Reading Time: 90 Minutes

Title: Standing At The Edge Of Time
Series: The Infinite Loop Of Love And Good Intentions
Series Order: 1
Author: Indygodusk
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, Future Fic / Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Time Travel
Relationship(s): Gen, Harry Potter/Hermione Granger (pre-relationship)
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Major Character Death, Violence-Graphic, Violence-Domestic. Bullying, Addiction, Suicide, Child Abuse-implied, Murder, Adultery, Weasley Bashing
Word Count: 90,065
Summary: Harry is going to fix Hermione’s death no matter what it takes. It’s just going to take a little time and, to be open and honest with you, a few (or more than a few) detours and deaths. Being a fair individual, Harry is not excluding himself from the dying, though he does resent the detours, especially after Rose hijacks his plan.
Artist: Drake

---

---

Chapter 9:

∞⌛∞

∞2150, August 10—the Potter Cabin∞

~Harry Potter (170)~

Hands old and age-spotted, Harry lifted his wand and cast the spell to open the forest green curtains and crack open the window across the room to let in some fresh air and sunlight, feeling too weak to walk over and open them by hand. The Elder Wand went chill in his palm, pouting, but the golden sunbeams streaming through the window felt warm. Harry smiled indulgently down at his wand and long-time companion. It had come back to him with the stone when he was at his lowest point after losing Hermione, though he had hidden that from others, not trusting anyone who was left with the truth of the so-called Deathstick and Resurrection Stone.

“Magic is magic,” Harry consoled the wand, voice raspy. “I know such a small thing may feel like it’s beneath your dignity, old friend, but as I’ve told you before, you’re free to seek out a new master if you’re feeling unappreciated. It won’t be long now until the choice is taken from you. I’m not sure if I can take you where I’m going next or not.”

Petting the silvery cloak draped across his legs, Harry coughed, feeling every one of his 170 years of life. He’d outlived almost everyone he’d once known. While wizards could live to 200, very few people he knew had even come close. When he regained his breath, he summoned the box holding the ring with the Resurrection Stone and dropped it on top of the covers, letting it slide down to rest against his thigh without looking at it too closely. The box was practically impossible to open. Harry had never allowed himself to try after sealing it away. The temptation was too great that he’d lose himself in it and cause suffering to the spirits he most wanted to connect with while neglecting the living who still needed him most.

But finally his wait was over. Last night Rose Weasley Malfoy, his beloved niece and the last of those still living who needed him most, had passed on peacefully in her sleep. The rest of the younger generations were self-sufficient and had each other to rely on. For years he’d dutifully held on to life as one by one his loved ones died before him. However, his duty was done and he’d seen them live full lives he was proud to have witnessed. He had many tales to tell Hermione when he saw her next.

A few decades ago, James’s son had taken over as the Potter family patriarch. Harry hadn’t wanted to burden little Joseph before necessary, especially with James already gone, but after his youngest Lily had passed, followed within a year by Albus, he’d found it harder and harder to find the fortitude to get out of the house for anything but an emergency. Joseph Potter was a fine young man with a head of lush white hair and a full gray beard who’d just hit the century mark. Though he and Harry sometimes had differences of opinion on politics and sports teams, he was one of Harry’s favorite surviving grandchildren.

The rest of the family were so much younger and so busy that they rarely visited old man Potter. Most of the world had forgotten about Harry Potter altogether outside of questions on their History of Magic O.W.L.s. Harry didn’t mind. It meant his responsibilities to save others had finally ended. He could move on. Not without pain or regrets—oh no, he had plenty of those—but with a sense of duty done.

Joseph had been the one to visit last night and tell Harry of Rose’s passing. “Aunt Rose sent her love and said it’s high time you kicked the bucket too, along with something I’m too young to repeat, even at my age,” Joseph winked, his wrinkled hazel eyes puffy and red and the whiskers of his beard still damp from crying.

Harry could only imagine what Rose had said and it made him laugh, which then set him off in a coughing fit. Joseph patted his back fretfully while Harry tried to catch his breath. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Harry said, waving him off. “I still have one more sunrise in me.”

“You’ve always been an overachiever, Grandpa, but none of us expected you to hold out this long. Though I told Aunt Rose you wouldn’t be able to look her mom in the eye if you went first without being able to report on how well her kids had lived their lives and give all the details on how Aunt Rose made Minister and Supreme Mugwump in honor of her mum never having the chance. Plus, you’re too stubborn and ornery to give up on something you’ve set out to do, to which Aunt Rose agreed.”

“Guilty as charged,” Harry said with a wry smile. “Rose did her mum and all of us proud with that career.”

Clearing his throat, Joseph said, “As the last of her generation, Rose asked me to thank you and apologize for living so long. She knows you suffered waiting so many years to reunite with her mum.”

“Ah, Rose.” Harry looked away to blink the moisture out of his eyes.

Joseph smiled gently. “We’re going to be fine. You don’t need to worry about the rest of us anymore, Grandpa. I’ll look after the family and if anyone needs more saving than I’m up for at my age, I’ll just sic young Jane on them.” The two of them chuckled. Jane was Rose’s grand-daughter and a real spit-fire.

“Is she still working abroad?” Harry asked.

“Yes, she decided Britain was too small for her talents and is now on track to become the youngest head on record for the Department of Magical Law at the International Confederation of Wizards.”

“Good for her.” Harry yawned and had trouble getting his eyes to agree to open up again.

Joseph was watching him with concern when he finally achieved it. “Can I do anything for you?” he asked.

“Nothing you aren’t already doing, my lad. I know the family is in good hands with you at the helm.” Placing a hand on Joseph’s forearm, Harry met his eyes. “This will be the last time we meet on this side of the veil. Give everyone my love.”

Blinking rapidly, Joseph’s eyes glistened with fresh tears. “Do you want me to stay with you? Until you go?”

Patting his arm, Harry shook his head. “You have a family to get back to, son, and I’m used to being alone. I want to see one more sunrise from my cabin window and then I’ll let go without any fuss. It won’t be hard.”

Lifting a wrinkled finger, Harry said pointedly, “Don’t let them turn my death into a holiday or some political grandstanding at the Ministry. Give me a small, cheap funeral with just family and close friends in attendance and don’t let anyone bury me next to Ron, Ginny, or their mother.” Joseph coughed into his hand and agreed. “Use the money you save to buy new brooms and training snitches for my great-great grandkids, maybe sneak them in when their mums aren’t looking and let them go wild.”

Laughing through his tears, Joseph nodded. “Consider it done. Mischief managed.”

“Good lad, now off with you. Give my love to everyone and don’t come back until after lunchtime to clean up my body. I’ll be long gone from it by then.”

“Goodbye, Grandpa. I love you,” Joseph said wetly, hugging him one last time. “Go in peace.”

“I’ll see you again on the other side, but not for a long, long time, you hear?” Harry said, hugging him back. Joseph nodded into his shoulder.

Standing up and swallowing hard, Joseph wiped his face dry, straightened his beard and robes, and then waved goodbye before walking away heavily, glancing over his shoulder one last time before leaving through the Floo.

Sighing, Harry looked out at the moon for the last time in his life and then laid down for his final night of sleep.

The next morning, alone in his bed, Harry watched the sun rise above the trees outside his cabin in the woods and reached into his breast pocket. It was a familiar motion, done so often that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to reach inside and not find anything there. Pulling out the old battered bookmark in his aged hands, he traced his fingertip over the curve of the hidden initials—HJ for Hermione Jane on the back and HJ for Harry James on the front. The letters were truly hidden now as he’d traced them so often that the ink had worn away, though traces of the brown bloodstain from the day Hermione died were still present, like a goad to never forget what was owed.

Harry did not fear death. He greeted it eagerly and hoped to see many familiar faces on the other side, though he didn’t know exactly what to expect. Despite uniting the Deathly Hallows and supposedly becoming the Master of Death as a youth, Harry had spent his life ignoring that, too busy running from crisis to trauma to crisis. Now that he was ready to cross over, he regretted that choice, full of questions about the other side and yearning to see those who had passed away like his children.

In particular he was excited to reunite with Hermione—the most amazing and loyal friend he’d ever known. Not a day went by when he didn’t think of her, even with her gone so long. Her life had been harsher than necessary and cruelly cut short much too soon. The unfairness of that still burned in him. Yet even with her physically gone, her memory had lingered through the years to comfort and guide him. He’d been waiting so long for her to return to him as she’d promised, only to realize that he was going to have to take the first step this time around, that Hermione needed him to return to her. Either way, it was a promise he was eager to keep.

She’d probably barely recognize the fresh-faced boy from her youth in the craggy old man he’d become. Harry wasn’t overly proud of himself, his life riddled with too many moments of wrath and idiocy, but he thought that Hermione would be willing to overlook the same faults in the old man that she’d overlooked in the boy, at least enough to still greet him with a smile and a hug when he got to the other side. Hermione had never abandoned or turned him away in her life. He didn’t think that death would change her that much.

Not the way her death had changed him. Losing Hermione had broken something fundamental inside him. It was a wound that had never quite healed in Harry’s heart, even so many years later. To Harry, she’d been so much more than a friend or sister, though never quite a lover. As a youth he’d been too scared to reach for more, never allowing their relationship to grow outside the comfortable and safe limits he’d set to keep his heart and mind safe. It hadn’t been until she was gone that he realized how foolish he’d been. Losing her hurt either way. Though putting aside the hazy idea of romance, he still could’ve loved her better as a friend. He could’ve tried to make her happier, could’ve been so much more patient, kind, and giving. Perhaps the wound of her loss had never healed because he’d obsessed over it so much that it had driven him half-insane. If that was the price he paid for having known her at all, so be it. He would never wish for ignorance, no matter how long the pain lingered, because the cherished memories of her still brought him so much sweetness and joy. There would be no Harry Potter without Hermione.

He couldn’t wait to see her again and speak her name in the present tense. He’d been waiting for so long. Yearning. It reminded him of a poem he’d once read, though he couldn’t remember where or by whom:

“I stand at the edge of time, holding

my breath between heartbeats,

Hoping the next carries your name.”

Harry still loved her, would always love her, though to say he loved Hermione was to comment on how water was wet. Age had brought him wisdom, though not necessarily clarity. How he loved her was something he’d never quite defined. Perhaps it was undefinable. His love felt that way—infinite and boundless.

It had been 130 years since he’d last felt her crushing hug or heard her voice, but Harry had never forgotten it, nor the curve of her smile in turning to greet him or the flash of her brown eyes when staring him down. Every day he woke, missing her. He laid down to sleep feeling the same way. He longed to see her again, to press a hand against her cheek and hug her close, to cry together and to laugh. The moment had almost arrived.

Yet he couldn’t help but look back in regret. If he had the power and means, there were so many things he’d do differently, so many things he’d change. Yet selfishly, obsessively, the one thing he wished to change most was her dying young and forcing him to live so many years without her.

