Reading Time: 100 Minutes

Title: Holding My Breath Between Heartbeats
Series: The Infinite Loop Of Love And Good Intentions
Series Order: 2
Author: Indygodusk
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, Future Fic / Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Time Travel
Relationship(s): Gen, Harry Potter/Hermione Granger (pre-relationship)
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Major Character Death, Violence-Graphic, Violence-Domestic. Bullying, Addiction, Suicide, Child Abuse-implied, Murder, Adultery, Weasley Bashing
Word Count: 70,068
Summary: Putting his hand in his pocket, Harry fingered the necklace. Maybe he’d use his spare time to figure the thing out, maybe start a fourth apocalypse or something to amuse himself and anger the Ministry, though only a very small one. He did have his kids on the outside to think about, after all.
Artist: Drake

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Chapter 6:

∞⌛∞

~Narrator~

After Draco’s devastating visit, Harry Potter had an epiphany about his relationship with death and the Egyptian necklace. He discovered how to hide it from the guards by making it invisible and came to understand that using the necklace meant his current self would cease to exist. Harry didn’t mind that, but he worried that news of his death so soon after Hugo’s would be one blow too many for the children and would cripple their hearts permanently. Harry refused to hurt his children even more. He decided to be patient and suffer a little longer for their happiness, waiting for the children to live out their lives before using the power of the necklace.

Harry didn’t quite understand yet that ceasing to exist didn’t mean he would just be killing himself, but everyone else too and effectively turning the world to ash. Then it would reset. Depending on how he played his cards, nobody would even know he died or, alternatively, nobody would be left to care. However, Harry hadn’t figured that part out yet, so he waited and plotted and planned.

On July 3, 2121, Rose died, 100 years later to the day after her brother and the same day as her mother. All of her cousins were dead already. She was the last. At that point, Harry didn’t care about protecting anyone that was left from his selfish impulses. He would let the world burn and start over again. He broke out, stopping just long enough to watch Ron Weasley die, an item long on his bucket list, and then set off on his self-appointed mission.

However, he’d yet to learn that the necklace was an imperfect artifact created by an imperfect being—namely himself. Although he could use the necklace to escape now, he still had to go back into the past to create the necklace to avoid a paradox. His future selves had also written a lot of checks that his current self was too clueless to cash. While he could move through time using the necklace, his ability to change time as the Master of Death was limited since he had to exist to power the necklace’s mechanics. The necklace used Death’s power and a bit of his personality to decide on when and where to travel in time before killing the user. To power the trip, it then extinguished all life on the planet. It didn’t always work when Harry used it, though whether that was because his power couldn’t be drawn on when he didn’t exist or because the personality he’d imprinted as the operating system was purposely screwing him over was unclear, though he heavily suspected the latter. Whatever the case, the mechanics were a big complicated mess he struggled with over centuries before finally getting it to sort of work. At that point he decided not to worry about it anymore, even knowing Hermione was going to scream and tear her hair out later when she finally got around to asking him about how it worked.

Unfortunately, trial and error taught Harry that time travel worked better with living agents instead of gods of death. Not being the trusting sort, Harry hated this. He finally decided that he’d have to let the person he trusted most use the necklace to fix things, meaning Hermione. Then he could guide her into making better choices this time around. The long years had calcified his hopes and good intentions into radical obsessions. Harry was going to fix Hermione’s unhappy life and untimely death. He had planned it meticulously.

In his despair, Harry had once hallucinated a young Hermione Granger visiting him. That or seen evidence of his time travel necklace at work and been too ignorant to realize it. Either way, it seeded his plan. Harry would send the young Hermione to talk to old Ron in prison about how it all went wrong. Then she’d never marry Ron and never be killed. That reality would die and everything would be fixed. Nothing could possibly go wrong and no one could stop him.

Alas, dear Reader, Harry forgot about that pesky little thing called free will. He underestimated Hermione and her children. Things were not going to turn out how he had planned.

Instead, they were going to turn out much better.

∞⌛∞

∞1993, August 31—The Leaky Cauldron∞

~Ron Weasley (13)~

“I hate you!” Ginny shrieked, bucking and pulling against Mum’s arm like a wild thing, almost sending them both careening down the stairs at the Leaky Cauldron. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!!!” Ron pressed his hands over his ears and winced. Eyes blazing, Mum released Ginny long enough to cast a Muffling Charm, cutting off Ginny’s high-pitched screams. “Into the room,” she snapped. Ron’s parents dragged the still kicking and screaming Ginny away and slammed the door.

Downstairs in the dining room a flat female voice said, “Aren’t we glad that’s not us? I don’t miss my kids being at THAT stage.” The crowd laughed. “Though some people just don’t know when to stop.”

A man added, “Good gracious, just one more reason why I’ve never regretted NOT having any children. Especially girls!”

Ron looked at his brothers. “Blimey, I hope they don’t blame all that screaming on us boys,” he said, paling and looking over his shoulder.

“Isn’t it fun being a Weasley?” Fred said sarcastically. “I think that’s our cue to leave the scene of the crime before the crowd makes more embarrassing comments at our family’s expense—”

“—or Mum comes out wand blazing with more potions,” George finished, shuddering.

“You might want to do the same,” Fred said, “but Ron?”

“Yeah?” he asked.

George reached out and clicked a finger against his chest. “Don’t forget to take off your,” he mimicked Mum’s inflection, “silly little necklace.” The twins laughed at the red expression on Ron’s face, reminding him that his brothers were jerks.

Growling, Ron pulled out his wand to hex them, but the twins were too fast for that, knocking the wand from his hand and skipping away down the stairs. By the time he’d picked it up again, they’d disappeared into the crowd. Unwilling to risk going back to the room until his parents were done with Ginny, Ron descended the stairs.

He circled the bottom floor several times looking for his brothers, but they were nowhere to be found. He didn’t see any of his friends either. The room was crowded with back to school shoppers and wizards enjoying a hearty Sunday brunch. Frustrated, Ron shoved past a man sitting at a table with a mug he’d probably forgotten was still stirring itself, reading a book on the history of time or some daft ol’ thing. The man gave Ron an irritated look for knocking into his chair, but Ron ignored it.

Ron skirted past a mysterious woman in a large hat covered by a moonlight-colored veil. She stood in the shadows next to a pillar. Even though the veil looked gauzy, he couldn’t see her face through it. Somehow he managed not to bump into her despite thinking he was about to ram into her shoulder. She must’ve dodged. It made him stumble a bit at the lack of resistance. She must be using an advanced type of cooling charm he didn’t know about because Ron felt ice cold while he was near her. It was probably the only cold place in the entire warm and stuffy dining room. He’d ask her to teach it to him, but her back went ramrod straight and she practically cringed away from him like he was diseased, the rude bint.

Turning towards the garbage bin sitting against the wall, Ron reached up and fingered his necklace with a grumpy frown. Why was he still wearing this? He might as well toss it since everyone said he looked stupid in it. Caught by the compulsion, Ron unlatched the Egyptian necklace from his neck and lifted his arm to throw it in the bin, already thinking about where he should go to find Harry after Hermione stopped making him wait and got here.

Before he could open his fingers, someone caught his arm and stopped him. “That’s a waste.” The man who’d spoken wore a deep hooded silvery-grey cloak that completely shadowed his face. “You should give it to a pretty girl who knows how to appreciate it, perhaps that one?” He turned and pointed across the room at Hermione.

“Huh?” Ron had a moment of disorientation, almost feeling like he’d already thrown the necklace in the trash and walked away without ever speaking to anyone, or perhaps not thrown it away but kept it as he moved to the stairs to greet Ginny, but no, he’d just heard the man in front of him speak to stop him from throwing away the necklace in his hand.

Almost instantly Ron forgot about feeling odd over it because Hermione, who’d just entered the room, was beaming at his no-longer-hiding brothers in a way that made Ron’s stomach sour. She hugged the closest boy and then glomped onto the other with an even more enthusiastic grin. Did Hermione smile that widely for Ron too? She should. He was just as much her friend as his brothers were. More even. As his friend, she should only smile that widely for Ron. Harry was her friend too, but Harry didn’t deserve Hermione’s attention like Ron did. Harry had lots of options, being famous and not poor and all.

Ron wasn’t stupid. He knew he needed a wife someday and he’d decided to be practical and settle for Hermione. She was basically Ron’s already. He didn’t want to date her yet, that sounded even more annoying and she was already annoying enough most of the time, but he had to marry somebody someday and talking to other girls was too hard. No one else would want a girl like Hermione anyway, which was sad, so when he was ready in a few years he’d do her a favor and marry her. She could do a lot worse than marrying a great guy like Ron and joining his family. She should be grateful. He’d have to point that out to her when the time was right, or maybe not since she could be so sensitive sometimes even when he said something obvious and true.

“She’d look lovely in the necklace,” the hooded man prompted. He was being rather pushy, but he had a point.

Not that she’d look cute, but that throwing it away without getting anything for it would be wasteful. Girls did like presents, didn’t they? And his mom had suggested giving it to Hermione too. “Yeah,” Ron breathed with a nod. “Thanks for the idea, mate.” The stranger was right, he should give the necklace to Hermione, maybe even act like he’d picked it out all special for her from overseas and everything. That would make her like him more than Harry, who probably hadn’t gotten her anything.

Turning on his heel, Ron called, “Hey, Hermione! Leave those tossers and c’mere! I’ve got a present for you, all the way from Egypt!”

∞⌛∞

∞1994, March 13—Hogwarts Library∞

~Hermione Granger (14)~

Today was the Sunday of Mother’s Day. Hermione had sent off a letter the day before to her mum so she wouldn’t have to compete to get a school owl today. She’d made that mistake the first two years. The library was mostly deserted on Sunday mornings so at least she didn’t have any competition for her favorite study table. Most students were busy writing letters and preparing handmade gifts, or sleeping in and being lazy. Hermione didn’t have the closest of relationships with her parents, especially after they’d learned she wasn’t like them and had magic and then she’d started disappearing for most of the year to boarding school, but she was still grateful to have their support. Even if she wasn’t well understood and felt like a burden sometimes, at least she knew she was loved.

Harry didn’t even have that. Mother’s Day was another holiday like Halloween where he made himself scarce, reminded of all he had lost. Hermione wished there was an adult in Harry’s life who made him feel loved and supported. Her best friend deserved that, but it was just one more injustice in life. The closest he ever got were teachers like Professor Lupin and Professor Dumbledore, but they seemed all too willing to ignore Harry’s needs and withhold information and attention whenever he became too inconvenient or intrusive on their time. If Hermione was an adult she’d fix that, but she was just another kid like Harry.

That morning Hermione had decided to take a mental break from her overloaded class schedule and social stress. Even with the Time-Turner she was starting to feel frazzled, maybe because of the Time-Turner. She needed time to reset and do a little recreational reading. Last month she’d received word from Hagrid that Buckbeak was to be executed, but she’d already spent hours researching the topic and had passed on everything helpful for the appeal that she could find. She needed something lighter.

Today she’d decided to research something that had been put on the back burner—namely the Egyptian necklace Ron had given her before school started. Hermione hadn’t had time to figure out all of the intriguing symbols yet. First she’d been too busy adjusting to her overloaded schedule and then at Christmas when Ron and Harry had stopped talking to her over the Firebolt she hadn’t even wanted to look at the necklace, which she’d once thought was a symbol of how Ron treasured her friendship and respected her intelligence and personality, but later after his attitude failed to change she’d come to suspect had been a gift meant for somebody else that had come to her on a whim. Even now that they were speaking again, their friendship still felt shaky, with Ron almost angrier than Harry despite it being Harry’s broom that she’d reported to Professor McGonagall as dangerous.

She’d thought things were getting better, but then she and Ron had gotten into another argument last night….

Anyway, the necklace was an interesting piece of history that belonged to her now. She’d decided to not let Ron’s attitude spoil her enjoyment of the mystery and taken it to the library to investigate. Unfortunately, the library’s section on Ancient Egypt and its symbology was distressingly sparse.

“Sometimes intentions matter more than details,” said a friendly male voice.

Looking over her shoulder, Hermione saw a man in a silvery-gray hooded cloak that hid his appearance except for a shadowy jawline. Hermione blinked, the man’s appearance reminding her of something she’d read in a book somewhere, as so many things did. “I’ll try to remember that,” she said politely in response, “but who are you and how did you get into the school, if I might ask? You aren’t a professor.”

The shift of his body and the barely visible curve of his shadowed lower lip made her think he was smiling down at her. “What do you think?”

Chewing on her lower lip, Hermione scoured her brain and came to a reasonable conclusion. “Based on how your face is hidden by your cloak, are you an Unspeakable from the Ministry of Magic? Perhaps come to talk to Dumbledore on business or borrow a book from the restricted section?”

“It’s a good guess from a bright girl,” he said approvingly, making her think she was right. “Why aren’t you out playing with your friends? Did you fight?”

He sounded sympathetic instead of accusatory and Hermione found herself confiding in him about her spat with Ron. “—and I don’t know what I could have done differently,” she finished, “but I need to figure it out because Ron’s my friend. I don’t have very many and if I forced my other friend Harry to choose between us—not that I would, but if I did—it wouldn’t go well for me.” He made a noise of disagreement, which was very kind of him. “I’m trying not to be stupid about it or selfish.” She sighed and played with the ribbon of her bookmark. “Ron usually means well. I just need to learn to be less sensitive, I guess. I’m too mean, judgemental, and bossy.”

“No, you’re nice,” he disagreed. “Though I will say that really listening to what other people are saying is important, not just talking over them. You could work on that. You also need more practice disagreeing with someone without it turning into a fight. However, even when fighting you’re kind. Being kind doesn’t give people the right to walk all over you. Be firm but fair. If they get rude about it, then that’s their problem.”

“You make it sound so simple,” she said wryly. “But I have a shameful confession. When I get passionate about something, especially in an argument, I start to lose my grip on my rationality and my fairness and listening skills go down the drain.”

He hummed in his throat and nodded. “Ah, you’re only human then. When I found a beautiful girl sitting alone in the library, I wondered if I’d stumbled across a ghost from the past.”

Hermione laughed, feeling drawn out of her bad mood. What could’ve come off as creepy from someone else, felt sweet coming from this kind, mysterious stranger. “I’ve heard that Unspeakables are extremely clever. I didn’t know they were also so charming.” There was a flash of white from inside his hood that might have been teeth. Getting him to smile made her feel accomplished and warm.

“Do you by chance know anything about how to read the symbols on this necklace?” She lifted it to show him, though it was hard to spread out with just her hands. “I’m pretty sure it’s Egyptian, though this little piece at the bottom makes me think of my bookmarks,” she laughed at herself, “though I know that’s silly.”

“Or smart. Use the bookmark to find your place,” the hooded man said cryptically.

Tilting her head, she looked up at him and asked, “My place?”

