Reading Time: 93 Minutes

Title: Hoping The Next Carries Your Name
Series: The Infinite Loop Of Love And Good Intentions
Series Order: 3
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, Suicide, Child Abuse-implied, Murder, Adultery, Weasley Bashing
Author Note: Please read the first two stories before this one in the series. Although inevitably imperfect and flawed, these stories are full of my good intentions. There’s a cross-over with The Mummy movie (1999). Mind the trigger warnings, which are many. Please note that the Major Character Death warning includes every member of the Golden Trio, though none of those deaths are permanent (you’ll see). Some of those deaths are graphic. The stories 1-3 are GEN and focus on family and friendship, though they can definitely be read as a very strong pre-relationship for Harry and Hermione since they are written as codependent despite being married to other (horrible) people. Conceivably you can squint either way. You do you. The adultery warning is NOT for Harry or Hermione, as cheating is yucky. Full disclosure, I am planning on making HHr romantic in a future, fourth story which has not been written yet. All that said, I hope you enjoy the journey!
Word Count: 44,437
Summary: “Please, Mum,” Hugo begged. “Come with me and stop it from happening. I have to see it stopped or I’ll never be able to rest. I can’t live with the guilt. I can’t.”
Artist: Drake

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Chapter 1:

∞⌛∞

∞2020, July 2—Home of Hermione and Ron Weasley∞

~Hermione Weasley (40)~

Standing in the kitchen, eyes drifting between night dark windows, the Floo, and front door for signs of her overdue husband, Hermione took a sip of water from her lukewarm glass. It had been long enough that the water had lost its chill. She was so sick of feeling like this about Ron and her life—sad, disappointed, and exhausted. She took a bigger gulp to wash down her bitterness and drifted over to the window.

The moon was not quite full, a waxing gibbous, but still bright enough to make the stars hard to see, especially when added to the harsh street lights. Upstairs, the kids were hanging out in their rooms reading and listening to music on the wireless, home for the summer—one of the only bright things she could hold onto in her dreary life. Everything else was as ephemeral as stars on a cloudy day.

Hermione was just raising her glass for a final sip of water, half watching her reflection in the window, when large eyes abruptly appeared right outside the window.

“Ah!” Jolting away, Hermione dropped her glass. It shattered against the floor, a small piece scratching across the top of her bare foot as she stumbled back and jerked out her wand, pointing it at the threat—at the…post owl.

Which wasn’t a threat.

Tap tap tap!

The post owl at the window looked down his beak at her judgmentally, as if she was the problem for overreacting. Gulping in air, Hermione lowered her wand and lifted up her foot, instinctively pressing the stinging line on top against the back of her other calf to relieve the hurt.

“Mum? Are you okay?” Rose called, voice getting louder as she bounded down the stairs.

Hugo’s music muted and you could hear his door creak open. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Tap tap tap!

Heaving a sigh that ended in a growl, Hermione swished her wand and gathered up the shards of glass, repairing the cup before one of her children could rush in and cut themselves too.

“I’m fine! I just broke a glass,” Hermione called. A few seconds later Hugo’s music resumed and the volume increased. Hermione wrinkled her nose, not a fan at all.

Rose appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking around. “You sure you’re fine?”

Hermione’s mouth twisted, irritated at herself. “A post owl startled me and I dropped my cup,” she said, gesturing.

“Kinda late for an owl post,” Rose said, her shoulders going tight as she looked to the window.

It was, but Hermione didn’t want to feed into Rose’s anxieties. “Probably just the last letter of a very busy day.” Hermione patted Rose on the shoulder and squeezed.

The big brown post owl impatiently waiting outside wasn’t one she recognized. The owl glared at Hermione until she grabbed an owl treat and opened the window to exchange it for the letter, letting in the summer air and the smell of the basil and parsley she grew on the windowsill for pesto. Gobbling down the treat, the owl didn’t wait for a response, winging off towards the dark patch of woods at the end of the lane the second she freed the letter, probably eager to go hunt and play now that it had delivered its last letter.

Looking at the rolled scrap of parchment, Hermione recognized the handwriting as Ron’s. She wondered why he hadn’t just Floo called. “It’s from your father,” she told Rose, trying to sound calm despite her heart still racing from the scare. Bracing herself for bad news, she unrolled the paper.

Hermione—

The landlord came by and made a stink about me not paying the rent on my work flat. What a nutter! Take care of that, will you?

—Ron

Nothing about why he’d never come home for dinner, how he’d forgotten the reservation for their wedding anniversary yesterday and chosen to work overtime, or if he was planning on sleeping at home or his work flat tonight. No promises to make sure he got home early tomorrow to celebrate Hugo’s 14th birthday. No apologies. Not even a please or thank you.

Typical, but still so disappointing. She didn’t know where the Ron she’d once trusted had disappeared or how much longer she could wait and hope for his return. It was exhausting and painful clinging to hope. Sometimes, the unhappiness made it hard to breathe.

“Is-is everything okay?” Rose asked hesitantly, chewing on her lip.

Folding the letter, Hermione put her arm around Rose’s shoulders and squeezed. Rose clung back. “Nothing to worry about, sweetheart. Your dad just needs me to pay a bill he forgot about.” She steered Rose back to the stairs and gave her a gentle push, untangling their limbs. “Go on back to your book, luv. I’ll be up soon.”

“Is Dad—” Rose flushed and cut herself off, looking away and up with a grimace. “Nevermind. I’ll just tell Hugo to turn down the music. Don’t stay up too late. Night Mum. Love you. Lots.” Rose kissed her on the cheek, taking hold of Hermione’s fingers and squeezing them before going up the stairs, keeping hold of Hermione’s hand and making their arms stretch until the last possible second when distance forced their hands to jerk apart.

Hermione gave her an open, loving smile, trying to soothe Rose’s anxiety. “I love you lots too. Sweet dreams, Rose” Hermione said, waiting patiently until Rose stopped dawdling and disappeared around the corner upstairs, detouring into Hugo’s room to discuss the volume of his music.

Waiting a moment to make sure the argument didn’t require her to step in, Hermione finally sighed and turned her back, letting the corners of her mouth slide down now that there was no one to see. Footsteps heavy, foot still stinging, Hermione returned to the kitchen, checking the letter one more time to make sure Ron hadn’t written something more, something better, something to give her even a glimmer of hope that he still cared about them and wasn’t going to miss Hugo’s birthday tomorrow just like he’d missed their wedding anniversary yesterday. She was being stupid. Hermione should be hopeless after all this time, but she’d always struggled with failing at something. How could something that had once seemed so logical and right now feel so wrong?

Eyes stinging, she crumbled the letter in her hand and tossed it into the trash bin. Sometimes she wished she could throw Ron Weasley away just as easily. She was tired of always lying to her kids and Harry about being okay so they didn’t have to worry about her on top of their own problems. She didn’t want to burden them, but she was so sick of having to hold everything and everyone together and pretend to be a happy, loving housewife, content in her miserable marriage to her selfish loser of a husband who didn’t seem to care about anyone but himself!

Hermione grimaced and rubbed her forehead, immediately feeling guilty for the bitter thought. She was a bad person to feel that way about her husband. It wasn’t helpful. She was doing her best to stay loyal and not give up on him, but it was hard. Yet if she wanted to save this marriage, she needed to be kind in her words, deeds, and thoughts. She had to keep trying, for her children’s sake and, she admitted cynically, her pride, even if nothing else.

Some days all she had was her pride. It was her oldest friend. Sometimes her only friend.

They were both unhappy in this marriage, she just didn’t know how to fix it. It seemed their moments of fun and camaraderie were becoming rarer and rarer with every year that passed. It would be easier to save her marriage if Ron would try too, or even seem to care. She’d wondered over the years if he was cheating on her, but the one time she’d gotten up the courage to ask, he’d denied it so vociferously, and seemed so angry and hurt by her accusation, that she’d felt like she was the bad guy for ever doubting his loyalty. Asking had made things worse, not better.

Maybe she was the problem, like they all said. She didn’t want to believe that Ron would betray her like that. He could be thoughtless and selfish, but he wasn’t cruel. Yet just because she didn’t want to believe it didn’t mean it wasn’t true. However it didn’t feel safe to ask again.

Ron had always had a temper. He scared her sometimes. It had gotten worse after a series of mistakes led to the Weasley joke shop almost going bankrupt. George, who’d never made Ron a co-owner despite years of dangling that carrot over his younger brother’s head, had blamed the problems all on Ron for trusting the wrong people and signing bad contracts (some of which was true, but not all). He’d suspended Ron from work after a loud and humiliating public argument. It didn’t help that Ron’s parents kept saying that he should be old enough to stop making such stupid mistakes and that he should try harder to be like his older brothers, comparing all of his failures to their successes. Poor Ron never seemed to be able to escape their shadows. His mother had even suggested he quit before George fired him and go work for Percy or Bill instead, since they would be good influences on him.

Ron had raged about his family’s treatment for days, becoming increasingly erratic, before getting in a screaming fight with George and then disappearing for over a month without a word to anybody. A drunken Ginny had been the one to suggest Ron might’ve killed himself to get away from his family. Harry had taken to checking the nearby morgues for men with red hair and freckles.

When Ron unexpectedly returned, he’d come back with a bad tattoo on one arm and a new friend interested in investing in a new product line for the joke shop. There hadn’t been any apologies or explanations to anyone. They’d been so grateful he wasn’t dead they’d barely yelled at him. George had swept the work drama under the rug and forgiven Ron for bringing a new investor, giving him a big bonus after the paperwork was signed (though still not making Ron a partner).

Despite the turnaround in his fortunes, Ron’s mood permanently soured after that, making him bitter and impossible to satisfy. When upset he would throw things, taking pleasure in making her flinch and then storming off, leaving the mess for her to clean up as some sort of twisted punishment for upsetting him. She hated that, but turning the bad behavior back on him just made his temper worse and only seemed to exacerbate the problems, not solve them. She didn’t like the awful person being vindictive and angry turned her into. Their vicious battles scared the children (and scared her too), so she’d made herself stop and did her best to hide the problems from everyone, even Harry.

Harry had his own family problems and didn’t need hers dragging him down. She knew Harry would want to know and help anyway, but she couldn’t help wanting to protect him and his tender heart. Knowing the truth about his best friends’ marriage would make him sad. She hated making Harry sad.

And things got better for a little while, or at least not worse, so she pretended to be fine. She felt ashamed to be otherwise. Failure haunted her around every corner. She didn’t know how to fix her marriage or even if it could be fixed. She didn’t know how. It felt like she was drowning.

She thought about trying again to bring up divorce, but that might just make her even more of a failure. She wondered if Ron was right and the problems in their marriage were all her fault instead of his. Not that it mattered. She couldn’t ask Ron about divorce. It wasn’t safe to ask.

Though surely things couldn’t be this bad forever. At some point Ron’s work had to get better, and then his mood would improve too. Back-to-school shopping always meant a bump in sales. Surely that would help.

Thinking of money made her remember that she still needed to pay Ron’s overdue bill in case he asked about it tomorrow. She didn’t want there to be drama during Hugo’s birthday celebration. Sighing, Hermione looked down at the red line on top of her food from the broken glass. If only life was as easy to repair as a cup. She thought about getting some dittany to dab on the cut on her foot, but instead moved towards Ron’s desk to find his bank book.

Years ago, Ron had started renting a small work flat near the joke shop after she got pregnant with Rose, saying being groggy from female fussing was making it difficult and dangerous to work with the volatile compounds in the back room and their more touchy clients. When work ran late or the babies and then kids got too noisy, he’d retreat to the flat to sleep or do paperwork. He held meetings with investors there for a more personal touch and slept over after late night pub crawls with clients, investors, and his Quidditch mates, explaining that he didn’t feel safe trying to travel home when sloshed, not to mention risking waking Hermione and Hugo, who were both very light sleepers. He also went there after they argued when he didn’t feel like facing his mum. Sometimes he’d rent the flat out for a few months or loan it to his mates, but mostly he kept it reserved for his business and personal use. Hermione had only been to the flat twice, both times within that first year, and hadn’t been back since. Ron always discouraged it when she mentioned visiting and she’d decided not to fight about invading his man cave since he always returned refreshed and in a better mood after staying there for the night.

Sitting down at Ron’s cluttered desk, she opened the side drawer and pulled out his bank book. Ron often forgot to pay things on time, despite insisting on a separate account for his miscellaneous expenses from the household ledger. She found the entry for his work flat and sighed, paying for the next two months plus the late fees. Going down the list of charges in the bank book, she activated the autopay feature on as many as she could, sending the money transfer requests to Gringotts’ Bill Pay department, blessing the muggle who’d convinced the Goblins to import modern banking features.

At the bottom of the page she saw a charge for a large glass vase of roses. Hermione stopped breathing. It was dated for today. She read it over four times before allowing herself to feel a tiny glimmer of hope. Ron had always been better with actions than words. Maybe he was secretly planning on apologizing for missing yesterday’s anniversary. She took a quivering breath.

Could this be a reward for her long years of patience? Had Ron finally decided to start investing in their marriage and family?

A small cynical voice warned her to stay on her guard, but Hermione didn’t want to be cynical. She was almost forty years old. She wanted to believe that her patience and loyalty were finally paying off. She wanted to hope.

Maybe Ron hadn’t come home tonight because he’d been scouring the shops for presents to give to her and Hugo tomorrow to make up for everything. Maybe he’d asked her to pay the bill on the flat because he wanted her to see the flower charge and know he was trying. Ron was finally trying. Perhaps tomorrow’s celebration of Hugo’s birthday would turn out even better than she’d hoped. Her lips curved into a fragile smile and a single tear trickled down her cheek. She pressed her hands to her mouth, hiding the smile. Protecting and keeping it safe.

