rang in the silence of the night, hoarse with sleep yet alert in tone if not knowing.

"Looking for this?"

Margaret's heart jumped to her throat, her eyes shutting involuntarily as she froze in her kneeling position. Slowly tilting her head, she opened her eyes to meet the grey ones which were lighter than usual under the moonlight; before moving to the small book that he held, titled Toujours Pur: Le Terre.

Seeing his other hand inching towards his wand next to the pillow, Margaret shook her head with a pleading glance.

"Please don't," she whispers.

He paused, staring at her blankly before looking down at his opened bag. "One mustn't touch what isn't theirs, Xenakis."

She raised a brow, glancing at the book. "You're the one to talk."

Goyle let out another mighty snore, dragging both their attention towards him. Draco scowled and, in one swift movement, pushed away his blanket, grabbed his wand and got to his feet.

"Follow me," he commands as Margaret got up as well, closing the briefcase that was his school bag. Peeking out of the curtain and making sure Madam Pomfrey was still in her office, he made a move to slip out before Margaret stopped him.

"I thought you were injured?" she mocks slightly, looking at his bandaged calf. Draco glared at her, making her roll her eyes. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Put on your slippers, at least, the ground's cold."

He gave her an odd look that said 'are you serious?' She shrugged, brushing past him and out of the curtain.

Draco followed her out of the hospital wing quietly after having stuffed his pillow under the blanket and closing the curtains around his bed to make it look like he was sleeping. In the seventh-floor hallway just opposite the Prefects' bathroom, Margaret stood, tensed, as he came to stand next to her a good three feet away.

She smirked slightly to see him wearing slippers but pushed the humour to the back of her mind. This was not the time.

"I want it back, Draco," she says firmly, taken aback when he simply holds the book out to her. "W- Wait, what?"

Draco watched her from the corner of his eyes. "You said you wanted it. Then go ahead, take it."

"You're just going to... give it to me?" she questions suspiciously, shifting slightly away from the book so that it would not touch her.

"Honestly, Xenakis, make up your mind. Do you want it or not?"

"Of course, I- I do; it's just..."

"I mean, it is quite an interesting read," he says casually.

Her eyes snap up to his face, startled. She opened her mind to see if he was lying, finding out that he wasn't. So he could read it!

"Yeah, it is," she responds, masking her surprise. "That's why I want it."

"I don't blame you," he shrugs. "I mean, I would want my family tree back too-"

This time, Margaret could not hide her astonishment. He was still not lying.

"-but then again, I wouldn't be so irresponsible to hide it under a shelf in a place open to students. Granted, the Restricted Section is only open to sixth and-"

"What else did you read?" she interrupts accusingly. "Why would you when you can clearly see on the cover that it's written by a Xenakis hence it belongs to a Xenakis-"

Draco chuckled, cutting her off. He flipped through the side of the pages using his thumb as though it was no big deal.

"I was merely curious as too why you seemed so... afraid of it," he applies a delicate stress on the word.

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Satisfaction brought it back. Good thing I can read French, eh?" he smirks, shooting her a side glance before looking down at the blasted book and stopping on a page. "Oh, here it is! See?"

Draco stepped closer with a wickedly ecstatic grin, holding the book open. Margaret's brows furrowed as she finally saw that there was actual readable text in the book, not just some dark force that invaded one's mind.

Although the thought was soon replaced by a horrific feeling rising up her throat like bile.

It was her family tree, all right. All the names were there - her mother's, her father's, her brother's, her own, her uncle and his family of nine including his wife, her grandparents and their parents.

What horrified her, however, that it had their real birthdates.

"Margaret Adelaide Xenakis," Draco reads, glancing at her to gauge her reaction as he continues, "Born, Trente et Un Octobre; or, Thirty-First October... 2002."

Margaret laughed half-heartedly, waving her trembling hand dismissively.