About to die, he suddenly feared that she wouldn’t be there when he stepped through the veil. What if he got lost and couldn’t find her? What if he’d taken too long and she got impatient and already left on her next great adventure without him? Or what if he’d lived too sinful a life and found himself banished to hell while she ascended to heaven, forever out of his reach?

“If any higher power owes me anything, this is my dying wish,” Harry said out loud, deliberate and slow, “return my friend to me. I want her in life and death and for always, not just a brief moment in time.” Harry watched the glittering dust motes floating in the sunlight of the room. It reminded him of their promise made so long ago. “By magic made, a promise and a vow. Either let her return to me or give me a way to take her back. I will take her back.”

Harry stroked his fingers over the front of the bookmark, pressing it to his heart as his sight went dark. “A bookmark…is a promise…to return,” he whispered with his last dying breath.

He didn’t notice the three Deathly Hallows turning to dust and swirling up into the air in the center of the room, pulling his spirit with them into the shadows.

It was too late for him to notice anything.

Harry James Potter died at 06:33:03 am on August 11, 2150.

Most people only die once. Not so for Harry Potter. This was technically his third death. Not only that, but it was a death that happened exactly 6 hours, 33 minutes, and 3 seconds after the previous day died. Three was an important and powerful number in magical theory. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Harry had the distinction of being a child of prophecy and a wizard who, over his very long life, had impetuously dabbled with cataclysmically powerful magical rituals, entities, and artifacts without really knowing or caring what he was doing. Every action has consequences, whether you want them or not, and no one gets to choose if those consequences are good or bad.

Harry’s consequences were about to come due.

Despite the sunlight pouring in through the open window, the room fell to darkness. A passing butterfly glanced inside and fell dead to the windowsill. The shadows in the room thickened and began to roll and heave as if struggling to breathe. Out of the surging darkness appeared a tiny ember. Though small, soon the ember swelled into a swirling double helix that filled the room with a blindingly bright tornado, so bright that even the cracks under the bed were not exempt from the light. In the space in the center of the tornado, a shadow formed. Slowing to a crawl, the helix unwound, bars of light lovingly wrapping around the shadow, which fed off the light, draining it to form a figure. As the last of the light was consumed, the Master of Death stepped forth.

“Huh.” Harry glanced between the reflection of his ageless face in the mirror over the nightstand to the dead old guy lying on the bed. “That’s not how I expected this to go.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Looking down at his new body, he flexed his hands, getting a feel for it. Everything felt different. He didn’t need glasses to see anymore and, oddly enough, he could sense a recently dead butterfly just outside the window.

Lifting his head, he looked to the heavens. “Really? Is this because I died a lot? Or because I died as owner of the Deathly Hallows? Maybe because I destroyed Voldemort and his plan to cheat death? This doesn’t seem fair. You’re telling me that the reward for a job well done is more work to do?” He looked around helplessly. “Isn’t there someone I can speak to about reversing this? A manager or help desk? Or at least get an official rule book for demigods in charge of death?”

A warm feeling of trust and peace poured over him and Harry found himself surrendering to the inevitable.

“Okay, God, I hear you.” Sighing, Harry rubbed his hands. “Though you might regret this. I’ve got good intentions for days, but I struggle with anger, stubbornness, and obsession, and get tunnel vision when solving problems. I’ve also been known to treat rules more as suggestions,” he paused and then gave a crooked smile, “especially when I don’t have a certain bossy lady to keep me in line. Which leads into my next fault. I suffer from codependency issues, but I’d rather lean into that than worry about fixing it. So I ask you again, are you sure about this?”

The answer came as a sweet feeling of being completely known and loved and that God trusted him to do his best.

Giving the heavens a crooked smile, Harry held out his arms. “If you’re sure, then I’m your man, but I can’t do this job alone.” Smile dimming, he shrugged and looked to the side. “Alright, the truth is that I don’t want to do this alone, not anymore and not ever after. Getting back Hermione is non-negotiable. I already admitted to the codependency thing, but I promise, together we’ll get the job done right. If I get agency to choose, I choose her.” Harry crossed his arms. “Otherwise I think you’re going to have to find someone else, so what will it be?”

In response to his attempt to bargain, Harry got a sense of loving condescension, like a parent sighing and patting a particularly obstinate and dim-witted child on the head before sending them off out the door with a sack lunch, pair of dry socks, and fully stocked medical kit when the child claimed they’d be back from the corner in less than five minutes. Harry didn’t think he was that bad at making good choices. There was also the feeling that before he got too lost, God or one of His messengers would step in to get him back onto the right track if that became necessary. Harry would just have to make sure that never became necessary.

Taking it as permission to do as he pleased with this Master of Death thing, he moved on.

Looking around, Harry rolled his shoulders and arms and wiggled his hips, learning the feel of his new body. Fresh knowledge bloomed in his head, a small fraction of what he needed, but so much more complex and expansive than he’d known before. He swirled his empty hands over and behind his shoulders and a long hooded cloak appeared in his fingers, the silvery-gray fabric slithering to the floor and completely covering him. Fastening it around his neck, he pulled up the cowl, casting all but his mouth and chin into the blackest of shadow.

Stepping to the bed, Harry looked down at the bookmark on his old body’s chest. He reached out and pried it from his cold dead hands, amusing himself with the morbid wordplay. He tucked the bookmark into his pocket for safekeeping. “A promise to return.”

Everything was full of possibilities now. New ambitions were rising in his chest. He’d been too humble before in his desires. Why content himself with merely seeing her again? With existing side-by-side as two weary and fractured souls? If he had the agency to choose, why not choose something better? Hermione deserved a better life, not just a better afterlife. What if he could give that to her?

Looking down, Harry flexed his hands and tried to calculate what he now had to work with. Casting out with his new powers, he couldn’t quite see where Hermione was or call her soul to him—not yet at least. He got the sense that her soul was somehow stuck in between, but that it wasn’t urgent. Harry wasn’t a big fan of being patient, but at least he’d had a lot of practice doing it in his old life.

“I have time to find her and time to fix things. I have power, I just lack sufficient knowledge. I know I can find a way to get what I need, but it will take sacrifice. What is the right path forward?” He grimaced and started pacing. “I can’t be impulsive. If I want to do this right, I have to have a plan. Unfortunately,” he pursed his lips and said slowly, “rushing to meet her now could put limits on that plan and what she’d allow me to do to make her happy and keep her by my side in the future.” It sounded bad when said out loud, but that didn’t change the truth of it. She could be very opinionated and he didn’t always see the point of her moral objections.

“Who knew the cruel entity prolonging our separation would turn out to be me?” He sighed and rubbed his face. “It’s for a good cause. I need time to fix everything, but I promise,” he pressed a hand over his breast pocket, “it won’t be long until I find you and we reunite.”

Stepping into the shadows, the Master of Death disappeared, his voice lingering in the empty room. “Death is only the beginning.”

∞⌛∞

Chapter 10:

∞⌛∞

∞2021, January 2—The Burrow∞

~Rose Weasley (16)~

It had been six months since Rose’s mum had died. It hadn’t stopped hurting yet. The holidays just made it worse. At least at school she was able to pretend Mum was fine at home and just too busy to write. Pretending when surrounded by family was impossible.

Lying upside-down on the couch with her head hanging off, Rose stared at the gnome-patterned fabric on the armchair across from her as blood rushed to her head. The orange and sky blue knitted arm-covers made it look even more hideous. Rose’s new Christmas sweater was just as ugly. Grandma had awful taste. Uncle Harry had confided once that she’d been that way as long as he’d known her.

Rose was unhappy here. She and Hugo hadn’t wanted to stay at the Burrow over the holidays, even with James, Albus, and Lily stuck here too. Grandma Weasley had put her foot down. They’d wanted to go home, but Grandma wouldn’t allow it since she insisted they have an adult around and Dad was still in prison for getting into a public fight with Uncle Harry. Rose was almost seventeen, not a baby. The Potter’s was her second choice, but Grandma wouldn’t allow that either for the same reason—Uncle Harry was in prison and Aunt Ginny had disappeared again. Dad and Uncle Harry should be done serving time for the illegal curses or property damage or whatever in about a week (no one would tell them the details), but that didn’t do Rose any good now.

There were only two days left until school started again on Monday. Rose was glad. Hogwarts was an escape from how awful and empty Christmas had felt without Mum. She was barely getting by and Hugo was faring even worse. The only good thing had been having an excuse not to see Dad.

The Burrow had been even more of a nightmare this year than usual and Rose had been stuck here for weeks. Rose had been tempted to run away but she didn’t want to be like Aunt Ginny and abandon her brother and cousins. Grandma had tried to force everyone to act like things were normal. It was such a joke. If you didn’t go along, she snuck potions into all of your food and cast behavior charms as soon as you turned your back on her. Grandma even banned people from mentioning Mum or why Dad and Uncle Harry were missing.

That ban, however, did not apply to her and she made no bones about the fact that she blamed Uncle Harry and Mum (as if being dead was her fault) for ruining her Christmas and keeping her two youngest children from coming home, completely ignoring that Aunt Ginny could’ve come, she just didn’t want to. That wasn’t Uncle Harry’s fault, but everyone knew that Grandma always blamed the spouse over her own child. That went double for Uncle Harry, who she expected to keep Aunt Ginny and Dad both in line but also happy, plus be prepared to drop everything at a moment’s notice to bail out the other Uncles too. It wasn’t fair, but if Uncle Harry was complaining about it he made sure to do it when the kids weren’t around to hear. He and Mum were always protective like that.

The front door banged and several people stampeded up the stairs, only to come running down a minute later and stand on the other side of the couch to talk, not seeming to notice Rose’s feet peeking up over the top. “Hugo’s not upstairs and he’s not outside,” Albus said breathlessly. “What are we going to do?”

“Don’t panic,” Scorpius Malfoy said, pacing.

Hearing his smooth voice made Rose want to blush except all of the blood had already rushed to her head from hanging upside-down so she was already red. Scorpius was cute, but she still hadn’t decided if she was going to let him date her or not. The list of pros and cons was too even and she hadn’t done enough research yet. If they did date, she didn’t want to come off as awkward or clumsy.

Though why were they looking for Hugo?

“You know how dangerous that thing is,” Albus hissed, lowering his voice. “If he somehow got the broken Time Turner to work, we have to stop him before he makes our time worse. We never should’ve told him about it.” Albus sucked in a loud breath. “This is a disaster!” he whisper-shouted.

Rose did not like the sound of that. All thoughts of romance fled from her head.

“Calm down or we’ll be discovered,” Scorpius ordered. “I found the other Time Turner while my father was distracted with the Minister. We can use that to go back and stop him.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Scorpius snorted. “You were too busy freaking out over Hugo. Dad won’t kill us if we return them without being discovered, and even if he does find out, he loves me.” He paused for a second before adding, “He’ll only kill you.”