∞⌛∞

∞2020, July 3—Ron Weasley’s Work Flat∞

~Hermione Weasley (40)~

Walking up the stairs of Ron’s work flat with Rose and Hugo, Hermione felt a flutter of nerves, which was silly. She knew she looked good today in her new fashionable and floaty burgundy dress with her curly hair pulled back and her neck and chest accentuated by the beautiful Egyptian gold necklace Hugo had tricked her into wearing. It was just that Hugo was so excited to celebrate his birthday with his father and she was afraid that he’d end up setting his expectations too high and be disappointed. She was also worried that she’d gotten her hopes up too much about that flower charge. The flowers just as easily could have been for ingredients testing at the joke shop, a thank you for a generous investor, or even a gift for his mother.

She should keep both herself and Hugo grounded, but a smile kept creeping onto her lips. Hermione’s hopes whispered gleefully that Ron must’ve been up late preparing to give his family a wonderful surprise for Hugo’s birthday and their delayed anniversary. Her pragmatic side suggested that Ron was more likely out drinking with his mates and that’s why he hadn’t come home, just nagged her about paying his bill. If he was hung over, he might not even be awake yet. She had a Sober Up potion in her purse because she couldn’t completely abandon practicality, but was hoping she wouldn’t need it.

Just in case, they’d also detoured to a shop and bought some food to soothe Ron’s appetite if he couldn’t wait until they reached the restaurant. Impatient, Hugo had practically danced in place as they waited to pay in line. The plastic bags dangled from Hermione’s fingers as they walked. She didn’t trust Hugo to keep the glass bottle of Ron’s favorite milk and the clamshell with a custard donut unbroken if he carried it.

At the top of the stairs, Hugo’s patience finally broke and he raced forward, not bothering to knock as he burst through the unlocked door and dashed inside the flat. Rose laughed and rushed after him. Smiling and shaking her head, Hermione hurried after them. She was excited too, wondering what color the flowers would be.

Inside the door was a short entryway leading to the living room. Looking around made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. Ron had stuffed an oversized couch in Chudley Cannon orange into the small living room that was much too big for the space. You had to squeeze around it on the left to get to the hearth with the Floo or squeeze around on the right to get to the kitchen and the back hall with the bathroom and bedroom. The sightlines were atrocious and she couldn’t see half of the apartment because of the couch. The only decorations on the walls were Chudley Cannon Quidditch posters and a life-sized advertisement for WWW that featured a barely legal looking busty blond model eating one of their signature treats while wearing a strapless tuxedo-printed leotard, high heels, and bunny ears. It was sleazy and Hermione frowned, not remembering seeing the tacky poster before. It didn’t seem like something George would approve for the shop.

Her children were standing strangely still on the right side of the couch, looking at something in the kitchen she couldn’t see from this angle. As she stepped forward, Hermione could just see the edge of a bouquet of dark red roses in a sunset-colored vase on the kitchen table. Red traditionally meant romance, even though she’d always been clear about preferring softer-colored roses. Still, he’d tried. Hermione hurried around the ugly couch with a smile, determined to meet Ron’s efforts, no matter how clumsy, with grace and kindness.

As she reached the children, she could finally see more of the kitchen, only then noticing the myriad empty food cartons and wine bottles scattered across the dirty counters. Looked like he would need the Sober Up potion and food. Still, she’d prepared for that.

About to open her mouth to call out for her husband, the sound of a feminine squeal made Hermione go rigid with shock and instinctive denial. Ron’s breathless laughter followed as two naked figures stumbled out of the pantry. The young blond woman from the poster was waving a golden bottle in the air as she dashed for the table and spun around with a throaty laugh.

“Don’t drop the honey, honey.” Ron snickered as he lifted the naked woman to sit on the table next to the dark red roses, spreading her legs as she leaned back on one hand and tipped the bottle to drizzle honey over her gravity-defying, potion-enhanced breasts as Ron—

“Bloody hell,” Rose whispered as Hugo gurgled.

Broken from her paralysis, Hermione dropped the bags with a cry, milk bottle shattering as she slammed her hands over the children’s eyes and yanked them around to flee the room, curving her body protectively between them and the sordid scene in the kitchen.

Ron bellowed and swore as the blond girl screamed.

Breathing hard, trying not to puke or cry, Hermione dragged her children around the corner of the ugly orange couch, painfully banging her hip as she hustled them towards the door. None of them needed to see more. The *BANG* of a toppling chair made her instinctively look back into the kitchen to see the naked girl scrambling across the floor. Hermione jerked her eyes away and accidentally met Ron’s eyes.

Ron jolted as his eyes focused on her. His expression of horrified shock and shame flipped instantly into belligerent rage. His face flushed bright red. Eyes narrowing and lips peeling back from his teeth, he roared, snatched up the flower vase, and threw it at her head.

It wasn’t the first time…but it would be the last.

Time seemed to slow as the red, orange, and yellow flower vase flew through the air. A lifetime of sports had given Ron almost perfect aim, but always before when he’d thrown things at her they’d been alone and she was fast enough to dodge away or at least twist to take the hit on her shoulder or back. However, right now she was wrapped around her children in a crowded entryway. She couldn’t escape without risking them being hit instead. There was only one choice. Hands on their shoulders, she desperately shoved them forward with all of her strength, sending them sprawling towards the door.

Hands still extended, the sunset-colored vase full of blood red roses hit the side of her head and shattered, slicing down her cheek and into the desperate arch of her neck. The impact flung her into the back of the ugly orange couch. She bounced off and fell on her back, stunned. Everything was fuzzy. Everything hurt. She felt weird. Confused. Wrong.

Her children?

Why did her face feel like that?

Hermione’s fingers fumbled over the Egyptian necklace on her chest and up onto her throat, dislodging a large shard of glass sticking out of her skin. It fell to the floor next to her ear with a quiet *chink* even as blinding agony burst over her body. Scalding hot blood spurted wildly from her throat and up into the air like a solar flare, splashing her face, the ice cold necklace on her chest, the couch and floor, and even her poor, screaming children as they reached for her. Wanting to reach back, she fought to focus on the beloved faces of her children as her vision tunneled…then nothing.

Nothing.

∞⌛∞

Chapter 2:

∞⌛∞

∞2020, July 3—the Auror Department∞

~Harry Potter (39)~

Dark red blood ran down Harry’s finger in fat drops, spattering Hermione’s bookmark on his desk. “Oh, bloody hell!” Harry shoved his bleeding finger into his mouth and jumped to his feet. Ignoring the broken mug on his desk and the puddle soaking into his work reports as he frantically reached for a tissue and scrubbed it over the bookmark, trying to get the blood and liquid off before it was stained.

“You’d think you were mortally wounded instead of getting a little cut during the meeting’s coffee break,” Dugald Ranson teased, white teeth flashing through his fluffy red beard as he laughed at Harry. “Some big bad Auror you are.”

Gerty Yamaguchi snorted. “Potter’s been mugged. We should file a report,” Her deadpan delivery and pun made Ranson almost fall over with laughter. Yamaguchi had black hair slicked back in a bun and secured with a sharp hairstick decorated with the face of a black cartoon dog that reminded him of a Grim, which made him think of death and Sirius and unhappiness. Harry wondered why she was wearing it, but didn’t bother asking. Yamaguchi didn’t take personal questions.

“Oh, pixie piss,” Harry mumbled as drool dripped down the injured finger in his mouth and onto the bookmark he’d just dried seconds before. Grabbing a new tissue and drying the bookmark again, he took the bandage a judgemental-looking Yamaguchi passed him from his desk. Giving a mumbled thanks, he dried the sides of his slobbery finger on his shirt, and then wrapped the bandage around the wound.

“You’re ridiculous.” Ranson shook his head. “It’s just a wee bookmark. You can go to the store and get another, or tear off a corner from something else to use as a bookmark like a normal person.” He slid up to sit on a nearby desk, kicking his heels.

Fighting back the urge to flip Ranson off, Harry could feel the dittany on the bandage knitting the skin back together extremely slowly. The bandage had been old and must’ve started to dry out, making the healing potion lose potency. It felt extremely unpleasant, like crawling bugs. Harry plopped down into his chair with a scowl. This day just couldn’t get any worse.

Over on the wall by the secretary’s desk, the new experimental Floo flared and rang with a public call. It was made to allow faster communication without having to stick your head in and quick transit through an open connection without needing to announce the destination. The connection opened and the tinny sound of a distressed voice floated out of the flaring green flames. “Ministry of Magic, Auror’s Department, Uncle Harry, Harry Potter!”

Harry knew that voice. “Rose?” Jolting, Harry shot to his feet, chair toppling as he rushed to the Floo. “Rose, I’m here. It’s Uncle Harry. What’s wrong? Where are you?”

Ranson and Yamaguchi followed after him.

Rose hiccuped, sounding like she was crying. “We’re at Dad’s work flat. Please, Uncle Harry, help. Fix it. You have to help, please. Dad went and, he, he—” she broke down into sobs, the rest of her words unintelligible. He could hear Hugo crying too.

Jaw clenching, Harry grabbed a pinch of Floo powder. What had Ron done now? And on Hugo’s birthday? “Stand back, Rose, I’m coming through.”

“Wait, Potter!” Ranson cried, probably about to quote something about protocol to him for skipping out on the rest of the meeting.

Harry didn’t have time for that, his beloved niece needed him. Throwing in the Floo powder, Harry went through the still-open connection before the still experimental line closed. They were still working out how to keep it from collapsing unexpectedly.

“The address!” Ranson shouted, but the magic caught Harry before he could answer even as the connection started to collapse. Harry felt a twinge of guilt at misjudging his colleague’s intention, along with irritation at himself for delaying backup if he ended up needing it, though it was probably Ron just being his usual idiot self.

Spinning out of the Floo and to the side of the hearth in a ready stance, wand raised just in case, Harry took in the room. He’d only been to Ron’s work flat a couple of times, and not in years. A big ugly orange couch took up most of the space in the living room and blocked Harry from seeing much else in the flat. It didn’t feel secure or safe. He didn’t like it. The Floo connection sputtered and closed at his back, simmering down to pale red-gold flames in the cramped hearth.

His first visual sweep showed Ron and the kids standing on opposite sides of the room, but no strangers or obvious threats. Hermione wasn’t here, which was probably how things were allowed to go wrong enough that kids were crying and Harry had been called in. She’d probably dropped off the kids with Ron and left to prepare something for Hugo’s birthday. If she’d been here, she’d have stopped whatever had gone wrong in time, willing to stand up to Ron for the kids sake even if not her own.

Harry’s eyes landed on Ron first. Ron stood only a few steps away at the entrance to the hallway leading from the bedroom in back. Expression as white and blotchy as cottage cheese, he wore a woman’s black lace and hot pink satin dressing gown inside-out. It looked several sizes too small, gaping open on his hairy chest and barely covering his sausage-like legs. The cheap and racy style wasn’t Hermione’s style, but perhaps Ron had given it to her as a present and grabbed it accidentally during the current emergency.

“What’s wrong?” Harry demanded. Ron just stared at him silently.

Impatient, Harry looked for the kids, finding them on the opposite side of the room with blood on their clothing. Harry took another glance around to make sure there weren’t any other threats and moved to them. “Are you alright? Rose? Hugo? How are you hurt?”

Arms wrapped around herself, Rose stood next to a collapsed Hugo. The boy was curled up on the floor in the living room, crying with his head buried in blood-stained trousers. Rose’s hands and knees were dirty from crouching down to Floo call. She hadn’t bothered with the spell to clean up yet and instead of ash it looked like she was covered in reddish-black mud, which was probably soot mixed with blood.

“Where’d the blood come from?” he asked, trying to keep his voice gentle. “Are either of you hurt?” If Ron had laid a hand on one of the children, Harry was going to kill him.

Shaking her head silently, seemingly unable or unwilling to speak now that he was here to take over, Rose pointed a trembling finger past the couch and towards the front hallway leading to the door. Unable to deal with the useless Ron, who was just standing there in the back hall like a lump while his children were breaking down in the living room, Harry touched Rose’s arm and Hugo’s shoulder bracingly before moving past them to investigate.

As he advanced, Harry cast a spell to shrink down the couch to the size of a coffee table. Now that it wasn’t blocking his view, he could see feet sticking out from one side and an outflung hand on the other. Harry warily circled the couch with his wand raised, preparing himself for anything from a Voldemort sympathizer or random thief to a neighbor who’d tried to visit and had a bad reaction to an experimental WWW product to something illegal Ron had smuggled into his flat. Harry would have to do triage and, depending on the situation, decide if they should be rushed to Saint Mungo’s, quarantined, or put in a jail cell first, though considering the amount of blood and stillness of the body as he approached, it wasn’t looking good.

That was probably why his mind refused to even entertain the idea that the body on the floor could be Hermione.

Until he saw Hermione’s white face surrounded by broken roses, shards of glass, and too much blood—red on red on red.

Staggering, Harry almost fell as he rushed over to Hermione with a choked cry, throwing himself down into the large puddle of blood surrounding her body, not caring that he was kneeling on glass shards and thorny stems that cut into his knees or that the still-warm blood was soaking through his trousers. Disbelieving, desperately searching her body for signs of life and coming up empty, Harry started hyperventilating. “What happened? How—?” It felt like a bomb had gone off inside his heart. Voice choking off, Harry tore open his robes and yanked out two corked potion vials, one bright blue and one a mottled magenta. Savagely biting the corks out of both vials, Harry spit them to the side and forced open Hermione’s mouth, pouring the healing potions between her slack lips. It couldn’t be too late. It couldn’t.

