"How long will she be away?" Flynn asked.

Tom had disappeared to 'study', though his focus was rarely on O.W.L.s revision unless Hermione was upstairs with the three of them. In her absence, their formerly cold and calculating leader was more often absent-minded and tense compared to how he behaved prior to knowing the young witch. The changes, the affliction, that seemed to worsen over time was reaching a peak. How Tom was likely to handle things from there on would ultimately make or break the situation.

And no matter what they did, Birdie would be the one to suffer the consequences of Tom's emotional ineptitude.

Which was why when Tom quietly announced his intent to go study, Flynn made sure he was appropriately sheepish as he brought up needing to visit the library for Charms. Naturally, Abraxas was quick to offer his assistance given his proclivity towards the subject matter, and Tom had been wholly indifferent to their altered course since they were still preparing for exams.

"A week or so," Abraxas answered. "I can't help but assume he's more agitated about it than he seemed when he told me."

Flynn raised his brows. "After what we walked in on yesterday…"

Abraxas snorted.

They joined Tom and Hermione in the Room of Requirement the day before only to find both of them curled up together on their couch – fast asleep. Of course, Tom jolted awake at the sound of the door, though he recovered quickly enough to prevent the witch at his side from waking up as well.

Flynn and Abraxas had occluded to the best of their abilities, successfully hiding their befuddlement and shock from Tom. But until then, they hadn't realized just how deeply Hermione had wormed her way under Tom's social barriers. Nor had they realized the true depths of Tom's denial until Hermione woke up an hour later and the pair resumed their cycle of study-bicker(flirt?)-get annoyed(Hermione)-clumsily smooth things over again(Tom)-repeat.

"She's certainly brought out a side of him that I didn't think existed," said Abraxas. "She's turned him into a second year– taking the piss out of his crush every chance he gets instead of telling her she's pretty and kissing her hand."

Flynn hummed in amused agreement. "She probably thinks he's toying with her at this point. I thought he was gonna kiss her twice."

"Merlin," Abraxas breathed, trying to suppress his laughter, "Can you imagine if she kissed him? She'd break his brain for at least a week."

"A week? I'd think he'd be out of commission for at least a month."

Abraxas's eyes were as wide as his smile when he finally turned away from the bookshelf he was pretending to browse in favor of staring at Flynn. "You haven't noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

"Tom's been taking longer showers recently…"

A beat of silence fell between them as Flynn processed everything Abraxas wasn't saying.

"No way…" Flynn said. His cheeks began to hurt from grinning so hard. "You think he's…"

"He must be," Abraxas insisted. "And the best part? I've been deconstructing vigilio to figure out what intent he used to make it work. There's protective magic threaded into it that seems to be mirroring privacy wards and the spell isn't stable enough to function without it. He genuinely made it with the intent to protect her, not spy on her. That's why it didn't work when he woke up from his nightmare."

"Because she was still in the middle of getting dressed…" Flynn whispered. "Which means he's not being an absolute degenerate and using vigilio in his longer-than-usual-showers. He couldn't if he tried."

"Exactly."

Flynn rubbed his hands over his face, trying to physically wipe his smile away to no avail. "Oh how the mighty have fallen. This is the same bastard who crucioed the lot of us at the start of the year when the Black cousins came back fit and we were all tripping over ourselves for a week."

"Pity half of them are all but blatantly fucking each other," Abraxas muttered. "I'm not sure how Orion puts up with Walburga's nonsense. She's twice as concerned about blood supremacy as he is."

"He likes her appetite," Flynn said carefully.

Abraxas's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Good for him…I think? Though I'd wager he missed out on better opportunities."

Flynn shrugged. "A damn shame."

Abraxas blinked at Flynn, his expression unreadable. Flynn stared him down, brow arched.

"Suppose it's for the best," Abraxas said eventually.

"Is it?" Flynn asked. "How so?"

Abraxas shrugged and began slowly making his way down the aisle, browsing once more. "I'm not sure our friendship could've withstood the strain of vying for the same person's favor. Not to mention the annoyance we would've garnered from Tom in the process."