“The place you need or want to go. Put the necklace on and try.” His coaxing tone somehow made her want to do as he said, even though it was a rather vague instruction.

Lifting the necklace, she put it on over her uniform and the bump of the Time-Turner she had tucked under her shirt. As if he’d read her mind, the hooded man said, “You should be an expert at time travel after taking so many classes this year, though you might not be aware that the hourglass upon which modern Time-Turner devices are based was only invented around 1300 to 1400 BC.”

“I’ve read about that,” she said, letting her fingers drift over the hourglass lump beneath her shirt to the Egyptian necklace and its small bookmark piece. She rubbed the single symbol on it between her fingers. “Before that time was tracked using sundials, which were based on even older methods of tracking shadows using sticks to mark the hour.”

“Exactly,” he said, sounding pleased. “Now use the bookmark to find your place, perhaps a place where Ron Weasley is being punished for his sins and is waiting to apologize.” His voice had leached of warmth, making her shift on her chair uncomfortably. The movement tugged on the pendant in her hand and she saw with astonishment that the round link attaching it to the necklace was stretching out like putty.

“Do you see this?” she asked with quiet excitement as the bookmark piece tugged sideways in her hand to attach to one of the other pendants and sank in at an angle.

“You’ve found the sundial. Time is now yours.”

She only distantly heard his words, too fascinated by the necklace in her hands and the little sundial. Her magic moved up her wrists and out into the necklace like it was greeting an old friend. Inside the long thin shadow cast by the bookmark piece, something wiggled. Squinting, she saw they were thin, spindly arithmancy symbols that glowed faintly. It made her uneasy, but not enough to stop. They reminded Hermione of pale spiders hatching out of their cocoons at midnight.

Pressing on the V-shaped lever made it sink flat with an overly loud thud that rattled her bones. “Oh, what’s it doing now?” she breathed. “I wonder…I suppose I should be cautious or scared, but something about you feels familiar and makes me feel safe to take risks.” Blushing, she looked up, wishing he would take his hood down so she could see his face.

“I’m glad,” he said, voice aching and soft. “Learn your lessons well and be happy, Hermione. Live long and be happy. That’s all I want.”

The pull of the necklace abruptly became uncomfortable and distracting, almost distracting enough to make her overlook the fact that she’d never told him her name. “What’s it doing? Who are you?” she demanded stridently as the strange sensations abruptly surged, fierce and uncomfortable. She wanted to fumble for her wand but her hand seemed glued to the necklace.

“A friend.” His voice echoed strangely in Hermione’s ears as if she were falling down a long shaft.

The world flashed black as everything twisted, turned, screamed, burned.

It felt like Hermione was dying, like she was dead.

∞⌛∞

∞2020, November 25—Azkaban∞

~Hermione Granger (14)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Stumbling forward, Hermione fell to her knees in a dark stone hallway lit only intermittently by lanterns. The cold rock sucked the warmth from her skin and she shivered as pushed herself to her feet, wiping damp hands off on her thighs as she looked around. She wasn’t sure where she was, but she didn’t like it. Perhaps the necklace had been a portkey, but if so it hadn’t felt like what she’d been led to expect from the book description.

In the distance she heard a woman yelling. It sounded like Mrs. Weasley from that Howler she’d sent Ron in second year. Unsure what else she should do, Hermione crept forward down the hallway. Soon she was passing what looked like jail cells. Uneasy and trying not to freak out, she clutched at the wand in her pocket and kept going. The shouting stopped.

Turning a corner, she almost missed seeing the man in the cell up ahead. He was huddled on the floor with his head pressed against the bars, eyes closed as he radiated suffering. Looking at the prisoner, she felt her chest swell with pity. His clothes were filthy and his black hair and beard ragged. Misery and exhaustion carved lines in a face that looked older than its years and somehow familiar…eerily familiar.

Gasping, she pressed her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound, but it was too late. When he opened vivid green eyes and looked up at her hopelessly, she had to bite back an even louder gasp. He had Harry’s green eyes!

It made no sense. Those were Harry’s sad sweet eyes in the face of a broken man in at least his forties if not older. She’d suspect him of being James Potter, but Harry’s dad had died at 21 and his death was extremely well-documented, not to mention the shape of the face wasn’t quite right. No, it wasn’t James Potter.

Hermione’s gut was telling her something impossible, but she didn’t want to believe it. That couldn’t be Harry. The only way that was possible was if the necklace had taken her over twenty-five years into the future. She’d never read of travel like that even being possible. Magic often made the word impossible a lie, but this was too cruel. She didn’t want it to be her Harry, not her best friend looking all miserable and locked up in prison.

No, she wouldn’t believe it! Spinning on her heel, blinded by tears, Hermione ran away in the opposite direction, darting through halls and up and down staircases and not stopping until she was about to pass out from lack of air.

Catching her breath and walking slowly to fight the painful stitch in her side, Hermione looked out a small window high on the wall to find that she was in a black stone fortress somewhere in the middle of a stormy gray sea. There were no seabirds roosting on the walls or landmasses in the distance, making her think this prison must be far from any coast or that it had very unfriendly wards. An awful thought made her wrap her arms around herself and shiver.

What if this was Azkaban? The Wizarding prison was where Death Eaters and traitors like Sirius Black were locked up, though Black had somehow escaped. It certainly felt like a grim, miserable place. She needed to get out of here.

Leaning against the wall, she pulled up the necklace and tried to remember what she’d done to get here. What had the hooded man said? “Use the bookmark to find your place.”

Hermione grabbed the bookmark piece and tugged, feeling a wave of relief when it unspooled in her hand so she could wave it back and forth over the other pendants. It didn’t stick to the one it had before when she tried pressing them together, but maybe it needed a different one to get her home. She wanted to go home, back to the school and her friends.

The sound of a man crying almost distracted her from the tablet finally attaching to a pendant and snicking into place, sinking in at an angle to form a V.

“I-I d-didn’ m-mean i-it,” a voice stuttered and slurred from a nearby cell. “C-c’n y-you f-f-forgive m-me?”

Peering into the shadowed cell the voice had come from, Hermione saw a scarred and strangely saggy face that nonetheless looked like a tortured older version of Ron Weasley.

“No,” she whispered, horrified anew. First Harry and now Ron. Was there no end to this miserable illusion? What had happened? Who had done that to him and why?

Eyes streaming with tears, Hermione pressed down on the V of the necklace, accepting the thud as she desperately chanted ‘home’ in her head. She needed to get away from this place.

From the surrounding cells erupted a loud chorus of hoots and manic giggles. Startled, Hermione realized that she was far from alone as dozens of eyes shone out at her from behind rusty bars. Terrified, she pressed her magic into the necklace, willing it to work faster.

“She said no!”

“No no no!”

“No forgiveness for you!”

“No forgiveness for any of the damned!”

Hysterical giggling vied with screams and sobs in a mad cacophony that made Hermione press her shoulders hard against the rough rock wall to get as far as possible from the noise-makers. In the distance, the guards started blowing their whistles and shouting. Footsteps pounded down the halls. Before they could arrive, and Hermione was discovered, the world flashed black.

Everything twisted, turned, screamed, burned.

It felt like Hermione was dying, like she was dead.

∞⌛∞

∞1994, April 3—Hogwarts∞

~Hermione Granger (14)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Tripping over her feet, Hermione landed in a heap in a courtyard she recognized from school. The scraggly grass was soggy and moisture started seeping through her pants when she wasn’t quick enough to stand up. Staggering over to a bench, she sat down and pressed a hand to her chest.

The Egyptian necklace was still there. She wished it wasn’t, that it would just disappear. Her thumb slid over without her conscious volition and pressed on the largest triangle. The necklace blinked out, going invisible, though she could still feel it beneath her fingers. “What is going on?” she asked, scrubbing her hands wildly through her hair.

“Don’t stress too much, Hermione,” Neville said kindly as he passed through the courtyard on his way to the opposite wing of the castle. “Happy Easter! Oh, and I wanted to say thank you. We all think you’re brilliant for slapping Malfoy. I just wish I’d been there to see it.”

“Oh?” she asked, completely confused. They hadn’t even hit the Easter holidays yet. She still had assignments to finish before the break. And she did what to Malfoy?

“Yeah, of course.” Neville smiled at her. “And I’m sure you’ll easily figure out Cheering Charms even if you did miss class. I’d offer to help, but I’d probably just slow you down.” He shrugged. “Anyway, good luck and try not to stress!” Waving, he disappeared back into the castle.

“What?” Hermione said faintly as she blinked after him. Memories bloomed in her mind like flowers. Somehow it had been almost 3 weeks since she’d returned from meeting the hooded man in the library and travelling in time. It had knocked her sideways. In that time she’d completed all of her assignments and become a neurotic wreck. She’d been blaming that incident instead of the stress from overbooking herself for how she’d finally cracked and hit Malfoy across the face, missed her Charms class, and dropped out of Divination. Her friends had been confused and planning on staging an intervention, but they were so chuffed about the Malfoy thing that they were letting the rest of it slide, though Harry had given her an ultimatum this morning about either taking a break and talking to him so he could help or else he’d use his best judgement and force her to rest, implying he wasn’t above using Petrification and Sticking Charms on her.

Thinking of Harry reminded her of the sad, miserable older versions of her friends that she’d seen locked up in prison. Hermione licked her dry lips. It had felt like a dream, but what if it had been real? What if the reason she’d figured out how to time travel with the necklace at all was so she could go to the future and help her friends escape? Had running away been too cowardly?

She wanted to talk to Harry and Ron about it, but she wasn’t sure they’d take it well or even believe her. Even if they did believe, she wasn’t sure it was safe to bring them with her to the future. There were accounts of people accidentally killing younger versions of themselves and creating horrible paradoxes and tragedies. Plus, she’d promised the Professors not to tell her friends about time travel at all. That promise had been made assuming only the Time-Turner, of course, but if she got caught out it would mean even more trouble now. They’d probably take both necklaces away and Professor McGonagall would act all disappointed and lecture her and that would be completely devastating and unfair.

Hermione was a smart, independent young witch. Surely she could figure this out on her own. She just had to sneak back to the prison (she really hoped it wasn’t actually Azkaban), steal the keys from the guards, and unlock her older friends’ cells so they could escape. Considering she’d been wandering the halls for ages without running into a guard, security didn’t seem that tight.

It should be fine.

∞⌛∞

~Narrator~

Ah, the optimism of youth. Obviously this Hermione hasn’t learned anything from the experiences of her unborn daughter Rose. How short-sighted, though I suppose she is temporally impaired and doesn’t know about any of that yet. Any bets on how this will all turn out?

What’s that you say?

Oh…interesting, interesting. O-ka-y…if you’re sure. You are sure? Alrighty then.

Dearest Readers, we have another optimist placing a bet! Do you dare to join them or will you gather on the side of the cynics? Either way, let me know before we press onward if you want a stake in the outcome.

∞⌛∞

Chapter 7:

∞⌛∞

∞2121, July 13—Azkaban∞

~Hermione Granger (14)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Stumbling back, Hermione fell against the cold rock wall but managed to keep her feet. The lanterns on the wall had changed. Now they were strange oval bowls with brightly glowing chunks of white in a swirling pearly broth. It made the hallways brighter but no less cold. In fact, the sterile white light made the stone building seem even more inhospitable. The cells didn’t have the same illumination, seeming even darker by comparison.

Thankfully there didn’t seem to be any guards around, though she realized uncomfortably that the shadowy cells could have watching eyes. She’d put on her darkest and heaviest winter robes, but in retrospect she regretted not borrowing Harry’s invisibility cloak. If she’d asked him to lend it to her and not ask any questions, he probably wouldn’t have hesitated, just taken it out and passed it over, adding something sweet like, “You’ll let me know if I can help,” or “You can trust me, you know.” Feeling a bit ashamed, she realized that she probably should trust him more instead of trying to protect him from unhappy things, which included her own problems and fallibility.

Rubbing her chest, she looked down at the golden necklace and tapped the triangle to make it invisible, not wanting the gleam of metal to give her away. Wand in hand, she snuck forward down the corridor, trying to be as quiet as possible. There was a room with an open door up ahead, not a cell.

Sneaking forward, Hermione peeked inside, relieved to find it empty. Hermione went inside to search for clues. There was an abandoned dice game on the table next to a set of mugs with only dregs left inside. She didn’t see any keys to open the prison doors, but a large piece of parchment covered in scribbles took up the entire side wall. After squinting and tilting her head, Hermione realized that it was a map of the cells with the names of the prisoners inside. A separate smaller chart listed guard names and work schedules above a calendar for July 2121, which had to be a misprint or a code for something since the year made absolutely no sense. Hermione was too skeptical to believe she’d traveled 127 years into the future. Adding to her aggravation, whoever had made both the chart and map had atrocious handwriting. Hermione couldn’t make out half of the names at all, including not finding a Harry Potter anywhere.

She did, however, see Ronald Weasley listed just two hallways over. That was more evidence that the year on the calendar was wrong, since otherwise this Ron would be 141 years old. While wizards could live to be up to 200, it wasn’t very common. Being in prison had to make living a long time even harder.

Afraid that if she took much longer deciphering the map she’d be caught by the returning guards, Hermione decided to help Ron escape first and then get him to help her find Harry. Quickly glancing out the doorway to make sure the coast was clear, Hermione took off towards Ron’s cell.

In her haste, she completely missed the hooded man lurking in the shadows down the hall and behind him the feet of several guards sprawled across the floor.

∞⌛∞

∞One Hour Earlier—2121, July 13—Azkaban∞

~Ronald Weasley (141)~

That morning Ron received a letter, delivered by the Prison guard with his morning gruel. This was extremely unusual since his parents and siblings had all passed over 50 years ago and no one else cared. Or at least he thought no one cared. It turned out that his daughter had cared, just in secret. The letter was from Rose’s lawyer informing him that she had died ten days ago but had set aside monies so he would keep receiving the monthly healing potions to help manage his curse symptoms until he finally passed. Ron had thought those potions were a free service provided by the Ministry. He hadn’t known Rose had been privately paying for them. He didn’t know what to feel about that.

Ronald Weasley had spent the majority of his life in prison for losing his temper and making a stupid, tragic mistake that killed his wife. He’d spent over a hundred years of misery and suffering in Azkaban with a crippled body and mind. He’d wished for death a thousand times, but never been granted it.

The only person who’d loved him wholeheartedly had been his mother, and he’d lost her more than 70 years ago, and his father only a year after that. His siblings had all moved on with their lives and eventually forgotten him. No one had visited him in over 50 years, not even his only living child, Rose. He’d resented that and decided not to care about her anymore. Yet she’d been secretly paying for his medicines all these years.

According to Rose’s lawyer, she’d died on the same day as his wife and his son. The first two deaths might be his fault, but not Rose. Or maybe somehow it was. She probably could’ve lived another 50 to 60 years if she hadn’t been prematurely aged by those early tragedies. Maybe it was all his fault. Ron wished he could die and join everyone who’d gone on before. He was so tired of living and tired of the guilt and shame.