~Rose Weasley (15)~

Rose held her breath and prayed as Uncle Harry administered the healing potions. Nothing happened. The red gash on Mum’s throat showed no signs of closing. The large red puddle on the floor didn’t get any smaller. Rose should’ve known better. She’d tried everything herself before calling for Uncle Harry.

Healing potions didn’t work on the dead.

Uncle Harry gave an anguished gasp and poured in more. The hand cupped around Mum’s jaw shook as the useless potion trickled out the corner of her mouth and down the channels sliced into her cheek and throat, pooling under her neck and diffusing out to turn the puddle of red blood on the floor a shocking and obscene purple.

Sitting back, teeth bared and eyes too wide, Uncle Harry began casting a slew of healing spells, from Episkey and Rennervate to Vulnera Sanentur and a host of other spells Rose had never even heard of, some of which were in hissing Parseltongue instead of Latin.

None of them worked.

Her mum stayed dead.

Nevertheless, Uncle Harry kept trying.

Looking pale and shrunken, Rose’s father slowly shuffled forward to watch from the kitchen, refusing to step any farther into the living room, as if separating himself from them and what had happened. The inside-out, hot pink dressing gown he wore exposed the thick patch of red hair sprinkled with gray on his chest, which was matted with honey. From the mistress he’d been shagging. Rose could barely stand to look at him.

“It was an accident,” Dad said in a soft voice, wringing his hands, looking lost. Suddenly straightening, he took a step forward, his voice going loud and desperate. “It was an accident. You’ll fix it for me, won’t you Harry? Your best mate? I don’t even know how it happened. In all of the chaos and screaming and scrambling, well, she somehow bled out in under a minute. Who even does that? How is it possible? I guess she had to be an overachiever in this, just like in everything,” he swallowed hard, voice dropping to finish in a quaver before trailing off, “everything else.”

Uncle Harry’s frantic recitation of spells became more halting, finally petering out, suffocated by everyone else’s silence, though his lips kept moving quietly for several seconds even after his wand dropped limply to his side.

“You understand how things just happen, don’t you?” Dad asked desperately.

Uncle Harry’s dazed eyes drifted up and across Dad and the room before returning to Mum with a jerk. “No,” Harry said hoarsely, though in response to Dad or the sight of her body wasn’t clear. Maybe both. “N-no,” he whispered in a broken quaver.

Folding in on himself, Uncle Harry bowed down over Mum’s still body. Brushing away broken roses and the shards of orange and yellow glass tangled in her hair from the flower vase, he gently closed her blank eyes with his thumbs and wiped the worst smudges of blood off her face, using the backs of his hands when the fronts became too stained. Reverently cupping her cheeks and throat, hiding her fatal wounds beneath the spread of his hands, he dropped his forehead to rest against hers as if he just couldn’t keep his head up anymore, whispering something too aching and soft for the rest of the room to hear. A silent sob shook his frame, stirring the curling hairs at her temples.

Eyes painfully swollen, Rose felt more tears trickle down her cheeks. She’d hoped against hope that Uncle Harry could fix this. Even Dad was hoping he could fix it. But some things, once broken, could never be fixed.

“Harry,” Dad called insistently. “Harry, please.”

Uncle Harry didn’t respond, staying curled around Mum’s still body.

The floo flared green and seconds later two Aurors came rushing through, a pale-skinned man with a bushy red beard and an asian-looking woman with slanted eyes and a black bun held in place by a hairpin with a dog. Rose didn’t know why she noticed the dog.

“Harry, you have to fix this and help me,” Dad said, stretching out his hand before dropping it jerkily and swallowing hard as he darted a look at the new people.

The Aurors exchanged glances, cast a quick evaluating look at Dad before dismissing him to turn their concern on Rose and Hugo, obviously about to come over. Placing a hand on Hugo’s shoulder and sliding a step in front of him to protect him, Rose clenched her jaw and shook her head curtly at their questioning looks, warning them off. She didn’t want strangers here. They weren’t welcome.

Padding forward in the other direction, the Aurors warily circled the shrunken couch to see what everyone was staring at. When they cleared the couch, the woman’s lips went thin and white and the man released a string of quiet curses.

Darting another look at the Aurors, Dad tried again. “Harry, please. I didn’t mean…you have to understand. You have to know that I….” Dad shook his head slowly, face graying as he wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed, his mouth working open and closed silently as he looked back at Mum. He swayed forward and back, but his feet didn’t lift from the floor to carry him closer. Rose’s useless Dad did nothing but watch from a distance as Uncle Harry mourned over her body—Mum’s body.

Rose glared angrily at her dad. He didn’t notice. He’d barely looked at Rose and Hugo since he’d come back into the room after grabbing clothes to find Mum dead and Rose calling Uncle Harry for help. She hated him and she needed him right now more than ever. He didn’t seem to notice or care about that either. Rose should be used to being ignored by her father, though she couldn’t help but keep trying to get his attention and make him proud, even joining the Quidditch team to follow in his footsteps. He’d never been thrilled to have a daughter as a firstborn, or maybe it had been because she was an older sibling instead of a younger one. Whatever the case, he’d always favored her younger brother, at least when he had attention to spare for the family.

She didn’t know what to think right now, but it said something that he was still focusing on himself and Harry’s reaction over standing with his children or kneeling by his wife. It said something hurtful and bad. It made the painful, empty feeling in her chest worse.

The bathroom door creaked open and the blond girl her dad was shagging crept out wearing only a small orange towel that strained around her huge breasts, her neck and chest bright red with beard-burn and still shiny damp from where she must’ve scrubbed off the honey. She looked barely older than Rose. One breast was slowly shrinking, a sign that whatever cheap magic she’d used to inflate them was starting to fail. It had happened to Rose the time she’d taken a bust potion in a stupid attempt to get a boy’s attention.

The girl hid behind Dad’s bulk, wrapping her hands around his arm as she peered at the scene on the floor, grimacing at Mum’s body and then blinking rapidly at Uncle Harry, her eyes darting between his profile and the fit of his trousers several times. Her mouth fell open as her eyes went wide. “Cor blimey, is that the Harry Potter? He’s even more famous than you, Ron. Way more famous, not to mention more fit.” Her hands dropped from Dad, not noticing his hurt and offended look. “Oh, wow. Hi, Mr. Potter, hi,” she giggled with shockingly inappropriate excitement as she stepped away from Dad to pose with her chest pushed out, towel falling open to her hip. Her eyes locked on Harry with avarice.

“Shut up, you stupid bint,” Dad snapped. He breathed hard through his nose and shook his head, turning away from her. “Look Harry, you have to believe me. It was an accident.”

“That’s right, just an accident, Mr. Potter,” the girl said throatily, letting her towel slip down to expose more of her flushed chest as she leaned forward. “You can interrogate me private-like about it, if you want.” She giggled. “I’ll tell you anything you want.”

Dad huffed, face turning dark red. “Are you braindead? I said shut up!” he snapped, then turned back to Uncle Harry. “This is easily cleared up. It wasn’t my fault, just an unfortunate accident.” He took a deep breath and choked out, “I’m sorry.”

Rose couldn’t take it anymore, the pressure inside her head bursting. “Unfortunate accident!? You’re sorry!?” she screamed. Uncurling from the wall, her hands left Hugo to fist at her sides, her face hot and eyes achy and swollen. “You cheated on Mum and threw a vase at her head! Now she’s dead! You did that!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“What?” Head coming up to look between Rose, the slutty blond, and her dad, Uncle Harry looked like he was having trouble processing what was going on. “Ron…you cheated on Hermione. Sh-she found out? So you…?” His voice trailed off as he shook his head sluggishly, looking down at his hands, rubbing the tackiness of Mum’s blood between his fingers, red and purple smears from the potion. Blinking hard, Uncle Harry shook his head again, this time more forcefully as if trying to shake something loose. He wiped a hand over his face, leaving bloody red streaks on his temple and down his cheek. “You threw…?”

“Accidentally.” Dad was scrubbing his face with both hands and didn’t see Uncle Harry’s expression sharpening as he stuttered out his rapid explanation. “J-just look, okay? Look. You-you know she’s always been a nightmare, all swotty and frigid. A man has needs. It’s not my fault she barged in with the kids while I was naked and in the middle of-of,” he gestured at the half-naked girl, “and I got startled and upset and threw the thing. Which was perfectly natural!” he said stridently. “Who wouldn’t be startled? It was a one-in-a-million fluke. Hermione’s better trained than half your Aurors, always bragging she can protect herself. I guess this proved her wrong. Really, it was her fault for barging in like that. She should’ve just dodged the vase. She’s always dodged before. Or blocked it with her wand. She’s a witch, isn’t she? It was an accident. Bad luck.”

“Bad luck didn’t do that,” the female Auror said coolly, pointing a finger at where Mum lay on the ground surrounded by blood, broken roses, and sunset-colored shards of glass.

“I said I was sorry!” Dad said, gesturing as if that should be the end of it.

Rose was shaking. “Where was your sorry when we discovered you shagging that slut on the kitchen table?! Where was it when you threw that vase at Mum’s head while she was busy trying to cover our eyes and protect us, and it sliced open her neck?! Where was it,” stopping only long enough to take a single, sobbing breath, Rose finished stridently, “when Mum was bleeding to death while you ran to get your slag’s pink dressing gown to cover your pale, naked arse!?”

“I was only gone for a minute!” Dad said defensively, waving his arms through the air. “How was I to know that it was that serious? It was just an accident with a flower vase! I didn’t mean to kill her.”

Uncle Harry’s eyes, which had started out glassy and red-rimmed, had turned narrow, dark, and intent. His lips pressed white as he took in a hard breath through his nose and rose fluidly to his feet to quietly ask. “You killed Hermione?”

Rose instinctively froze as the sound of Uncle Harry’s silky question echoed unnaturally through the flat. It was a quiet question and all the more unnerving for the lack of volume.

“I-I didn’t kill her on purpose,” Dad answered, looking cornered as his eyes flitted around the room.

Uncle Harry’s head dropped, knuckles going white around the handle of his wand. It felt like the walls were leaning in ominously, looming over them as if the shadows had come alive and were sucking the air out the room.

The male Auror blanched under his red beard, holding out his hand. “Potter, stand down.”

“We’ve got this,” the female Auror added quickly, looking scared.

Uncle Harry didn’t spare the Aurors a single glance, focused on Dad. “You! You killed Hermione!” he screamed, eyes burning with rage, madness, and pain. His wand came up between one blink and the next and spat a red curse as he shouted, “Crucio!”

Rose gasped as the Unforgivable Curse hit her Dad dead center, making him fly back with the force of the impact. His body slammed into the wall with a crash before he dropped to the ground, mouth gaping wide as shriek after agonizing shriek burst from his mouth, sounding like Satan and his angels being sucked down to hell. The curse’s excruciating pain made him writhe and convulse on the ground as it burned through his magical channels, twisted his mind, and set all of his nerves on fire. He screamed and screamed and screamed.

Rose had read about it, but the dry words hadn’t prepared her for the reality. It was awful. Eyes wide, Rose watched in horror, not even breathing. Hugo clapped his hands over his ears and hid his face against her legs, shaking.

“Potter, no!” the black-haired Auror shouted as she leapt at Uncle Harry, knocking the wand from his hand and abruptly ending the spell.

Gasping for breath, swallowing down a whine, Rose fell back against the wall, pressing a shaking hand over her mouth, swallowing down vomit and clenching the other hand into Hugo’s shirt as her brother sobbed at her feet. She didn’t know what to do.

Wailing, the blond girl fled into the bathroom and slammed the door as the male Auror called for backup on the Floo.

Rose’s dad sobbed pathetically on the kitchen floor. Rose expected him to crawl away down the hall in retreat, but instead his quivering fingers jerkily pulled out his wand, an echo of the instinct that had once made him a fighter and a hero. Face twisting, he kept his eyes locked on Uncle Harry where he was grappling with the female Auror.

The female Auror’s head hit the back of the shrunken couch and sent it sliding under their weight. Her hairpin went flying into the kitchen, sending her black hair flying wildly around her face. Uncle Harry shoved her away and tried to go back to attacking Dad, but she caught his legs with her feet and sent him sprawling, leaping into his back. Looking crazed, Harry rose to his feet with her on his back, spinning around but failing to dislodge her, his blood-slick hands having trouble finding purchase on her body.

Wand jittering through the air, having trouble keeping it steady, Dad gasped wetly through his snot and tears and wiped an arm over his face. Aiming at Uncle Harry again, he cast Impedimenta. He missed.

The female Auror had Uncle Harry in a painful-looking headlock and was riding him to the ground, his face purple-red, when the Impediment Jinx hit her in the back instead. Instantly she went limp. Roaring, Uncle Harry grabbed her by the arm and leg and threw her off his body and over the couch, sending her crashing into her partner by the Floo, scattering the logs and breaking the Floo connection as the two Aurors rolled in a tangle of limbs.

Overwhelmed, Rose pressed herself and Hugo back against the wall, trying to keep her brother safe.

Giving up on spells, Dad heaved himself to his feet with a sob and turned to run.

Pivoting on his heel, Uncle Harry raced around the couch and dived at Dad, knocking him flat as he straddled his body and pummeled him with berserker punch after punch. Flat on his back with his arms curled over his face, as helpless as a flipped over turtle, Dad flailed his feet and arched his back, trying to escape. Uncle Harry rode his bucking body like a broom, attacking relentlessly. Dad’s wildly kicking feet slammed into the couch, sending it skidding across the room and into the knees of the two Aurors, who’d barely regained their feet after untangling themselves, knocking them down again with pained shouts.

Dad kicked again and the lamp flew through the air, shattering on the wall next to her and Hugo. Rose screamed, terrified Hugo had been cut and would bleed out just like her mum, bleed out in seconds and die in her arms. Hysterically falling to her knees, she frantically ran her hands over her little brother’s face and neck. “No, no, no! Hugo! Hugo!”

