"You again?" she asked wearily, looking at Grosvenor.
"How far back in time did you go?" Richard blurted out.
The boy was breathing hoarsely after running at the very limit of his strength.
"What?" Hermione stared at him. "Why do you want to know?"
"Answer me!" A note of command entered Richard's voice.
"Two hours," Granger replied with a shrug. "Why?"
The gears in Grosvenor's mind began turning at unimaginable speed. He suddenly realised that there was no longer any point in running anywhere. His conscience, which he had so diligently stuffed away in some distant, dusty cupboard, chose that moment to wake up, leaving him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Nothing..." he muttered quietly. "Nothing anymore..."
According to Richard's theoretical estimates, based on his knowledge of quantum physics and the logic of wizarding artefact-makers, with whom he had spent a great deal of time, the displaced Hermione's return to her native universe—if such a return had been built into the artefact at all—should have occurred at the very instant from which she had set off on her journey through time. In other words, roughly a hundred minutes ago. Now the Time-Turner would be useless to her, perhaps even harmful. Telling her about the possibility would only give the girl false hope and bring her even greater grief when the artefact failed to work.
Richard reproached himself for having asked Michael to fetch the teachers. Most likely, there had been only a little time left before Granger's double would have been sent back—mere minutes, perhaps even seconds. She had fallen short by the smallest margin, and the fault was his. Grosvenor's.
Naturally, none of this was certain; it was merely conjecture, theoretical speculation. But Richard's conscience gnawed at him all the same, like a starving dog worrying a bone. He wasn't prepared to admit that he had made a mistake—he hadn't been raised that way. But he was prepared to silence the stirrings of his conscience by giving whatever help he could to the girl who, in all likelihood, had ended up in an extremely difficult situation partly because of him.
Of course, Richie understood that Minerva McGonagall was chiefly to blame—or rather, both Minerva McGonagalls were: the first had given the girl a dangerous artefact, while the second, without properly understanding the situation, had taken it away. That knowledge, however, did little to make him feel better.
Having caught his breath somewhat, Richard restored the composure befitting an aristocrat to his face. Giving her a polite bow, he said:
"Miss Granger, I offer you my sincere apologies for my hasty conclusions. In my defence, I can only say that I am not exactly an insignificant person in Britain, and there could quite easily have been a genuine assassin or spy in your place. Anyone in my position would have considered the possibility that my friend's double was a traveller through time and space last of all."
"What good are your apologies to me..." Hermione said tearfully and sniffled.
"Miss Granger, nevertheless, I apologise. What did the Headmaster tell you?"
"Bugger off!" Granger snapped angrily.
"Miss Granger, my honour as an aristocrat will not permit me to abandon a lady to the mercy of fate."
"Leave me alone!"
"Miss Granger, I care about what happens to you. Let us put the misunderstanding between us behind us. And do bear in mind that it wasn't I who gave you a dangerous artefact. Let's talk without holding grudges."
"We've got nothing to talk about," the displaced girl replied uncertainly, her tone softening.
"Believe me, we'll find plenty to talk about. So, what did the Headmaster tell you?"
Hermione hesitated. After a moment, she answered sadly:
"Headmaster Dumbledore said I can stay at the school. He suggested we stick to the story that some spell gone wrong resulted in there being two Hermiones. The Headmaster promised to speak to the Hermione from this world. He said I'd live with the third-year girls in Gryffindor Tower. The only thing is, I had to give up most of my elective subjects and keep only Care of Magical Creatures and Arithmancy."
"And what about an allowance?"
"What about it?" Hermione Number Two asked, puzzled.
"Have they given you any sort of allowance?"
"No." Granger shook her head.
"Miss Granger, I doubt you were carrying all your possessions with you. You'll have nothing to wear, nothing to write with and no supplies to write on. And that's without even mentioning such little necessities as feminine hygiene products. Where are you going to get all of that?"
Hermione froze like a statue. Horror appeared on her face.
"I don't know," she replied in a hollow voice.
"I suppose the Hermione who's my friend could share some things with you, but I doubt her supplies are inexhaustible. A spare pair of knickers, a couple of packets of sanitary pads, some parchment and quills—but that's about it. As a refugee, you have nothing."
The girl's cheeks flushed at a boy mentioning feminine hygiene products and underwear. But then the meaning of his words sank in, and Hermione abruptly forgot all about being embarrassed.
"Nothing," she whispered in horror, almost as though entranced. "Oh my God! My parents... I can't even go back to them..."
"I see you've understood the situation, Miss Granger. But please, don't worry. I'll help you."
"But... I can't accept help from a complete stranger. It's..."
"It's perfectly all right, Miss Granger." Richie arranged a Lockhart smile on his face, broad and dazzling. "Altruism is good for one's karma, public image and sense of self-worth. I've donated eleven million pounds to charity this year. Against that background, another few thousand won't make any difference."
"How much?" Hermione asked incredulously.
Richard chose not to mention that most of those donations had gone towards taking revenge on Malfoy, but he hadn't lied. Technically, everything had been arranged through a charitable foundation as aid for refugees from a radiation-contaminated zone. Moreover, he would recover those funds, along with the money he had spent on charity in previous years, through tax deductions at the end of the year.
"Miss Granger, allow me to correct an oversight and introduce myself properly. Richard, Earl Grosvenor, heir to the Duke of Westminster and owner of Grosvenor Junior Corporation."
"A duke's son?!" Hermione's eyes widened in astonishment. "God... But I don't remember ever seeing you at my school—I mean, in my world."
"There's nothing surprising about that, Miss Granger. The multiverse likes to spring surprises and present us with mysteries. You took travelling through time in your stride as though you were popping round to a friend's for tea, yet you're surprised that parallel worlds should have a few differences?"
"I am," Hermione admitted with an automatic nod. "I've only just found out that apparently I wasn't simply travelling through time—I was travelling into another world as well."
(End of Chapter)
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