“Ron.”

No one had said Ron’s name in almost as long as he could remember, just his prisoner number. Blinking rheumy eyes, he looked up and saw Harry Potter standing outside the bars of his cell. Ron did a double-take. Any inclination he had to gratefully welcome a personal visitor died as he looked at the man who’d by turns been his best friend, brother-in-law, and mortal enemy.

Watching Ron with a stony expression, Harry looked better and younger than he by all rights should for a man who’d been in prison just as long as Ron had. Harry stood with unbowed shoulders under a luxurious silver-gray cloak that clasped at his throat and fell to the floor. He looked clean and healthy and free.

Ron felt that old familiar toxic jealousy and resentment swell. Of course Harry Potter would look like he hadn’t aged a day. Not like Ron, who looked closer to 200 than 141. Ron’s stomach curdled. “You don’t look like you’ve suffered much.”

“You look like you have,” Harry said coldly. “Good. I hope so. It’s nothing less than you deserve for what you’ve done.”

Anger swelled in Ron’s belly, only to pop and deflate within seconds. Ron didn’t have the energy to sustain it. Besides, he couldn’t refute that. It was the truth. He’d been a stupid, selfish bastard in his youth. Mouth tasting bitter, Ron moved forward and wrapped one hand around the cold bars separating them. “Are you finally going to escape, after all these years? I see you’re outside your cell without a guard. Did you steal that cloak? It looks nice.” Ron scratched his chest and looked away.

When Harry didn’t answer, Ron felt compelled to fill the silence. “Why did you come to see me?”

Glancing at Harry, he saw the other man smile, cold and sharp. It was a malicious and threatening look that promised violence. It made Ron instinctively release the bars to cower back in his cell to get some distance. Gulping, Ron tried not to look scared, but knew he’d already lost that battle. He was scared. He knew Harry was fully capable of hurting him. He’d lived with the scars and side-effects for over a hundred years.

“You’re going to have a visitor soon,” Harry announced.

“Wh-who?” Ron asked fearfully.

“You’re going to meet a young, innocent Hermione Granger from the end of third year. She’s a time traveller. You need to convince her to live her life better.”

Ron shook his head, mystified. “What? How? I mean, third year? How could she possibly travel so far into the future? That’s crazy!”

“It doesn’t matter how. You wouldn’t understand the theory even if I explained. All you need to know is that her necklace allows her to move through large blocks of time both forward and backward as well as to different places. She just has to think with intent about when and where she wants to go and the necklace will take over and get her there. All that matters to you is that young Hermione is going to visit you in a few minutes and you’re going to tell her to fix her life so she can go back and be happier.”

Scoffing, Ron shook his head. “How am I supposed to do that? Make up some lie or crazy story? You know that woman never listened to a single word I said without arguing about it and thinking she knew better.”

“She did know better!” Harry snapped, his anger making Ron cower back again. He hated both himself and Harry for it. Eyes narrowing, Harry glared at him and said silkily, “You don’t even have to lie. Just tell her you got married, fought, and you lost your temper and killed her. Convince her that you can’t be trusted. It’s the truth. ”

It hurt to hear it said out loud like that. The pain made Ron ornery. “Why should I? It’s not like I get a do-over too.” Being contrary was one of the few freedoms Ron had from behind the bars of his cell. Plus, this was Harry. Ron had spent more of his life hating Harry than loving him by this point, though he could remember a time when things were different. Once upon a time, Harry had been his best friend, closer than even his brothers. He felt a pang of loss, followed by grief and remorse. He was so tired. “I can’t even die,” he said helplessly, sinking onto his bony knees, full of self-pity.

“Do you deserve that, Ron?” It wasn’t clear if Harry was talking about death or a do-over. Maybe both.

Wrapping his arms around himself for comfort, Ron wondered if Harry had anything to do with him not being able to die, what with him becoming master of the Deathly Hallows and all at 17. After a few seconds spent thinking, he dismissed the thought as ludicrous. Harry had never been as all-powerful as his exaggerated reputation would lead people to believe. If Harry had really been the Master of Death, there was no way he’d have let himself languish in prison for a century. Ron certainly wouldn’t have, so the theory must be false.

When Ron didn’t answer Harry, too caught up in his musings, Harry lowered his chin and stepped forward, catching Ron with his hard green eyes as he loomed over him. “If anyone owes Hermione a new, better life, it’s you, Ron. Doesn’t your former wife and the mother of your children deserve that from you? At the bare minimum?”

Ashamed and afraid, Ron nodded and dropped his eyes to the floor, rubbing his knuckles along the seams in the rock. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll make it right,” he said lowly.

Cloak swirling, Harry turned to leave then paused, speaking without turning around. “If this works, you should get a better life too…as long as you choose to be a better man the next time around.”

Ron swallowed and looked at his back. “I wish I’d been better.”

Still not looking at him, Harry nodded once and walked away. Despite the bright lights, dark shadows gathered around Harry’s body, rolling and frolicking like loyal pets begging for their master’s favor. Then, between one step and the next, Harry disappeared.

All magical travel was blocked in Azkaban. Disappearing like that should be impossible. It had also been really weird. Maybe Ron had underestimated Harry.

Again.

Scrubbing his face with his hands, Ron felt the air shift and go cold as something flickered at the edge of his vision. When he looked up, he found another visitor standing in front of his cell. It was a woman in dusty blue dress robes and a large-brimmed hat covered by a moonlight-colored veil that completely obscured her identity. Her hat tilted down as she examined him. It was intimidating.

Ron swallowed to wet his throat. His breath steamed in the ice cold air. “Are-are you young Hermione?”

“No,” she said coldly, parting the front of her veil with pale hands to reveal her face.

Heart skipping, Ron felt his eyes go wide and fearful. “You! But Harry said—”

The woman lunged forward and passed straight through the bars, making Ron squeak in terror as he fell over onto his back and scrabbled back against the wall. “Don’t hurt me!” he shrieked, cowering.

“Then listen to me. Very. Carefully.”

∞⌛∞

∞30 minutes later—2121, July 13—Azkaban∞

~Hermione Granger (14)~

Hesitating at a crossroads, Hermione tried to remember if she should go right or left to get to Ron’s cell. She pictured the map she’d seen and rotated it in her head, trying to get the hallways to line up. From what she remembered of the map, there hadn’t been a left turn here. She was lucky she hadn’t run into any guards yet.

As if to mock her, loud footsteps echoed down from the hallway from the left. She saw the swish of a gray cloak at the corner before the guard paused just before seeing her and stepped back out of sight as he questioned a companion about what was for lunch. Pressing a hand over her mouth to quiet her breathing, Hermione slid along the wall and rushed away down the right-hand corridor to escape. The guard kept talking, not seeming to notice her.

Ducking around the next corner and out of sight, she missed hearing the guard abruptly stop talking mid-sentence. There was no one in the empty hallway next to him. The man stepped out, revealing himself as the hooded man. Unknown to Hermione, he slowly ambled along after her.

After a couple more minutes of walking, Hermione counted down the numbers on the wall and saw that Ron’s cell was up ahead. Wringing her hands, she felt her feet slow down as she approached. Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the nearby cells, noticing that they were empty. She took a breath and forced herself to go up to the bars.

“Ron? Are you in there? It’s me, Hermione.”

An old man rose from where he’d been sitting on a cot against the back wall and shuffled towards the bars. He had deep wrinkles on his face, bags beneath watery blue eyes, and a bright red nose. Most of his long, scraggly hair and beard were whitish-gray with a few streaks of pale orange. However, the hair on his upper lip was still a faded Weasley red. It looked like it could be Ron, just—“You’re so old!” she exclaimed before blushing. “Sorry. You are Ron, right?”

“Hello, Hermione,” he said with an odd expression on his face as he stared at her. “You look young…very very young.”

“I’m so sorry it took me so long to come back and save you,” she said, moving to stand before him shamed-faced as she wrung her hands. “I accidentally popped by earlier when you were younger and meant to come back to the same day to save you, but now it looks like I made you wait years. I’m not very good at controlling this time travel necklace. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why you’re in here, but I’m sure that it isn’t your fault,” she said loyally. “And if it is, I’m sure you had a very good reason. You know I trust you.”

In response, Ron made a sound as if he was dying and put his hand over his eyes. He started to sob.

Hermione didn’t know what to do. She wrung her hands again. “Oh, Ron, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong, but don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here. I’m going to save you. You can count on me. After all, we’re best friends, right?” That just made him cry harder, a wretched sounding, “HuhHuhHwaah.”

She moved to examine the lock and optimistically tried casting an Alohomora, though she wasn’t very surprised when it didn’t work, this being a wizarding prison and all. As she’d grown older, she’d come to see it as a particularly useless spell. Only idiots and manipulative old Headmasters locked doors with magic that anyone over the age of eleven could open with something so simple. Important things had greater, more complicated protections. Unfortunately, she hadn’t learned those spells yet. Hermione tugged on the cell door and tried all of the spells she could think of, but nothing was working.

Wiping his hand down his face, Ron took a quivering breath and finally stopped crying, staring at her with sad, wet, bloodshot eyes. “I should’ve treated you better and been a better man.” He took a wet breath and coughed, wheezing out, “I didn’t deserve you.”

“Ron—” she protested, but he held up one age-spotted hand.

“No, just listen, Hermione. You can’t save me.”

“But—”

“You can’t,” Ron spoke loudly and impatiently over her protests and she could see the echoes of the young boy she knew in the old man. “I deserve to be here, Hermione. The why…the why isn’t important.” Face stubborn and eyes fixed on her face, he barrelled on. “What is important is that I was an awful husband and a bad father. I made a lot of really bad mistakes. I ran away and gave up when I should have kept trying, too proud to change or admit I was wrong. Then my son, Hugo, he…he killed himself.”

Hermione gasped and reached out to put a comforting hand on Ron’s shoulder, but he stepped back out of reach, looking guilty and miserable.

“It’s taken me a long time to see that it was probably my fault. A lot of things were my fault. So I’m staying here where I belong. I should’ve been more humble.” Clearing his throat, Ron sent her a speaking look down his big red nose. “Take my life as a lesson, Hermione. Don’t be too proud to change or admit you’re wrong.”

Ron’s sad life story had tears dripping down Hermione’s cheeks. “Oh, Ron. What can I do to make things better? To help you?”

“Your heart always was too big,” he mumbled under his breath as he shook his head and rubbed his hands down his thin, dirty pants. “There is something I want you to do for me. Save my son, Hugo. Stop him from killing himself before it’s too late. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course I can. I’ll save him, I promise,” Hermione said, wiping an arm across her face to dry her cheeks. “Though what year and day am I going to? And what does he look like? I’m not sure if I can steer this thing very well yet, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. I’ll figure it out.” Pulling out her necklace, Hermione made it visible.

Brow creasing, Ron stared at the necklace. “That looks almost…familiar…wait, no. Is it? Is that the necklace I gave you from Egypt in third year? The one I got on vacation?”

“Oh, yes,” she smiled at him bashfully. “It is. I guess you never discovered that it can travel in time or you wouldn’t have given it to me,” she chuckled awkwardly.

“Probably not,” he said, sounding flabbergasted. Ron glanced at something behind her back and flinched, speaking quickly. “We don’t have a lot of time. I was told that you don’t need to know the exact date, just have the intent and the necklace will take over and steer you to where you need to go.”

“Are you sure I can’t save you?” Hermione hated to leave him here like this.

“I don’t deserve to be saved.” Tugging on his beard, he looked away. “I’m old. If this works, I’ll be able to die at peace. Hugo is what matters now. Leave my useless arse in here and have a good life. Make it a better one. Don’t let me drag you down.”

Wiping off fresh tears, Hermione nodded. “Okay, but wait. What about Harry? Isn’t he trapped here too? I have to save him before leaving.”

Ron snorted and rolled his eyes, mouth twisting bitterly. “No, Harry’s already gotten out. You know him, he always lands on his feet. Not even a killing curse or two can keep him down, much less incarceration.” He waved his hand.

Laughing wetly, Hermione nodded. “I’m glad.” She tugged, letting the small tablet unspool in her hand. She felt the tablet dart up and over, sinking into the small pendant there. She pressed down on the V, feeling the thump in her body.

Chewing on her lip, she tried to figure out what to say to make this better, but she didn’t know if there was anything that would make this miserable old version of Ron feel better. Still, she had to try. He was one of her best friends. “I’m going to save your son Hugo. I promise, Ron, I’ll figure it out. You can count on me.”

“I know,” Ron said solemnly, mouth twisting. “Be happier and more honest with your heart, Hermione. Stop playing it safe. Take risks and be bold and brave. Live well.”

“I’ll try.” Before Hermione could say more, she felt the magic catch her by the throat and squeeze.

The world flashed black and everything twisted, turned, screamed, burned.

It felt like she was dying, like she was dead.

∞⌛∞

∞3 seconds later—2121, July 13—Azkaban∞

~Ron Weasley (141)~

As soon as Hermione left, the hooded man lurking in the shadows back by the corner of the hallway stalked forward to stand in front of Ron’s cell, throwing back his hood to reveal Harry’s ageless face. Ron crossed his arms and widened his stance, refusing to let himself be so intimidated this time. Speaking to young Hermione had reminded Ron of the boldness of his youth.

“That’s not what we discussed!” Harry snapped, flicking a creepy, too-thick shadow from his heel. “You didn’t tell her you were married.”

Keeping his expression even, Ron didn’t respond.

“Or that you killed her.”

Unable to stay stoic at that, Ron looked away and down, the shame too great.

Fists clenching, Harry bared his teeth. “If your silence gets her killed again, I’ll make you beg for a death that never comes.” Turning his head away, he took two steps and then pivoted to face Ron again, breathing heavily. “What were you thinking!” he shouted, waving his hands.

Ron took a shaky breath. “I couldn’t say it, not to that face,” he confessed. “She was so young and trusting and concerned. I can’t remember her looking at me like that anymore. I forgot what it felt like.” Chewing on his cheek, he added, “Besides, she was as miserable as I was in that marriage and a real shrew. She wasn’t blameless.” Harry snarled and Ron quickly added, “Don’t get me wrong, I know I wronged her. I wish to God I hadn’t, but Hugo was even more innocent. My son deserves to live a long and happy life. The truth is that if we can only save one person, Hermione would want it to be Hugo, even over herself, and after my sad story, she’ll make it happen. She’ll turn herself inside out to save him.”

“You stupid sack of—” Biting off the rest of his words, Harry paced back and forth in front of the cell, cloak snapping at his heels as the shadows gathered.

“Don’t you care about saving Hugo?” Ron asked defensively. “I thought you cared about him too.”