"Oh please, there's been a mistake. How could I be born in 2002? It's 1996, in case you've forgotten and I'm seve- sixteen.."

"I was a bit confused as well; of course that would not make sense. Unless..." he trails off, narrowing his eyes at her, "you time-travelled."

Margaret grinned as though he had cracked a joke. "You've gone mad, haven't you?"

"Say what you want, Xenakis," he snaps. "I have been looking into your history since the moment you stepped foot into Hogwarts," he reveals, meeting her fierce look with his own, "Funny, how there is no history about you... No parents, no siblings, no school records. You just show up out of nowhere, instantly become friends with Potter and his freaks, and aren't afraid to blabber against anyone despite all your loopholes."

"So your main causes of concern against me are that I'm a transfer student with no family who became friends with Harry Potter - which is entirely plausible since I'm a Gryffindor and in his year - and that I stand up for myself and my friends, correct?" she retorts calmly, raising her brows at him. "You do realise how stupid you sound?"

He opened his mouth to counter the words but a feeling of déja vu began to overwhelm him, momentarily making him pause in his surprise.

"...Come again?" he asks.

Margaret assumed he was trying to threaten her so she merely scoffed, staring at him defiantly.

Draco shook his head, wondering why he always felt like he was living a moment twice whenever he spoke to her. It did not make sense... Unless his theory was correct. Unless she was messing with time and changing things... Although he was not sure if that was how time worked...

He tried to clear his mind, glaring at her again.

"Transfer student, you say? Then tell me, why is there no record of you at Ilvermorny? Why don't you receive letters from your old friends there-"

"Not everyone has friends who constantly stay in contact with each other," she grits out. "What are you, exactly? My personal stalker? If you have a crush, Draco, this is not the way to deal with it," she mocks for extra measure.

"Don't flatter yourself," he snarls, narrowing his eyes, "Anyone in your place would want to keep their wandless magic hidden for the benefit of surprise, yet you go about brazenly using it. It only goes to show how inexperienced you are with the wizarding culture. That's why I initially thought you were nothing more than a filthy little Mudblood like your friend Granger-"

Margaret's eyes flashed crimson, her jaw clenched in anger. Draco smirked slightly in satisfaction.

"You're only proving my point, Xenakis," he tells her simply. "Xenakis... That last name is strange, I won't lie. It isn't a wizarding last name, funnily enough. Yet these powers of yours, no Mudblood would have them-"

"You underestimate Muggleborns."

"You'll learn soon, that I'm not wrong," he says at once.

Margaret shook her head, aggravated and perplexed. "Why are you telling me this? Did Madam Pomfrey accidentally give you Veritaserum instead of Pepper-Up Potion?"

"I have my reasons," Draco states.

"Which are?"

"I need you to answer my questions."

"Excuse me?"

Draco inhaled sharply through his nose, clearly getting irked. Stepping closer to her, he leaned slightly so that they were eye-level.

"You tell me what I want to know, or I'll have this book published," he speaks in a low, threatening tone, a small smirk lifting on his lips. "You and I both know there are some very, very interesting things in it..."

Margaret tilted her head, eyes unblinking. "Is that a threat?"

"Take it as you will," he states before raising a brow, "So? Are you going to tell me where the hell you came from?"

Margaret looked heavenwards, annoyed and exasperated.

"You're mad! You think I'm helpless just because you have that book - I can snatch it from under your nose and be out of here before you even-"

Draco held out the book to her again rather casually, shrugging.

"Why snatch? I'll give it to you. Willingly," he says, chuckling her naivety. "Oh, that's priceless. Did it never occur to you... that I would make copies of it?"

Margaret would rather have jumped off the Astronomy Tower than admit this, but it had turned out that she had really, truly underestimated Draco Malfoy. And no one was to blame but her.

She thought she knew him well – realising only now that she really had no clue about the mystery that he really was. He had planned this bit by bit, woven it thread by thread, as though he knew she would come to him. That morning in Zonko's, she realised now, he was testing her and gauging her reaction to his words:

"Wouldn't you have anticipated this...? Seen it coming?"