Clutching her arms, he shook his head. “I’m fine. Rose, I’m fine. It didn’t hit me. It didn’t. I’m fine.” He sobbed with her.

“Hugo!” Rose couldn’t help but cry again, pulling him to her chest in a strangling embrace.

Something about their desperate cries broke through to Uncle Harry. He stopped punching Dad, rising off him and up onto his knees as his eyes locked onto Rose and Hugo. Rationality and worry started to seep back into his red-rimmed eyes as he stared at where they sat sobbing. Distracted by their pain and need, brow creasing at their cries, Rose saw him gather himself to stand up and come over to them.

Dad wasn’t distracted by anything but himself.

~Harry Potter (39)~

Harry began to rise, needing to check on the children, worried about the pitch of their cries. Everything else was fuzzy, but she would want them put first. Safe. Before he could go to join them, Ron gave a gloating, “Ha!” and stabbed Harry in the hip with Yamaguchi’s lost hairpin, aiming for his vulnerable organs and missing only because Harry had been in the middle of standing and the tip skidded off his belt and down to embed in his hip at an angle. It hurt. Before Harry could do more than cry out, Ron had twisted his hands into Harry’s robes and used his bigger size to throw Harry across the kitchen. Harry slammed hard into the leg of the kitchen table with a pained cry as he felt his ribs and the table leg snap.

Eyes watering at the white-hot pain, Harry fought for breath. It wasn’t safe. He had to get up. He had to protect those who were left. A quick glance over showed that the kids were fine for now—unhappy and crying, but not hurt or in danger. Were they crying because of Ron?

Harry didn’t know, but his heart was crying out for vengeance. Ron was the danger. He couldn’t be allowed to hurt anyone else. He had to be dealt with. Permanently.

Ron’s hot pink dressing gown was hanging off of one shoulder, stained, torn, and twisted. Panting, he scrambled back until his shoulders hit the cabinets, using the support to rise to his knees with a pained grunt, both eyes swelling shut and his nose broken and leaking like a faucet. Blood smeared and speckled the hairy, freckled expanse of his pasty body, half of it bright scarlet from his dripping wounds and half of it dark red and vivid purple from the puddle around Hermione’s body that had soaked into Harry and rubbed off onto Ron as they fought. Purple because she was already dead by the time Harry arrived so his potions had been useless, dead because Ron had carelessly killed her. The sight of Hermione’s sacred spilled and stolen lifeblood on Ron’s dirty, unworthy skin brought Harry’s rage surging to new heights. His vision tunneled.

Ron whined through bloody, chipped teeth as he squinted at Harry through swollen eyes and pointed his shaking wand at Harry again as he started to cast. Harry would not fail again, even if he’d failed at everything else of worth. Pulling the hairpin out of his hip with an agonized cry, he threw it at Ron’s face and then threw himself after it.

Ron only got out the first two syllables of the stunning spell, “Stu-pe—” before the black dog on the hairpin clocked him in the mouth, tearing across his lips, chipping his tooth, and making it impossible for him to finish the incantation.

And then Harry was on Ron again, his knee slamming up between Ron’s legs. Air and bloody spittle exploded from Ron’s mouth as he jerked up into the air with a gurgling whine, hands dropping to his crotch. Harry’s follow-up elbow to Ron’s face shattered his cheekbone and sliced open his skin, followed swiftly by a hard punch from Harry’s opposite fist that snapped Ron’s head to the side and bounced it off the cabinet with a hollow thud.

Snatching up the wand as it dropped from Ron’s nerveless fingers, Harry jabbed the pointed tip into the soft flesh over Ron’s heart, divoting his skin just below a smear of Hermione’s lifeblood, dyed purple-red from the useless healing potion. Useless because Ron had killed her. He’d destroyed the person Harry had loved above his own life.

Gnashing his teeth, the anguish and rage writhing in his heart a living beast threatening to consume him with hate, Harry snarled, “Avada Ked—”

Two red Auror-grade stunners hit Harry in the back before he could finish casting the Killing Curse. Everything was red: Harry’s red rage joining the red of the stunning spells, dress, rose petals, glass shards, and blood. Too much red red blood. In the split second before he fell unconscious, he almost thought it poetic.

∞⌛∞

Chapter 3:

∞⌛∞

∞2020, August 3—International Portkey Office∞

~Ginny Weasley Potter (38)~

The scandal of the Golden Trio violently imploding was Ginny’s final straw. She’d been known as a Potter for almost 20 years and as a Weasley for almost 20 years before that. Now she was infamous for being the sister and wife of murderers. No one seemed to care about how Ginny felt about that either. Hermione’s death had turned Ginny’s life into a nightmare. Her reputation in England had been completely ruined, her life destroyed, and yet her family acted like they had worse problems. She was too upset to deal with anyone’s pain but her own and shouldn’t have to.

(Neither she nor Harry remembered that they’d missed their wedding anniversary due to Hermione dying, but if Ginny had, she would’ve been mad about that too.)

After that disastrous family party on July 31st, the birthday of her imprisoned husband, she’d made the logical choice to cut her losses and leave. She’d taken out all of Harry’s money, found a judge to grant her a quick divorce, and left the kids for her mum to raise like the opinionated old battleaxe had always wanted. They’d be fine without her.

Once everything had been set in motion, she wrote two letters. The first was for her mum and the rest of the family, which she’d dropped off at the Burrow while everyone was out so she wouldn’t have to explain herself in person and risk a guilt-trip. The second letter was for Harry in prison. The letter to Harry forgave him for trying to kill her brother for killing his wife, while also letting him know that she wouldn’t have forgiven him if he’d succeeded. It also informed him that she was divorcing him, leaving the kids to her mom, selling the house, and taking all of the money as her due for putting up with him for so many years before she left the country permanently to focus on distraction and personal healing, and not to look for her as she was taking on a new name and identity. She could have gone on for pages more about all of the many ways he’d wronged her during their marriage, but she didn’t want to have to pay extra to mail an overweight letter.

She’d planned to mail the letter on her way to the International Portkey Office, but someone outside the Owl Post Office had recognized her, pulling out a paper on the scandal and showing it to a friend, setting off a wave of whispers and pointing fingers. It felt awful and humiliating. She needed a disguise, but she was too upset for a sophisticated glamour charm and wanted something harder to dispel and with little to no maintenance for her journey. Her makeup and bust-enhancing potions made her more attractive, but didn’t alter her base appearance enough.

Seeing a boutique gift shop next door, Ginny darted in and grabbed a sporty yet fashionable hat that changed her hair color, a designer pair of oversized sunglasses that made her nose smaller, a bottle of artisanal flavored water, and several snacks to settle her stomach after taking the grueling international portkey. When the cashier quoted the price, she realized that it would take all of her ready cash. However, it was necessary for her anonymity and comfort. Sacrifices had to be made.

As time was getting short, Ginny rushed back to the Owl Post Office to mail the letter to Harry. On the door she saw the sign with the delivery rates. Biting her lip, she realized that she no longer had enough money to pay for the owl post. However, her portkey was about to leave. She didn’t have time to run to the bank and make a withdrawal from her new account.

Looking between her gift shop receipt and the letter explaining things for Harry, Ginny sighed soulfully. It was hard, but there was only one thing she could do. Ginny shed a single, heroic tear and tore the letter in pieces before tossing it in the nearest bin.

Maybe it was better this way. A clean break. It was time for a change, time to become a new woman unfettered by the past. No more Ginevra ‘Ginny’ Potter. Time for the world to say hello to the brilliant Evra Starr. She deserved to be a star and if her husband and family couldn’t see that, she’d go find somebody else who would. She couldn’t wait to become the star of her life instead of always playing second fiddle to her ‘famous’ husband, six older brothers, spineless father, and drama queen mum. Plus, with the name change, no one would be able to find her to drag her back.

Ginny Potter walked into Britain’s International Portkey Office and left Magical Britain and its baggage behind without a backward glance. Walking out beneath a foreign sky, she met up with an old Harpies teammate at a local bar who helped her pay a modest bribe to the right official in her new country to get herself a name change and a brand new identity as Evra Star. They even let her put 28 instead of 38 as Evra’s official age. With her new documents in hand, she was determined to be happy, have fun, and never look back.

Evra Star was free.

∞⌛∞

∞2020, July 3—Ron Weasley’s Work Flat∞

~Hugo Weasley (15)~

Standing outside the apartment building housing his dad’s work flat, Hugo saw through the glass front of the lobby that the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad had just finished Obliviating the last of the neighbors and was packing up to leave. Access to the floor up above wasn’t even blocked off anymore by the investigation and cleanup teams. They were long gone. The yellow-orange sun hovered low in the sky, making it almost sunset.

Once again, Hugo had arrived too late to save his mother.

Breath coming fast, Hugo buried his hands in his hair and fisted his fingers, jerking hard enough to hurt. The sharp pain didn’t make him feel better. Nothing would but saving his mum. He just couldn’t figure out how. Maybe he wasn’t good enough. Maybe he was too stupid and useless.

Screaming with frustration and pain, Hugo pulled back his foot and kicked the styrofoam cup abandoned on the sidewalk curb next to him, sending it soaring down the street and into a tree trunk. He’d seen a woman sitting on the curb drinking from that cup earlier in the day, several trips ago. The cup burst apart in a spray of watery brown fluid.

For the life of him, Hugo couldn’t get the rubbish necklace to cooperate. He’d lost count of how many times he’d tried, but it was always either the wrong date, place, or time. He’d either arrive after everyone was already gone or before his dad even arrived, and the flat would be empty. Or he’d arrive at the right date and time, but somewhere random—like the Quidditch field at the Burrow, the Potter’s loo (thankfully empty), or the Malfoy’s kitchen being nagged into eating by the house elves, who seemed completely unfazed by their random redheaded visitor as soon as he mentioned being friends with Scorpius.

Nevertheless, Hugo wasn’t a quitter. It was time for a new strategy. If this wasn’t working, he needed to try a different approach. He needed help. Staring out at the wispy clouds tinted rose-gold by dusk, he thought about asking his sister or cousins, but at the end of the day, he really needed an expert at fixing things. Who better than his mother herself? She would know how to get the necklace to work and stop herself from going inside the flat to see Dad and get hurt.

Though he’d have to humble himself and admit that he couldn’t do it by himself when he went to ask her younger self for help. That wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

Wait, better idea. Instead of trying to stop it on the day it happened and fighting with the necklace for precision, he could try to save his mother much earlier. He could tell her to stay away from Ron Weasley altogether. If she never married him, she’d never be hurt by him. Hugo would rather he never be born if it meant his mother living a long life.

Decided, Hugo pulled out the necklace and concentrated on going back to a young version of his mother, someone agreeable and less likely to scold him, like the nice teenage version who’d saved him and given him a tour or Hogwarts.

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

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

∞⌛∞

∞November 24, 1994—Forbidden Forest, Hogwarts∞

~Hugo Weasley (15)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Stumbling three steps, Hugo kept his feet. He was pretty good at not falling anymore after all of his practice. Looking around, he saw the spires of Hogwarts above the treetops in the distance, so he was probably in a clearing in the Forbidden Forest. He stood at the back of a crowd next to a set of bleachers full of Hogwarts students and adult spectators. Chained up in the middle of the clearing was a dragon. That likely put this as the first task of the Triwizard Tournament in his parents’ fourth year. His mother was probably nearby watching.

From the corner of his eye he saw someone familiar. Turning, he looked across the clearing and spotted Albus and Scorpius. They were standing next to the young version of his mother, talking to her with weird looks on their faces. Albus said something and gestured in the direction of the lake, where you could just make out the top spire of a large black ship, the one belonging to Durmstrang.

What in Merlin’s name were they doing here?!

They weren’t dopplegangers, it was definitely them. He recognized the way they exchanged looks after convincing someone of a lie they hadn’t expected to pass. He tried to catch their eyes, even waved his arm, but they didn’t see him as they moved farther away, seemingly focused on the upcoming bout being announced with Cedric Diggory, with Albus pointing his wand at the blond Hufflepuff right after he came jogging out to face the dragon.

As Hugo tracked them with his eyes, trying to skirt the crowd to get to them, something strange happened. They flickered, went transparent, and disappeared. Then something invisible picked him up like a scruffed kitten by the back of the golden necklace and moved him back to the spot he’d first appeared. Meanwhile, everyone around him moved backwards, as if time was rewinding. When he landed, the scene started over again, but this time Albus and Scorpius were missing and his nervous-looking mum didn’t turn to talk to anyone.

Scratching his head, Hugo heard a throat clearing nearby. Looking up, he saw the hooded man standing next to him with arms crossed.

“Hugo, you shouldn’t be here. This is a bad idea,” he said sternly. “Stop.”

A group of students started screaming as Diggory faced off against the dragon, transfiguring a rock into a dog. Surging forward, they separated Hugo and the hooded man. Ducking down, Hugo tried to hide and make his way towards where he’d seen his mum, but she wasn’t there anymore. The hooded man moved to stand on the edge of the bleachers, searching over the crowd, probably looking for Hugo.

Frustrated, he decided to try his mum at a different time, maybe next year. He activated the necklace. The Hooded man had just caught sight of him and started to advance when—

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

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

∞⌛∞

∞1996, March 16—Hogwarts∞

~Hugo Weasley (15)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Hugo landed on a moving Hogwarts staircase, tripping and almost toppling over the balcony to his doom, only catching himself on the railing at the last second.

Breathing heavily, arms hugging the railing for dear life as he sat down and waited for his heart to stop trying to break free from his chest, he let his eyes wander around the large open atrium and its moving staircases. The clocktower chimed, making him aware that it was almost time for curfew. He’d have to make sure to stay hidden if he was here late. His staircase had paused to let several others rotate into new configurations, which gave him time to figure out where to go next.

