the trespasser quickly. She just had to signal him without alarming the Slytherin… or anyone else who may have been lurking nearby. Though the Ward she had personally placed on the Hall had only sensed one intruder, she personally knew of several different ways to fool such a spell, and didn’t intend to lower her guard any time soon.
Draco Malfoy turned around, sighing. The sight of his face beneath an upturned Death Eater mask made her blood boil.
He drew his wand. “You weren’t supposed to be here, Granger."
“I figured you’d be on their side." Hermione's outstretched hand trembled. “But I didn’t think you’d actually be getting your hands dirty. Why on earth are you here?”
“Expelliarmus!” He hissed, a blue light emitting from the tip of his wand.
She gasped as her wand was plucked from her fingers. It flew through the air and into his waiting hand. Merlin! How had he cast that spell so quickly? Hermione Granger was suddenly at Draco Malfoy’s mercy. She watched him cautiously, taking a few steps back.
His typical grin was nowhere to be seen. Hermione latched onto this. Maybe she could stall until Harry or Ron stumbled upon them.
“What, Malfoy?” she pressed, “Not in the mood for a fight? How very out of character for you.”
“I have a mission.” He stated plainly, not taking the bait, “Where are Potter and Weasley?”
“They aren’t here,” she lied. “They’re in the—erm, Time Room looking for you.”
“Hm." Draco's eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you.”
With surprising speed—his wand still pointed at her—he crossed the space between them. She stumbled back. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, yanking her roughly toward him. She sucked in a breath to scream, but a gloved hand clamped firmly down on her mouth.
“You’re going to come with me." His grey eyes burned into hers. “You’re going to be my shield, and you’re going to keep your mouth shut.”
Hermione glared up at her captor, a spark of hatred flaring throughout her body. She realized then that she had never been so close to the young Malfoy, nor had she ever been touched by him. The thought of it made her skin crawl. His gloved hand was locked around her wrist, and she wondered if there was any way to get out of this mess.
“Do you understand? ” He spoke slowly, as if she was stupid.
She wanted to bite down onto his finger until her teeth tore through the glove and pierced his skin, but she only nodded.
“Good." He leaned back, not relinquishing his iron hold on her. “If you do exactly as I say, I won’t have to kill you.”
Usually, an outlandish threat like this would have made her burst into uncontrollable laughter, but now, under his deadly serious gaze, she didn't feel like laughing.
He was telling the truth.
A flash of Sirius’s pale face, only a few rooms away, disappearing forever behind the veil floated through her mind. She had to navigate this situation carefully, or she’d follow Sirius through a different kind of veil.
“Hermione?” Harry’s voice called.
Draco looked sharply towards his voice, crouching low and pulling Hermione with him.
“Did you find her?” She heard Ron ask, accompanied by cautious footsteps.
Her heart fluttered, they were getting closer!
“No.”
“Bloody hell, you think she’s been taken!?”
“Hermione? Where are you!?” Harry called out again, voice sharp with panic.
She itched to call out in response, but a sudden jab at her temple made her think twice. Draco’s wand was prodding pointedly against her skull. Hermione could practically feel the vibrations of the unforgivable curse waiting to be released upon her.
Draco yanked her up. “Not a word."
He dragged her down the aisle, and a realization slammed into her as she jostled about: this was the one chance to make noise without seeming like she meant to! Her feet fumbled beneath her and she dropped to her knees, landing painfully against the flagstone.
“You stupid mudblood,” Draco hissed, yanking her up and racing toward the exit.
“Harry!” Ron cried in the distance, “I heard something! Over there!”
“Hermione!?” Harry cried.
Draco turned sharply, yanking Hermione’s wrist painfully along the way as he dipped and dodged through the maze of glowing orbs. He bumped into one of them, knocking a prophecy from its place. It shattered on the floor, extinguishing the blue flame in a puff of smoke.
“She’s there! Someone has her!” Ron's wand illuminated Draco and Hermione's retreating forms.