Suddenly, it was like she was experiencing an alternate reality where she no longer knew the future. She always thought she would have time to plan in advance. Most of her thought-on-feet actions were reckless decisions, and now she had no clue where to begin... Dealing with this heedlessly would only make things worse.

However, one thing was for sure: she was not going to repeat the mistake of taking Draco Malfoy lightly again.

Draco gestured at the book again.

"Go on, then; take it. But remember that my words still stand: You give me the answers I want or I'll have more copies made and sent outside Hogwarts to each pureblood family in Europe," he grits out with an expression of mingled excitement and anger. "Who knows all the things it might say...?"

Thrusting the book into her hands irately, he opened his mouth to continue but suddenly his eyes caught the logo on the front cover rippling right under Margaret's hand, distracting him just for a moment.

This time around, Margaret only realised that she was in a vision when she was suddenly blinded by sunlight coming from the floor-to-ceiling glass window on the side that opened up to a view of snow-capped mountains. It was no longer Hogwarts.

The Daily Prophet newspaper comes into view, held by someone sitting in a rather king-like manner on a high-backed red armchair. The date on it – May 11th, 1940.

Breaking news headlines of the day are visible:

Winston Churchill becomes the Muggle British Prime Minister

Muggle German Forces Invade Belgium Once Again

Two contrasting images are placed side by side: a moving photo of the new British Prime Minister waving a two-finger V for Victory, next to a photo of an army gathered in the city square.

Under it is another headline:

But there is one headline that stands out among the rest:

"Where the hell are we?" a voice echoes more clearly than the rest of the surroundings.

Draco stands there next to her, looking around frantically.

Margaret does not answer. She doesn't know if she can even speak. Before she can ponder over that, Draco grabs her arm somehow and pulls her away in the nick of time as someone walks by where she was just standing.

Dark hair trimmed into an undercut, hands clasped behind his back; he walks with his head up proudly.

"Alfie, good to see you have returned," says the man sitting on the armchair, his face hidden behind the newspaper.

"You asked for me?" the familiar voice, the same one from the previous vision, talks. His back is turned to them. They cannot see his face. But his voice... Still so very familiar.

"I did. Where have you been?"

"Germany. It is the centre of... chaos."

"I see you have successfully sparked ideas in the minds of our dear Muggle... what do they call them? Ah yes. Politicians."

Alfie chuckles, though there is no humour in it. "I did, yes. Only in minds of those who are of worth."

The man raised his eyes, only his pale blond hair and mismatched eyes visible. He says nothing. He does not have to.

"Please, My Lord. Let me surprise you," he says, bowing slightly yet not breaking eye-contact.

"Iz eet wise to add to a war that iz already brewing?" asks a woman in a strong French accent. She had been out of the view until now. "Won't ze be warier of us?"

"No, my dear, no," says the man patiently, scanning the paper again. "We are not trying to add to the war already amplifying on its own. We're merely bringing to light their limits... or limitlessness, I should say. Even when it comes to murdering their own kind. Imagine, when – not if – they turn to us wizards? They will stop at nothing..."

"What about ze... Obscurus?"

The false kindness and gravity disappear from the man's tone:

"He shall not be involved in this. He will have a different task when the time comes."

"He also has a name," a timid and hoarse, yet firm voice echoes from the door, as the scene begins to turn mistier by the second.

The man on the armchair stands up and turns to the door so swiftly that his face disappears from view before it even appears. The newspaper previously in his hand folds itself in the air.

All they could see now is his pale blond hair trimmed into an undercut and lavish black coat flowing behind him as he walks. It seems to be his signature attire.

"Oh, my boy! Come in, come in..."

The scene is now far too blurry to see anyone's face. But Margaret still leaps, desperate to confirm her suspicions, unable to understand whatever the hell this was trying to tell her.