“Of course I do!” Harry roared, looking devastated. “I loved that boy, but it’s too late. Our Hugo, that Hugo is already long gone. You didn’t even tell Hermione that he was her son too, you just sent her off blind. Hugo only died because he blamed himself for his mother’s death, which was actually your fault!” He gestured wildly with his hands. “If she hadn’t died, he wouldn’t have blamed himself and committed suicide! Saving her would have been saving them both, you dunderheaded idiot!”

“Oh…I didn’t think of that.” Ron’s face went hot and then cold. He stayed quiet for a moment, thinking, before starting to scowl. “Except if your plan had worked, she never would have married me to begin with so there never would have been a Hugbald Weasley! If I’m an idiot, you’re an idiot too!”

“Hugo hated being called Hugbald,” Harry snapped. “Hermione didn’t like it either.”

Ron raised his whiskered chin, fully prepared to rehash this old argument. “Hugbald is a traditional name in the Weasley family and nothing to be embarrassed about! As I’ve mentioned before, it’s from old Germanic. Hugo is the common short form and, while acceptable, Hugbald is more formal and accurate. Just like people sometimes call me Ronald instead of Ron. Finally, he is my son, not yours, and I can call him whatever I want, Harry.”

Grimacing, Harry waved away Ron’s words. “Whatever, we’re getting off point. This was supposed to be simple. Hermione talks to you, goes back with a new mindset, and still helps us defeat Voldemort as friends but without falling for you romantically or marrying you.” Tipping back his head, he tugged at his black hair. “I had it all planned out. For millennia! She goes back, warned and wiser, puts away the necklace, and lives a better, happier life. We all stay friends if we’re lucky and good. The end. It was a great plan. You agreed to this.” He glared at Ron. “Why did you change it?!”

Face hot, Ron turned and faced the wall. “None of your business, you berk.” He wasn’t about to tell Harry he’d been blackmailed and bullied by the spirit of his dead wife. He’d rarely won arguments with her during their marriage unless he yelled, got physical, or stormed off. He wasn’t proud of that. The only reason Hugbald had gotten through as Hugo’s name was because Ron had filled out the birth certificate while she’d still been delivering the afterbirth in the other room and filed it immediately. She’d almost killed him after that one.

Speaking of which—“So…are you finally going to let me die now or what?” He looked over his shoulder at Harry.

Harry looked shifty. “What do you mean?”

Scoffing, Ron turned around fully and rolled eyes. “I may be old and broken, and I may not like you much—”

“The feeling is mutual—”

“But I’m not so old as to not see the oddities of you popping in and out of this prison with your pet shadows and how you’re different. Way different. Creepily so. It’s the Deathly Hallows thing, isn’t it? I’m right, aren’t I?” He gave Harry a smug look that obviously bothered the other man, considering the way the lines around his eyes and mouth tightened.

“Oh shut up and die already,” Harry snarled.

∞⌛∞

~Harry Potter~

And with that, Ron fell over.

Dead.

It was the second time Harry had watched him die. Being a somewhat malicious god, he found it quite satisfying, killing Ron off for a second time. Being a tender-hearted fool, he felt a pang of loss for the boy who had once been his first real friend and a source of childhood fun and joy. He could only hope that enough of that kind boy had remained to steer Hermione and Hugo to a better end instead of a worse one.

As Ron’s spirit rose from his body, Harry put on his metaphorical big boy pants and professionally ushered him to the other side for judgement, resisting the urge to punt him to the Egyptian side instead of the British one. Though he only waited until the appropriate authorities took over before he sped away, wanting to avoid being forced to greet any of the spirits gathering to greet Ron’s soul.

Harry’s plan was already wildly off-track and he’d barely even started. He couldn’t tell who was more at fault—one of his future selves or one of his past ones. Time travel made assigning blame tricky.

∞⌛∞

Chapter 8:

∞⌛∞

∞2021, July 03—a Meadow Behind the Burrow∞

~James Potter (18)~

James had thought he’d be happy to be done with school. His friends all seemed excited to start the next chapter of their lives, going on to jobs, apprenticeships, or taking a gap year to tour the continent or volunteer somewhere like Africa. However, James didn’t have the luxury of being carefree like his friends. His parents were gone and he was responsible for his siblings and favorite cousins.

His grandparents loved them and meant well, but they couldn’t be trusted to help more than hurt, and his Uncles were too selfish and poor to take on the burden of so many kids. Last year Uncle Bill had offered to take either the Potter or the Weasley kids, whoever felt more comfortable staying with him, but had admitted shamefaced that he didn’t have the money to support all five of them after he’d been suspended at Gringotts for an ethics investigation for being brothers with two men sentenced to life in Azkaban. None of the other uncles had even offered. Then at the beginning of summer, Percy’s wife, who’d had only sons, had said that she’d be willing to adopt just Lily if Grandma would let the Potter siblings be split up and agree to legally change Lily’s last name to Weasley to match her new family situation. Grandma had liked that idea but James had been outraged and categorically refused, telling them he’d involve Mr. Malfoy if they pressed the issue. Luckily that had been enough to make them back off, though they’d both been sour about it.

Mr. Malfoy was the only one willing to step up for all five of them. Thank Merlin for Albus becoming friends with Scorpius, who had been surprisingly Hufflepuffish this last year and stuck with them all loyally despite the scandal of their parents. Yet although Mr. Malfoy was being wonderful and generous right now, James knew the Potter/Weasley kids were a lot of work. Mr. Malfoy would probably get tired of them sooner or later, just like James’s Mum had. James needed to figure out how to become independent and wealthy as soon as possible so he could keep them all together and take care of his family, he just hadn’t figured out how yet.

He also worried about what would happen to them at Hogwarts without him there to protect them and run interference with the Professors. Other students were also still making snide comments and provoking fights. They were all still struggling with the loss of their parents.

James was particularly worried about Hugo. His youngest cousin’s personality had changed drastically. It felt like he’d been on the cusp for most of the year of either having a mental breakdown or getting expelled. Plus, being home from school without all the distractions of schoolwork seemed to be making his depression and destructive behavior worse. Today had been Hugo’s birthday and the first anniversary of Aunt Hermione’s death. Hugo had refused any talk of a birthday celebration. That coincidence seemed even worse than how James’s dad struggled with his parents’ death being on the day everyone celebrated Halloween.

At Rose’s request, the Weasleys had agreed to hold a memorial service behind the Burrow in a meadow sprinkled with blue wildflowers. Aunt Hermione had loved the color blue. She’d been like a mother to James and he’d cried just as hard as the Weasley kids at the memorial service. The family had all cried and spoken of their favorite memories of her. Sometimes you didn’t realize how much a person did for and meant to you until they were gone. It made James miss his dad even more, wishing he could be there with them too or that they could at least talk about him without Grandma losing her temper and either telling them not to mention him or saying something mean about Dad.

Mr. Malfoy had attended the service with Scorpius to show them support, wearing an expensive-looking muggle-inspired black linen suit, black dress shirt, and black on black scroll-patterned tie. During the remembrances he hadn’t cried, but he had stepped forward to speak. “I never much got along with Hermione, but she was a powerful force for good in this world. She humbled me regularly and made me rethink my assumptions. I didn’t thank her for it, but it made me into a better man. She was someone I came to greatly respect. I can still see the things I most admired about her in her children Rose and Hugo. She is missed by many.”

Grandma had also broken down crying at the ceremony, which had surprised James considering some of the uncharitable things she’d said about Aunt Hermione in the past, but as soon as she calmed down enough to talk, she started wailing about poor Uncle Ron instead of Aunt Hermione and how unfair it was that his “simple mistake spiraled into a tragedy because of Hugo’s thoughtlessness and Harry’s cruel temper! My Ronnie’s a good boy who doesn’t deserve to be punished like this and Hermione would have said the same had she survived, I’m sure of it!”

Hugo had collapsed into himself, choking out an apology and running and stumbling back to the house. Face blotchy with temper, Lily had excused herself and followed after him. James let them go to focus on Rose, who looked like she was about to attack Grandma. Before James could figure out what to do, Mr. Malfoy touched Rose’s shoulder and drew her back, passing her his monogrammed silk handkerchief to wipe her wet cheeks and runny nose.

Then he’d turned on Grandma with diamond-hard eyes and drawled, “How convenient for you then that Ron killed his wife and she isn’t around to ask.”

Half the audience choked while Grandma sputtered like an over-boiling tea kettle. Mr. Malfoy sneered. “If Hermione had survived learning about Ron’s betrayal, I’d wager she’d have killed your son the first time she could reasonably get away with it, multiple people would’ve helped her hide the body, and we’d all be attending his memorial service today instead. I know which event I’d have enjoyed more.”

Grandma had started shrieking and wands had been drawn. James had been willing to come to Mr. Malfoy’s defense against his relatives, but before he could, the man had gestured at James and the other kids to stay calm. He’d then put his nose in the air and announced, “I see that the Weasley family is still only rich in temper. You’ll excuse my manners, but the stench of hypocrisy has quite put me off partaking in such cheap refreshments, even out of politeness.”

Needless to say, Mr. Malfoy had been kicked out after that, though it was more of a graceful saunter away in the face of a bunch of Weasleys brandishing their wands at him. Just before leaving he turned to grab Scorpius and sighed when he ran off with Albus in the opposite direction. Turning to James, he said, “If you need me for any reason, call for me or send for a Malfoy house elf. Otherwise you’re all free to return to the Manor whenever you’d like, though I would appreciate knowing if you plan on missing meals.”

“Of course, Sir. Thank you,” James said. Mr. Malfoy had squeezed his shoulder and then stepped back and Apparated away. James hadn’t felt much like eating the refreshments after that either.

The rest of the family seemed to feel the same. Grandma and Grandpa left for Uncle Percy’s house to calm down with a soothing cup of tea and listen to his and his sons’ latest accomplishments. The other Uncles and their families followed suit, bidding James and the others farewell as they lined up to use the Floo inside the House, leaving the refreshment table outside untouched by anything except flies and bees. Within fifteen minutes the Burrow had emptied of almost everyone.

“Good riddance,” Albus said as he came out of hiding with Scorpius to stand by Rose in front of the house. “We don’t need them anyways. Right, James?”

The fact that he asked showed he wasn’t as confident as he sounded, but James wasn’t going to call his brother out on it. “We’ll be fine. After all, we’ve always got each other.”

“And me and my dad,” said Scorpius, throwing his arm around James and squeezing. “We’re your family now too, especially after you took that quaffle to the back for me in the last game when I got distracted admiring Rose in flight.”

“I’m right here,” Rose said, sending him an exasperated look.

“Oh believe me, I’m well aware. It’s one of the great perks of being Albus’s friend and James’s surrogate little brother, but don’t worry, I don’t see you as a sister. If you have any doubts, I’m happy to kiss you again to prove it.” James shrugged off his arm as Albus made a sound of disgust and Rose turned bright red.

Seconds later Lily came hurrying around the side of the house looking frantic. “Have any of you seen Hugo? I lost him when he ran into the house. I don’t think he took the Floo, but I can’t find him anywhere.” She chewed on her already ragged thumbnail.

“What in Merlin’s name—” Albus broke off to point a finger at the peak of the tall crooked house where Hugo had just stood up from behind a chimney, his face deathly pale and numb looking as he moved to the back corner, which was the highest point of the roof.

“What is he doing?” Lily asked, voice shaking. “He’s too close to the edge, he’ll fall.”

Rose cupped her hands around her mouth. “HUGO, BE CAREFUL!”

Not acknowledging them, Hugo extended his wand and dropped it carelessly off the edge of the roof.

“What the—” James went cold.

Then Hugo closed his eyes and threw himself off too.

The lean of the house hid Hugo’s plummeting body as they all screamed in shock and horror. It didn’t look like his magic was slowing him down. It didn’t look like he was going to let even accidental magic save him.

Racing forward, heart in his throat, James ran as fast as he could, outpacing the rest with his wand extended in hopes of catching Hugo with a spell before he hit the ground, terrified he’d be too late.

Bursting around the side of the house, James had to swerve to avoid slamming into the back of a young witch. She had curly brown, bushy hair, wore an elaborate gold necklace over Hogwarts school robes, and looked about Lily’s age. He didn’t quite recognize her in the split second he spared to glance at her before desperately looking for Hugo.

Who was alive!

Suspended in mid-air at the height of the second floor, Hugo started cursing and hiccuping as he struggled to get free. The witch controlled the descent of Hugo’s body with her wand as he drifted down like a feather. James ran under Hugo and held out his arms to catch his young cousin, crying big, heaving sobs of relief at not being too late. Almost blind from the tears, James’s arms closed tightly around Hugo and pulled him close as the witch released her spell.

Sobbing, Hugo tried to bat him away. “Why did you save me? You should’ve let me die,” Hugo cried. “I’m better off dead. Let me go!”

“Never!” James fell to his knees as he hugged Hugo tight to his chest. “I love you, Hugo. Don’t leave me too. Don’t!”

“Hugo, Hugo!” Rose sobbed, hurling herself at them like a linebacker and wrapping her arms around them both as James rocked with the impact. “You git! You bastard! How dare you try to kill yourself! How dare you! I need you!”

“We need you,” Lily cried, grabbing Hugo from the other side. “We love you. You scared m-me!” she wailed.

“Don’t leave us, Hugo. Don’t!” Albus sobbed as he and Scorpius joined in the embrace and they all fell over into a crying heap.

“So many people love you, Hugo Weasley,” the mysterious girl said. “They want you here. Let them help you. Get counseling, take medications or potions, whatever you need to do to get past this dark patch and back into the sun. The greatest wish of your parents is for you to have a long, full life. If you can’t find the will to go on, if everything’s too heavy, let those who love you carry the weight for you and with you until you’re strong enough. Please don’t give up again. Please keep trying. Please.”

“Please, Hugo,” Rose said. “We’re here for you. We love you.”

“I’m sorry,” Hugo said wetly, his fight gone as he buried his face in James’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what else to do to fix this. I’m sorry.”

“We’ll fix this together,” James said, cupping the back of his head. “Just don’t give up on us or yourself.”

“We love you,” Lily said, “but you can’t hurt yourself like this. It’s not right and it’s not fair to the rest of us. If you’re struggling, tell us. Let us help you, please. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try,” Hugo said meekly, looking up with bloodshot eyes. “But to start…”

“Yes?” Rose said. “Anything.”

“Can you stop kneeling on my thigh? You’re fat and it hurts.”

Laughing wetly, Rose gently slapped his arm and stood up. The rest of them untangled themselves and stood up too, though both James and Rose kept an arm on Hugo just in case, perhaps to stop him from running off again or perhaps just to prove to themselves that he was still here and the worst hadn’t happened. James didn’t think he’d be letting Hugo out of his sight for a long, long time and his sister probably felt the same.

“We’ll find your wand,” Albus said as he and Scorpius went to search.

Lily turned to their mysterious savior. “Thank you so much for saving Hugo,” Lily pressed her still trembling hands together and bowed her head. “I don’t think I caught your name. Were you here looking for Grandma Weasley or one of my cousins?”