“Gee thanks,” Albus said sarcastically, though he sounded calmer. “Alright, let’s go get him back.”

Rose had heard enough. “Not without me, you don’t,” she said. Turning and sliding off the couch with a thump, Rose stood up and turned to face the boys, hoping they didn’t notice how she wobbled on her feet as spots filled her vision.

“Rose!” Scorpius squeaked, his cheeks turning red.

Albus gulped and winced. “How much did you hear?”

Rose pulled out her wand and tapped it against her opposite palm. “That you lost my little brother and need to do something illegal and dangerous to get him back. Is that the long and short of it?”

Blowing out his breath, Albus sagged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Right, let’s get on with it then before Grandma finds out and tries to stop us.” Rose moved to stand next to them. Hopefully Hugo was okay, but to be honest this was the most exciting thing to happen to her in weeks. No way was she getting left out.

Flashing her a smile, Scorpius fished out a long golden chain with a series of rings and bars around an hourglass. The time turner looked slightly different from the pictures of ones she’d seen in books, but it was similar enough that she wasn’t surprised when Scorpius tossed the expanding chain over all three of their necks and started fiddling with the winding mechanism.

“How do we know when and where Hugo went?” Rose asked, wishing she had time to ask more questions about how the experimental Time Turner worked.

“Ah, we-ell,” Scorpius said, focusing on what he was doing, “I may have heard him say before he ran off that he wished he could go back to when he was just a month old and make his mom ditch everyone for a better life, and he was born on July 3rd, 2006 so-o…” tongue sticking out of his teeth, he twisted a small knob and then sighed with satisfaction. “There we go. Got it.”

The Time Turner released a blast of light that smelled like singed feathers. Rose then felt like she was pulled through a very tight tube, spun in circles like a top, and then shoved down an ice-cold metal slide head first on her back.

∞⌛∞

∞2006, August 3—Home of Hermione and Ron Weasley∞

~Hermione Weasley (26)~

Putting her hands on her aching lower back, Hermione stretched. Hugo was such a sweet and clingy baby. He got so sad whenever he was put down unless already deeply asleep and unable to notice. Hermione had taken to wearing him everywhere in a baby sling to keep him content. He’d only fallen deeply enough asleep to be put down five minutes ago, though it had taken a diaper change, a feeding, and at least five rotations around the house singing Hermione’s favorite hymns, nursery rhymes, and radio ballads from her childhood. “Amazing Grace” was a current favorite, though Hermione couldn’t remember anything but the first verse, followed closely by a mellow rendition of “Sweet Dreams (are made of this)” by the Eurythmics, which had been her mom’s favorite song to sing along with on the car radio when Hermione had been growing up. She appreciated that as babies, Hugo and Rose couldn’t tell when she made up the words or sang off-tune.

Being a mom was harder than she’d ever expected. Plus Ron hated the muggle tunes, always criticising her when he heard her singing a song to the kids that he hadn’t grown up with, as if she should just know wizarding nursery rhymes without ever being taught. Then again, when was the last time she’d done something she enjoyed that Ron hadn’t criticized her for? She’d tried learning songs from a book, but her mother-in-law had taken it away after a lecture about how the songs weren’t right for her grandbabies.

Despite all the difficulties, Hermione found that she loved being a mother. She’d never thought she’d be so maternal, pegging herself more as a career woman, but motherhood had been a revelation. Yes, it was exhausting and stressful and messy, but it was also humbling and joyous and sweet. There were so many beautiful moments, from feeling a baby growing in her belly, to holding their sweet sleeping weight against her chest after they fell asleep mid-feeding, to being the recipient of a gummy grin or a sweet hug and a carefully enunciated, “I wuv you, mummy.” Hermione loved her children more than anything.

That said, while she tried her best, most of the time she felt like she wasn’t a very good mother or, really, a very good anything at this point. She couldn’t regret having her kids, but the demands of being a wife, mother, and daughter-in-law kept her so busy and exhausted that she rarely had time for anything else. Sometimes it felt like she was losing herself. And if she dared to ask for a day just to herself to go out and decompress, Ron called her selfish and Molly implied she was a disappointment and a failure.

Sighing, Hermione pushed the thought away. She was probably being overly-sensitive again because of sleep-deprivation and hormones. Molly had mentioned that every time Hermione had protested Molly breezing into the house without an invitation and stealing the baby out of Hermione’s arms while criticising her housework and bossing her around for being too lazy during her postpartum recovery. Ron always agreed with his mother, no matter how irritating, unfair, or wrong it seemed. It was messing with her head. Hermione had started to wonder if she needed to accept that the problem really was her in this relationship.

For the thousandth time she wished she had a friend in similar circumstances to confide in, but she’d always been socially awkward and Ron got jealous and paranoid about her spending time with anyone but family and would interrogate her constantly, making things so difficult that it just wasn’t worth trying to have outside friendships. Not being able to socialize had hamstrung her with work colleagues (when she’d had them). She also had little in common with her sister-in-laws in the Weasley family. They seemed to lump her in with Ron and treat her as immature and annoying, following the lead of Ron’s older brothers. Once upon a time she’d almost been friends with Ginny, but seeing how cruelly she treated Harry and her kids had killed any respect or affection Hermione had once held for her. It had gotten to the point where the two women couldn’t stand each other and Ginny regularly badmouthed her in public, whether to strangers or reporters.

Her close friendship with Harry was the only exception, though Ron still got jealous of Harry. While she’d back down about a lot of things for the sake of her marriage, she would never back down about her relationship with Harry. He was her best friend forever, as cliche as that sounded. However, he was also a man, best friends with her husband, and part of the Weasley family too. That made confiding certain things in him feel almost impossible.

Hearing the clock chime, Hermione realized that Rose shouldn’t wake from her nap for another hour, meaning both kids were sleeping at the same time. Why was she wasting time brooding when she could be relaxing with her feet up and a mug of tea and a good book? “Seize the day, silly,” she chided herself, moving into the kitchen.

Filling up the kettle with water, she set it on the stove to boil and turned on the burner. Harry had given her some specialty chocolates and a new tea blend to try so she’d hidden them in a safe place to keep Ron from taking them all before she got any. She just had to remember where she’d put them. Her memory wasn’t what it used to be. Waking up every two to three hours to take care of a baby she’d just given birth to a month ago and then being woken up early by an energetic toddler didn’t help.

Something moved in the corner of her eye. Hermione turned around, expecting to see Rose rubbing her eyes up early from her nap or perhaps Ron coming to pick up something he’d forgotten for a meeting. Instead, she saw three strange teenagers sprawled on the floor of her kitchen.

Yanking out her wand and raising it shoulder level in a clear threat, she moved to block the hallway leading upstairs to the children’s bedrooms. “Who are you and what do you want?” she barked, heart racing.

The kids looked to be in their mid- to late-teens. Hopefully they were just stupid kids pulling a prank or who got off-course while apparating and almost splinched themselves. None of them were in the robes and masks of the disbanded Death Eaters or another Dark cult, but you could never be too careful, especially when she had to protect Rose and Hugo.

Frowning as she examined them, Hermione found it strange that they were wearing thick knitted jumpers and, in the case of the blond boy, an expensive wool jacket. It was the first week of August and warm. She’d left the windows open to take advantage of the cross-breeze to cool the inside of the house. Eyes narrowing, Hermione also noticed that their jumpers looked like the ones Molly Weasley liked to knit and give out to her favorites. Hermione had never gotten one.

The girl’s auburn head shot up at Hermione’s question, eyes going wide as saucers. “Mum?” she whispered, then cried, “Mum!” scrambling over on her hands and knees before tossing her arms around Hermione’s waist and bursting into tears.

What? Frozen in shock, wand arm still extended, Hermione blinked down at the child soaking through her shirt. What was happening? Before she could decide, the black-haired boy stumbled over with a sob and threw his arms around her too, sandwiching her between them.

Bucking the trend, the blond boy did not try to hug her. Standing up, he crossed his arms and shifted from side to side, looking uncomfortable as he glanced around the room. As the kettle began to whistle shrilly, he moved to the stove and turned it off, shifting the kettle to the side to quiet it.

Deciding to go with her gut, Hermione took a deep breath (as deep as she could while being squeezed in four arms), and lowered her wand, wrapping her arms around the crying teenagers and patting them and making soothing, shushing sounds. “There there,” she said. “I’m here.” She was bewildered when that just made them cry louder.

“Um, yeah…sorry,” the blond apologized, rubbing the side of his neck. The action caused his unbuttoned wool coat to shift and a long golden necklace to peek out. The pendant was an hourglass encased in several etched circles of metal and looked similar to the Time Turner she’d used in third year.

“Ah,” she breathed as it all clicked into place. “Time travel, I assume? But by over a decade. How fascinating.” Leaning back, she looked down at the red and black heads pressed against her middle. “Are you my Rose and Hugo?” Looking more closely at the boy’s bent head and untamed styling, she shook her head. “No, wait, that hair has to belong to a Potter. James or Albus though? You look about the same age, so…Rose and Albus?”

Sniffling, the kids looked up and nodded at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Yeah, I’m Albus,” the boy said, his lower lip quivering as tears streaked down his cheeks. He knuckled at his eyes.

Licking her lips, Hermione took a deep breath. “Based on your reactions, can I assume that something bad has happened to my future self?” They started crying harder and hid their faces again.

“I see.” Closing her eyes, she tried not to react, feeling as if the room had just filled with suffocating humidity, making it feel hard to breathe and the air heavy.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the blond boy said, sounding a bit choked up himself.

Remembering that she was supposed to be the adult here, Hermione shoved her roiling emotions into a ball and stuffed them down with a metaphorical foot to deal with later. “This calls for tea,” she said firmly, “and chocolate. Or maybe hot chocolate, that works too, the kind with crunchy peppermint bits and lots of whipped cream and chocolate shavings. C’mon kids, help me make it.”

Bossing the three teens around, she soon had them chopping, stirring, and pouring until everyone was sitting down around the table with a big mug of cocoa and a bowl of berries for something healthy. After several minutes of slurping and chewing, Hermione decided they were all finally calm enough to talk. “So kids, tell me why you’re here.”

Rose opened her mouth, but Hermione held up her hand. “Oh wait, sorry, you still haven’t told me who this young man is,” she gestured to the blond. “Is your mum Luna Lovegood by chance?”

“Ah, not quite, mum,” Rose said with an awkward laugh. “Don’t freak out, but this is Scorpius Malfoy.”

Blinking rapidly, Hermione looked between them. “As in Draco Malfoy?” She could feel herself wanting to grimace, but suppressed it.

“He’s my father,” Scorpius said with pride. “I’m Albus’s best friend and Rose’s future husband.”