Just as she comes in front of the man with the familiar voice, Alfie, her hand reaching out as though to touch him; the scene fades.

"NO!" her voice is muffled as though she is underwater.

Draco crashed back into reality a split second before Margaret did, watching in horror as the red aura around both of them dissipated. The logo stopped rippling as the book slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground with a thud.

Margaret stumbled forward as though she had tripped on the spot. Draco caught her by the arms, steadying her. Blinking rapidly she realised she had snapped out of it before seeing the man's face – again. Her unlikely companion, on the other hand, was losing his remaining marbles.

"What the fu-"

"I don't know," she gasps, cutting him off.

"How the fu-"

"I don't know."

"Who the fu-"

"I don't know that either, okay?! I don't know why that happens; all I know is- is that every time I touch that damn book it takes me to this random place with similar people who I- I don't think... I know."

Burying her trembling hands in her hair, she leans back on the window ledge, trying to get her breathing under control.

Draco stared down at the book in shock, his previous anger forgotten. He was slowly trying to piece everything together, even though he didn't think he could.

"...Have you ever even read the book-?"

"No!"

"...So you don't know what's written in it-?"

"No, Draco, I have not read it!"

"You don't know who this book says you really are?" he breathes.

"What the hell do you mean?!"

Draco turned to her swiftly, accidentally pointing his wand at her before pocketing it, then beginning to pace; his thoughts racing a mile per minute.

Margaret watched him, disconcerted and exhausted from the long day she'd had and another terrible vision she had to endure once again. No matter what it showed, it always left her feeling like she had just run a marathon while being followed by a murderer with a chainsaw.

"What if that was a... a memory?" Draco speaks, almost to himself. "What if this thing works like a Pensieve? I know there are enchantments on it - powerful ones... What if it's trying to show you memories?"

"What if it's just a piece of crap that wants to make my life even more difficult? ...You two would get along..." she mutters under her breath. If Draco noticed, he didn't show it.

"But why does it just work with you?" his lip curls in mild revulsion, as though he was unable to fathom why something powerful would work for someone like her.

Margaret's annoyance was at its limit.

"I don't know, so will you just drop it?! And stop pacing, your pea-brain isn't going to figure things out when even I wasn't able to! It's because of you I had to go through-!"

He turned back to her, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her firmly.

"All right, you need to stop yelling before you get us both in trouble," he says in a low tone, looking as disturbed as she felt. "Screaming at each other isn't going to-"

"Since when are you good at handling uncontrollable situations?!"

"Since when do you know what I would do in any situation?" he shoots back.

That made her pause. "I thought I did..."

"Well clearly, there are a lot of things you don't know," he mutters, glancing down at the book, his hands still on her shoulders. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he looks back up at her, "So, stop screaming your head off, will you? At any rate, you haven't read the book, you don't know what's in it, you don't know how it works and you don't know what it claims about you."

Margaret reached up to knock his hands off of her. He stepped back, and she massaged her temples instead, feeling a migraine forming. No longer having the energy to yell or even open her mind to hear his thoughts, she asks in a low voice, "What... does it claim about me?"

Noticing her state, Draco gave a smirk of wry amusement and rested his hand on his hips.

"Anything I say is going to fly over your head - nothing new there, but your mental capacity is even less than usual," he mutters, his point proven when Margaret looks like she did not even hear him. "Go back, we'll talk later."

At this, Margaret jerked out of her trance. "What do you mean 'we'll talk later'? I don't wish to talk to you any more than I have to."

"Trust me, I'm not holding my breath either. But I still have this," Draco tells her, glancing down at the book that he suddenly did not seem very eager to hold.

Seeing him frown down at the damn thing, Margaret raised a brow, her mind returning to reality slowly. She used her telekinesis to pick it up, crimson tendrils wrapping themselves around the small copy. However, much to her surprise, it did not budge. She took out her wand instead.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The book did not move.