Now that he was looking, James noticed that she looked extremely familiar, though he couldn’t place where from. The bushy-hair girl laughed awkwardly and fiddled with her necklace, unspooling the small, central pendant and dragging it back and forth across the chain. “I guess you could say that, though really, I’m more friends with your parents.”

Albus gasped and stopped searching the bushes to whirl around and point at her. “Wait, are you—”

“Oh, sorry, where are my manners? I’m Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you.” She gave a little wave and a small smile. Everyone gasped. James felt his mouth drop open. Hugo sagged and almost fell out of his grip as the young version of his dead Aunt spoke again. “I don’t know what year this is or if you’ve heard of me, but I just popped in to save Hugo as a favor for his parents. I’m so glad I wasn’t too late.”

Scorpius cleared his throat. “You’re saying you’re a time traveller. Does that mean Hugo would’ve succeeded in killing himself if you hadn’t come?”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said softly as she looked away, squeezing the pendant on her necklace so tightly that the beds of her fingernails turned white from the pressure. “I should go.”

The words about Hugo sliced through James’s chest. “Oh, God,” he gasped, feeling lightheaded as he clutched Hugo’s warm hand to his heart. Hugo had died. He’d died!

Rose gave a hiccuping sob. “You s-saved him,” she said. Her mouth silently shaped the word ‘mum,’ but she was crying too hard to get the rest of the sounds out.

“You traveled in time to save me?” Hugo asked in a small voice. She nodded. Wiping his face on his shoulder, Hugo tried to step forward but was still restrained by James and Rose. Instead he just leaned, his voice gaining strength as he asked, “Does that mean you could save someone else who died?”

“Oh!” Scorpius jolted, then spun in a circle. “Why don’t I have my bookbag? You could save my mom! I have to go and get the treatise outlining the cure, and when you go back to the past you can give it to Astoria Malfoy—I mean Greengrass. Astoria Greengrass! Her or her sister Daphne or my fa—I mean, Draco Malfoy. Please! She’s sick, a blood curse, and this could save her. Oh, please!”

“No!” Rose shouted, pale and glassy-eyed as she stared off at something in the distance. “Things can always get worse. Don’t forget the Butterfly Effect. I-I can’t quite remember why, but you shouldn’t. You could screw up the timeline.”

Scorpius set his jaw and glared at her. “Or she could save my mum from dying. Didn’t she just save Hugo?” His expression turned pleading. “This could save my mom. This could save your mom.”

“He’s right, he’s right!” Hugo said, sounding fanatical. Rose looked at her brother and swallowed hard. “We have to try,” he insisted, jittering in Rose’s hold.

Biting her lip, Rose closed her eyes. After a moment she whispered, “Alright.” She opened her eyes and turned to young Hermione, expression resolute. “Alright. To start, this is what we need to do first to save—”

Before she could say more, the young version of Hermione was swallowed in shadow between one blink and the next and disappeared.

“No!” Hugo cried, collapsing to his knees and almost dragging James down with him.

“She’s gone.” James didn’t know how many more shocks he could take today.

“Without my book,” Scorpius said, sounding devastated.

Rose didn’t look any better as fresh tears dripped down her face. “We didn’t warn her in time.”

Eyes manic, Hugo clambered back to his feet, eyes darting around. “Maybe we’ll have another chance to try. We have to find a way to try. We have to save her.”

“If she comes back?” Rose said.

Albus nodded eagerly. “Using that necklace, right? That’s how she did it. But we might not even remember this or the necklace. Our present could be changed if she changes the past. That’s how tricky time travel is.”

Hugo swallowed. “The necklace is the key. If she doesn’t come to us, we can go back to her. We just have to find it. If mum had it back then, maybe she kept it. Let’s go find it.” He tried to take a step forward.

Digging in her heels, Rose yanked him back into James’s chest. “You’re not going anywhere, Mister, except a healer!”

“Don’t think that we’ve forgotten that you tried to kill yourself,” Lily said, crossing her arms.

He looked away sullenly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is!” Rose shook her brother. “You’re not allowed to do that again, do you hear me? You can’t leave me too. I need you. Promise me! Promise me you won’t try to hurt yourself like that again!”

Licking his lips, Hugo stared with unseeing eyes into the space where a younger version of his mother had just disappeared. “I won’t.”

“Promise,” Lily demanded.

“I-I promise,” Hugo said haltingly.

Feeling a hundred years old, James looked around. “Scorpius, call your house elves to pop us to your father. We need help.” They needed an adult with a cool head to get Hugo the help he needed, someone who cared more about Hugo than their own problems. Mr. Malfoy could be trusted with that. James was so grateful he didn’t have to do this on his own. His Grandparents were old school and believed in either ignoring emotional problems or potioning them away so they didn’t inconvenience other people. His mom had complained about that bitterly, using it as an excuse to run away whenever things got hard.

Things were very hard right now, but James could never see running out on his family when they needed him. He was loyal like his father in that way and proud of it. Putting on a brave face, he looked around at his family. “Everything’s not okay right now, but we’re going to be alright. The miracle of Aunt Hermione still looking out for us from the past proves that. My dad used to say that when you have a problem, you could always count on Aunt Hermione’s support and that she’d never give up on you. Today proved him right. Going forward, no matter what happens, we won’t give up—not on ourselves and not on each other. Right?”

“Right,” they all chorused raggedly.

“Good.” He swallowed and saw with relief that several Malfoy house elves were popping into view around them. “Good.”

∞⌛∞

∞1994, June 11—Hogwarts∞

~Hermione Granger (14)~

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked Harry, unable to ignore the sad look on his face for a second longer.

“I’m fine,” Harry mumbled, scowling and kicking hard at the rocks as they paced the shore of the Black Lake. A rock arched through the air and hit the water with a splash.

“Oh, very believable. Well done, you,” she said. “Why don’t you try that again.” She bumped him gently with her shoulder.

Sighing gustily, Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair, making the black strands look even more wild. “It just stinks to find out Sirius is a good guy and wants me around, only to lose him right after and then, well, finding out yesterday that Professor Lupin is leaving me too—I mean us,” he added quickly. “Leaving the school. And that he’s being forced to resign. It’s garbage, is all I’m saying.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I know you got close to Professor Lupin this year.”

“Yeah, as much as he’d let me,” Harry said sadly, “but he was really great, you know? Teaching me cool spells when he had the time and letting me ramble. Just talking and listening to me, offering help and advice. I never really had an adult to rely on growing up, much less someone who cared. I can’t remember ever being loved, can’t even remember my parents.”

Pausing, Harry gave a thick, bitter laugh. “Well, I guess that’s not true anymore after meeting the Dementors. I can now remember my mom’s last scream before dying.” He swallowed hard and looked away, trying to hide that he was knuckling at his eyes. “Though I can’t say I appreciate the memory being restored. I just wish I could remember something happy about them.”

“Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry,” Hermione said, hugging him, not sure how else to help. She wished someone could’ve saved Harry’s parents or that he’d had a better childhood with at least one adult who actually loved and cared for him. “I would fix that for you if I could,” she said fiercely.

Patting her back, he pulled away from the hug and tugged at her arm to resume their walk, though he kept his arm looped through hers as he sent her a weak smile. “I know you would.”

“I would,” she said, mind starting to spin with an ambitious plan. Perhaps I could?

Months ago she’d gone to the future using the Egyptian necklace and saved Ron’s son Hugo, who was about to die by suicide. It was something she felt really proud about, especially with so many of his friends and cousins gratefully crying and hugging Hugo when she left. Her only niggling regret was that she’d never found out who Hugo’s mother was. There’d never seemed an appropriate moment to ask to assuage her curiosity. The mystery had her watching more closely how Ron interacted with girls like Lavender and Parvati, but so far the evidence had been inconclusive. Hermione hadn’t used the Egyptian necklace since, putting it away and only pulling out her British time turner for classes or, under the prompting of Professor Dumbledore, to save Buckbeak and Sirius Black.

However, this conversation with Harry made her wonder—could she travel through time to save someone else? Perhaps someone who’d died unjustly years in the past instead of in the future? Someone like Harry’s parents? Her practical side clamored with warnings about the dangers of time travel, but her sentimental side looked at the downturned corners of Harry’s mouth and the wistful gleam in his eyes and decided that some people were more important than prudence. There was a reason she’d sorted into Gryffindor, which valued bravery and friendship, over Ravenclaw, which valued intelligence and rationality. Hermione would do anything to help her friends, even travel to the past to save their parents from being brutally killed by the Dark Lord.

Really, how hard could it be?

∞⌛∞

~Narrator~

Dearest Reader, do you think Hermione wants an honest answer to that question? Because if so, I don’t think she’s going to like the answer. I really don’t.

Perhaps we’ll just let her keep her illusions until the next chapter.

∞⌛∞

Chapter 9:

∞⌛∞

∞1981, October 31—Godric’s Hollow∞

~Hermione Granger (14)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Falling to her hands and knees onto damp grass, scraping her arm on what felt like a brick wall as she went down, Hermione looked around frantically but saw nothing but blackness. She shivered hard as an ice cold wind cut through her summer school robes like they were made of tissue paper. Blinking hard and rubbing her eyes, she looked around again but still couldn’t see anything. It was scaring her. What if something had gone wrong and she’d ended up blind?

It was so black that she couldn’t help but compare it to Professor Snape’s heart, though as soon as she had the thought she felt guilty. He was an odious and cruel man who used his job as an excuse to take out his personal misery on his innocent students, but he was also a professor and he had tried to protect her and her friends from a werewolf. She should be respectful, even if she wouldn’t mind setting him on fire (again).

Before she could panic too much at the thought of being blind and having to replace her entire personal library with books in Braille or whatever the wizarding equivalent was for lettering for the blind, her eyes finally adjusted and she realized that she wasn’t blind after all—it was just nighttime. She’d used the necklace when the bright sun was high in the sky, but now it was pitch dark with the only faint light coming from a cloud-draped sliver of crescent moon. It didn’t help that she was sitting in the dark shadows cast by the brick wall. She lifted her head higher, went up on her knees, and looked over the edge of the wall to see a few backlit windows in the surrounding houses on either side.

Strangely enough, the brightest light she could find shone just outside the shadow cast by the wall she’d fallen next to, making it look like there should be a house with lit windows right next to her. However, when she looked up nothing was there. It was confusing.

Perhaps she should leave.

Yes, she should leave.

Wait, no. Hermione couldn’t leave. No. She had come to the past to save Harry’s parents. She had to save the Potters for Harry!

Admittedly she’d planned to arrive much earlier in the day to warn them about Pettigrew’s betrayal with plenty of time for them to flee elsewhere to safety. It wasn’t supposed to be complicated, much less dangerous. Hermione hadn’t meant to come at night and had no intention of actually confronting the homicidal Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Hermione was brave, yes, but she wasn’t stupid. She had to find the Potters quickly to warn them and then get out of here.

She should get out of here.

About to push herself to her feet, she felt struck by a strong wave of confusion. What was she doing? Perhaps she should…she should….Where was she again? Doing what?

This felt wrong. Confusing. She should leave. She needed to leave. Now. Leave. Hermione’s fingers tangled in the necklace at her throat, but she couldn’t remember how it worked. Her wand was useless as she hadn’t learned magical travel yet. Maybe she should use her feet and go. She should go. That meant standing up. She needed to leave.

“Quickly Pettigrew, repeat the secret before they scatter!” a hard, cruel voice snapped, making her instinctively drop back down to her knees to hide just as she was finally about to straighten up. “Clearly this time and without mumbling! Or I’ll chop off your lips!”

Hermione’s urge to flee became even stronger, warring with her instinct to stay still and avoid the person who’d just spoken. Her heart pounded hard enough to be felt in her throat.

“21 Church Street in Godric’s Hollow! The Potter Cottage is at 21 Church Street in Godric’s Hollow!” Pettigrew shouted.

Hermione’s confusion fled now that she’d overheard the secret of the Potter’s location from the traitor Peter Pettigrew, leaving behind only understanding and terror as the Potter’s quaint little cottage blinked into existence above her, casting warm light across the front lawn from the large curtained front window. The cruel voice speaking to Pettigrew must be Voldemort. Hermione started to panic again. She was kneeling in between the front yard and the brick wall separating the property from the street. At any moment Voldemort and his followers were going to come through the gate in the wall to attack the Potters, see her down here, and kill her before killing Harry’s parents. There wasn’t time to get to the Potter’s front door and safety, even if they would let a strange girl inside. Though even if she did get inside, it wasn’t any safer than out here considering the house was about to be invaded and the family murdered. Tears sprang to her eyes and her fingers started to tremble. This was not what she had planned, not at all! She had to run and hide. Quickly!

Stumbling to her feet, staying hunched over in the darkest shadows along the wall, she fled down the side of the house towards the backyard where she’d be hidden by the bulk of the house. Rounding the corner, she saw a back door. Two conflicting desires warred within Hermione. She was scared and wanted to escape, but now that she was here she still wanted to save Harry’s parents. What if a simple warning was enough to keep them alive? Didn’t she have to at least try? For Harry?

Hermione would do anything for Harry. She decided to hedge her bets. Pulling out the bookmark pendant, she moved it back and forth and concentrated on going home until it snicked into place on a brand new pendant it hadn’t used before and sank in to form the V of the sundial, though she had to pray it would still work when the sun was down. Moonlight was reflected sunlight, so hopefully that still counted. She tucked the necklace under her shirt so it wouldn’t be seen even if she forgot to turn it invisible. She still hadn’t figured out why the magic chose different pendants to attach to to return her to the same present time.

Unless it wasn’t the same time anymore and she just hadn’t collected enough data yet to notice? It did seem to return her to different days than the ones she’d left, though her memories always filled in for what she thought she’d missed. It was an interesting theory. She’d have to think about it more later when she wasn’t in mortal danger. Being careful to not depress the lever, she moved her fingers to the farthest triangle and tapped on it to make the necklace go invisible under her shirt.

Then Hermione ran to the back door and pounded on it desperately.

“What in the world?” a woman exclaimed from inside before a man wrenched open the door, his wand pointed at Hermione’s chest.

“Please don’t shoot me, Mr. Potter!” Hermione squeaked out, tongue stumbling over what to say, glad she’d left her wand holstered as she raised her empty hands to look unthreatening. Even knowing what to expect, Hermione was still caught by surprise at seeing James Potter alive in front of her. It was Harry’s dad! There were obvious similarities to Harry—particularly the hair, mouth, and glasses—but the dark eyes and shape of the nose were wrong and not Harry at all. He was also so young compared to Hermione’s parents or even Ron’s, which made sense but still felt very strange.

“It’s a strangely polite girl in a Hogwarts uniform,” Mr. Potter said over his shoulder, not taking his wary eyes off of Hermione. “How did you find this place? It should be impossible.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” Hermione said, flushing as she recalled her purpose. “You need to take Harry and escape. You’ve been betrayed. Voldemort’s coming down the front walk to kill you! Please get out! Please!”