He could see multiple floors from his vantage point on the middle staircase. Up above, he saw a young Professor McGonagall talking to a younger Professor dressed all in black with greased down black hair and a hook nose that Hugo was pretty sure was Severus Snape. He sighed with relief. That put him in the right timeframe to find his mum, as Snape had died during the war. Would the young Hermione Granger be in Gryffindor Tower, the library, or some random classroom?

On the other side of the atrium on a lower level were more of the students with badges talking to a round female professor dressed in bright pink robes. The blond boy looked like a young Mr. Malfoy. Walking just down and around the corner from Mr. Malfoy’s group was a girl that he could just barely see from this angle. Nevertheless, he recognized her immediately. It was another impossibility, like Albus and Scorpius.

What was Rose doing here?

As he watched her, she suddenly looked around with desperation and darted to the side, wiggling behind a statue of a hog in fancy robes and disappearing from view. Something fluttered behind him, coldly tickling the back of his neck. Hugo batted it away, too focused on Rose. It came back. Annoyed, he looked up.

The veiled woman he’d met in the future with the elderly couple was looming above him, her face hidden by her veil but radiating disapproval. He gulped and shivered as the temperature dropped when she leaned closer. She had her hand on the railing behind his head as she looked down at him through her veiled hat. The sleeve of her gauzy pinkish grey dress brushed against his back. He didn’t remember it having color before, but that wasn’t important.

“Erk!” Fingers fumbling for the necklace, he tugged it down and over, trying to escape. He’d have to find his mum elsewhere, maybe back in fourth year again.

“This isn’t helping. You’re just hurting yourself,” the veiled woman said.

Emotions flipping from fear to frustration, Hugo ground his teeth as he stared up at her. “You don’t understand.”

“I do, but Hugo, you need to stop.”

“Never!”

“Hugo—”

The necklace dragged him into darkness before he had to listen to more of her pointless arguments as everything twisted, turned, screamed, burned.

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

∞⌛∞

∞1995, January 28—Hogwarts∞

~Hermione Granger (15)~

Standing up from the library table, Hermione stretched. Her back felt sore from spending too long hunched over reading. She kept meaning to work on her posture, but then forgot as soon as she became absorbed in a book. On Wednesdays she only had Charms class, so she’d quickly finished her homework essay and spent the next few hours researching for Harry.

Although she’d only been searching for a week and they still had a month until the second task, Hermione was frustrated that she still hadn’t found a good spell for underwater breathing. Neither had Harry or Ron, but research was supposed to be her specialty. She wasn’t even close to ready to give up, but none of the books she’d flipped through so far had been helpful. Magical search spells reacted badly to magical books more than half the time, making them practically useless. Wizarding libraries were woefully behind muggle ones when it came to detailed card catalogues, not to mention topic searches or, her holy grail, electronic keyword searches on a computer.

“Leave me alone!” A boy’s voice echoed out of the stacks at her back, drawing Hermione’s attention. Craning her neck to look past the table with the Greengrass sisters, she could just barely see two people arguing in the back. Drifting closer like the nosy Parker she was, Hermione abruptly realized that it was Hugo Weasley from the future and the hooded man.

Were they arguing about time travel? And did Hugo still have her necklace?

Stupid question. Hugo had to have it if he was here back in the past again. She wouldn’t mind talking to either of them again, having spent the last few months formulating questions in the back of her mind, often pretending they were merely hypotheticals to get around her determination not to fixate on what had happened. Sometimes she even pretended it had all been a dream. However, if people were going to show up and make it impossible to keep pretending, then she needed to get real answers to find some sort of peace.

However, before she could go over to talk to them (and demand those answers), Hugo disappeared, followed seconds later by a very frustrated-looking hooded man.

Hermione sighed, feeling a conflicting mixture of disappointed and relieved. Time travel was a lot to think about. She didn’t know if she had the mental energy right now anyway. She was too focused on helping Harry through the Triwizard tournament and navigating their fraught and only recently repaired friendship with Ron. Letting herself pretend that the time travel had only been a dream helped to distance herself from some of the more traumatic and guilt-inducing moments, not to mention the feelings of confusion and helplessness.

It was impossible to completely fool herself, however, especially when the book on curing rare blood curses was still burning a hole in her bookbag. She hadn’t gotten up the gumption yet to give it to the Greengrass girls. They were only one table over, making her guilt impossible to ignore.

Though offering it to Draco Malfoy was going a step too far, no matter what his seemingly sweet son claimed about his character. Draco was an arrogant bully. Hermione had years of personal experience to back that up. Being adored by your child didn’t make you a good person. For example, Draco would argue until he was blue in the face that his dad was the most amazing man in the world, yet Hermione knew from Harry that Lucius Malfoy had been a top-ranked Death Eater, was abusive to his house elves, and had carelessly set up eleven-year-old Ginny to be used and killed by the diary along with other students in the castle.

Yet seeing Hugo again, even if only for a moment, made her feel guilty all over again for not passing the book on yet. Part of her feared it would create more problems than it solved and lead to the discovery of her illegal and unregistered time travel. Hermione didn’t want to get in trouble with the Ministry or disappoint her professors. She also didn’t want to face judgement and censure from her friends, as she hadn’t told them about the time travel yet. The more time that passed, the harder it got to do anything about it.

So Hermione dithered, pretending it hadn’t happened and focusing on her current problems. But the book proved that it had. She’d read it over and it seemed a legitimate cure, but she was scared that passing it on was a mistake. She’d tried to save Harry’s parents and instead gotten more people killed, ultimately granting Voldemort his heart’s top three desires. She’d trusted Hugo and he’d stolen the necklace and was bouncing around arguing with the hooded man, who’d been helpful and kind to her. So many other things could go wrong. Her thoughts kept circling.

What if she didn’t pass it over and one of the Greengrass girls died?

What if she did pass it over and that made everything worse?

Yet what if passing it over made everything better?

What if she made just one thing better? Wouldn’t even that be worth taking a risk? Saving one good thing?

It made her think of a quote by Dr. Seuss, “To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.”

To a child, a mother could be the world. The Malfoy boy just wanted to save his mum, and so did Hugo, that’s why he took her necklace. Hermione would be heartbroken if her mum died. Even though they weren’t close anymore, they still loved each other.

If her choice was in the service of love, she had to make it. Didn’t she?

Even if it was scary and hard.

Closing her eyes, Hermione rubbed the center of her forehead, trying to massage away her sudden headache. What was her plan? How would she explain this without getting into trouble? Despite sitting on the book for months, she still didn’t know what would be the best way to go about it. Maybe there was no best way.

Frustrated with herself, she packed up all of her things into her bag, returning the unwanted books to the proper book cart. Maybe she’d figure out what to do with the book from the future later. But what if later never came?

Suddenly sick of all her daft waffling, Hermione decided to wing it. She had good intentions. Maybe that would be enough. If not, she had a lot of practice in recent years with standing up to enemies and lying to authority figures.

Going to her bag, she dug into the bottom of the inner pocket and pulled out the book, which she’d wrapped in a lime green cloth because it made her think of the uniforms worn by healers at St. Mungo’s. Not letting herself hesitate, she tugged the strap of her bag over her shoulder, tucked the book under her arm, and marched over to where the Greengrass sisters were sitting, not making eye contact until the last possible second.

That proved to be a mistake, as Draco Malfoy had come over at some point and was leaning one hand on the table chatting with the sisters. Daphne was a fellow fourth-year while Astoria was a year younger and in several of Ginny’s classes, though Ginny had only mentioned that Astoria seemed suspiciously nice for a Slytherin. Daphne was reserved, reasonably intelligent, and tended to stay neutral during the Gryffindors’ classroom spats with Slytherin, only getting involved when her hand was forced. Hermione had never spoken much to either girl.

In the moments before Draco noticed Hermione standing there waiting expectantly instead of moving past, Hermione was shocked to see that he was capable of producing an expression of genuine concern. Hermione had thought his face limited to smirks, grimaces, and japing. Astoria shook her head and smiled shyly at him, and Draco’s smile turned gentle and charming. In a perfect stranger, Hermione might even call it cute.

However, they were not strangers, they were school-yard enemies, and Draco Malfoy was not cute. As if reinforcing her thought, Draco’s expression flattened into hostility the moment he noticed her presence. He straightened up. “Granger. What do you want?” His lip curled, right on cue.

You’re in the service of love, she reminded herself, taking a deep breath for courage and praying for patience. Keeping her eyes away from Draco and that expression on his face that made her palm itch to either jinx or slap him, she addressed the Greengrass sisters directly. They were sitting across from each other at the small study table, with Draco at the head while she stood at the foot.

“I need to give one of you something, though I’m not sure which Greengrass sister it’s meant for.” She kept her voice low and her head held high. “Please believe in my good intentions.”

“A gift? Why?” Daphne asked suspiciously as Hermione held out the lime green cloth wrapped bundle. “What is it and what do you want for it?” She didn’t try to take it.

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t want anything except for you to take this seriously. Well, that and not to ask me any questions.”

Draco snorted. “A swot not wanting to answer questions? Next you’ll be telling me hell’s frozen over and flobberworms fly,” he drawled.

“Is that like saying when pigs fly?” Hermione asked, diverted by the linguistic drift. “Wait, no, don’t answer that, we’re getting off topic.” She turned back to Daphne. “You’ll hopefully understand when you see the book. It’s a book.”

“A book?” Looking intrigued, Astoria took the bundle and started to unwrap it, only to freeze when she saw the title. The lime green cloth slithered out of her hand and onto the table. Her expression went flat, with white lines bracketing her mouth.

Frowning, Daphne stood up. “What is it?” Hermione stepped back to allow Daphne to circle the table and join her sister, keeping her expression mild and non-threatening. When Daphne saw the title, her eyes flared wide.

“What?” Draco asked, leaning closer to get a better look.

Daphne snatched the book from her sister and quickly wound the lime green cloth back around it, hiding it from view as she stuffed it into her bag. “Where did you get this?” she demanded in a threatening whisper. “What do you know?”

“Is it real?” Astoria asked.

Hermione took another step back, hands out and open. “No questions, remember?”

“Please,” Astoria said, voice trembling as she looked up with desperate eyes. “Is this a joke?”

“It better not be,” Draco said, sending Hermione a scowl.

Ignoring Draco, yet unable to resist Astoria’s pitiful look, Hermione shook her head. “No, not a joke. I’m giving this to you with the best of intentions, but you don’t have to take my word for it. In fact, I’d prefer it if you tested it rigorously. I was told it’s real, but my friend,” she didn’t know what else to call Malfoy’s son, “the one who gave it to me, could’ve been lied to.” She looked between the sisters. “Daphne asked me why. I want to help. That’s why.”

“What friend? Who?” Daphne demanded, her fingers tense white stripes around the edge of the table.

Draco crossed his arms and leaned forward to demand. “What is the book about? I want to know.”

Madam Pince cleared her throat loudly and Hermione looked over to see the librarian sending them a sour look at disrupting the atmosphere by standing around chatting too loudly.

Tightening her hand around the strap of her bag, Hermione took another step back. “No more questions. I’ve got to go.” Already she was beset by doubts. Biting her lip, she said, “I hope it helps.”

Then she spun on her heels and power-walked out of the library and back to the Gryffindor tower, keeping her head down and not acknowledging Ron’s request for help on his Charms essay or Lavender’s bubbly greeting. Upon reaching the safety of her room, she threw herself onto the bed, pulled the curtains, and cast a muffling charm so she could hyperventilate and mutter to herself in peace. Hermione just hoped that she’d done the right thing and both Greengrass girls could live long, healthy lives and the future Malfoy boy wouldn’t have to lose his mother so young.

∞⌛∞

~Narrator~

Dear reader, there are a lot of optimists—and assumists—in this story. Most of the time, they wear rose-tinted glasses because they need to get their eyesight checked. As readers, we give a sympathetic chuckle and snuggle down to read about their overconfidence as everything goes wrong. A lot of things go wrong in this story.

However, in this particular instance, I am very happy to inform you that love and good intentions actually triumph! We don’t have to always be bitter and cynical! From little things do big things grow. You’ll see what I mean very soon—though by soon I mean over three years later for Hermione and the Greengrass sisters.

∞⌛∞

Chapter 4:

∞⌛∞

∞1998, May 02—Hogwarts∞

~Hugo Weasley (15)~

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

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

Hugo stumbled, falling against the railing of a balcony overlooking the moonlit grounds of Hogwarts. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate or slept; his eyes felt like sandpaper and his stomach a post-apocalyptic wasteland. The hooded man was always chasing him, along with the veiled woman, both trying to convince him to give up. He was reaching the end of his rope and could tell that he was becoming increasingly irrational, but giving up was an impossibility with his mother’s life on the line. He needed something to start going right.

As if in answer to his plea, a door flew open below in the courtyard. A girl with bushy curls whom Hugo immediately recognized as a younger version of his mother rushed out. Dad and Uncle Harry moved with her from one side of the courtyard to the other, likely taking a shortcut somewhere before darting back into the castle. Hugo wasn’t sure what was going on, but as long as he could get the younger Hermione alone to talk, he should finally be able to complete his goal of saving her.

Before Hugo could congratulate himself too much and catch up with her, he realized that what he’d mistaken for bright moonlight overhead was actually a glowing protective dome covering Hogwarts. Spells were assaulting it from the front, making it shake and quiver. Seconds later a loud explosion shook the castle, almost sending Hugo falling to the floor as the dome went patchy and disappeared, revealing a sky covered in pale white clouds. Shouts and screams filled the air along with black smoke and the smell of burning. Trees caught on fire and Hugo’s eyes went wide as the light illuminated an army of figures charging at the walls and onto the grounds of the castle, not just humans dressed as Death Eaters, but also giants, werewolves, acromantulas, and even Dementors. They were met with an opposing army of wizards, along with groups of centaurs, house elves, and other creatures. Professors on the walls threw mandrakes, crystal balls, and steaming cauldrons onto the attackers below. The clouds in the night sky over Hogwarts strobed with red, green, gold, and purple light as the figures inside and outside the castle warred for supremacy.