Flynn started at Abraxas's back, suddenly unable to form a single coherent thought.

"I, um," he stumbled, desperate to say anything, "I didn't realize…"

"Not much of a point broadcasting it is there?" Abraxas said with a sigh. He reached for a book on the highest shelf and in doing so drew Flynn's notice to the dexterous fingers that drove him mad in Potions, to the forearms he trained himself to ignore after taking a bludger to the side in fourth year during quidditch practice.

In fact, Flynn had been so willingly distracted by Birdie joining the cast, he didn't even realize that he'd been successfully ignoring his exceedingly inconvenient feelings for Abraxas for weeks now.

Of course, learning that Abraxas shared his sexual fluidity had knocked Flynn completely off the broomstick in that regard.

"Most of us are duty bound to marry a witch and produce heirs regardless of our preferences," Abraxas continued. "It's not like we don't already know our grandsons names."

"Right," Flynn croaked, quietly clearing his throat. "Suppose I hadn't factored those details in really. Birdie hasn't mentioned any of us having spouses."

"With any luck we're free of whoever we make children with in her time," Abraxas muttered. "It's a happy thought, isn't it? Freedom?"

"Just two single, eternally young, sexually deviant widowers," Flynn mused.

Abraxas threw a grin over his shoulder that made Flynn's chest tight. "A very happy thought."

Bittersweet, Flynn corrected in the privacy of his mind. If they were widowed bachelors that meant nothing permanent would ever come of the feelings Flynn had been trying to ignore for months. Was that why he supposedly still adored Birdie in the future? Would they bond over their unrequited affection for two of the most brilliantly oblivious wizards in England?

The longer he considered it, the more sound the idea seemed. Maybe he should try to strengthen his camaraderie with Birdie further, especially since Tom was spiraling in ways that would likely cause friction and confusion between the pair. But if she let him, then maybe Flynn could offer insight into Tom and help soften the blows, or at least offer enough support that she wouldn't stay down for very long in such circumstances.

"You know," Flynn said sometime later, as they left the library. "I was thinking…with the whole future immortality thing…we really don't know what that means for our futures, do we?"

"How do you mean?" Abraxas asked.

"Well, say Tom never acts on his Birdie obsession. Say he gets over it. She'd move on as well."

"Both of which have nothing to do with us," said Abraxas.

Flynn let out an annoyed sigh that Abraxas matched with a chuckle. "I'm fucking with you, mate," said Abraxas. "You think you might have a shot if Tom drops the quaffle."

Flynn's cheeks warmed. "Theoretically, all three of us are immortal and could be waiting for her at the end of things. The time loop can't go on forever and we wouldn't have been so eager to see her again unless none of us had seen her in ages."

"Didn't think you liked her that much, Flynn," Abraxas said blandly.

"Bugger off. None of the blokes I'd aim for are available and she's the only genuine witch in our present acquaintance."

"I'll give you that one," Abraxas said, his previously teasing tone shifting to something earnest. "Her priorities are…refreshing. She doesn't have ulterior motives aside from trying to be as intelligent and capable as possible."

"Benevolent ambition as opposed to the 'every witch for herself' mindset the sacred twenty-eight teach their daughters," Flynn added.

Abraxas hummed his agreement. "And the poor thing is stuck under Tom's wing."

Flynn shook his head in befuddlement. "She's either the least lucky witch on the planet or she bathes in felix felicis."

Abraxas's laughter echoed in Flynn's chest and he smiled through the pain.

Proserpine Park delighted and awed her parents, to Tom's amusement and Hermione's embarrassment.

"I think we ought to call him 'Darcy' from now on, dear," Jean said as the blended human and house elf staff set the table for breakfast on Christmas morning. "Honestly, Tom, how did you amass all of this?"

Tom took a sip of tea, though the action did little to hide his smirk, and briefly glanced in Hermione's direction before answering.

She rolled her eyes. Once a smug prick, always a smug prick.

