[His eyes dart to her abruptly at that question, as telling as the way that Hermione had faltered.] Yeah, I do.
I'm from the summer of 2000.
[He can guess how that sounds, because he'd already guessed when she's from. 1998, before the final Battle or perhaps right after. He remembers how frightened they had all been; how uncertain the future that loomed before them. Seven Horcruxes. It had been unimaginable, even before he had discovered the eighth.
Precisely, he supposes, why they really do need to have this conversation. Even before he plots to bend the rules and the flow of time as well, to save all of those they're on the brink of speaking of. Abruptly, it tears out of him like new plants out of black soil:] Hermione, there's so much I want to tell you--
no subject
I'm from the summer of 2000.
[He can guess how that sounds, because he'd already guessed when she's from. 1998, before the final Battle or perhaps right after. He remembers how frightened they had all been; how uncertain the future that loomed before them. Seven Horcruxes. It had been unimaginable, even before he had discovered the eighth.
Precisely, he supposes, why they really do need to have this conversation. Even before he plots to bend the rules and the flow of time as well, to save all of those they're on the brink of speaking of. Abruptly, it tears out of him like new plants out of black soil:] Hermione, there's so much I want to tell you--