Hogwarts was being invaded.

Hugo had landed at The Battle of Hogwarts.

He should probably be scared, but seeing the battle in person, especially as a lover of history books, was fascinating. A group of students ran out into the courtyard below him and unlocked the nearest gate, letting attackers stream inside. The Death Eaters ran for the doors, only a few getting knocked down by the desperate defenders on the walls before the rest burst into the school. From inside the castle came the sound of clanking suits of armor rushing to defend the halls and Peeves the Poltergeist shrieking invectives and throwing things. Hugo had read about the statues coming to life to defend the castle. It sounded thrilling.

However, his mum was down there somewhere. She could get hurt. Maybe he should try to find and help her.

Caution warred with curiosity. Curiosity and impulse won. He was only 15, after all. There was so much about this time that his family had refused to talk about, too traumatized by the war and their losses. Hugo turned and rushed inside so he could watch the battle from up close. He would be fine as long as he was careful. He wouldn’t be stupid.

Moving through the hallways towards the Great Hall where the most interesting action would be taking place, skirting along the edges and keeping to the shadows, Hugo soon started to pass clots of students fighting students. Avoiding getting involved and detouring as necessary, Hugo turned the corner into one of the main hallways and came out into pandemonium. Death Eaters were being trampled by transfigured desks being directed by Professor McGonagall. Groups of students were dueling Death Eaters in the halls and lines of statues were grappling with invaders and acting as shields for those trying to flee. Two Death Eaters came racing out of a side hall, casting spells to freeze the statues in place and stop their efforts. Shrieking in defiance, the statue of the one-eyed witch moved behind the statue of a fat dapper hog and kicked it in the side, sending it rolling across the room and down the hall. The two attackers turned and tried to run, but were flattened by the massive rolling hog, leaving their bodies on the floor as broken red smears.

Wincing, Hugo shuffled back, starting to feel queasy as he realized the violence was real and not just theoretical. He didn’t like seeing blood, especially since he’d lost his mum. A student across from him was hit in the chest by a spell and dropped, falling onto their face. They didn’t get up again. Hugo flinched and shrunk down. Perhaps he should have thought a bit more before running into the thick of things.

Noticing an empty hall to the side, Hugo retreated in that direction. Turning a corner, he came out on a balcony overlooking the atrium, the grand staircase, and the entrance to the Great Hall. The fighting down there looked fierce. He cast a few spells to help the defenders, but guiltily stopped when he realized he was drawing too much attention and was starting to attract counter-attacks. He moved to another hiding place.

Across the room, in a shadowy corner beneath a shattered line of lamps, something moved. Hugo couldn’t help but huff and glare when he realized it was the hooded man. He’d found Hugo again, though for once he didn’t seem to be searching for Hugo in an irritating attempt to stop him. Instead, he stood still, watching the action but not interfering.

Not wanting to be seen, Hugo snuck away in the opposite direction and went down a back staircase, coming out into another hallway. This part of the castle was new to him. It had been destroyed by an explosion before he’d started Hogwarts. He found himself momentarily distracted by a funny-looking tapestry on the wall.

It almost proved his undoing.

“Get down!”

Hugo ducked just as a spell shot over his head, almost singeing his red hair and leaving his scalp tingling and feeling hot as the spell hit the tapestry and made it burst into flames.

“Stop standing around gawking and get under cover before you get yourself killed!” The veiled woman snapped, her gauzy trailing sleeves fluttering around her body like smoke as she stood in front of him protectively. “I swear,” she seethed, “don’t you even care that you might die here? If you can’t be arsed to think about yourself, at least have a care for your family and friends who love you. Or your mission. If you die, what would happen to your mum? Think about how she’d feel if she lost you this way.”

Flushing, Hugo moved into a spot with better cover. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

“This is war. Distraction gets people killed. Fifty defenders will die here today. Don’t let yourself become number fifty-one. You should be more careful,” she lectured sternly as she herded him back, making him feel as short as half-goblin Professor Flitwick fighting over by the staircase, though not even a third so accomplished.

“Sorry,” he repeated, wondering if it would be smarter to leave now and find his mum on another day less fraught with danger. She could probably take care of herself and at least she wasn’t alone.

As a group of fighters moved closer, Hugo found himself retreating around another corner. Down the hall was a crossroads where several corridors converged on the way to the Great Hall. It was guarded by three redheads. Intrigued, Hugo recognized a young version of his Uncle George, though there were two of him and neither looked sad or bitter. Mouth falling open, he realized that the other boy must be his Uncle Fred when he was still alive. The boys were in a lull from the fighting and stood together with a young Uncle Percy, who looked to be cracking a joke, based on the gleeful, gobsmacked expressions on the twins’ faces. Uncle Percy usually took himself too seriously to joke. Hugo had heard Uncle George once say that Uncle Percy hadn’t cracked a joke since the day Uncle Fred died.

It made him feel bad, looking at the three of them smiling at each other. Could he save his uncle? But he didn’t remember how Uncle Fred died, just that he had today. Maybe he should just run up and warn him, but what would he even say that would be helpful?

While Hugo was still dithering, a Death Eater appeared at the end of one of the hallways and cast a vicious-sounding curse. The spell spat over the Weasley boys’ heads and exploded against the wall, sending them sprawling. A giant chunk of decorative masonry cracked and then, with a deep groan, broke free from the wall heading right for where Uncle Fred had rolled onto his back. Hugo could see Uncle Fred’s eyes go dark and wide with the knowledge that he was about to get crushed.

Eyes slamming shut, Hugo braced himself for the sound of crunching bones and cries of sorrow. Why hadn’t he done something to save Uncle Fred when he had the chance? Why was he so useless?

“Protego Maxima!” a girl shouted. Eyes popping open, Hugo saw a blond girl casting a large glowing shield over the Weasley boys just before the masonry hit. The magic shield made a *boing* sound, bending and then snapping back up, making the masonry rebound and fly up into the air. One chunk sped in the direction of the Death Eater. The block of stone caught him in the chest with an “Oof!” sending him crashing back into a hallway window. The glass shattered and the Death Eater fell out of the window with a scream, disappearing into a night strobed by spellfire.

“Are you alright?” The blond girl dispelled her shield and moved forward to check on the Weasleys. She wore a Slytherin green tie and looked old enough to be graduating.

“That was a close one.” Uncle Percy sounded shaken as he reached down and hauled Uncle Fred—who was still alive—to his feet.

“It’s Daphne Greengrass, right?” Uncle Fred asked, staring at the blond girl as if mesmerized. “You’re the angel who saved me. Thank you.”

‘Uncle Fred was still alive,’ Hugo repeated gleefully in his mind.

“I’m not an angel,” Daphne said, cheeks turning pink, “but you’re welcome. I’m here to help.” She tucked a strand of long blond hair behind her ear and moved next to Uncle Fred, taking up a defensive stance at the crossroads of the hallway. They smiled at each other. Eyebrows going up, Uncle George and Uncle Percy exchanged a speaking look behind the couple’s backs.

Realizing that Daphne was Scorpius’s aunt, Hugo looked around to see if Astoria was there too, but couldn’t find her. He hoped his mum had managed to get Astoria the cure so she wouldn’t have to die this time. The Malfoys were good people who deserved to have her back, just like he deserved to have his mum back.

Hugo wondered what Daphne’s presence here meant. “Hey,” he looked at the veiled lady, “does this mean that Uncle Fred is now going to survive the battle, or does he still end up getting killed later?”

“I’m not sure,” she said hesitantly. “This didn’t happen before, so it’s possible. I’m not sure why Daphne stayed to help. Last time, coming from a neutral family, she and her sister fled when the fighting started.”

“I hope she saved him,” Hugo said.

“Me too,” the veiled lady answered wistfully, staring over at the group of four.

Realizing she was distracted, Hugo took a step back and slipped away, breaking into a run as soon as he got around the corner. He had to stop and hide several times to keep from being attacked or seen by the veiled lady. He felt bad for running away after she’d saved him, but this just reinforced to him how dangerous the battle was. He needed to find his mom and make sure she was alright. Uncle Harry would be too distracted by Voldemort, and after how Mum had died, Hugo no longer trusted his dad to keep her safe.

Ducking into the walls and sneaking through a hidden passage, Hugo came out to see that an armistice had fallen outside. Voldemort’s army massed on the border of the Forbidden Forest. A hush fell as Voldemort came to the front of the group and announced the death of Harry Potter. Cries rang out from the castle as Harry Potter’s supposed body was brought forth and dumped for all to see. Even knowing that it was a trap and Uncle Harry had survived this, Hugo still felt like he wanted to cry and attack the monster who’d dared to harm his beloved uncle.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw his mum and dad come out and look at the body. His mum’s expression shattered at the sight and she gave a horrible cry. She looked awful, like she’d been mortally wounded. Hugo could tell that she believed Uncle Harry was dead. He’d never thought about how painful this moment must’ve been for her all those times when he nagged her for stories about it. It made him feel ashamed.

Looking away, he realized that now was not the time to bother his mom about leaving his dad. That was not the face of a woman who cared a whit about who her future husband should or should not be or how she died in more than twenty years. All she cared about was the loss of her best friend. Mum was safe enough in the mass of defenders for now. He should leave her be and try again another time.

Out of the forest ran a half-giant. He attacked the other giants fearlessly despite the size difference. Several Death Eaters were crushed in the titanic conflict. A group of people appeared from the direction of Hogsmeade and started attacking Voldemort’s forces. The centaurs joined in the attack too and suddenly Voldemort and his forces were retreating towards Hogwarts and pulling back towards the Great Hall.

Gulping, Hugo realized Voldemort’s forces were running straight toward his hiding place too. “Oh no,” he fumbled for the pendant at his neck as he ducked back into the hidden passage and closed the door.

“Oh no is right, Hugo.”

Squeaking, he jerked around to see the veiled woman standing behind him in the dark. She looked mad. “No more running, young man. We need to talk,” she said curtly. “Go home. Try September 1st, 2017 in the living room. Think of that and I’ll do the same.”

Hugo could hear the shouts of battle right outside the door and feel the rumble of explosions.

“Now go!” She pressed a hand to her chest beneath her veil, fiddling with something he couldn’t see.

The pendant snicked into place and Hugo pressed down, the jolt thrumming through his molars and making his head hurt. He shivered, trying to blame it on the summer night being cold instead of his anxiety, and waited for the necklace to activate. Someone tried to open the door from outside. Hugo lunged forward and slammed it closed, hearing a yelp as he leaned against it to keep anyone from getting inside. Hopefully, the person who’d yelled was a bad guy and not a good guy.

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

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

∞⌛∞

∞2017, September 01—Home of Hermione and Ron Weasley∞

~Hugo Weasley (15)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Arms windmilling as he toppled back onto the couch, Hugo twisted to sit up and looked around. It felt surreal to be back home again, especially his childhood home. No one was here because today was eleven-year-old Hugo’s first time riding the Hogwarts Express to school and his parents had come to see him and Rose off in Wizarding London. He remembered how he’d been so excited and scared to leave home.

The living room had changed over the years. He’d forgotten some of the knick knacks that used to be displayed on the bookshelves. Standing up, he went over to explore, feeling nostalgic as he picked up the little porcelain cat that looked like his mum’s old pet kneazle Crookshanks. Dad had never liked the cat, but Mum had been torn up when her pet died of old age when Hugo had been little. Uncle Harry had given her the figurine to help her feel better. It had gotten lost or irreparably broken at some point after Hugo started school. When his mum’s things disappeared, Hugo had learned it was safer not to ask why. Shoving away thoughts of why, Hugo focused on the now. Petting a finger over the arch of the cat figurine’s back and down his tail, Hugo smiled softly as memories of petting the old cat slid into the forefront of his mind.

“Hello, Hugo. Thank you for coming.” The veiled woman stood on the other side of the room. Her hand rested on the corner of the couch, as if she belonged.

Smile dropping from his face, Hugo crossed his arms and turned to face her, feeling sullen. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Because I care about you and all this jumping around you’re doing is destabilizing your timeline. If you interfere much more, you won’t be born. That will create a paradox and a tragedy. You can’t want that.” She paused to let him react, but Hugo just shrugged. He had nothing new to say that he hadn’t already said a dozen times before. She sighed. “Hugo, you have to stop. The past will work itself out. It is working itself out. You’re just making things worse. Why do you think you can’t get to the moment you want to? There has to be a reason.”

Squirming, Hugo looked down and away. The tone of her lecture reminded him of being scolded by his mom. It made him feel stupid. He’d always hated that feeling. “You don’t know that for sure,” he said defensively.

“I know better than you do,” she said tartly.

Something clattered in the kitchen, like someone had knocked into one of the chairs that hadn’t been pushed under the table properly. Seconds later, the hooded man appeared in the doorway, walking into the room as if he owned the place.

Cursing mildly, the veiled woman pressed a hand to her chest and moved to the far side of the room even as the hooded man continued to advance.

Both of them acted way too comfortable in his space. “Look bloke, this is my house, not yours,” Hugo said, purposely rude. “Get out. Actually,” he looked between the two adults, “both of you get out, and while you’re at it, stop following me around and pestering me. I’m sick and tired of it.”

“Hugo, we’re all tired,” the veiled woman said with a sigh. Then she winked out of sight.