Spitting out her cocoa, Rose turned bright red as she grabbed a napkin and wiped herself down. “You wish! We haven’t even started dating yet!”

“‘Yet’ is progress,” he said with a toothy grin, looking at her through his lashes.

“Moving on,” Albus said loudly, “we’re here looking for Hugo. Have you seen him?”

Deciding to worry about having a Malfoy as an in-law later—much later—Hermione focused on the new topic. “My baby? Hugo’s in his crib upstairs—sleeping. Why?”

Albus shook his head. “Not that Hugo, our Hugo, the teenage one. We thought he came here.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen any teenagers but you three in weeks. What happened to him?” She frowned, worried.

Albus deflated. “He disappeared. We think he stole a broken time turner we told him about, fixed it, and is coming here to see you, but he doesn’t know what he’s doing so he’ll probably create a paradox or destroy the future. We’re here to stop him and bring him home.”

Thinking through what they’d just said, Hermione looked around at their young, determined faces. Rose had a cocoa stain on her shirt and Albus had a white smear of cream on the side of his mouth. “May I ask how old you are right now?”

“We’re si—mmph!” Rose had started to answer but Albus wrapped an arm around her head and slapped a hand over her mouth.

“It’s dangerous to know too many specifics. Let’s just say we’re teenagers.” Albus said. “That should be broad enough.

“I see.” Hermione took a bite of her strawberry, chewing and swallowing to give herself time to think. Exhaustion (and perhaps shock) was making her thoughts slower than usual. “This mission to find Hugo sounds both difficult and dangerous, though also very important. Why are you alone? I mean, why aren’t your parents or the DOM looking for Hugo? Where am I? Or Harry and Ron?” The kids exchanged looks. “Or even Malfoy?” She waved at Scorpius in apology. “I mean your father—Draco—not you, Scorpius. Someone adult.”

“It’s fine,” Rose said airily, avoiding eye contact. “We’ve got this. You don’t mind.”

“Yeah, no,” Hermione said dryly. “Try that again, but with the truth this time, because I cannot see myself agreeing to not personally lead the search for my missing child without a very good reason, and if I couldn’t go I’d certainly have Harry go in my place.” It was only after she’d spoken that she realized she’d trust Harry over Ron, the child’s actual father. It made her feel guilty, but it didn’t change the truth. Comparing Ron and Harry always made her depressed and always reflected unfavorably upon Ron, so she tried not to do it. She stuffed her guilt down to deal with later, which based on extensive experience was a lie she told herself that actually meant never. “So where am I?”

Rose looked at Hermione with wide eyes. She tried to answer, but started crying again and couldn’t be understood through her sobs. Albus took over, but he hemmed and hawed, speaking in circles but saying nothing until—looking at Hermione’s unimpressed expression—he gave up and looked at Scorpius helplessly.

Shoulders going back as he folded his arms on top of the table, Scorpius said, “It’s like this. My father and the DOM don’t know because they would’ve stopped us, wasting valuable time punishing us instead of finding Hugo. As for Albus’s mother, she absconded to get away from the stress and scandal and can’t be reached, as usual.” Scorpius sneered in an eerie and uncomfortable echo of Draco Malfoy, though Hermione could tell it was directed at Ginny and not his friend.

Silently cursing Ginny’s selfishness, Hermione asked, “What about Harry and Ron?”

“Mr. Potter and…your husband,” looking down with a complicated expression she couldn’t read, Scorpius brought his hands forward, fingers weaving into each other and clutching until the skin went white, “are in prison.” Rose and Albus shrunk down in their chairs, awkwardly not looking at her or each other.

“And me?” she asked, trying not to react to what was just said. They could come back to it later, though she didn’t like the feeling she got from the kids’ reactions that Ron and Harry weren’t sharing a cell but in opposite ones. “I really don’t mind that you’re doing this alone?”

“You?” Peeking up at her, Scorpius’s mouth went thin and the silence in the room became heavy. “No, Mrs. Weasley, you don’t mind.” He took a quick breath. “Because you’re dead.”

Hermione shot to her feet, the chair toppling behind her. “What?! How?” Hermione felt breathless at having the suspicion confirmed, not prepared for it despite all of the clues. “When?” Rose was still so young, only a teenager, too young to have lost her mother. Hermione couldn’t have been very old herself when she died. It was shocking. She didn’t want to believe it.

“A few months ago,” Scorpius said, meeting her eyes with a damning compassion. He didn’t look like he was lying, no matter how much she wished he were.

“That’s what Hugo was trying to fix,” Albus burst out, glancing at Scorpius with a grimace before adding, “but-but you don’t need to know the particulars just yet.”

“But we have to—” objected Rose, jumping to her feet.

“Now hold on a moment!” Hermione objected strenuously to being kept in the dark regarding her own death.

“Not yet, at least,” Albus held up his hands placatingly between the two women. “First, we have to save Hugo.” He met Rose’s eyes.

“But my mom,” Rose said wretchedly.

“Things are complicated with time travel. She’ll be fine for years yet and we have to be careful not to change anything or make things worse,” Scorpius said. Placing his hands flat on the table, he rose to his feet. “Things can always get worse.”

“Hugo needs us, Rose,” Albus said, standing too. “You know that’s what your mom would want. Isn’t it, Aunt Hermione?” He turned and looked at her beseechingly.

“But we have to warn her about—” Rose argued hotly, but Hermione raised her hand.

“No, stop. He’s right, sweetheart. Saving your brother is more important. I haven’t met him as a teenager yet, but I know I’m going to love him just as much as I love you and as much as I love the two babies sleeping upstairs. We can’t lose him.”

Chewing on her cheek, Rose crossed her arms. “Fine, Hugo comes first, but then we’ll come back and save you,” Rose said fiercely.

“Back in time to change things again?” Scorpius asked scathingly.

“Yes!” Rose said, staring him down, arms fisted straight at her sides as she leaned forward. “Back to save my mom!”

Tilting his head to the side, Scorpius opened his mouth and then paused, eyes going wide. Biting his lip, he looked down and then up again. “Alright…alright, but!” Eyes blazing, he held a finger in the air. “If we’re going to save your mom, we have to save mine too.”

“Save them both!” Albus clapped his hands but then paused. “Wait, how do we stop a paradox? The collapse of the universe? Or something smaller but still difficult like your mother’s blood curse?”

Scorpius spun to face him. “Remember when my Dad disappeared for a few weeks last spring and had to be bailed out of jail by your dad in France? And my dad came home looking like something scraped off the bottom of death’s shoe? And they wouldn’t tell us why, and then were almost nice to each other at the train platform? Well, I figured it out over Christmas. A cure was published for my mom’s rare blood curse last March, when it was already too late. I got a copy of the treatise on the cure and hid it in my school bag so I could read it. I might need it for my kids someday and, well, I just wanted to know,” he finished quietly, looking to the side.

“Oh,” Albus winced sympathetically.

Scorpius took a deep breath. “If we get that treatise back in time, I’m sure Mrs. Weasley can figure it out before it’s too late.” He looked at Hermione hopefully, his expression reminding her that he was a boy who missed his mother first and a snooty Malfoy second.

“I’d certainly do my best,” Hermione promised, though she wasn’t sure of the method yet.

“Can I ask you a question,” Rose said, chewing on her lip.

“Of course,” Hermione said.

Head down, Rose twisted her fingers together and whispered, “Do you still love Dad or do you regret marrying him?” She peeked up, watching for an answer through the strands of her hair. “Did you ever talk about divorce?”

Licking her lips, Hermione sighed and looked at the woman her daughter would become, trying to speak with careful deliberation. “I married your father because I loved him. I will always remember Ron as that bright brave boy who fought through magical chessmen, Death Eaters, and Fiendfyre with me as kids, but each year it gets harder to see that bright boy in the man I’m married to. I’ll admit that we have some relationship problems. I’m a nag and Ron has a bad habit of saying mean things without thinking. He’s never hurt me, not really, just bruised me a few times by shoving or grabbing too hard and a few cuts from shrapnel when he throws something in a temper, but it’s not that bad—” Cutting herself off, she tried not to wince. She hadn’t meant to say most of that last bit out loud, especially not to the teenage version of her baby girl who looked gutted by her words, but she was operating on about three hours of sleep right now. Albus had a hand pressed hard over his mouth and was staring at the ceiling with wet, glassy eyes. She hoped they didn’t tell Harry, it was too embarrassing and shameful, but then she remembered that he was in prison and she was dead, so it probably didn’t matter anymore.

“It’s not that bad,” she said bracingly. “Adult relationships are complicated. I don’t know what happened with us in your future, but it isn’t your responsibility or something you should worry about. We haven’t talked about divorce and we won’t. I won’t regret marrying Ron because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had you and you mean everything to me. You and your brother were wanted, Rose. You are loved. The rest of it is stuff for us adults to worry about and not you kids, alright? Don’t carry more than you have to.”

Looking at the clock, she sighed. “The kids are going to wake from their naps soon. You might want to leave before then if you don’t want little Rose seeing you and it sparking something in her brain that causes a behavior change that alters your timeline or makes her mention this to her dad. I…” she swallowed, “I get the feeling you don’t want Ron to know about this visit.”

“It’s safer if he doesn’t,” Scorpius said, looking at Rose when he said it. She gave a reluctant nod.

Albus put a hand on Rose’s shoulder and looked at Hermione. “As much as we want to, we can’t say anything more until we know Hugo is safe, but Aunt Hermione, please be careful. Please.”

“We should probably get going,” Scorpius said.

Wiping an arm across her eyes, Rose took a deep breath. “Right, well then, if that’s everything, we should go and find Hugo so we can come back quickly.”

“Yeah,” Albus agreed, “we’ve already exceeded the old 5 minute time limit, so this time turner doesn’t work the way we expected. We should keep looking before it does something else wonky that we don’t expect.”

“Huh?” Hermione’s head tilted as she leaned forward to get a better look at the device. “That reminds me, how can it travel so far into the past? I mean, travelling back years is crazy! And what do you mean the other one automatically pulled you back after 5 minutes? How does that work? What branch of arithmancy and magical philosophy is it based on?” Hermione was desperate to know more about the device. It was fascinating. The arithmancy must be insane.

Scorpius shrugged. “It’s too complicated for us to understand. This is a different one we stole from the Minister’s office while he was talking to my dad than the one Hugo’s got. The old one we were talking about was broken and then taken away and hidden by our parents and the Ministry.” He heaved a sigh. “After we told Hugo about it this morning, he must’ve found it somewhere and cobbled it back together in a moment of genius so he could go back in time and change things.” Albus and Rose nodded in agreement.