“What? But the Fidelius Charm should—” cutting himself off, he gave a pained grimace and shook his head. “Betrayed is right if some random girl is here. Damn you, Peter!” Whirling on his feet, he ran back into the cottage. “Lily, we’ve been found! We need to run!”

“Obviously!” snapped Lily Potter as she ran upstairs. “I’ll grab Harry!”

“You need to hurry,” Hermione said, wringing her hands and following him inside. “They’re just out front. I heard them talking.”

Mr. Potter ran to the fireplace and stoked the flames, cursing when the fire responded with a blast of heat and orange flames instead of cooling in preparation for Floo travel. Eyes tight, he threw in a pinch of Floo powder. The flames didn’t go green. He tried again more forcefully to no effect and again a third time with a handful instead of a pinch. The flames never changed. “Bloody piece of shit!” Without warning he threw the tin of powder hard across the room, shattering it against the floor in an explosion of glittering silver clouds that might be pretty in a different, less-deadly circumstance. The kitchen and half of the living room filled with the billowing, glittery fog. It hung in the air longer than a normal powder would. Hermione had to fight not to cough and choke as powder coated her tongue and made it hard to see anything.

Rubbing his forehead, looking agonized, Mr. Potter turned and saw Hermione still standing there. Hand dropping, he shook his head sharply and refocused, just like Harry in a crisis. “Get upstairs,” he ordered hoarsely, shoving Hermione towards the stairs even as he turned towards the front door.

He raised his voice, calling, “Lily, the Floo isn’t working! Take the kids and go! Try apparating! I’ll stall them!”

Hermione stumbled forward, but kept her head turned to watch him, feeling horrible at the thought of not being able to save him too.

“You better be right behind me, James!” called Mrs. Potter from upstairs. “Or I’ll make you regret it!”

Grimacing, he swallowed and called, “Of course!” in a confident and light tone completely different from his bleak expression. He pulled his wand and moved the couch to block the door. Striding forward, he pressed himself against the wall next to the window, lifting the edge of the curtain with his wand as he peered out at the front of the house, eyes sharp and lips pressed thin at whatever he saw there. It was probably Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

The thought made Hermione queasy as she stumbled up the stairs.

The first partially open doorway led to what looked like the master bedroom, though it was dark inside and hard to see. A partially closed door farther down the same wall was probably the bathroom. The door at the end of the hall was the nursery. The colorful room had mirrors on the walls, a braided rug on the floor, and whimsical decorations lit warmly by a white deer-shaped lamp. Lily Potter’s back was to Hermione as she bent over the crib against the wall with a hastily stuffed diaper bag over one shoulder that was trailing a baby blanket. She stood and turned, exiting the nursery with a whining and unhappy to be awakened black-haired toddler in her arms that had to be Harry. Even in the midst of her terror, Hermione thought he was adorable. Mrs. Potter’s lips were pale and pressed tight. Her eyes—the same green as Harry’s—showed fear and determination.

“You need to get out of here!” Hermione wrung her hands. “Hurry, please, before it’s too late!”

“I know. Come here, sweetie,” she said firmly to Hermione, reaching out and putting the arm with the diaper bag and wand around her, making the bag thump against Hermione’s leg as she pulled her close. Despite her obvious fear, she radiated a protective kindness and a dangerous competence as she looked towards the front of the house, eyes narrowing as her head cocked at the sound of the porch boards creaking.

Seconds later the loud sound of the door splintering echoed up the stairs. Glass shattered and the flash of red, green, and orange spellfire strobed the walls. Someone cried out in pain. They all flinched and Harry gave a small cry and rubbed his face against his mum’s neck, whimpering. Mrs. Potter pulled Harry and Hermione closer and cast silently, trying to Apparate away.

Nothing happened.

The sound of fighting intensified. She cast again. They still didn’t move.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione whispered, trying to be brave.

“They’ve blocked Apparition spells,” Mrs. Potter said hoarsely, green eyes darting back and forth in the hallway like a trapped animal.

The sound of furniture shattering echoed up the stairs. Mr. Potter shouted triumphantly as more spell lights flashed. Someone outside cried out. Mr. Potter roared like a lion, followed by a green flash that lit the walls sickeningly and then a loud thud shook the floor. After that, an eerie quiet descended as all sounds of fighting stopped.

Hermione and Mrs. Potter exchanged a heavy look. Seconds later, a shrill and triumphant laugh sounded, like the feel of icy fingers sliding down your back just as the lights went dark. Mrs. Potter gave a single sobbing breath before biting her lip hard and Hermione realized it must mean that Mr. Potter had died. Tears stung her eyes. The evil laugh came closer, accompanied by footsteps up the stairs.

“Quick, into the nursery!” Mrs. Potter said desperately, eyes wet and lip beading red as she pushed Hermione ahead of her into the room, tossing the diaper bag to the side as she spun around just inside the door, Harry held tightly on her hip as she raised her wand defensively.

Stumbling up against the crib, Hermione felt the V of her necklace thud down as it was pressed between the crib railing and her body. Through the open crack in the green and blue curtains she could faintly see a person in a white mask moving through the back yard. Moonlight came in around the gaps of the curtain, probably enough to activate the runes, though night might be slower than daytime. That meant she only had seconds before she was whisked away. Hermione started counting in the back of her head as she spun around.

One.

“Run!” Hermione begged, trying not to hyperventilate as Lily Potter stood her ground and a terrifying figure that could be none other than Lord Voldemort appeared at the top of the stairs. Mrs. Potter shot a spell at him but it was easily deflected, hitting the hallway floor with a crackle. Harry started crying louder on Mrs. Potter’s hip, tangling his little fists into the neckline of her shirt as he tried to pull himself forward onto her chest. His mother jerked him back in place with one arm and turned so he was blocked by the bulk of her body.

“Not Harry, please!” she begged.

Not reacting, Voldemort menacingly advanced, his long pale fingers curled around his wand.

Hermione pulled her wand, wanting to help but not sure what she could do against someone like Voldemort, especially since the protective stance Mrs. Potter took in front of the room made it impossible for Hermione to get a clear shot at Voldemort out in the hallway without risking hitting Harry or his mother.

Seven seconds.

Voldemort sneered. “Put down the boy and step aside.”

“Careful,” Hermione whispered, lips feeling almost numb from fear.

Wand darting through the air, Mrs. Potter cast a spell that Hermione didn’t recognize. A plum-colored bird with a gleaming metallic beak shot out of her wand. Just before hitting the defensive shield Voldemort had raised with a dismissive curl to his lips, the bird twisted up in a wild corkscrew flight, going up and over the shield before diving straight down inside it without stopping, the sharp beak slicing down Voldemort’s face from forehead to chin, gouging through his eyeball and leaving his face a bloody ruin. Voldemort screamed and clapped a hand to his face as he fell to his knees.

Fifteen seconds.

Despite the disturbing, gory sight, Hermione felt a moment of exultant hope. Maybe her plan had worked and Lily Potter was going to survive and raise Harry in a loving home. Maybe Voldemort would be defeated.

“For James!” Mrs. Potter raised her wand again and cast a Bludgeoning Curse. However, just as she finished the incantation, the sobbing baby Harry grabbed her arm in an attempt to climb forward onto her chest, spoiling her aim and splintering a hole through the floorboards in front of Voldemort’s knees instead of through Voldemort’s chest.

Nineteen seconds.

The Dark Lord didn’t give her another chance. Wand flicking like a snake’s tongue, he snarled through blood-stained teeth, “Avada Kedavra!” Green light flashed and Lily Potter fell to the floor—dead.

Harry shrieked and pushed up from her body, arms stiff and face red as he loudly wailed. Voldemort’s wand instantly flicked with another Killing Curse, faster than the first, and the wailing cut off. Baby Harry flopped boneless over his mother’s body, silent and still. He wasn’t breathing. Neither of them were. They both looked dead.

Oh no.

They were dead.

Twenty-four seconds.

No, this can’t be right, Hermione thought, horrified and stumbling back against the crib as Voldemort rose to his feet and turned to her, face bloody and homicidal but otherwise looking very much alive. Tears filled her eyes and she lost her grip on her wand as she raised her arms in negation, her wand sliding down into her sleeve. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Harry’s supposed to kill Voldemort, not the other way around! Harry’s supposed to survive! Harry can’t die! The Dark Lord’s wand pointed at Hermione’s chest, green gathering at the tip as—

Twenty-seven seconds—three times three times three, the back of her mind noted clinically, a separate track from her hysteria, and then the world flashed black and everything twisted, turned, screamed, burned.

It felt like she was dying, like she was dead.

∞⌛∞

∞1994, June 15—Dungeons at Hogwarts∞

~Hermione Granger (14)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Gasping and sobbing, Hermione jerked sideways and hit her shoulder on metal bars in a stone-walled room. She couldn’t breathe from crying. What had she done? What had happened? Voldemort had killed Harry and his mom right in front of her and almost killed her too! A desperate whine escaped her lips. She’d killed Harry! It was all her fault! Harry was dead! She hiccuped and sobbed loudly, building up to another wail.

“Shut up, you loon!” Colin Creevy grabbed her by the arm and jerked her away from the bars, making her fall down onto her knees in the corner of the cell where he flung her. Despite the dim lighting, she could see that his eye was swollen shut and he had bloody welts across both cheeks. His fingers bit into her arm.

Shocked, she hiccuped and looked around. Other dirty and injured students, all muggleborns from those she recognized, filled the dark room. It looked like the so-called dungeons at Hogwarts, though no part of Hogwarts she was familiar with. Outside the cell were instruments of torture she’d only read about in books and seen in museums. The rack of torture tools hanging on the far wall was illuminated by spotlights and crusted with blood. She couldn’t help but whimper.

Today was not her day.

“Quiet!” Colin shook her, digging in his fingers and almost making her bite her tongue before Hermione slapped away his hand and jerked out of his hold.

“I’m t-trying!” she sobbed, trying to get her grief under control to figure out what was happening. She needed more information. A vaguely familiar older girl reached out and slapped a hand over Hermione’s mouth just as she opened her lips to demand an explanation for where they were.

“Do you want them to come back? Do you want them to punish all of us mudbloods again, you bint?” The fingers dug uncomfortably into Hermione’s cheeks.

Blinking back fresh tears, Hermione shook her head and tried to think instead of just reacting. This was not the present she’d been expecting. She hated having to think on her feet like this. That’s what her friends were for, but where were they in this strange new reality?

“Then Shut! Up!” The look in the older girl’s eyes said that if Hermione didn’t agree, she’d make her. It was a combination of violence and terror. Half her head was shaved bald and covered in red scratches while the rest of her hair was a dirty brown. Her twisted expression made her almost impossible to place now, though Hermione must have met her at some point, maybe a Ravenclaw. Biting back further sobs, Hermione nodded, trying to cry as quietly as possible. The girl took away her hand, waited a moment, and then grunted and turned away to move to the other side of the cell, exposing a back covered in bloody lash marks sliced through her uniform shirt. Hermione bit down on her knuckles to keep from moaning at the awful sight.

That poor girl. These poor people. Hermione had to think! This was all wrong. What was going on here?

“Is Harry down here too?” Hermione asked, voice soft and quivering, hoping against hope that this wasn’t what it seemed—a world where Harry Potter had died that Halloween in 1981 and the world had turned to ruin.

“Harry who?” Colin asked impatiently.

“Harry Potter. You know, my best friend? Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived,” she said with tight desperation, not wanting to believe he could really be dead, not her Harry.

“Never heard of him.” Colin shook his head and turned away.

“Great, Granger’s cracked and made up an imaginary friend,” someone in the shadows said. After a second she recognized Colin’s little brother Dennis.

“It wouldn’t be the first time for one of us. Let her have her delusions. It’s the only comfort she’s got down here,” another voice said softly.

“The Carrows should be done with us for now,” Dennis whispered, “right?” His voice wavered.

The older girl grunted. “Hopefully. At least Professor Umbridge was too busy preparing her speech for Voldemort’s Victory Day, so as long as we don’t do anything that requires her attention, she’ll probably forget about us this month.”

“If we’re lucky,” someone in the shadows said with a hollow laugh that made Hermione’s stomach drop.

“And if Granger’s little fit didn’t draw anyone’s attention,” Colin muttered. They all gave Hermione glares, but after only a few seconds they slumped and turned away, huddling into themselves, seemingly too exhausted to do anything else. It was heartbreaking and awful.

Hermione had to fix this. A world without Harry was wrong. Not to mention Voldemort living and seemingly being in charge and torturing muggleborns in the dungeon—that was obviously awful too—but it was hard to see past the monolith of Harry not existing here even as a myth. Harry was more important than anything. He was everything. Hermione had to go back and stop herself from screwing up his life. She’d been so stupid. She should’ve known better than to play with time, especially with such a flimsy plan reliant on a barely tested artifact.

“Oh no, I hear footsteps,” Dennis said, pressing himself back against the wall in the darkest shadows. “Not again,” he said despairingly, pressing his face against his brother’s shoulder with a sob as Colin moved to hide him behind his back.

Hermione could hear the ominous footsteps coming too. Turning to face the corner where a high window let in a bit of moonlight, Hermione activated the pendant as quickly as possible, pressing down on the lever and counting to twenty-seven seconds as the footsteps got closer and closer, the echo against the stone building dread in her heart.

Finally the world flashed black and everything twisted, turned, screamed, burned.

It felt like she was dying, like she was dead.

∞⌛∞

∞1981, October 31—Godric’s Hollow∞

~Hermione Granger (14)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Hermione was used to the blackness after the dungeon, so her eyes didn’t take as long to adjust to the night. Stumbling over the lumpy grass, she realized that she was in the backyard this time instead of the front. Looking up, she could see the crescent moon in the sky and the warmly lit window of Harry’s nursery. He was probably sleeping in there right now…still alive.

This time she’d make sure he stayed that way.

She had to do better this time…but she didn’t know how to do better. There hadn’t been time to make a plan. Sucking in a breath, Hermione’s mind raced. She didn’t know how to save the Potters, so she had to focus on saving Harry. That meant returning things to the way they’d been and stopping her former self from warning James and messing up whatever Lily Potter was supposed to do to protect Harry from Voldemort’s Killing Curse. She just had to make sure she hexed her former self before her former self could hex her. So many time travelers had royally messed up and created paradoxes by interacting with themselves, but Hermione was smart and the stakes were too high. She had to get this right. She would get this right!

Marching forward, Hermione decided to go up the side of the house and petrify her past self while she was still on the ground by the wall as helpless and blind as a bat. Her toe hit a rock and it skittered forward, thumping against the wall.

“Hide!”

The female voice was so commanding that Hermione darted forward and flattened herself against the back wall of the house without question just as a man’s voice said, “Lumos” and a light appeared on the side of the house to illuminate where she’d just been standing. After a second, the light disappeared again.

