Can't run from time

(Violence and Abuse warning..)

It started small.

Books going missing from her bag. Her name whispered in places too empty for echoes. Candles flickering when she walked by — not all of them, just enough to notice. Enough to make her question if it was real.

Hermione hadn't seen Draco since the funeral. Not really. A passing glance in the Great Hall. His eyes didn't meet hers. She was used to the cold shoulder from Harry and Ron now, but not from him. Not after everything. Not after Abraxa—

She closed the thought like slamming a book shut.

Even the library didn't feel safe anymore. Once her sanctuary, now it felt... watched. There were moments — hours, even — she couldn't remember. She'd blink and she'd be in her dormitory, books open in front of her. Her hands ink-stained. Her chest tight.

---

That night, she couldn't sleep. Again.She sat by the window in the Gryffindor common room, wrapped in her robe, bare feet against the cold floor. The fire had burned low. Just embers now.

The stars outside the window were blurry. Like they were moving. Like they were... coming closer.

Her head dropped for a moment — sleep nipping at her despite the fear crawling in her ribs.When she looked up again... she wasn't in Gryffindor Tower.

She was standing in a hallway — no, not even a hallway. Stone. Dark. Endless. Her feet were bare. The ground was cold.

Her throat went dry. She spun around.

The shadows moved before she did.

 "So predictable," a voice echoed behind her. "You always were... painfully...human."

She turned sharply — and there he was.

Voldemort.

Not the twisted, snake-faced thing she remembered from the war. But the *almost* man — the strange in-between that Tom had been turning into. A face too smooth. Eyes too sharp. Presence too heavy.

He didn't raise his wand.

He didn't need to.

 "Time is such a delicate thing, Hermione," he said softly, circling her. "One little ripple, and the whole world shifts. I warned you, didn't I? But you... couldn't resist him..couldn't resist the charms of little Tom"

His hand grazed her jaw — not gently. Not lovingly. Like a puppeteer testing the strings of a doll. "Tell me. Was it the charm? The tragedy? Or did you just want someone who made you feel... special?"

She flinched, but held her ground. "Go Away.LEAVE ME ALONE"