Blinking once, Hermione held up her hands. “So wait, you don’t actually know how Hugo found it? Or if he really traveled in time? You’re just assuming he did based on a single conversation and not being able to find him after a few hours of looking?” Hermione arched one brow. “Are you sure you looked everywhere and for long enough?” She looked between the teenagers, who were exchanging shamed glances and starting to look sick.

“We-well, we couldn’t find him at the Ministry anywhere or the Burrow where we’ve been staying with Grandma,” Albus said weakly.

Hermione crossed her arms. “Putting aside how Hugo found this broken device in the first place when even you didn’t know where it had been hidden and that he’d probably need access to rare materials for such a project, is Hugo normally a genius able to fix complex and advanced magical devices in less than a day? Or understand esoteric branches of arithmancy well enough to fix something made based on those systems?” She looked at her daughter pointedly. “Rose?”

“Well, he’s younger than me and I get better grades so…not…exactly,” she looked down at her feet and mumbled, “but Albus and Scorpius said—” before cutting herself off and trailing into silence.

“I see,” Hermione said, pinching her nose. “Are you all familiar with Occam’s Razor or the principle of parsimony?” She looked around at them. “No? It’s a problem-solving principle that states the simplest explanation is usually the best. While it is possible that Hugo is lost in time with an advanced experimental Time Turner that he found and fixed himself only a couple of hours after learning about it, it doesn’t seem very likely based on the evidence you’ve presented to me.” They squirmed, staring at their feet. “I appreciate your good intentions, but you need to be much more careful going forward to look before you leap into danger. Take a moment to ask critical questions and plan if at all possible,” she scolded, feeling deja vu from all of the times she’d said the same to Ron and Harry.

Rose turned to Albus. “I should’ve asked earlier. Did you look for him at home? My house, I mean. If he wasn’t in his bedroom, he likes to hide in the attic.”

Albus flushed. “I—er—didn’t think to go there since the house is locked up.”

Closing his eyes, Scorpius heaved a long sigh. “I’m feeling really stupid right now.” His body started flickering and glitching like a television with a bad signal.

“Something’s happening!” Hermione snapped, grabbing Hugo and Rose and pushing them towards their friend. “Quickly, grab on before he disappears without you!”

Eyes wide, Scorpius scrambled to hold out the necklace chain so his friends could duck underneath.

“I love you,” Hermione called, wanting them to hear it one more time since she wasn’t there to say it in the future. “Tell Hugo too.”

“I will,” Rose promised, starting to cry again. “We’ll be back when we can. Just-just be careful until then, alright? Don’t be such a people pleaser. Try to remember that you are just as important as other people. You don’t always have to put others first.”

“Especially not Uncle Ron,” Albus said with a harsh and bitter tone. Taken aback, Hermione blinked at him, even more surprised when Rose pressed her lips tight and nodded in silent agreement.

Scorpius grunted and muttered something pointed yet unintelligible under his breath as he fiddled with the dials of the Time Turner. All of the children were avoiding Hermione’s eyes. She wanted to interrogate them about the details, but there wasn’t time.

Was this about Hugo? Ron and Harry being in prison? Or something to do with her death?

The flickering stopped and Scorpius narrowed his eyes, adjusting something on the necklace. “There. We have a minute and a half for goodbyes.” He looked up and over at Hermione. “Mrs. Weasley, if I don’t meet you again I want you to know that it was a pleasure to meet you again and I’ll do my best to look out for Rose and Albus, and Hugo too of course.” He flushed and held out his hand to shake.

“Thank you,” she said, moving past his hand to give him and the other kids big hugs. “I’m glad I met all of you.” Albus sniffled and squeezed her back and Rose started sobbing as she pressed her head into the crook of Hermione’s neck. Trying not to cry herself, Hermione dropped a kiss on both of their heads and Scorpius’s too for good measure. “You’re good kids. You might not be the babies I know, but that doesn’t change my feelings. I love you guys, no matter what and no matter when. If you need me, find me—me or Harry. You can trust him to help. Good luck and be safe. I believe in you.”

Crying, Albus and Rose hugged her tighter but time was up. A buzz started under her skin from where she was touching Scorpius and the chain was glinting more brightly than it should in her dim kitchen. Hermione pulled away from their hands, not willing to risk abandoning her babies upstairs. She stepped back to lean against the counter, clutching it so tightly her fingers hurt.

“I love you, Mum!” Rose cried.

The Time Turner released a blast of light that smelled like singed feathers.

“I love you! Good…bye,” Hermione finished softly. The kitchen was empty. They were gone except for the dirty mugs on the table and the dissipating smell of ash.

Grabbing a wadded up napkin from the counter, she pressed it to her leaking eyes, soaking up her tears before tossing it into the bin and taking the steps two at a time to run up the stairs. Inside the bedroom she found her sleeping babies. Rose was sucking on her thumb, the auburn hair on her head matted with sweat. Faintly snoring, Hugo had a line of drool down his chubby cheek. They were beautiful. She loved them so much. She didn’t ever want to leave them.

She didn’t want to die young. She didn’t want to die at all. Sliding down to sit against the wall, Hermione pulled a pillow off the bed, stuffed it over her mouth, and sobbed.

∞⌛∞

∞2021, January 2—Home of Rose and Hugo Weasley∞

~Rose Weasley (16)~

Breaking in through the bathroom window since Grandma had confiscated the key to Rose’s very own front door, she stepped down onto the toilet and then the floor, turning to help Albus and Scorpius crawl in behind her. Rose exited the room and pounded up the stairs, not bothering to be sneaky. “Hugo!” she called. “Hugo, where are you? Answer me right now! Hugo!”

With a creak the attic door opened and Hugo stuck out his head with a surly pout. “What do you want?”

Sagging to her knees, Rose gave a half-hysterical laugh. “You really were in the attic the whole time.”

Hugo looked past her, saw Albus and Scorpius, and went red. “What are they doing here?”

“You disappeared on us, mate,” Albus said, rubbing his forehead. “We got crazy worried.”

“Emphasis on the crazy,” Scorpius said, the tips of his ears going pink with embarrassment.

Looking away, Hugo shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, well, I wanted to be alone.”

“Too bad!” Rose said, popping up to her feet and giving him a manic smile. “As your big sister I’m declaring this a sad-free zone. You’re coming with us and we’re going to do something fun.” There would be time to go back and warn her mum later. She needed to give her heart some time to recover first.

“Do I have to?” Hugo asked, looking emo and put upon.

Rose grabbed him in a hug disguised as a headlock and dragged him away with Albus and Scorpius at her heels. “Yes, because we love you.”

Sighing, Hugo relaxed into her hold. “Oh, fine,” he meekly said.

“Good,” Rose said as she passed an old photo on the wall of the two of them sitting on their mom’s lap. Mum had toddler Rose sitting balanced on one knee and baby Hugo standing on the other thigh, with his arm wrapped around her neck and his thumb in his mouth. Mum was wearing the same shirt that she’d been wearing when Rose met her in the past. They looked happy. The photo looped to show Mum turning her head and pressing a kiss to each of their heads before tickling their sides, causing all three of them to break into giggles. The obvious love it showcased was more precious now than ever. It made Rose smile even as her heart ached.

The four teenagers had a wonderful afternoon playing together before Mr. Malfoy tracked them down and gave them a scathing scolding before taking the time turner to sneak back into the Minister’s office so they wouldn’t get arrested. Grandma hollered and grounded everyone for the rest of the holiday, but since that was only one more day it wasn’t a big deal.

The real problem and crushing guilt came when they realized that they no longer had a time turner to go back and warn Rose’s mother.

∞⌛∞

~Narrator~

No matter how patiently Hermione Weasley waited in the past, the three teenagers never returned. Over time she half-convinced herself that she’d hallucinated the visit due to a combination of exhaustion and post-partum hormones. That or had a lucid dream. She’d forgotten how to trust herself after so many years and so she packed away her doubts and tried to forget her fears.

She regretted that when the summer sun shattered and cut her life short.

∞⌛∞

Chapter 11:

∞⌛∞

∞2021, April 11—Hogwarts∞

~Rose Weasley (16)~

“Did my dad make a mistake with this gift?” Lily asked, placing an arm around Rose’s shoulder and looking down with her at the rosewood jewelry box.

The question broke Rose from her stupor. “No, sorry, I just got caught up in memories for a moment.” Rose slid her fingers over the familiar earrings and necklaces her uncle had so tenderly placed inside the box. “He probably had to sneak in and steal this while people were distracted by all of us kids visiting over Easter, so tell him thank you for me.”

“You should tell him yourself. He likes hearing from you,” Lily said. “He wanted to personally give it to you earlier, but he was afraid Grandma would find and confiscate it until you had more time to process your grief or some rubbish like that, so he told me to wait until we got back to school today and give it to you privately.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll make sure to write him a note later,” Rose said, giving her cousin a tremulous smile.

Digging into the box, Rose paused for a moment on the Egyptian necklace her mom had been wearing the day she’d died before pushing it aside to keep on searching. After a moment she pulled out a pretty set of ruby pink earrings and the matching necklace. The gemstones were arranged along the chain in clusters that looked like flowers. Uncle Harry had given it to Mom for her birthday one year. Uncle George and Dad had teased her that they were dyed crystals that made her look like second-hand goods, but Rose had a suspicion based on something James had let slip that they were real pink rubies and therefore extremely expensive. However, what made them priceless was the memories associated with them and not the price tag.

“Here, Lily, I think Mum would want you to have these,” Rose held the set out to her cousin. “You always used to beg to wear her flower necklace when we played dress-up as kids. Now that you’re old enough to pierce your ears, you can finally wear the matching earrings too.”

“Thank you,” Lily whispered, taking them in her cupped hands and bringing them to her chest. Her eyes took on a damp sheen and her chin wobbled. Wiping a hand across her nose, she laughed and stood up, tucking the jewelry carefully into her pocket. “See you later. I’ve got something urgent to do before curfew.”

“What’s that?” Rose asked.

“Find someone to pierce my ears so I can look like Aunt Hermione.” Sending a smile over her shoulder, Lily rushed from the room.

Smiling close-mouthed, eyes damp, Rose turned back to the jewelry box. It was Sunday night before classes resumed. She should probably unpack and get to bed early so she was prepared to learn tomorrow, but instead she found herself pulling out the Egyptian necklace mum had been wearing on her final day. It was exotic and full of mystery (and made her feel closer to her mom). Some of the symbols she vaguely remembered hearing about before in Egyptian myths, like the heart and feather being weighed on a scale to judge the worth of a soul, but most of them were beyond her. It made her curious. Rose liked knowing things and solving mysteries.

Giving a crooked smile, she tucked the necklace into her pocket and took off for the library. With a little luck she could find a book to help her start to translate it. The project would give her something to keep her mind occupied and away from unproductive thoughts, like how Dad had already moved a new girlfriend into the house (a different woman than the one they’d walked in on him cheating with). Thankfully Grandma had insisted on Rose and Hugo staying with her for the two weeks of the Easter holiday so they hadn’t had to share a house with the woman. Seeing her a few times at family get-togethers had been bad enough.