Gulping, she looked over and saw a mysterious woman in pale robes and a veiled hat like liquid moonlight. The hat looked vaguely Asian, perhaps made of bamboo, and the encompassing veil hid her face and identity completely. “Your past self is already inside,” the mysterious woman said urgently. “Use the cloud to sneak in and stop her. Go!” She pointed at the back door.

Hermione, lacking a better plan, sprang away from the wall and ran for it just as a shadowy figure in a pale hooded cloak appeared out of the shadows, making Hermione’s already pounding heart jump into her throat. She tripped trying to remember where she’d seen him before and the veiled woman stepped protectively between them. Instead of attacking, the hooded man swung around to face the alley with the approaching Death Eater and raised his hand. The wind kicked up fiercely, whipping Hermione’s hair into her face and making it almost impossible to see.

Reaching out, she shuffled forward and found the door by touch, grabbing the handle and pushing it open just as the wind died. The kitchen was filled with a glittering cloud of Floo powder that made it impossible to see much of anything. Thanking God, Merlin, and the Potter temper, Hermione shut the door silently so the cloud wouldn’t dissipate and flattened herself to the wall, trying to stay unseen. Crouching down into the thickest part of the cloud, holding her breath to keep from coughing, she avoided the area where she remembered she and Mr. Potter had been standing and made her way as quickly as she could over and up the stairs.

No one cried out or hit her in the back with a spell, so she considered it a success. At the end of the hall Mrs. Potter was too busy frantically stuffing the diaper bag in the nursery to notice her, so Hermione quietly slid into the dark master bedroom and pulled her wand out of her sleeve. Remembering the necklace at the last minute, she reached into her shirt and found a triangle to press, making sure it went invisible and didn’t gleam in the faint light and give her away.

A second later she saw her past self reach the top of the stairs. It was so weird. Did she really look like that? Wrinkling her nose, Hermione waited until her past self turned away to look down the hall at the nursery and stepped past the door to cast, “Petrificus Totalus.”

Past Hermione went stiff as a plank and started to topple. Hermione darted forward and caught her, dragging her into the room and around the bed, stuffing her underneath. “Sorry!” she breathed to her past self, making a note to come back and free her after baby Harry killed the Dark Lord (somehow) and survived. Raising into a crouch, she reached out to pull down the blanket to hide her arm and leg and saw the Hermione under the bed go wavy and fade until she’d disappeared. Gulping, Hermione reached out to confirm and found only empty air. She supposed it meant that that version of her had been snuffed out by her current actions. It simplified things, but it was also quite creepy.

Hermione crept to the doorway, peering out to see Lily standing in the nursery with Harry in her arms, just as Mr. Potter roared defiantly, followed by a green flash and a loud, meaty thud.

Then silence.

Hermione felt horribly guilty and afraid all over again as he died, realizing she’d have to watch Mrs. Potter die again too. She pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle her panicked breathing and pressed herself farther back into the shadows. Voldemort had to die like he was supposed to, meaning she couldn’t intervene. For Harry. She had to restore the original timeline. That was more important.

Voldemort’s laughter skittered up the stairs and over her skin like a hoard of spiders as his footsteps started climbing the stairs, only to abruptly stop, his laughter cutting off. “What is it? Is everything secure?” she heard him snap irritably.

“My Lord, I think I saw a figure in the backyard just before you attacked,” a muffled voice said hesitantly.

“Did they escape?” Voldemort asked coldly.

“I-I don’t think so. No, my Lord. It was probably just one of the Potters coming inside the back door after taking in a bit of fresh air. Neither escaped. Potter is dead here and we heard the mudblood’s voice upstairs.”

“If you’re wrong, the next one I kill after the mudblood will be you,” Voldemort said before the sound of his footsteps resumed.

He reached the top of the stairs and the door of the bedroom where Hermione was hiding. Terrified, she closed her eyes and held her breath until his footsteps passed on their way towards the nursery.

A spell zipped down the hall and was deflected by Voldemort’s shield, just like before.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” Mrs. Potter’s voice begged and Hermione had to press both hands over her nose and mouth to keep the sound of her sobs muffled.

“Put down the boy and step aside,” Voldemort said impatiently.

“Here, he’s in the crib again,” she said, her even tone threaded with tension. “You can kill me, but he’s just a child. Please, no. Not Harry, please.”

Hermione noticed that the words were different from what had happened before. That had to be a good sign, right?

“Not Harry. Spare him, take me, kill me instead.”

Voldemort gave an evil crooked smile, nodded, and flicked his wand. Mrs. Potter cried out as the green light of the Killing Curse flashed. Hermione couldn’t help but watch, even though she told herself not to, as Mrs. Potter’s limp body flew across the room and into the wall with a sickening thud that made Hermione flinch and bile rise in her throat. Swallowing hard, Hermione bitterly regretted ever coming here. She’d been so cocky, so stupid, and so ignorant of how truly terrifying, vicious, and powerful Voldemort was.

Voldemort strutted to the far side of the nursery where Lily’s body had fallen and nudged it with his foot with a dark chuckle, turning his back on the nursery door and the crib where little Harry was screaming his head off.

Little Harry lifted his leg over the railing, pulling himself over to climb out, probably trying to reach his fallen mother. It made her heart hurt. At any second Voldemort was going to turn with another evil laugh and cast a Killing Curse at little Harry. The curse would rebound and kill Voldemort’s body, leaving a scar on Harry’s forehead but otherwise leaving him alive and unharmed.

Everyone knew the story. It was history. Just let it play out, Hermione told herself, shifting back and forth on her feet in agony, clenching her wand so tightly her knuckles popped. She knew Harry was going to survive this because he did in her present timeline. Interfering was pointless. He’d be fine.

But then she remembered the guard stopping Voldemort on the stairs, the one she and the veiled lady had run into in the backyard. That hadn’t happened last time. It made Voldemort come up the stairs thirty seconds later than before. Was that important? Plus past Hermione had still gotten inside the house and warned the Potters a minute or two before the attack started. Were those events enough to change what Lily had done and said in the nursery and stop Harry from miraculously surviving the Killing Curse? Was the Butterfly Effect still going to ruin everything Hermione had tried to fix?

Pressure built in Hermione’s head and she started to hyperventilate. What if she’d screwed up even more and had to see a dead Harry all over again? She couldn’t stand the thought.

She’d just wanted Harry to have one adult who cared for him growing up, wanted him to not feel so abandoned and alone, wanted him to have a loving and safe home. Harry deserved to be protected and loved. How had her good intentions gone so wrong?

Toddler Harry dropped over the railing and landed on the floor, his wild black hair matted with sweat and his face red, big fat tears dripping down his cheeks even as he rolled agilely to his feet, body full of fierce determination, ignoring the danger as he prepared to race against the odds to reach his goal. She could see her best friend so clearly in the child he’d once been.

She broke.

Hermione couldn’t do this, she couldn’t just stand by and watch a helpless and ignorant Harry be hurt without trying to help, no matter what his age. As if from outside her body, she saw herself leave the dark bedroom at a dead run, no plan in her head but Gryffindor bravery as she flicked her wand and called, “Expelliarmus,” impulsively channeling Harry’s older self’s luck into the spell, shocked when it actually worked on the distracted Voldemort as his wand flew out of his hand and clattered across the floor.

Desperate, knowing she was being monumentally stupid but unable to just leave her Harry there and be as useless as the other adults who’d failed him (as traitorous and rude as that thought seemed), she leaped over the wand on the floor even as it zipped back towards Voldemort and dived for the toddler, hoping that if she could just get him outside, she’d find someone to keep him safe. Wasn’t Sirius coming? And Hagrid? Or even that veiled lady moonlight? Maybe even, God willing, Albus Dumbledore? Scooping up baby Harry, she spun around with him in her arms and tried to race right back out the door.

But she’d always been short and Harry was a solid and stubborn little toddler screaming his head off as he fought against her hold. To him she was just another stranger keeping him from his mum, not his best friend trying to save him. In the background she saw Voldemort bending over to scoop up his wand, but she only had the focus for Harry. She could barely keep her feet and hold onto him as he slapped her in the face, planted his feet in her gut, and tried to throw himself over her shoulder towards his mother’s prone body—and coincidentally closer to the homicidal Dark Lord. Gritting her teeth, she yanked him back down her chest and tried to run in a straight line to reach the door without falling over.

Hanging on the wall by the nursery door and above the crib were a set of mirrors facing each other, creating an infinity effect as the images bounced back and forth, showing countless identical images of both her front and back getting smaller and smaller in the mirror. The frames of the mirrors were painted to match the curtains, with wind-swept green grass the color of Harry’s eyes dotted with flocks of magically animated fluffy white sheep being herded in circles by a big black dog that looked like a Grim—a strange choice for a nursery considering it was an omen of death—though the effect was at least softened by the way the dog’s tongue was hanging out of his mouth in a mischievous and friendly smile as he trotted around in playful bounds, perhaps a reference to Harry’s Godfather Sirius Black.

Harry’s screaming baby face over her shoulder reflected in the mirror as his pudgy hands grabbed the Egyptian necklace, twisting and pulling, somehow turning it visible as he leaned back and yanked it tight against her neck. The links rasped painfully along her skin as the edges of the necklace gouged her shoulders and throat, cutting off her breathing. Hermione choked but tried to keep running for her life, knowing that to stop meant certain death for them both.

Hermione was almost at the door when she saw in the corner of the mirror Voldemort rising to his feet, face twisted in fury as he pointed his wand at her back and opened his mouth. Time seemed to slow and almost stop as Voldemort shouted, “A-va-da Ke-dav-ra!” Each syllable fell on her ears like hammer blows on the nails of her coffin.

In the mirror’s infinite reflections, Hermione saw the sickly green light of the Killing Curse leave Voldemort’s wand and shoot towards her back. Seeing her eyes dilated black with only a thin ring of golden brown, reflecting the reflection in the mirror, she realized that the Grim was an appropriate theme for the nursery after all—a death omen meant for her and the Potters both. Hermione watched a countless number of Harrys, Hermiones, and Voldemorts fighting and fleeing on and on into infinity. She saw Harry’s face, her curly hair, and the gold metal of the Egyptian necklace all reflecting an unnatural green glow just before the curse hit.

It felt like she was dying, like she was dead.

She was dead.

∞⌛∞

Chapter 10:

∞⌛∞

∞The Underworld—Duat∞

~Hermione Granger (14)~

Hermione opened her eyes. Everything felt strange. Wrong.

At first she thought she stood inside a very large cavern bordered by carved pillars with elaborately painted murals on the walls and ceilings, but then the branches on the trees of turquoise and the waves of fire on the lakes in the distance moved at the same time that she felt the breeze. She could smell smoke and hints of exotic spices and perfumes. Blinking, she realized that the fantastical world around her wasn’t a painting bounded by walls at all. It was real.

The tiled plaza she stood in was open to the sky and surrounded by nature and stone monuments. The night sky arched overhead with jewel-toned clouds and millions of twinkling stars around a bright moon that dominated the sky and illuminated the night almost as brightly as day. To one side ran a wide river reflecting the path of the moonlight, bordered by tall reeds scattered with lily and lotus flowers in vibrant purples, blues, pinks, and golds. On all sides towered countless stone monuments, including statues, pillars, obelisks, and—Hermione did a double-take, but the sight didn’t change—pyramids. Across the river were more pyramids. Yes, pyramids. Hermione rubbed her eyes and looked again, but the pyramids didn’t change.

What had changed was her body, which she saw when she looked at her arms and hands and then down at her chest. She now glowed a faint silver and had turned translucent like a ghost. Correction, not like a ghost. She was a ghost. Hermione was dead.

Feeling herself starting to panic, she looked around again, trying to figure out where she was as a distraction. Putting together the clues—trees of turquoise, lakes of fire, pyramids, her recent death—it looked like she was standing in a mythological version of the Egyptian underworld Duat, which made no sense at all because Hermione Granger was quite firmly British and had been raised monotheistic in the Christian tradition, thank you very much.

Putting a hand to her throat, trying to calm down and think clearly enough to figure out a plan instead of collapse into a hysterical puddle, she felt the warm weight of the Egyptian necklace beneath her fingers and wondered if it was to blame for her current predicament. Had she been missorted to the wrong underworld? Did they have a help desk where she could complain?

Turning around, she gulped, feeling her eyes go wide. Right behind her loomed a huge set of glowing scales with the most gorgeous ostrich feather she’d ever seen in her life on one side and what looked like a gross mangled diseased heart on the other. The heart was much heavier than the feather, sending that side of the scale down almost to the floor. From what she remembered of Egyptian mythology, that was bad.

A ghostly Voldemort stood facing the scale, constrained and gagged by chains made of light as he jerked and wiggled futilely. The color of the chains deepened to orange and then red as he fought harder to escape. Suddenly the edges of the tile he stood on flashed white and he became encased in what looked like a block of ice, his body frozen and unmoving.

Arrayed around the plaza were multiple people, many with animal-heads and human bodies. They were dressed in rich draping fabrics and wore jeweled broad collars, bracelets, earrings, and headdresses. They were probably Egyptian gods, or at least the powerful entities who inspired the myths. Hermione needed more facts about divinity to classify them with accuracy.

Seeing a tall, black dog-headed figure that she was 99% sure was Anubis clinched her theory of this being the Egyptian underworld Duat. She’d once read that the scales were what Egyptians used to weigh the souls of the dead for judgement. That fit her theory too. Hermione wished it didn’t. She wanted to be wrong.

Since she was dead and thus a soul needing judgement, being here made some sense, except for the Egyptian part. She’d never even visited Egypt. The closest she’d gotten was the necklace from Ron. She was having trouble getting over her afterlife being Egyptian and wasn’t sure if she could blame that on the necklace sorting her to the wrong place, her ethnocentrism, or a general bitterness at being left unprepared and in ignorance of something so vital to her soul’s continuing existence.

If she’d known the afterlife was Egyptian she’d have read so many more books on the subject. Why hadn’t they taught this in school? Why had no one warned her? She felt completely unprepared for this test. What if she failed? This wasn’t at all fair.

Suddenly it felt like her ears popped, though not her ears but some other metaphysical organ, and abruptly she could hear voices arguing in addition to the wind rustling through the reeds, whistling through the monuments, and lapping across the water. The Egyptian Gods weren’t speaking in English, but somehow she could still understand them, or at least those words she heard at this distance. Some of them seemed angry and others amused about the subversion of death, fate, and the natural order.

Most of the figures she didn’t recognize, but a few of the most important-looking individuals matched things she’d read about in a few books. Up on a high platform was a figure with a green face and a tall hat sitting in an elaborately carved throne watching over the proceedings. He was probably Osiris, the god of the afterlife, fertility, and resurrection. He was also the ruler of the underworld and a judge of the dead. Most of the figures in here were associated with the dead.