"My birth mother's family was a crumbling house of the old wizarding aristocracy," Tom said smoothly. "My adoptive mother helped me prove my ties to the family, liquidate the few assets remaining, and start reviving the property when I was younger. With Madame Malfoy's assistance, I had the old manor torn down and built this one over the course of a few years. Magic, of course, makes property much easier to maintain."

"What do you do with all this space?" David asked. "Surely you can't use every room every day."

"I don't," Tom agreed. "However when the floor plans for this estate were being drafted, I was…heavily encouraged to consider the needs of any family my adopted mother thinks I'll eventually want to create, thus there are several mostly empty wings of the house that would function as family suites…"

"You sound determined to stay a bachelor," David said with a chuckle. "Don't you get lonely in this giant house?"

"I have several pets," Tom said. "Though they're more comfortable in their enclosure than roaming through the house."

Hermione squinted at that revelation and watched Tom's expression fail to embrace neutrality as she struggled to imagine him surrounded by any assortment of furry creatures.

"Oh," she said, rolling her eyes as the realization came to her. "Duh. How many?"

Tom's eyes drifted to the ceiling in thought. "Six now? Unless Nagini found another stray since I fed them last."

"Six snakes?" Hermione repeated.

Tom flashed her a cheeky grin. "Want to meet them?"

Her parents joined Tom in laughing at her pinched expression.

"Maybe another day, hm?" Tom teased. "Cherie gave you the shivers, as I recall... And the youngest snake is rather…excitable. She forgets humans aren't wired to find snakes safe and has allegedly scared Brax twice as a result."

Hermione tried to keep her composure, but the mental image of a small snake getting the better of Abraxas was funnier the longer she thought about it, until she was covering her mouth with her hands in a futile attempt to resign in her amusement.

"It was very funny," Tom assured her. "After our Christmas gathering, if there's time tonight, maybe I'll show you the memory."

With a heavy sigh, the silver of the memory began to fade, and Hermione pulled her head out of Tom's pensieve. Her eyes were sore from tears that wouldn't shed, frustration that couldn't find an outlet. How ironic it was that she had taken up Tom's mantle of torturing herself with their shared past.

Falling prey to her own weakness wasn't commonplace for her. Not anymore. It had been years since she'd made such a…sentimental decision. She knew better than to look too closely into the past. There was a bittersweetness tainting it all, even though her plan was set into motion.

The memory of that Christmas was almost unchanged. The new version of herself, the new timeline, was still too new to cause major disturbances in the fabric of reality. Or, at least, no disturbances she wouldn't be able to settle for a while longer. There was now a version of herself in existence without an obscurus, a version of herself free from the taint of a parasite that she'd originally been unaware of until the day it took hold. The worst day of her life, for more reasons than one.

But in the new version of her history, that day would not exist. It couldn't exist the same way with the obscurus extracted. It would happen another way, a less life-altering way. All potential for future happiness wouldn't be lost in her fourth year.

Not that she cared for her own sake.

With a shake of her head to clear it, Hermione set to work getting Tom's home office back in proper order and erasing all evidence of her being there. He would be home soon, she was certain, and she needed time to reorient her masks and occlumency shields.

The hardest part of her plan was making sure the Tom of her present didn't become aware of his changing memories while she waited for the day the time magic destabilized. If he knew she was changing things, after how much they argued about her plan before she implemented it in secret, it would all be for nothing. Both timelines would be destroyed, she was certain. He'd never let her throw this one away or accept that he would be fine even if it fell to pieces with her in it. She was the only one who would know anything happened, the only one who would experience the breaking of their chord of time, and the obscurus free woman that young girl she'd just seen would grow into? She would tie the knot securing the new past in place to create the future they deserved. She would have a chance to live.

Hermione left Tom's office, tugged up the edge of the button-up she wore —Floren's today, she had little interest in Tom's that morning— and lightly scratched over the bandages there. Tom told her a half-truth about her injuries this time. She lost control, apparently glass had been nearby, and when the obscurus receded, she'd been on her back in a puddle of glass and blood. Floren's lip was cut. Tom looked almost as bad as she did.

The wounds ached, but they were far from the worst she'd received in one of her episodes.