“Fuck," Draco cursed.
A curse flew by them, grazing Hermione's hair. A scream escaped her as the orbs next to them exploded on impact.
“Ron! What the bloody hell are you doing?!” Harry cried behind them.
“Trying to stop him!”
“And kill her in the process?!”
Draco pulled her even closer. Once they were at the ancient door leading into the main corridor, the young Death Eater suddenly froze and spun on his toe. He maneuvered her in front of him, his wand pointed over her shoulder and at her friends.
“Don’t take another bloody step,” Draco ordered.
Harry and Ron skidded to a halt, eyes wide. “Malfoy!?"
“Boys, don’t worry about me." Hermione battled to keep her voice even. "Go get help."
“You’re barmy!” Ron shook his head.
“We aren’t leaving you here with him,” Harry took a determined step toward her.
“Harry, no!” She sucked in a distressed breath as the tip of Draco's wand dug into the back of her skull.
Harry froze in his tracks.
“Drop your wands or say goodbye,” Draco warned. “I’m not afraid to kill her.”
A tense moment passed. The air was thick the boys sized up the severity of the situation.
“Bloody hell,” Ron cursed under his breath.
He looked at Harry. After another few moments, the two boys let their wands clatter loudly to the stone floor, powerless to do anything at the cost of their best friend’s life.
“Kick them away,” Draco demanded. “NOW!”
They reluctantly kicked their wands, which rolled away haplessly into the darkness.
Draco didn't waste any time, yanking her out into the corridor. She tried desperately to break away, but Draco was, as it turned out, much stronger than he looked. With her wand she knew she'd be able to free herself without a struggle, but, this? Brutish strength? This iron hold? She was out of her comfort zone.
He dragged her down the dark corridor, the illuminated tip on his wand leading the way. Hermione's eyes grew wide as they stopped at a wide, towering door.
"Alohomora!” Draco cast hurriedly. The ancient door opened with a sound strangely akin to a death rattle. “In here."
Hermione’s heart dropped as he pushed her into inky darkness. The Department of Mysteries was the most dangerous place a wizard or witch could find themselves in. Each room was filled with dark magic, forbidden artifacts, and—more often than not—certain death.
“This is a bad idea,” she hissed as the door shut behind them.
He snuffed out his lumos, and they plunged into darkness. Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She could practically taste the magic in this room. It was deep and ancient, more powerful than she had ever felt. She could feel it humming through her blood.
“Be quiet, Granger." His hand clamped back down on her mouth.
She strained hard to listen past the pounding of her heart. She sat still, his wand still digging painfully into her temple, and her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Soon, she was able to make out shapes glowing dimly. There were strange-looking structures, looking almost like… oversized birdbaths? Like the kind that her mother had placed in the garden for the little finches that lived in the area to cool off in.
Were they pensieves?
They lined the room, which stretched much farther than she had expected. The room wasn’t small at all. It was long and narrow—like a coffin.
She had to do something. This was bad. Her resolve hardened, and she bit down on Draco’s hand. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
He threw her roughly away. “Fuck! Filthy Mudblood! You bloody BIT ME!”
She wasn’t sure what had compelled her to do it, but every instinct had been screaming at her to get out of there right then and there… Even if that meant taking the chance that Malfoy would hurt her, she somehow felt that was still the safer option.
“I heard something! In there!”
Ron’s voice. A small triumphant smile graced her lips. Draco wasn't going to win. Not today.
As the boys’ footsteps approached, Draco spun away from Hermione to cast a flurry of spells to lock and reinforce the door. Knowing that time was of the essence, Hermione launched herself at Draco. A zing of triumph shot through her as her hand found his wand, but she was promptly knocked back, the smooth wood slipping from her grasp. Putting a safe amount of distance between them, Draco slipped her own wand out of his sleeve. He brandished it at her.
Behind them, the ancient door gave a sudden lurch, accompanied by a low grunt. Ron was throwing himself against the hard wood.