On top of the large scales stood a figure with the head of a baboon and the body of a man. Shaking his head and smiling, he jumped down, landing lightly on his feet as his head morphed from a baboon into a regal-looking bird with a long curved beak—an ibis. He glided over to a nearby table with a large book and started flipping through the pages, writing notes here and there. Hermione craned her head, disappointed to not be able to read the writing. He must be Thoth, the wise scribe of the underworld. He was also god of the moon, wisdom, and judgement, and creator of the arts of magic, writing, and reckoning time. He also arbitrated disputes between gods, was willing to gamble for a good cause, and helped people solve problems like adding extra days to the calendar or reuniting with a deceased loved one. Most often he was paired with Ma’at, who represented order and justice. Thoth had been one of her favorite deities when she’d dipped her toe into Egyptian mythology.

Just past him stood a group that seemed the focus of most of the eyes around the plaza. Next to the scale on the side holding the beautiful iridescent ostrich feather stood a young woman with wings on each arm that matched the feather on the scale. She stood contraposto, one finger pressed over her full lips and her brow creased in thought as she listened intently to the group of beings gathered in front of her. She was probably Ma’at, the goddess of truth who’d brought order out of chaos and maintained harmony. Her feather on the scale judged the weight of souls for the afterlife.

The rest of the group was comprised of dog-headed Anubis, who looked irritated and impatient, a woman mostly hidden by the others except for her face and a headdress with a disk and horns (her name hovered on the tip of Hermione’s tongue), an almost normal-looking man in rakish dark robes who was smirking, and a serpent-headed man angrily shaking fistfulls of fraying, broken red strings as he yelled about being tricked and cheated. The angry serpent-headed man with the strings was probably Shai, the god of fate who was said to determine the span of a person’s life.

As Shai got louder and more forceful, leaning closer to Ma’at’s increasingly unamused face as he yelled, his forked tongue flickering almost close enough to hit her cheek, Thoth abruptly turned his head and snapped his beak sharply, the sound echoing off the surrounding stone with a CRACK. Everyone froze for a second and then Shai’s scales turned mottled. The rakish-looking man nearby snorted and smirked. Shai muttered an apology and slunk away to lean against a nearby pillar and pout. It was strange to see a pouty snake face.

Ma’at cast a fond and indulgent look at Thoth that Hermione interpreted to mean that she could’ve handled it herself but was pleased not to have to, then she turned to say something to the woman in the horned headdress. Chewing on her lip, Hermione wracked her brain again. Snapping her fingers and smiling, she finally remembered that the horned woman was called Nephthys, goddess of night who protected the dead. Some of the other figures around the plaza were vaguely familiar, but Hermione hadn’t spent enough time with the Egyptian source material to recall anyone else’s names or attributes.

The rakish-looking man looked down at something hidden from view in Nephthys’s arms and his smirk softened into a gentle smile tinged with sadness and grief. Anubis said something and the man threw back his head and laughed, the grief disappearing. Eyes narrowing, Hermione tilted her head and looked more closely. She might be crazy, but she was pretty sure that man was a much healthier and saner-looking Sirius Black.

Sirius looked over and saw her staring at him. He winked at her, flashed a dazzling smile and a thumbs up, and then turned back to speak to the group. Confused all over again, Hermione’s chewed on her thumbnail. What was going on?

The group shifted and Hermione abruptly realized Nephthys was holding the sleeping soul of little Harry. Jolting, Hermione tried to go to Harry, but found herself restrained. Looking down, she saw glowing chains binding her to the tile at her feet like the ones securing Voldemort. Struggling just made them pinch more tightly and start to change colors to orange. Breathing heavily and remembering the ice block Voldemort, Hermione forced herself to relax, testing the chains to see if they were like Devil’s Snare. Sure enough, as soon as she stopped trying to resist or leave the tile she was standing on, the chains loosened and disappeared. Feeling sour, she searched her robes but couldn’t find her wand in any of her pockets. She’d have to find another way out of this…if there was a way.

As she looked up again, she saw Sirius throw an arm around Anubis’s shoulders and say something that made the god laugh. Maybe a dog joke? Twisting his free arm behind his back as if hiding it, Sirius pointed his finger like a wand and gestured, shooting out a silver ball of light that plumped out into the shape of his grim, looking similar to a patronus. The translucent dog bounded away through the reeds and over the river, skirted a pyramid, and disappeared into the darkest shadows beneath the far grove of sycamore fig trees.

Hermione fingered the Egyptian necklace around her throat, wondering if she could or should use it to try and escape. Unlike a traditional time turner, it moved you through both time AND space, meaning she shouldn’t be here anymore if she used it. However, she didn’t want to end up somewhere worse or stuck in some sort of limbo or eternally fourteen and bitterly haunting a castle like Moaning Myrtle. Could a ghost even use a magical artifact? But the necklace felt as solid as her ghostly body, so perhaps it was a ghost necklace and would work. She was almost curious enough to try, but if she did, she’d never get any answers to what was happening here and now and she’d have to abandon Harry to his fate.

At the thought of abandoning Harry, her hand jumped away from the bookmark pendant as if burned. Harry’s death was all her fault. She couldn’t abandon and betray him now.

“If you love….”

Jumping at the voice, Hermione looked over and saw that Thoth had moved to her side. He really was a fit looking man with a realistic bird head. His feathers looked very soft and his beak very sharp. It was odd, but Hermione had been in the wizarding world for over three years now so she was mostly used to odd by now. “Hello, I’m Hermione Granger. It’s a pleasure to meet you, but I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

He clacked his ibis beak softly as if chuckling under his breath and raised his head to gaze up at the exultant cathedral of the night sky framing the full moon, the crescent of his beak echoing the moon’s curve. “I am called Thoth. There is a saying, ‘If you steal, steal a camel, and if you love, love the moon.” He lifted his hand and slowly traced the curve of the moon in the sky as if caressing a lover’s cheek, adding softly, “Love someone as beautiful as the moon.” Large, liquid bird eyes looked over and paused on Ma’at, lingering for the space of three heartbeats before he turned back to Hermione and asked, “Do you understand, little scholar?”

Hermione straightened at his question, emotions smoothing and lifting. She liked answering questions, especially by someone in authority calling her a scholar. “It means, if you’re going to do something, go all out.”

He gave her an approving look, which made her feel top of the class. Thoth really was her favorite Egyptian deity. “Not everyone can love the moon. Those who do…they’re special,” Thoth said, spreading his hands wide before returning his gaze to the sky.

Smiling, Hermione looked up with him and admired the beauty of the moon. “I agree.” Tucking her tongue in her teeth, she gave him a sideways look and bravely teased, “Though as the god of the moon, I’m sure you’re not biased at all.”

Giving her a birdy grin, Thoth clacked his beak in another soft laugh and then nodded in the direction of where Sirius’s grim had disappeared, repeating his first words to her, “If you love.”

Looking over, Hermione saw a man stride out of the darkest shadow in the plaza. He wore a silvery-gray hooded cloak that hid his face except for the shadow of a firm jawline and seemed unintimidated by the godly company as he moved into the midst of them with confidence and purpose. Thoth’s words made her think he was a man who went all out for those he loved. The longer she looked, the more he felt familiar. Perhaps the cloak reminded her of Harry’s invisibility cloak, except she could see the man wearing it so it couldn’t be the same one. She didn’t think she recognized him from a book. He looked human and not part animal, though she could be wrong because of the concealing cloak. Nevertheless, there was something otherworldly and powerful about him, something compelling that drew her gaze and kept it. It was over and above the aura given off by Sirius Black, who was an omen of death as a grim but otherwise human as far as she could tell, and similar to but not quite the same as the Egyptian deities.

The man’s hood flared for a split second when the wind picked up just as he pivoted to talk to Sirius. Hermione felt confused all over again as she caught sight of a face that looked like an older and handsomer relative of James Potter, though the flash had been so quick that perhaps it could be Mr. Potter himself.

“Is that Harry’s dad? James Potter? Or a Potter relative?” She went up onto her tiptoes to try and see Harry, who was blocked from view again by the shifting group. “Is baby Harry’s soul going to be okay? Can I join him or have him join me?”

Thoth patted her on the shoulder. “Be patient, little one. You may be about to become a camel, but you are also a moon.”

“What?” she asked, brow creasing as she looked at him, but he was already turning away.

“I need to go and keep record, perhaps even arbitrate. We rarely get a guest such as the Lord of Death. Change is in the air. This promises to be interesting and perhaps even fun.” He moved to stand by Ma’at and the other gods made way for him respectfully, with two of them rushing forward to place a desk with a stack of papyrus and an inkwell at his elbow.

A nearby woman with painted green eyelids, animalistic slitted eyes, and a gold disc headdress sighed loudly to her lion-headed companion. “Thoth is always so curious, sticking his nose into everything. He loves a game of chance and is a soft touch for a love story. Mark my words, this is going to be trouble.”

“As long as I get to eat someone, I don’t mind,” the lion-headed man said with a too-wide toothy grin that made Hermione shuffle a step away on her tile and wish desperately for her wand.

“What?!” the hooded man loudly exclaimed, drawing back her attention as his head bounced down to stare at baby Harry sleeping in Nephthys’s arms and then back up at Sirius, who held out his hands and shrugged. Thoth had called him the Lord of Death, but considering that they were in the Egyptian underworld and most of the people in here were gods related to death in some way, she wasn’t sure if the title actually meant anything impressive.

Head abruptly jerking up, the hooded man started searching the room. He spun around, face darting from side to side until his shadowed gaze landed on Hermione and stopped. He froze, staring at her from the opaque shadows of his hood, so still it seemed like he wasn’t even breathing. She wished she could see his face and read his expression.

Suddenly she remembered where she’d seen him before. “Oh, the Unspeakable,” Hermione breathed, finally remembering him from their meeting in the library, though she couldn’t be sure if he was the same man or if all Unspeakables looked the same or perhaps they all looked like this God of Death. Either way, it was nice to see someone she recognized besides Sirius Black, who was ultimately a good guy who seemed to care about Harry but also an ex-convict who’d hurt Ron as collateral damage and come off as a bit unhinged. In contrast, her conversation with the Unspeakable had been very pleasant until the very last moment when the necklace had started to activate and she’d gotten scared. She wouldn’t mind talking to him again if this was the same man. Hermione smiled at him to show that there weren’t any hard feelings.

Jolting, he took a step towards her, hand lifting and reaching out, fingers trembling only for Sirius to grab his arm and swing him back around, putting an arm around his straining shoulders and whispering into his ear. The Unspeakable’s taut body fought the hold for a few seconds before slowly relaxing. After a few more moments he nodded at whatever Sirius was saying and responded with a gesture Hermione couldn’t quite make out.

“Why have you come?” Anubis asked, a snarl laced through his words. “We are in the middle of judging souls. You are not one of us, not really.”

“Not at this time,” Thoth said cryptically, stroking his fingers down his beak.

“Not at this time,” Ma’at repeated, slowly and thoughtfully. Her head turned and she examined the hooded man carefully. “Why have you come? Speak your truth.”

The hooded man stepped forward until he was standing on an empty tile in front of the scales and could be easily seen by everyone. “Hermione Granger,” his voice caressed the syllables of her name, making her blush, before his voice darkened and deepened, “was not supposed to die so young.” He finished his pronouncement in a voice of offended thunder and immutable certainty. After a moment to let his words sink in, he added. “Neither was Harry Potter. It was neither just nor fair.”

The strength and conviction in his voice startled Hermione. Why did he care so much?

Anubis shook his head. “Riddle has escaped us too often, twisting the balance of life and death with his current existence. The deaths of Potter and Granger before their time is unfortunate, but collateral damage happens. Riddle’s judgement is long overdue.”

“Their deaths upset the natural balance,” the hooded man argued.

“Your arrogant and careless meddling is what upset the balance,” Shai hissed, forked tongue flicking through the air. “You’ve spit in my face with your actions since the first time you came to us. I’m supposed to decide the span of a life, not others, not you!”

“Then were these children supposed to die in 1981?” the hooded man asked in a soft, dangerous tone, obviously uncowed by the snake-headed god. “Was that your decision?”

Shai crossed his arms, frayed red strings still tangled in his fingers. He huffed. “No, that was not meant to be their fate.”

“Then was Tom Riddle, also known as Voldemort, supposed to still be alive in 1981?”

“No to that as well, though that charge is laid at his feet and not yours.” Shai glared. “We all know this. He took sacred rituals from our lands and used them to pervert the natural order. The sacred scale shows the depths of his evil.” He gestured to the diseased heart that was so much heavier than Ma’at’s feather.

“Just as Riddle’s heart is so much heavier, I wager that this girl, killed before her time, will have a heart lighter than Ma’at’s feather and be judged by the forty-two judges as justified, passing on to the Field of Reeds.”

Anubis huffed and scratched the base of one pointed ear. “Then let them be judged so we can get on with it and put this perversion of the natural order to rest. The Grim and I have plans. Let justice be served.”

The hooded man cut his hand through the air. “Is this truly justice if Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were robbed of a better fate? Is this fair? I say nay.”

“And I say you’re biased and less worried about justice than you should be,” Ma’at said reprovingly.

“Ha!” Shai gloated,

Ma’at held up one hand without looking at Shai in an order for silence and said, “You’re biased, but not necessarily wrong.” Snake mouth popping open in shock, Shai dropped half his strings. Ma’at continued. “So, what do you intend to do about it,” her voice went sharp, “oh Master of Death?”

Lifting his chin, the hooded man stood tall. “The need for balance and justice has created an opportunity, one I intend to take advantage of. I propose a bargain for their lives.”

Sound swelled as the gods around the room broke into arguments.

“You cannot save two for a better fate without condemning an equal number to a worse one!” Anubis roared. “That is not balance!”

“Lord Thoth?” the hooded man prompted through the yelling. “What are your thoughts on this wager?”

Thoth scribbled on his papyrus, waiting until the voices around the room started to die down before he put down his quill and stood. Circling the hooded man, Thoth clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head to the side, examining him as only a predatory bird could. Thoth circled the man three times before speaking. “As I am fond of scholars, magicians, and those who love the moon, I am willing to bargain with you, Lord of Death, but Anubis is correct in that there must be balance. I am the one who reveals Ma’at and reckons Ma’at, who loves Ma’at and gives Ma’at to the doer of Ma’at. Do you understand?”

Hermione didn’t, but she crossed her fingers, hoping the hooded man was clever enough to figure out the right answer and save both Harry and her.

The hooded man tipped his head back to look up at the night sky, the moonlight illuminating the downturned corners of his mouth. His lips parted, his chest expanded, and he released a long, slow sigh before his chin firmed with determination. Turning decisively to Thoth, he announced, “I propose a Bargain of Threes.”

The room exploded into sound at the hooded man’s announcement, filling with cries of shock, shouts of refusal, and exclamations of excitement.

∞⌛∞

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