Her pajama bottoms were her own, though oversized. While some of the suites in Proserpine Park were carpeted, most of the hallways and larger areas were marble or hardwood flooring, so the extra cotton around her feet helped shelter her from the cold.

Floren met her as she rounded a corner and smiled when he saw her.

"Hello, love," he said. "I wondered where you'd gotten off to."

She walked forward into the gentle warmth of his embrace. "Just walking," she replied. "Passing the time."

His arms wrapped around her. His lips pressed against her head. For a moment, the winter of twenty-thirteen left her mind.

But only for a moment.

She felt the wards shift as she pulled back from him. Floren's expression pinched and his eyes hardened, but he didn't say a word.

Tom was home.

She passed him, pulling her large outer robe more tightly around herself as she continued down the hall in the general direction of the entryway. Tom would reach her far before she reached that part of the house, massive as it was, but she didn't have the energy to turn the other way and make him hunt for her today. Doing so wouldn't make seeing him more bearable or pleasant for either of them.

Much like Floren, she walked into his embrace when he came to her, but she never lifted her eyes.

"You look pretty," he said.

She snorted. She was a mess. Oversized and mismatched pajamas. She hadn't bothered with her hair, throwing it back in a haphazard bun despite the hair scarves left on her vanity that morning. (An attempted peace offering, most likely, but all it did was remind her of a time long past.)

"Not funny," she murmured.

"It wasn't a joke," was his reply.

He wanted her to look at him, she knew. To meet his gaze with tired indignation, to show him she was still the girl he'd fallen for once upon a time.

But she wasn't. He knew that as well as she did. That version of her was gone.

I'll give her back to you, she promised in the safety and silence of her own mind. This isn't the life we had in mind.

He tensed, his hands sliding to rest possessively at her waist, rather than coiled lovingly around her back.

"Tom."

"Floren."

"Boys," she sighed, more out of habit than expecting them to be anything beyond coldly-civil.

Tom kissed her temple. "Our wands are away, Dove, don't fret."

"She can assess the situation for herself," Floren snapped. "She hasn't needed your coddling all day and she certainly doesn't need it now."

Hermione sighed again, but stayed silent. Tom's robed shoulder was comfortable against her cheek, and despite her gaze remaining fixed on the wallpaper, she stared at it unseeing.

"There's a difference between coddling and communicating."

"And a difference between communicating and condescending. Don't talk to her like she's a fucking baby."

"I didn't."

"You always do, old man."

She tuned them out. Listening to their arguments would only increase her chances of having another episode, and prolong the tension in the house. Not that 'peace' was very pleasant either, but she preferred them silently detesting one another over the bickering that quickly escalated into vicious verbal attacks.

The arguments always ended about the same way. Floren would insist that Tom was the last person in the world who should be treating her like glass. Tom would remind Floren that she was an obscurial, which was a condition they all had to respect and show deference to for her health as well as their own. Floren would lighten his tone and ask who was responsible for her condition.

Tom either chose silence to prevent setting off Hermione's precarious situation or drew his wand. Neither option generally ended well.

She lived in constant fear of losing control of the parasite attached to her magic, Floren lived in constant fear of her wellbeing and safety, and Tom spent most of his time and energy trying to research a way to remove a fully anchored obscurus without killing its host.

There were none.

Tom was too stubborn to give up that hope, of course. That would mean accepting his own failure to prevent history from repeating without destroying time. That would mean accepting defeat. Out of the question, in his eyes.

In a few more months, she could give them the future they should've had. She could correct the missteps they'd taken and ensure a happier existence for all of them. There was a world where her relationship with Tom wasn't materially damaged by him being forced to let her become an obscurus. There was a world where Floren Avery never loved her, never chose to bind himself to her in a futile effort to burn the parasite out of her magic, and never wound up caught in their misery.

Just a few more months… then she could fix everything.

A/N: I procrastinated tf out of posting this chapter, not because I didn't want to, but because to ME it feels like one of those crowd-dividing chapters? Maybe it's not. I got some encouragement from a friend (I see you, Ryn) and twitter so you know. Thank them for this going up tonight. :))