As a sixth year, Rose hadn’t spent as much time in the library, enjoying her freedom while she could. Last year she’d practically lived in the stacks preparing for her O.W.L. exams and next year she’d have to buckle down again for the N.E.W.T.s. She couldn’t say she was looking forward to spending that much time around Madam Pince again. The ancient librarian had been around since Rose’s parents’ era and was a bit of a bitter pill. When she finally retired, the students would hold a party—for themselves.

“Hey, Rose,” Albus said, nodding as he passed her in the hall going towards the staircase leading down to the dungeons and the Slytherin Common Room.

Scorpius Malfoy was with him. The blond paused and stared at her intently. “Hello, Rose,” he said in an unusually deep voice. The tips of his ears went red as his eyes dropped to her lips.

“Hi! Bye!” Rose squeaked, cheeks going pink as she picked up her pace and practically ran the rest of the way to the library, feeling his heavy gaze on her back the entire way.

Just before leaving for Easter Break, Scorpius had stopped her by silently placing a hand on her arm in a deserted hallway. Looking up at him, she’d noticed rays of yellow sunlight pouring through the window like a shower of golden glitter, highlighting his sharp, striking cheekbones and the soft, full curve of his bottom lip. His mysterious, pale gray eyes stared down into hers, deep enough to fall into forever. Still not speaking, he’d leaned down and kissed her square on the mouth. Before she could decide if she liked it or how she wanted to respond, he’d run away.

It was infuriating.

Of course she knew he’d had a crush on her forever, everyone knew that, but it was only recently after he’d matured in character and grown into those cheekbones that she’d started giving him lingering looks. Now that she was sixteen years old, she was starting to consider letting him be her first boyfriend. Before this year, they’d just been friends through her cousin Albus, but they’d grown closer when he’d stepped up for her and her family when she was struggling over the loss of her mom, having lost his mom too.

Although she knew her parents didn’t like Scorpius’s dad, Mr. Malfoy had treated her with nothing but respect. She’d run into him a few times with and without Scorpius and he was always kind and polite. She could tell he was also someone who understood loss. Mr. Malfoy still mourned his wife openly, always wearing something black. He also refused to date, even though it had been almost two years and both widowed society matrons and their eligible daughters were actively pursuing him.

Of all the adults Rose knew, including her dad, Uncle Harry was the only one who missed her mom as much as she and Hugo did. Perhaps more, Rose sometimes thought charitably, considering mom had been his best and perhaps only friend after age and distance caused their old friend group to drift apart. Mum had once made a joke about religion, age, and friendship, saying that the real miracle of Jesus was that he had twelve close friends in his thirties.

Uncle Harry didn’t go around wearing black like Mr. Malfoy, perhaps trying to hide his pain and be strong for the rest of them, but you could tell that he was just shattered by the loss of her mum. He’d lost weight, barely smiled, and kept having to patch up mysterious holes in the walls. Uncle Harry rarely let out his temper because when he did, it was bad. She’d come back with Lily once and found him sitting in his kitchen surrounded by smashed liquor bottles and crying over a bookmark. They’d been scared, but thankfully he hadn’t been drunk, just sad. He’d apologized and seemed ashamed, so they’d helped him clean up and then he’d taken them all out to play Quidditch and eat popsicles. He’d probably have let himself waste away if it wasn’t for his kids needing him so much, plus how her and Hugo clung to him after their dad’s betrayal. It made her realize how much Uncle Harry had always been there for her and how long he’d been covering for her dad’s shortcomings.

Shaking off her sadness, Rose strode into the library, ready to focus on her quest to understand mysterious Egyptian hieroglyphics. Since it was Sunday and classes hadn’t started yet, the library was almost completely deserted. Rose tried to find the Egyptian section on her own, but had no luck finding a book about the writing system.

Madam Pince wasn’t at her desk to ask for help, so Rose went searching. She finally tracked the elderly librarian down near the entrance to the restricted section. Madam Pince was helping a pair of adult witches with guest research passes pinned to their shoulders. The foreign witches both had dark hair and pale white skin. They wore wide-brimmed, round-topped hats and gauzy multi-layered robes in pastel shades of peach and lavender. In the crook of their arms they carried magical staves instead of wands. Rose had once heard an older muggleborn boy describe the difference between staves and wands as the difference between missile-launchers and handguns. Like many other powerful and interesting artifacts, staves were banned in Britain. Rose hoped she’d get a chance to talk to the visitors before they had to leave. They looked interesting and exciting.

The next time Madam Pince moved out into the public section, Rose jumped forward and asked, “Excuse me, can you point me to the section on Egyptian hieroglyphics real quick? I can’t find it.”

Barely sparing Rose a glance, the librarian said repressively, “You’ll have to wait your turn, Miss Weasley.”

“But I only need a hint…” Rose trailed off as the librarian grabbed a stack of books and disappeared into the restricted section again, latching the rope across the stacks behind her.

Growling, Rose stomped away to once again try to figure it out herself, ranting and grumbling under her breath the entire way.

“Is everything alright?” an airy voice asked.

Cutting herself off, Rose flushed at finding herself observed. When she looked over, she saw a guest researcher instead of a student, which made it even more embarrassing. The ghostly-looking woman stood in a dimly lit section between two shelves. She wore dusty blue robes that floated around her figure. The style differed from the other witches, perhaps indicating she worked for a different department. Something in the cut of the pale dress seemed familiar, but Rose couldn’t place it. On the woman’s head rested a wide-brimmed bamboo hat with a long pale veil that concealed her hair and features except for a tuft of washed-out gray curls peeking out of the hole in the center. The veil came down to her elbows on all sides. Maybe hiding your face was a cultural modesty thing like in some fundamentalist muggle cultures in the Middle East? Rose was curious but didn’t think it appropriate to ask.

“Sorry,” Rose said politely. “I didn’t mean to bother you, ma’am.”

“It’s no bother,” the veiled woman said in a strange, airy-sounding voice. “Can I help? I want to help.”

“Oh, well—er—okay,” Rose said, pulling out her necklace. She needed all the help she could get, after all. “I’m trying to figure out what these symbols mean. I’m pretty sure it’s Egyptian, but that’s about it. See?” Rose tried to spread out the necklace with her hands to show the older witch, but it kept getting tangled back upon itself in her hands and she was finding it difficult to juggle in her increasingly cold fingers. “Oh for—gimme a second.” Blowing her hair out of her face with exasperation, she spread out her hands and lifted it to her neck. “Let me just put it on so you can see it stretched out.”

Fastening the latch, Rose straightened the fall of the chains and pendants over her chest. “See? There’s lots of hieroglyphics on it. If you know what any of them mean or where a book to understand them might be, that would be useful.” Pulling out her dark red hair from under the necklace self-consciously, she added awkwardly, “I know it probably looks dumb on me.”

“On the contrary. You look very pretty,” the veiled woman said firmly.

“Ah—thank you.” Flattered, Rose blushed and looked down, fiddling with the small rectangular pendant dangling from the bottom of the necklace. It only had one symbol on it and the rest of the metal was smooth and untouched. Everything else on the necklace, including the chain pieces, was covered in minuscule writing. That pendant was the only place with empty space.

“Though if you are serious about wanting to research your necklace,” the veiled woman said, her airy tone deepening into something with a familiar cadence as she fell into a lecture, “you should know that not all or even most Egyptian writing was called hieroglyphics. While hieroglyphs were a prominent form of Egyptian writing, hieroglyphic, in the strict meaning of the word, designates only the writing on Egyptian monuments. Ancient Egyptians also used other scripts like hieratic and demotic for everyday writing and documents.”

“I didn’t know that, thank you,” Rose said, still examining the small pendant. “It will help me expand my search terms.”

Pulling the mostly smooth pendant out to see better, Rose was surprised when the gold loop attaching it to the piece above started spooling out. “Oh, I didn’t know it could do that,” Rose breathed, moving it away from herself and from side to side. “How interesting.”

When she brought it close to one of the other pendants, a curious thing happened. It started pulling away from her fingers on its own. “I think it’s magnetized or charmed to attach to the other pieces somehow!” she said with excitement.

“Be careful,” the veiled woman warned.

Rose was too fascinated to listen. Looking down, she touched the smooth piece to a pendant with a circle on it and let it tug out of her hand, flipping onto its edge and sliding across the surface until the tip was in the center of the circle before sinking in at an angle, making the metal form an open V. Rose rotated her body so the overhead lights fell on it to see better and noticed that the piece was casting a long, thin shadow over the circle.

“It looks like a sundial,” the veiled woman said. “But wait, do you see that?” she leaned closer and pointed, her long veil so lightweight that Rose couldn’t feel anything but a cold chill when it brushed against Rose’s arm.

Inside the long thin shadow something was moving and getting brighter. Glowing symbols rose to the surface and stretched out as if awakening from a long sleep. They reminded Rose of the advanced arithmancy symbols she’d seen on the Time Turner Scorpius had stolen from his dad.

Rose wished her mom was here to see this. Mom would probably know what they were. She was the smartest person Rose had ever met, including her teachers. Heart aching, Rose wished she could go back in time and see her mom one more time to ask her advice, though really just to see her. That brief interlude over Christmas in her mum’s old kitchen hadn’t been enough. She missed her mom so much.

The glow of the symbols changed color and went brighter. Rose started to feel strange.

“Stop, Rose, stop touching it!” the veiled woman said sharply. Rose had almost forgotten she was there in light of this new mystery.

The woman reached out to grab her arm and Rose felt like she’d been doused in an ice cold bucket of water just as the necklace started to yank on her magic. The shock of it made Rose jump and fumble her fingers over the necklace. Her thumb pressed on the open V and it went down flat onto the underlying pendant with an outsized thud that Rose felt reverberating through her entire body.

“Take it off!” the veiled woman ordered, sounding panicky. “Quickly!”

Rose was panicking too. She fumbled at the latch and tried to lift it over her head but it wouldn’t come off. Her thumb accidentally pressed against one of the triangle pendants and the necklace went invisible on her chest, though she could still feel it in her hands. The pull on her magic became stronger, almost painful.

“I can’t get it off and it’s still there, just invisible!” Rose cried, swivelling and presenting the back of her neck to the veiled woman so she could undo the latch. Rose lifted her hair out of the way. “Help m—!”

Ice grabbed her by the throat. The world turned black as everything twisted, turned, screamed, and burned.

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

∞⌛∞

∞1997, April 11—Hogwarts∞

~Rose Weasley (16)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Opening her eyes, Rose had no strength in her legs, sliding down the wall at her back and hitting the ground with her legs splayed out. She felt like she should be in pain, but she wasn’t. Well, except for her bum—it felt a bit bruised. Gingerly she rolled up onto her knees.