The hooded man stopped, looked between Hugo and where the veiled woman had disappeared, and then disappeared too.

“Well then,” Hugo said loudly, “good riddance.”

Of course, even though he’d told them to leave, he didn’t feel good about being all alone again. They’d ignored him every other time he told them to leave, yet the one time they listened, it upset him. It didn’t make any sense. His eyes started to sting, but he wouldn’t let himself cry, even though he felt like an idiot.

He missed Rose and his mum and his friends. He missed feeling normal instead of like he was barely half-alive. Hugo was tired of feeling this way.

He thought about what the veiled woman had been saying, but what it all boiled down to was that he didn’t trust his mum enough not to muck her life up by being too critical in words but too forgiving in deeds—getting herself killed by his dad’s temper again. The veiled woman meant well, but Hugo was smart too. He knew his parents best. He knew what he was doing.

Hugo would fix his mother’s death and he would not be run off again. He had no choice but to stand his ground. He had to atone for his mistake. He had to fix this or die trying.

Again.

Though he probably wouldn’t have another version of his mum show up to save him the next time he died. Not twice. He wasn’t that lucky.

Hugo missed his mum. He missed being young, ignorant, and happy. Hugging himself, Hugo stared around the room, memorizing all of the things he’d forgotten to try and distract himself from his misery. The clock chimed and he realized his parents would be home from London soon. It was tempting to stay and meet them, but he needed to catch his mom alone and he’d probably have better luck with an earlier version of his mum, one who wasn’t so worn down. Being here made him remember that even back when he’d been eleven, things hadn’t been great between his parents. His dad hadn’t been safe to argue with then either. Hugo just hadn’t wanted to see it. He wished he still hadn’t seen it.

Eyes falling shut, he had trouble forcing them open again, feeling like his eyelids were weighed down by bags of sand. There was a sour edge to the ache in his head and the tension in his spine. He pushed it away. The pain wasn’t important. His mission was.

Reaching up, he activated the necklace. He needed a younger mum who’d listen to him. He also needed a Hermione Granger who wasn’t running around like a chicken with its head cut off so he could get a word in edgewise. Maybe visiting after Uncle Harry had defeated Voldemort and was safe would be best. She’d probably be better at focusing then. Or before she’d even gotten tangled up with disasters like Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. That would work too.

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

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

∞⌛∞

Chapter 5:

∞⌛∞

∞1991, September 26—Hogwarts∞

~Hugo Weasley (15)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Looking around, Hugo saw that the night was dark and clear on top of the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts, making it easy to see the twinkling constellations. Yawning little firsties were packing up their bags and trickling through the doors back inside to their beds. Standing in the shadows, Hugo couldn’t believe how round his dad’s cheeks looked on what had to be his eleven-year-old face. Uncle Harry was tiny and rail thin with big round black glasses almost bigger than his face. The wind ruffled his hair, exposing the red lightning bolt curse scar on his forehead. The two boys were cracking jokes.

Mum wasn’t with them. Instead, expression forlorn, she stood off by herself, an island in the crowd as she slipped her bag over her shoulder and threaded her way through the sleepily chatting students to get inside. No one acknowledged her. It made Hugo feel bad. This must be before the Troll incident.

Part of him had been considering sabotaging the friendship between his mum and his dad before it could even begin, even knowing that the friendship hadn’t been all bad. Now it didn’t seem like such a good idea. Without friends like Harry and Ron, Mum might be doomed to spend her school years isolated and lonely. That was too sad. Plus, there was the practical consideration that Uncle Harry would probably loyally stick to Dad, never earn Mum’s help and advice, and end up with a stupid and early death, leaving Voldemort to win and the wizarding world doomed.

But what else could he do? Hugo was so tired of not knowing what to do and then not being able to do what he finally decided on. Paralyzed with indecision, Hugo silently watched the students and the Astronomy professor go inside, leaving him alone on the roof.

Except not alone, because the hooded man was hopping down from where he’d been perched on a balustrade and walking over. “What are you doing here, Hugo? They’re only eleven.”

Instead of answering, Hugo crossed his arms and scowled. “Aren’t you supposed to be off chasing after the veiled lady?”

“Hugo, what are you trying to do?”

He was trying his best to fix things. Shouldn’t that be enough? Except Hugo wasn’t good enough. He was a failure and a disappointment. The chaotic mass of emotions in his chest boiled over. “Why do you keep asking me that? I’m trying to save my mum!” he said with desperate defiance. “I know it’s possible! A younger version of Mum saved me.” He didn’t mention the part about trying to kill himself. That wasn’t the hooded man’s business. “That means I can change time to save her.”

Folding his fingers into a triangle, the hooded man pressed his pointer fingers to his mouth and looked off into the distance in thought. His outline flickered. Dropping his hands, he exhaled and turned back to Hugo, shaking his head. “That’s not necessary. That future is already gone, it just hasn’t disappeared for you yet. You can’t see it, but she’s already saved,” he said gently.

“She’s not saved!!!” Hugo screamed, spraying spittle and feeling like he’d been slapped. “You don’t understand! I’ve tried to save her countless times—I’ve gone back to that day again and again—but it doesn’t work! It isn’t fixed.” His ugly emotions shredded his insides as he grabbed the hooded man’s robes in his fists and shook him, shouting. “I can still remember her dying! The smell of her blood and the sound of her last breath! The look in her eyes as they went fixed and empty as her soul left her body! If she’s saved, why are those memories still playing in my mind in a painful loop? Why?!” Bending over, his fingers dropped from the hooded man’s clothes to dig into the skin of his scalp, trying to cut out the painful memories as he fell to the ground with a sob.

“Oh Hugo, you need to stop taking all the blame and making yourself suffer. The trauma has made you fixate on that moment.” The hooded man rubbed his face under the shadows of his hood and sighed. “Please believe me when I say, you’re holding on to it too tightly—too tightly to your pain, too tightly to the memory, and too tightly to your blame, all warped and wrapped around the power of the necklace you stole, which keeps you from giving up and finding peace. That future should already be gone, and this sad, traumatized version of you gone too.” He knelt down next to Hugo.“You feel half alive because you are.”

A tortured groan erupted from Hugo’s chest at having the thought confirmed.

“Not because you’re bad or deserve to be punished,” the hooded man’s insistent voice said, “but because you’re a ghost, still clinging to existence through the power of a necklace created by Death.”

“What?” Hugo asked in a choked voice. He didn’t want to believe it, but something inside him resonated at hearing such a horrible truth. It felt like a truth, but he didn’t know if he could accept it. He wanted it to be a trick.

Gentle but firm hands tugged Hugo’s arms down and smoothed back his hair, calming him. “It’s only real because you’re keeping it real. You’re stuck in that moment. You’ve made it a fixed point in your timeline because as much as you’re trying to change it, you can’t forgive yourself enough to let it change. You need to let go of that moment and the stolen necklace and move on. Only then can you find peace and see that what you most hoped for has already happened. Please, Hugo.”

Sucking on his bottom lip, Hugo slowly shook his head and stepped back from the soothing hands. “No. No, you’re trying to trick me. I won’t believe that. I can’t. Not until I see it with my own two eyes. You don’t understand.” Swallowing, Hugo tried to find the words to explain, finally saying in a small voice, “I just want to stop being haunted by 2020.”

The shadowed man jerked as if shocked. “What did you say?” he demanded harshly, only to answer his own question. “Your heart’s desire is to stop being haunted by 2020. To stop being haunted by 2020.” He gave a mirthless bark of laughter. “Oh, Hugo. I want that too.” He rubbed his chest. “More than anything for thousands of years, I want that too.”

“Then help me,” Hugo said, holding out his hands pleadingly.

“I’ve been trying, but you need to stop using the necklace. Give it to me and I’ll help you move on and find peace. I’ll take care of everything.”

Dropping his hands, Hugo snapped, “I don’t want to move on and I don’t want you to take care of it. I want to save her! Me!”

“Hugo—”

“No! And you can’t make me!” He raised his chin stubbornly and glared.

“Enough! Stop being so immature and stubborn.” The hooded man held out his hand, obviously out of patience. “Give it to me!”

Darting back out of reach, Hugo shook his head defiantly. “No! You’re just a thief and a bully!” He dodged around the telescopes as the Hooded man chased him, only to slip on someone’s forgotten textbook and go sprawling. “Don’t touch me! Don’t!” he cried desperately. “Help!”

“Leave him alone!” the veiled woman shouted as she suddenly appeared and wrapped her arms around Hugo, her pale red dress draping around him like protective wings. He’d thought her dress colorless, but he must’ve been wrong.

Hugo felt a tug in his navel and then like he was being sucked through a twisty straw as they disappeared from the Astronomy Tower, reappearing between two bookshelves in the darkened library. “What are we doing here?” Dizzy, Hugo fought not to fall over. “Are we safe?”

Reaching up to her neck, she fiddled with something beneath her veil. “We’re going to make two more stops to lose our shadow and then we’re going to talk. No running away this time, for either of us. Please be patient. Count to nine, if that helps.”

“Nine?” Hugo asked, confused. She didn’t answer, just wrapped her arm around his shoulder and placed a hand behind his neck, making his necklace feel like it was vibrating on his chest.

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

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

∞1994, March 13—Hogwarts∞

~Hugo Weasley (15)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

The veiled lady kept a tight hold on him, keeping him from falling over. They were still in the library between the stacks. Looking down the aisle, he saw a young version of his mum. Craning his neck to see better, he saw her sitting at a study table surrounded by books. She was wearing the Egyptian necklace and smiling up at a cloaked and hooded man. No, not a hooded man—the hooded man.

Confused and concerned, Hugo opened his mouth to ask a question just as the hooded man stiffened and started to turn his head over his shoulder to look at them. The veiled lady put a hand behind his neck, making his necklace feel like it was vibrating again. They’d only been there for about nine seconds when—

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

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

∞2008, August 02—Home of Hermione and Ron Weasley∞

~Hugo Weasley (15)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Hugo opened his eyes to his childhood nursery. Familiar stuffies and storybooks sat on the bookshelves, bright prints of blobby little blue, green, and orange smiling monsters decorated the walls, and his toddler bed sat low to the ground in the corner next to a bed table with a humidifier shaped like a cow and a sound machine that projected lights and pictures on the ceiling. Rose said his Granger grandparents had given him the humidifier and sound machine and his mum, with the help of Grandpa Weasley, had figured out how to get them to work in a wizarding household. Hugo vaguely remembered his dad and Grandma not approving and finally tossing them out when his mum was gone with Rose one day, telling Hugo he was old enough not to need them.

The toddler bed’s railing was rotated down, so Hugo and the veiled woman sat down on the edge of the bed together. Hugo felt a wave of exhaustion crash down upon his shoulders. Bowing forward with his head in his hands, the hand on his shoulder sliding down to his back, he took a shaky breath, trying not to pass out or burst into tears. “I’m just trying to save my mom,” he told the veiled woman, voice thick and eyes stinging. “I have to make it right. I have to atone for my mistakes or I can’t find any peace. I have to see it done. Until then, he’s probably right and I am stuck there, in that moment. Please, help me,” he pleaded, turning his head to look at her. “Please.”

Sighing heavily, she rubbed circles on his back. “I don’t agree with how you’re taking the blame for this and torturing yourself over it…but I can see you won’t be swayed by logic. Alright. You’ve tried it your way and it hasn’t worked, yet you still can’t move on or see what’s in front of you unless you save your mother from dying that day. Is that correct?”

Hugo nodded and sat up. “That’s it exactly. Yes.” He wiped a hand over his damp eyes, smudging away the tears.

Her voice wobbled too. “And you promise you will move on if you see her saved?”

“Of course. Yes. I promise.” Hugo sat up, staring at her hopefully.

She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Alright, then that’s what we’re going to do, but as a team. You’re getting distracted trying younger, teenaged versions of Hermione. We need an older, mature version of your mum who’s already had you and Rose but hasn’t had her spirit broken yet. Get her to go with you to the future and stop her death from happening so you can see it.”

“Which version?” Hugo asked eagerly.

Tapping her chin, she hummed in thought. “I’d say late 2006 or early 2007 maybe? A few months after you’re born, when you start sleeping longer between feedings so she isn’t so sleep-deprived.”

“Great!” Pulling out his necklace, Hugo activated it. Looking over at her, he flushed. “Should I have let you control the time travel or is this okay?”

“As long as you’re confident you can steer us correctly, it’s fine.” She put a hand behind his neck, her fingers overlapping with the necklace and the gauze of her pale red sleeve tickling his hand.

Hugo glanced at her, wishing he could see through the veil on her hat. “Why are you in red now instead of blue? And why does touching you make the necklace feel like it’s vibrating?”

“Those are good questions. Unfortunately, I don’t know for sure, though I could make an educated guess,” she said. “It’s probably because—”

Then the world flashed black as everything twisted, turned, screamed, burned.

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

∞2005, June 05—Home of Hermione Weasley∞

~Hugo Weasley (15)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

They arrived at the top of the staircase in the house, grabbing onto the banister and each other to keep from falling. The veiled woman made sure he was steady and then patted his arm before releasing him. It made him feel warm and cared for.

Down below by the fireplace Floo stood his young mum and two small children. Little Hugo was too big to be a baby, with a full head of hair as he sat on Mum’s hip with his legs dangling almost to her knees and his feet in little blue sneakers. Hugo must’ve landed later than expected. Looking frazzled, she threw three pinches of Floo powder into the fire, waited for it to turn green, and then quickly announced, “The home of Fred Weasley, Diagon Alley.” Taking Rose’s hand, she stepped into the Floo and spun away with the children.

“We just missed her,” Hugo said, feeling discouraged as he plodded down the stairs to the living room.