Hermione shouted, “Quick! He’s used a locking charm and an immovab-”
As soon as he realized what Hermione was saying, Draco leaped toward her in an attempt to cover her mouth once more. In the darkness, he tripped over an uneven stone on the floor and barreled into her. Her shout was cut short with a gasp.
Off-balance, Draco’s momentum was enough to send both of them the few meters remaining to the nearest waist-high basin. Hermione pushed back against him, attempting in vain to right herself, but Draco had a death grip on her robes. With one final stumble, he fell backward into the wide basin, yanking her back with him. With a last gasp, Hermione fell headlong after Draco into the large container of murky liquid.
The expected splash never came. Instead, they tumbled into empty air. Hermione was overcome with a sense of vertigo as all the oxygen rushed from her lungs.
But the battle for their wands didn't stop, not even in mid-air. They grabbed at one another as they fell head over heels. Amidst their battle, Hermione saw flashes of light and shadow in the foggy air, and heard random snippets of sound. What was happening? Where were they going? What had Draco Malfoy gotten them into? Screams and whispers poured into her ears. Suddenly, Draco’s iron grip on her released. He was sucked roughly away from her—and with him, both of their wands.
She squeezed her eyes shut as the whirling colors and sounds and rushing wind spun around her faster and faster until it was a cacophony of sensory overload. Oh Merlin, she was going to vomit!
. . .
The world was silent. Ears ringing, she opened her eyes, blinking rapidly as she attempted to dispel the fuzzy bits of her vision and reorient herself. It took a few moments for her to register that she was in the back of a car. The white and black interior smelled new, like fresh leather and new rubber. She could tell right away that this car was expensive.
But it wasn’t just any sort of fancy car, she realized, blinking away the spots from her vision… This was one of those classic cars from the start of the industrial revolution. One of the first models ever produced, she realized. But what business did an outdated car like this have being connected to a basin in the Ministry of Magic? Had it been a Portkey?
And more importantly, where was Draco Malfoy with their wands?
The car door next to her opened, and she jumped in her seat.
“Come on now,” a voice came.
Hermione looked down to find a stern-looking woman. Her hair was pinned back into tight, decorative curls beneath a cartoonishly large lilac hat. Despite the impatient look the woman was giving her, Hermione didn’t respond... She was too busy trying to wrap her brain around the woman’s appearance. Her dress was peculiar, and not just a Wizarding World peculiar. As in, completely irrational, given the current year.
“I’m not going to ask again,” the woman said.
“I’m— I'm not feeling very well." The saliva was turning sour on her tongue, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.
“What are you doing?! You’re smudging your lipstick!”
Hermione glanced at her fingers, noting distantly that they were covered in a vibrant red shade. I don’t remember putting on lipstick, she thought.
“What’s all this?” A girl with kind eyes and a white bonnet popped into view next to the older woman. A spark of concern lit her freckled face. "Are you feeling alright, Annabelle?”
“She’s fine, Lottie. Go tend to our luggage. Make sure none of those degenerates steal anything.”
“Yes, Madam." Lottie nodded before dashing away.
Hermione watched her go, wondering who Annabelle was.
“To be on a ship for seven days with so many of those people." The woman shook out a handkerchief and dabbed dramatically at her forehead.
The words came into sharp focus. Hermione asked, “To be on a what ?”
“For heaven’s sake, Annabelle, what has gotten into you?” The lady hissed, reaching out to pull Hermione to the street.
As her feet landed on the cobblestone street, the salty smell of the ocean along with the acidic punch of gasoline, and new paint blended together to create the strangest scent. Her stomach churned.
"Annabelle!" She snapped again.
Hermione's head spun. Why was everyone calling her Annabelle?
A blaring horn rang out, so loud it rattled her bones. She turned her head in alarm and found herself staring up at the largest, grandest ship she had ever seen.
The black and white hull glimmered in the sunlight, the four golden smokestacks jutting proudly into the clear blue sky. She zeroed in on the hundreds of people lining the deck, waving and smiling. Her heart stopped. She knew this ship. How could she not? She had grown up in muggle London, and the image of this ship had been burned into her brain from all of the books she read in her childhood.