“Are you sure you should be doing that so soon? You just appeared out of nowhere and dropped, looking pale as death,” said a young version of her Uncle Harry. He looked all of sixteen, with shaggy jet black hair, a thin face, and smooth cheeks with a hint of peach fuzz on the edges of his jaw.

“Oh, wow, you’re so young, Uncle Harry,” Rose laughed, standing up and looking around. She must’ve somehow time traveled again, probably because of the necklace, which meant that she had the chance to see—there she was. “Mum! You’re so thin!” Rose was so happy to see her again, even this ever so young version.

“Is she mental, thinking you’re her family?” asked the young version of her dad as he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, giving her an unfriendly stare.

Rose drew back, feeling hurt. “I am not mental.”

“She looks our age,” Mum said critically, “but I don’t recognize her face even though she’s wearing the school uniform. She doesn’t look like a ghost either.”

Rose scowled. “I’m not a ghost either.”

“What’s your name?” Uncle Harry asked.

“Yes, who are you?” Mum said.

Hands fisting at her sides, Rose said, “Stop interrogating me! I don’t like it.” She stepped closer to her mum and stared defiantly into her eyes. “Look at me! I’m your daughter. I time-travelled here by accident.” Gulping a breath, Rose tried to calm down and regain her former excitement. “I guess that must sound strange, but it’s true.”

Mum’s eyes went wide and she looked Rose up and down. “You’re my daughter?”

“Yes!” Unable to hold back anymore, Rose rushed forward and gave her a big hug. “Hello,” Rose said with a wet laugh. Her mum’s arms came up and hugged her back. There was nothing in the world like a hug from her mum. Rose squeezed tighter and her mum responded by back pats and rubbing in circles. It was bliss.

Uncle Harry shifted back, his expression going odd. “That hair looks like a Weasley…so Hermione married Ron, then?”

“Yeah,” Rose said, head still snuggled into her mum’s shoulder. “Ron Weasley’s my dad.”

“We get married? Me ‘n Hermione? Really?” Dad said, sounding surprised before turning to smirk at Uncle Harry. “Ha! In your face, Harry!”

“Oh really, Ron, that’s mature,” Mum said, her face going bright red as she looked over at dad and then back at Rose as if comparing their features. “Wait,” she paused, eyes narrowing and then going wide, “her being alive and knowing all of us means we survive this.” Arms still around Rose, Mum locked eyes with Uncle Harry. “We’re going to get through this, Harry. You too. We aren’t going to die.” She leaned back and looked at Rose. “Right?”

“Right!” Rose assured her.

Whooping in joy, Dad jumped over and picked up both Rose and Mum, spinning them around in a circle. Mum laughed out loud in relief and Rose couldn’t help but join in as they twirled, the happiness contagious. Unable to keep his balance, Dad tripped and they all went sprawling across the floor, giggling. They were so young and happy compared to the adults Rose knew in the future. She loved it.

Uncle Harry rubbed his face, a fragile grin peeking through his fingers. “I’m going to survive this.” He looked hopefully at Rose. “I really get to live? Do I get a family too?”

“Yeah, there’s—”

Mum cut her off. “Stop! Don’t say anymore.” Climbing to her feet, Mum pulled Rose up with her. “While I’m delighted to meet you, this isn’t safe, sweetheart.” Cupping Rose’s face in her warm hands, Mum stared into Rose’s eyes. “I know we just met, but I think I love you already and I’m worried. Really worried. Older me would be flipping out if she knew you traveled this far back in time by yourself, especially when it sounds like it was an unplanned accident.” Rose winced and avoided her eyes. “Time travel is restricted for a reason. It’s extremely dangerous. You need to go back home and not do this again.”

Ron rolled his eyes and threw an arm around Rose, knocking Hermione away. “Aw, Hermione, don’t be such a wet blanket. She just got here. Let her have some fun first. She’s not just your kid, she’s mine too.” He shot a smug look over his shoulder at Harry. “See Harry? Hermione married me and we have a kid, probably more than one, am I right?” He looks back at Rose. “What’s your name anyway? Are you the youngest of seven like Ginny?”

Before Rose could decide how to react, Mum blurted out with an appalled expression. “Seven? Absolutely not!” Turning to Rose, she held up her hand and snapped, “And don’t tell us more!” Seeing Rose’s face shading into hurt at the tone, Mum put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m trying to preserve the timeline to keep you and us all safe, though it may already be too late,” she said ominously.

“Oh come on!” Ron threw his hands up and looked over at Harry. “She’s always so paranoid. It won’t hurt to know more from the kid. Talk some sense into Hermione.”

Hermione’s lips thinned. “Time travel is dangerous, Ronald. I know you’re curious, so am I, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“So is the road to heaven,” Harry said with quiet intensity. “You’re only stuck in hell if you give up too early and quit. I’d rather try and fail than never try at all, and if I know I’m right, I’m not going to quit. Would we have saved Buckbeak and Sirius in third year otherwise?”

Sighing, Mum chewed on her bottom lip. “That was different. We only went back a few hours. She’s traveled years, no, decades! For Merlin’s sake, she’s our age! Do you know how crazy that is? Not just the power requirements but the risks. Time travel of that magnitude is too dangerous. She could accidentally change something to make it so she was never born or create a paradox that collapses reality. There’s no record of anything like this ever happening, just theories! So much could go wrong so easily. It isn’t worth it just to satisfy our curiosity.”

Expression tight, Mum turned back to Rose. “You look like a bright young woman. You’d have to be, being my daughter. Have you heard of the butterfly effect?”

Feeling guilty, Rose looked down and nodded. “Yes, Mum.” Squaring her shoulders, she recited, “The ‘butterfly effect’ refers to the concept of a small, seemingly insignificant change in the initial conditions of a system leading to large and unpredictable consequences later on.” She took a quick breath and explained, “But I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I didn’t even know I could use the necklace to time travel. I activated it on accident. I don’t even know why I ended up in this year versus another.”

“A necklace?” Dad leaned forward to try and peer around Mum at Rose. “Where did you find it? Maybe we could use it to—”

“Forget about it, Ron,” Mum said sharply, tucking the invisible necklace under Rose’s collar to further hide it. She must’ve felt it during the hugging and patting. “She needs it to get back anyway.”

“But maybe—” Harry began.

Mum cut him off too. “No. I said it’s too dangerous.”

“Don’t we get a say?” Dad snapped. “You’re not in charge here. Just because you think you’re right doesn’t mean you are.” Uncle Harry and Dad were both glaring at Mum, obviously frustrated.

It was so awkward—awkward and sad. They’d been so happy just a few minutes ago. Happy together like she’d heard about in stories but so rarely seen growing up.

“I’ll go,” Rose said quietly, then bit her lip and looked at her mom—still alive here. “Can I get a hug goodbye?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Mum said, engulfing her in a big warm hug that was so sweet it made tears jump to Rose’s eyes, even if the body was a little less soft and squishy than Rose was used to. She hid her face in her mom’s shoulder so they wouldn’t notice the tears in her eyes, but realized that if she stayed much longer she was going to break into loud sobs.

“Thank you,” Rose said, stepping back and trying to pretend that everything was fine. She had a lot of practice at that lately. Surely she could do it long enough to leave. Reaching up, Rose valiantly held back her tears as she dug in her shirt for the small middle pendant.

Uncle Harry’s eyes sharpened, becoming worried as he peered into her face. “Is everything alright where you come from? Do you need help? What can we do?”

Rose barely held onto her composure, almost crumpling under his concern. Uncle Harry had always been more like a second father to her versus just another Uncle like her dad’s brothers. He’d taken up the slack and been there whenever her dad wouldn’t or couldn’t be. After losing her mom and Hugo’s worsening mental health, Uncle Harry had become her rock. It was nice to see that some things hadn’t changed, even when everything and everyone else she cared about had.

“Growing up,” Rose told him, “it always seemed natural that everyone in the wizarding world called you a hero because you’ve always been a hero to me.” Sniffing back tears, Rose cried, “Oh Uncle Harry, I love you so much,” and threw her arms around him.

Surprised, he went stiff. “Um….”

“For Merlin’s sake, Harry, hug her back! Actually, better idea, group hug!” Mum put her arms around them both.

Huffing out a soft laugh, Uncle Harry relaxed and wrapped his arms around them both, squeezing just the right amount and patting in his usual pattern. “Yeah, good idea.”

“Best idea,” Rose said, throat tight. Being sandwiched between them was a familiar position Rose thought she’d never experience again. It felt wonderful. Rose unwound one arm to wrap it around her mom’s trim waist.

“I feel rich knowing I have a niece like you to look forward to,” Uncle Harry said, quiet and sweet. “Your mom makes beautiful kids.” Rose and her mum looked at him and then each other, smiling.

“Coming in,” Dad announced jovially, joining the hug a moment later hard enough to rock them on their feet, though Uncle Harry pushed and pulled and kept them all on their feet. It was the second time her dad had hugged her today. Rose couldn’t remember the last time she’d hugged her father, probably not since before she’d left for Hogwarts. It made her feel bittersweet.

Back home, Rose felt anger, disgust, and disappointment in her father. Hugo had been a lot more sheltered and willfully blind than Rose. She wasn’t sure if she could ever forgive her dad for neglecting them, cheating on Mum, and ruining their family. Sometimes she almost hated him for all the things he had and had not done in her life. Other times she missed and loved her daddy so much it hurt. She wanted to hug him and she wanted to hit him. She wanted her dad to hold her in his arms and promise everything was going to be okay and she desperately, desperately wanted to be able to believe in him again, to trust him as she had once upon a time as a little girl. But Rose had to be realistic. She didn’t think that was ever going to happen. Mostly she tried not to think about him at all because she didn’t like the way it made her feel so awful and twisted up inside.

“You can tell us, you know,” Dad said, sounding awkward yet earnest. “No matter what happened, if anything even did happen, I’m sure we all love you very much in the future.”

Rose looked into the face of the boy who would become her selfish and distant father and thought, Why couldn’t he have stayed like this? How did twenty years make such a huge difference?

“If we can help, all you have to do is ask. After all, we’re family, right? Your family is always there for you,” he said.

It broke her heart.

Deep down he would always be her dad. There would always be a part of her who loved him. Over the last few years it had gotten to the point where she wasn’t sure he felt the same—wasn’t sure if he did love her or if he was even capable of loving anyone but himself and maybe Grandma. But here and now, Ron was just a good boy with a kind heart giving her a hug and Rose—Rose was weak. She let herself pretend. She let herself forget about her anger and pain and pretended that she could be a girl loved by her dad, even if he was bad at showing it, and that a happy family waited for her back home.

The moment felt perfect—warm, protected, safe, and loved.