“I have a feeling she’ll be back soon,” the veiled woman said. “The children were in shoes, but she was still wearing house slippers. She’ll have to come back for her shoes if nothing else. Hermione doesn’t like the feel of transfigured footwear.”

“That’s true.” Hugo felt cheered and decided not to worry about how she knew that.

Patting his arm, the veiled woman stepped back up the stairs. “It’s not comfortable or necessary for me to stay for this next bit, so I’ll leave the rest to you if that’s alright. However, if you need me, I’ll come. I promise. Good luck, Hugo,” she reached up under her veil to touch her chest, “and give yourself a break. Remember, you don’t have to do this all on your own.”

“Okay, yeah, and thanks,” he said quietly, frustrated, sad, and confused that she was already leaving just when he was starting to rely on her. This plan of hers better work.

Less than ten minutes later, young mother Hermione returned without her children, banishing the soot from her clothes as soon as she came through the Floo. Stretching her hands into the air, fingers spread and wand dangling from her curled thumb, she groaned and closed her eyes. “Don’t be a worrywort, silly. They’ll be fine,” she whispered to herself, going back flat on her feet.

“Hey,” Hugo said, impatient to get started.

Her eyes shot open and he was hit with a stunning spell before he could react.

Everything flared red and then went black.

∞⌛∞

Upon waking up, Hugo found himself lying on the floor with a pillow tucked beneath his head. “I’m sorry,” the young Hermione said, kneeling by his side. “Older Hugo, right? I thought you were an intruder.”

“I said hello,” he croaked defensively, slowly sitting up and pulling himself onto the couch.

“Yes, well, you startled me. We haven’t seen each other in over a decade and you show up inside my house instead of at the door. What did you expect?” She shrugged and sat back on her heels. “You’re just lucky I didn’t have the kids with me or I’d have reacted more strongly.”

“Worse than a stunner?” he whined. She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him and Hugo deflated. “Fine, sorry for startling you. I guess we’re even.”

“Not quite,” she said, “but you’re forgiven.” Pursing her lips, she looked him up and down. “You don’t look well. I know it’s been over ten years for me since we last met and you stole my necklace, but you don’t look much older than before, just more washed out and gray. I think there’s a reason ancient wizards stopped using the necklace and turned to a different type of time travel. It’s hard to control and we don’t understand how it works. I think it’s dangerous. You should probably stop using it. It looks like it’s making you sick.”

“I can’t stop. I’m not done yet.”

She frowned. “If it hurts you like this, maybe it’s not something worth doing.”

“It is worth doing! My real Mum would help me! If you don’t care enough, then-then I’ll just find a different version of my mum, one who loves me enough to listen to me and try!” Tearing up, Hugo resentfully scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Hugo…” sighing, she rubbed her forehead. “You’re my son, or at least an older version of him. I do love you. I love you very very much. I’m just worried about you. Of course I want to help. I’m willing to listen to you, but you need to do me the same courtesy. Let’s try this again, alright?” She rose to her feet and went into the kitchen. “Can I get you some tea? Or food?”

“No, I’m fine. I don’t need anything,” he said, still irritated and upset.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, not turning around as she set the kettle to boiling and pulled a plate of sliced fruit, meat, and cheese out of the fridge. Hugo had always liked her snack plates. Giving in, he stood up and wandered into the kitchen to sit down at the table.

Smiling at him with approval, she poured some milk into a sippy cup, screwed on the lid, and placed it along with the plate of snacks in front of him.

“I’m a little old for this, but sure. Why not?” Hugo lifted the cup and sucked milk through the spout.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Flushing, she took the cup back and unscrewed the lid, placing the open milk cup back in front of him and tossing the lid into the sink with a clatter. Hugo put a slice of cheddar on an apple slice and stuck it into his mouth. His mood quickly turned around as his stomach growled in happiness at being fed. Hugo started shoveling more food into his mouth, alternating it with gulps of milk. The piles on the plate rapidly disappeared.

The kettle started to whistle just as he tipped back his sippy cup and swallowed the last of his milk. “Slow down before you choke,” Hermione said fondly over her shoulder as she went to the stove and tapped the handle to stop the heating, pulling down two mugs and filling them with steaming tea. Grabbing the honey bottle, she poured a dollop into each mug, stirred it in, and then placed one in front of Hugo, taking the other with her as she sat down in her chair.

Taking a sip of tea, she hummed happily. “So what brings you to me in 2005, Hugo?”

Hugo frowned and finished chewing the food in his mouth. “Wait, 2005? But I saw you leave with little Hugo and he was in big boy sneakers. Isn’t it 2007 or even 2008?”

“No, it’s definitely 2005.” She pointed at the calendar on the wall turned to June 2005.

“I’m tired, but not that tired,” he mumbled to himself, sipping his tea and almost burning his tongue, huffing and puffing to cool the inside of his mouth. His mother always had an iron mouth when it came to hot drinks.

“Are you alright?”

Hugo shook his head. “Burned my tongue, but wait. It can’t be 2005. I wasn’t born until July 3, 2006, and Rose should only be around six months old right now. That doesn’t fit.”

Brow creasing, Hermione tilted her head. “Then something big has changed, because my Rose was born in November of 2001 and Hugo in July of 2003.”

Rubbing his head, Hugo looked to the side. “That sounds wrong but also sort of right now that you said it, like my mind’s rewiring. It’s weird. I’m confused.”

Heaving a sigh, he looked around for more things that were different and asked, “Where’s Dad? And did you take the kids to Uncle Fred’s or did I mishear that? Is he still alive here then?”

“Fred was dead?” She looked disturbed. “Yes, he’s alive and married to Daphne Greengrass. I gave your friend’s book to her and Astoria years ago. Daphne unexpectedly saved Fred during the Battle of Hogwarts and he fell in love with her after that.” Looking down, she frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe Daphne wouldn’t have helped if her sister was still sick and then Fred would have died.” She shivered. “I’m glad I went through with it then.”

She took another sip of her scalding tea without any sign of discomfort. “Fred and George are hosting all of the Weasley kids under five for a playdate to test out their new Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Toddler Tinkle & Splash Pad Kit. My kids abandoned me in seconds to run to greet their Uncles and friends. I was going to stay and help, but right as I arrived the twins were kicking their mum out again for being her usual judgemental and demanding self despite her promises to behave so she could see her grandbabies again after being banned because of that incident with Scorpius Malfoy last year—” she stopped and cleared her throat. “Whatever the case, the twins used that opportunity to kick me out too when they saw I’d forgotten proper shoes.” She kicked her feet out from under the table, showing off her house slippers. “They told me to go home and relax and not come back until lunchtime at the earliest, as they had plenty of adults to supervise. Harry had already left, though Daphne’s sister Astoria was staying since Daphne wanted to bond with her new niece and Scorpius, Albus, and Rose have recently become inseparable.”

“How weird. Aren’t they just babies?” Her face started to close down at his tone, so he quickly added, “A good weird. They were friends in my day too, but not until after school started and Rose and you guys took a while to warm up to Scorpius.”

Wanting to distract her, he asked, “And Dad? Is he staying there with the kids,” he swallowed the last of his cheese and looked away to avoid her eyes, “or is he at his work flat? Or sleeping upstairs? I didn’t think to check.” He took a small sip of his hot tea.

A complicated expression came over her face. “Are your parents still married?”

Jolting, Hugo almost missed the table when he put down his mug, sloshing hot tea over his fingers. “What? Are you saying you aren’t married anymore?!” His loud voice echoed off the kitchen walls

“More changes,” she said carefully. Taking a slow breath, she gently said, “Ron and I separated after he was arrested last year. Harry got his sentence reduced to community service, but it came out during the trial that he’d been secretly seeing another woman on the side. Ron asked to separate so he could openly date the girl since his mum was so mortified by the scandal and was making his life difficult. I agreed, though soon after that the girl got bored and left him for his probation officer.” Hermione raised her chin. “I’ll admit that I refused to take him back when he begged. Our divorce was in legal limbo for months and only finalized in January, about six months ago. I’m sorry if that’s hard to hear.”

“What?” Hugo croaked. “But-but what about me and Rose?”

“I got full custody and the kids have adjusted just fine,” she rushed to assure him. “You might not remember, but your father didn’t spend a lot of time at home when you were babies, so they never got attached enough to miss him once he was gone, or at least mine didn’t.”

“Oh,” Hugo said, not knowing what to think. Had the hooded man been right and his mum was already saved? But she still didn’t feel saved for him. Just thinking about it choked him up. He still had to save her.

“Despite everything, I think Ron’s happier now. We both are,” she said earnestly. “Since he lost his job with the twins,” she winced and spoke faster, “he’s started to reevaluate his life and change things. Ron started volunteering with Oliver Wood’s sports club on the days he wasn’t serving his sentence cleaning out dragon pens. That recently turned into a job helping with the Ministry’s new Youth Sports Initiative, the one Harry suggested during that interview they ambushed him with last Halloween.”

On seeing his lack of comprehension, she waved her hand. “Anyway, that means Ron travels all over Magical Britain training 7- to 11-year-olds pre-Hogwarts how to fly, race brooms, and play Quidditch, along with some other sports I’m not familiar with. I’m told he loves it. They’re talking about expanding the program internationally to the rest of Europe. Because of his conviction, he always has to be supervised, but he’s making it work. Most of those little kids have no idea who Harry Potter and the famous Golden Trio even are.” She smirked, but then her smile turned genuine. “It’s probably good for him to be appreciated for who and what he is and not just who he’s related to. He has to work hard and practice patience, but Quidditch has always been his passion. When he’s not working or volunteering, he visits with our kids a couple of times a month.”

She looked down and rubbed a finger over the ring of water left on the table by her mug. “We’re not really friends anymore, and his wages are being garnished to make sure he pays child support on time since that’s been an issue, but things are getting better all the time. Me and the kids are safe and happy.”

She tentatively peeked up at him through her lashes, biting her lip. “I hope you’re okay with that. I don’t mean to hurt you with this.”

“No, that’s,” Hugo swallowed, “that’s great. Really great. I’m happy for you. I’m so happy you’re going to be safe.” He looked down, his stomach turning inside out, the meat and cheese no longer sitting well. Feeling defeated, eyes stinging, he whispered, “I just wish it solved the problem in my head. I guess I’m just too messed up.” Maybe he was a ghost. Maybe he should just disappear.

A warm hand pressed on top of his. “What’s wrong, Hugo? I’m your mum. You can tell me.”

“You died,” he said wretchedly, turning his hand to clutch at her fingers. “I had to watch you die and I’ve been running around like a madman trying to fix it, and now it looks like maybe I did do something to fix it, or you did all on your own, but it only got fixed accidentally, so it hasn’t been fixed for me in my head. I can still f-feel it,” he started to sob, “still s-see it in my head. I’m s-still h-haunted by 2020.”

Hugo felt his mum jerk. “What did you say? Haunted by 2020?”

Sniffling, Hugo looked up at her as warm tears dripped down his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m haunted by 2020. That’s the year you died, on my birthday. I can’t get over it. The hooded man said I’d let my obsession with saving you turn me into a ghost, kept alive only by the necklace, and maybe it’s true, but I don’t know how to stop. I’m stuck. I need help. I need your help.”

“To do what?” she asked, looking anxious and concerned. “Your hand is worryingly cold and your hair and eye color are more washed out than they should be, but I can still touch and feel you. You’re not a ghost to me. I want to help, sweetheart. Just tell me how.” Her eyes turned speculative and darted to the side as she mumbled under her breath, “2020 seems to be a year that haunts a lot of people.”

“I need you to come with me to the future and stop it from happening,” Hugo said, voice quivering.

Sitting back, she chewed on her lower lip. “Can’t I just stay away from whoever or whatever killed me? Can’t something simple like that work?”

“I don’t think so,” Hugo said thickly, “because Dad was the one who killed you.”

“What!?” Dropping his hand, Mum lurched to her feet, chair toppling behind her. “Ron killed me?! Ron?”

“Accidentally. He got startled and threw a vase at your head, but yes. He-he did. Accidentally,” Hugo said softly. He hated talking about it. Rose might’ve worded it differently, and Uncle Harry certainly would have, but Hugo was still all torn up over the situation. It was part of the reason he had wanted to die. “It was my fault. I made us go and see him at his work flat and didn’t knock before walking inside. He was cheating on you and didn’t react well to being discovered in the act. I should’ve knocked.” He reached down and pinched himself on the thigh, twisting the skin painfully to punish himself.

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” she said, voice tight as she rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, making him release his tortured skin. “It sounds like Ron’s fault from start to finish. You shouldn’t blame yourself.” Her thumb rubbed circles on his skin.

Hugo felt one shoulder go up against his ear. “Some people say that, but I can’t help it. I feel like it was my fault. Dad and Grandma blame me too.” He looked up at her angry growl, his eyes tearing as he said quickly, “That part doesn’t matter. Just-just help me. Please, Mum. Come with me and stop it from happening. I have to see it stopped or I’ll never be able to rest. I can’t live with the guilt. I can’t.” A tear dripped down his cheek, plopping off his trembling chin and onto his neck. “I can’t,” he repeated. “And I’m scared. What if it turns me into a ghost and I have to feel like this forever? Oh, Mum, I don’t want to be a ghost. I’m so t-tired. I just want to rest, but to rest I have to see you saved. Please go back with me and help stop it. Please.”

“Shh, shh, alright,” hugging him against her chest, she petted the back of his head, her voice quavering with her own tears. “Shh, don’t cry. If that’s what you need, then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll fix this for you, and save older me, and then you can rest. It’s going to be alright. We’ll make it alright. Shh.”

Closing his eyes, Hugo sank into his mother’s embrace, breathing in her familiar scent, and believed, for the first time since that day, that maybe things were going to be alright.

∞⌛∞

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