It was the RMS Titanic. The ship that was doomed to sink on the fourth day of its seven-day journey.
The reality hit her like a truck. She was about to board the Titanic. She swayed on her feet, the world going dark and sparkly around her.
“Oh, heavens. She’s going to faint. Horace, help me get her back into the car,” a voice said.
Hermione dimly registered a tall, looming figure of a man approach her. It was then that the contents of her stomach from that night’s dinner found their way up her esophagus and onto her pretty, unfamiliar shoes. Shortly after, she lost conciousness.
. . .
Draco Malfoy had never been a particularly claustrophobic person, but as he found himself being pushed roughly along a never-ending line of people, he couldn't fucking breathe. He'd been violently dropped into this strange, too busy, too loud world. The sun was garishly bright, the air salty and metallic.
Revolting.
Where on earth was he? What forsaken place had that basin spat them out into? And moreover: where had Granger gone?
A massive ship towered beside them. He glared up at it, squinting in the sunlight. It was hard to get a good view of the muggle monstrosity while standing so close.
He looked around him, trying to gauge where—or ratherm when—he had found himself. The muggles around him wore strange clothing made of coarse material. Clearly nothing from his own era. He had seen the muggles that lived their day to day in London, they wore rubber sneakers, denim trousers and loose tops beneath shiny coats. A tacky look, but also clearly recognizable.
These clothes, on the other hand, these people… they were different.
Draco stood upon a coal-dusted port, in leather shoes that were two sizes too big. He looked at his hands and gasped, they were covered in calluses. The typically white crescents of his nails were also caked in grime. He had absolutely not fallen into the portal with hands like this. Someone behind him shoved forward, almost knocking Malfoy into the family in front of him.
“Give me some bloody space,” he growled and shoved back at the family behind him.
They drew their luggage in tight, glowering. He wrinkled his nose at their odd smell. A strong, heavy hand pressed into his shoulder. He turned his glare to the stranger who dared touch him: a towering man with a thick, red beard glared down at him.
“I don’t think yeh should be talking to people like that, Nicholas." His Scottish lilt rendered the words almost indecipherable.
Draco pulled away. “Don’t touch me, you freak."
"Are yeh feeling alright?” The man studied Draco’s face. “Yer not getting sick, are yeh?”
“Leave me the hell alone,” Draco snapped, pawing his unfamiliar clothes for his wand—
—nothing. It wasn't in his pocket, or in his sleeve.
That was when the hot whips of panic began. Granger must have taken them from him in their tussle after they fell in. This is all because she and her bloody friends found him lurking around the Hall of Prophecies. How she had even known he was there, he didn't know. He clenched and unclenched his fists... the second he found her—
“—Nicholas." Another heavy hand on his shoulder. In any other case of a stranger handling him so roughly, Draco would have cursed him. But he didn’t have a wand, and this man was more of a beast, really. He was quite taller than him—his hands eclipsing Draco’s entire skull.
“If they think yer sick, they’ll turn yeh away. They’ll turn us away. All of the work we’ve done will’ve been fer nothin’,” the man stressed, and Draco blinked.
“What are you on about?” He snapped. “You aren’t making any sense.”
“The Titanic, lad,” the man said, rapping his thick knuckles on Draco’s forehead. “We’re going teh the New World. Remember?”
Draco's mind was rattling. The name Titanic rang a bell, but he wasn’t sure why. He had never cared much for Muggle Studies, in fact, the whole class had been a joke to him. In fact, he he had paid some Ravenclaw tosser to do his assignments.
“The New World?” He asked.
“America, mate." A grin stretched across the man's sooty face. “We’re goin’ teh make our fortune.”
Draco gazed up at the towering ship that he would be aboard in a few minutes. He was going to America? Just when he thought this couldn't get any worse.
“Brilliant,” Draco sighed.