Unfortunately, her mind wouldn’t let her pretend for long. Rose was too rational—too much her mother’s daughter. She imagined that this was what it must feel like to see into the Mirror of Erised. The differences from her actual reality were impossible to ignore forever. It was too obviously an illusion. These weren’t really her parents and uncle. She wasn’t their daughter. Not yet, maybe not ever if she’d screwed this up.

Rose had to be careful not to screw this up. Life wasn’t great, but it could always get worse. Recent events had certainly taught her that. Her mom hadn’t been perfect and sometimes they’d fought, but at least she’d tried her best. Rose had never had a moment’s doubt that her mother loved and would do anything for her.

It was different with her dad. The older she got, the less he’d seemed to try and the less he seemed to care. Even when he bothered to show up, it still felt like he was mentally checked out or didn’t want to be there with them. She’d tried to shield her little brother from the truth as long as possible. It had seemed like a kindness, but in the end it had made their Dad’s betrayal that morning hit the clueless Hugo like a wrecking ball. Rose had been shocked and horrified, but under all of that was the mean satisfaction of solving the mystery of his inexplicable behavior and why he contradicted himself so often when talking about his day to Grandma versus mom at home and worked so many nights and weekends and yet never seemed to have any money. It had all finally made sense, in an awful sort of way. In Mum’s eyes she’d seen the same pained, bitter satisfaction of a mystery finally solved.

It was a revelation to see a bright-eyed sixteen-year old version of her father—even amid the fear and anxiety caused by Voldemort and his Death Eater attacks. It was both wonderful and terrible. Once her father had been kind, bright, and brave, though already sharp-tongued.

Maybe her dad had loved her once, maybe he’d even once loved her mother. But her father was no longer this open-hearted boy. He’d forgotten or lost him somewhere along the way. Perhaps it had been all he’d lost fighting Voldemort, or maybe just the piling up of little disappointments and unmet expectations over time, but somewhere along the way he’d given up on others and decided to put himself first. He’d given up on both the boy he’d been and on his future family. He’d given up on his daughter Rose.

Rose was not like her father or Aunt Ginny. She would not abandon or give up on the people who loved and needed her, even if it was hard or it hurt. Even if she had to humble herself to keep reaching out. She would be there for her people. Her little brother Hugo was becoming a miserable little punk and definitely needed her, although he tried to hide it, and Uncle Harry was hanging on by a thread.

People were there for her too. Rose had Hugo, her cousins, Uncle Harry, other relatives, and friends to go to when she felt sad. Even Scorpius’s dad Mr. Malfoy—who had never hid his lifelong dislike of her mom, dad, or uncle—had let her cry all over him once in a bookstore and not been mean about it, even sharing how much he’d come to secretly respect her mom and how he stiff felt a lingering grief over the loss of his wife. Rose had a lot of support. She was lucky, despite everything.

There was also Scorpius, who was still waiting to see if she was going to kiss him back or Hex his mouth off. Rose was leaning towards the kissing, though he’d caught her off-guard and she wanted to brush her teeth first before trying again. She was the granddaughter of dentists, after all. Plus, she needed to read a few more romance novels to make sure she had kissing techniques down. Books claimed that too much biting, spit, or pressure was a turn-off in a kiss, unless you were a lot kinkier or a lot older and ready to go farther with a bloke, which she wasn’t. The best romances were slow burn instead of wham, bam, thank you ma’am, after all. She planned on listening to the advice from older and more experienced girls who had told her to enjoy the hand holding and cuddling while slowly ramping up the kissing without skipping ahead to the racy bits or she’d regret it and it would teach her partner that she didn’t expect his patience, consideration, and best efforts.

Scorpius’s kiss had been nice if a bit too unexpected and fast, along with unexpectedly wet. Rose hadn’t decided if she liked the wet thing yet or not, but she was interested in figuring it out with him. She just needed to plan the perfect approach. The last thing she wanted was Scorpius to think she was a lackluster kisser and drop her for someone younger and dumber, though to be honest she knew Scorpius wasn’t fickle like that. He was someone you could rely on when the chips were down. However, fear wasn’t rational.

Rose had a lot of people to depend on, but she worried about her Uncle Harry. All he had to rely on when he was sad or in trouble were dead-weight losers like Aunt Ginny and her dad—who weren’t very reliable at all. James had let slip that Aunt Ginny had emptied the Potter vault right after the funeral and left behind a short note at Grandma’s place saying only that she’d left with friends for America to help process her grief over Mum and would be back when she felt better. It was such a load of bull, especially considering she’d pretty much hated Mum.

Family gossip said that the two women hadn’t gotten along since before Albus was born. Everyone knew Mom disapproved of how Ginny lived her life and the slapdash and thoughtless way she treated her husband and kids. Rose didn’t like her Aunt either. Of course, Aunt Ginny never cared what other people thought, but when asked she always took delight in telling everyone, especially reporters and new acquaintances, that Hermione Weasley was more like a bottle of paste than a real woman. Rose had heard it often enough that she could quote the horrible highlights, like how mom was occasionally useful for basic tasks but a clogged tip when she should be helpful, or that she was prone to leaking her opinions unpleasantly over others and sticking around when she wasn’t wanted, not to mention being as boring as watching paste dry and just as attractive, with the shapeless, colorless robes she wore making her resemble a paste bottle herself. It was all awful and unfair, especially that last bit about mom’s clothes, as dad got weird when she dressed well and would accuse her of wanting to cheat, often refusing to let mom leave the house unless she was dressed in what he considered to be modest—i.e. shapeless—clothing and would bin anything inappropriate he found in the house without discussion. He was probably projecting, the hypocrite. Uncle Harry tried to combat that with the occasional pretty dress, but he could only do so much with Dad being difficult.

For Aunt Ginny to claim she had to process her grief over mom’s loss was ludicrous. It had been ten months since mom died and nine since Aunt Ginny had left, and Aunt Ginny still hadn’t come back from her little trip, though nobody in the family was overtly worried except Grandma and Lily. Aunt Ginny always came back when the money ran out. She just never stayed.

Although it had been unintentional, Rose had disappeared to the past without telling anyone. Was she worse than Aunt Ginny? What a horrid, shameful thought. Hopefully no one had noticed her absence and started to panic. She had been thoughtless. And what if being here changed things? All risks should be calculated whenever possible. Her mom was right. She shouldn’t risk making the future worse, no matter how nice it felt to be hugged by her mom again.

“I need to go back,” Rose said, forcing herself to slip free from the group hug. She wiped her eyes dry and put a smile onto her face. She had to preserve the good things in her future by not screwing up her past. “Sorry for that,” she gave an awkward laugh.

“You sure you’re alright?” Ron asked gruffly but sincerely, uncomfortably crossing his arms over his chest.

Rose refused to let her smile wobble or show the pain in her chest. She refused. “It was just so great to meet you guys as innocent kids,” she said, not answering him or meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Innocent? Us? You sure you’ve got the right people?” Hermione said, giving a dear, little laugh that Rose hadn’t heard in much too long. It was so beautiful and missed that it pierced her to the quick.

“Maybe she needs to borrow my glasses.” The corners of Uncle Harry’s eyes creased beneath his glasses as he smiled down at Mum. Rose had never noticed that his smiles rarely reached his eyes until now. He looked so at ease and happy, leaning against Mum with his arm around her back and his hand clasping the curve of her waist as if it was a puzzle piece slotting into place with the perfect fit. It struck her suddenly that she couldn’t remember her mom and dad ever standing like that, though she had countless memories of this exact scene with Mum and Uncle Harry standing together throughout her childhood.

When she’d gotten older, she’d started to guiltily wonder why they’d never gotten together instead of her parents and how they could be so comfortable and loving as friends without ever becoming romantic. Once, after one of the Uncles had made an awkward and uncomfortable joke, Mom had pulled Rose aside and told her that no matter what people said, she and Uncle Harry had never gone over the line of friendship and found family, had never even kissed, and that Rose didn’t need to worry about it..

Rose had screwed up her courage. “Why not?” Part of her was scared of the answer, but she was too curious not to ask.

One, I’m not your Uncle Harry’s type,” she said wryly. “And two, friendship is simpler, safer, and more stable when everything around you is uncertainty and chaos. When it’s a really great friendship, it’s hard to imagine how things could be better and easy to imagine how they could be worse. Besides,” eyes going unfocused, she’d looked away with a strange twist to her mouth, “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

“Huh? What does that even mean?”

Mom turned back, eyes deep and dark. “When fear is everywhere, you need at least one place, one person, that’s certain and safe.”

“Huh?” Rose repeated, mouth hanging open.

Veiling her eyes in a long blink as she sighed, Mom shook her curls back over her shoulder, put on a teasing smile, and tapped under Rose’s chin. “Stop gaping and close your mouth. You look like a fish. Besides, if I’d gotten with Harry, you and Hugo, not to mention James, Albus, and Lily, would never have been born and that would be a tragedy. No gain is worth that. You kids are the heart of me and Harry feels the same way. We love you more than anything,” she said fiercely. Pressing a kiss to Rose’s forehead, she abruptly stood up and turned away. “Come, let’s go find your brother and get some ice cream. It’s been too long since we debated muggle versus magical flavors.” The idea of ice cream completely derailed Rose’s follow-up questions and she’d never gotten another chance to ask.

Rose could ask now…but if she didn’t like the answer, and even if she did, it might cause her or her brother and cousins to never be born. She loved her family too much to lose them for a little curiosity. That wasn’t a risk worth taking, no matter the temptation. She was going to keep her mouth shut. She was.

“Well, it was great to meet you too, mystery future daughter,” Dad said, moving forward and bumping into Uncle Harry, forcing him to drop his arm from around Mum. “Right guys?”

Mum sent Rose a sweet smile that lifted her spirits. “Right. Goodbye, sweetheart. I can’t wait to meet you again someday in the future and watch you grow old.”

The impossibility of that sweet sentiment felt like being hit by a Bludger. Rose pressed a hand to her chest, unable to breathe. It felt like her heart was seconds away from ripping free of its chains of arteries and veins and pounding out her throat, jumping off her tongue like a diving board, and swan diving out the window to dash itself to pieces in a bloody explosion upon the jagged rocks lining the shore of the Black Lake below—red everywhere, like exploding rays of sunlight and fallen leaves of shattered glass.

Reaching up, Rose slid her fingers under her collar and onto the necklace, thinking at it desperately—HOME. Some magical compulsion took over, her fingertips adjusting and finding their way to certain grooves without any conscious input from her, moving the small rectangle to another pendant and letting the sundial activate. She pressed down the lever.

Rose felt nauseous, unable to look at her mom’s younger face anymore without seeing flashes of her end, unable to look at any of them. “Bye,” she said, feeling hot and flushed and holding onto her lunch by a thread. The tips of her fingers felt like they were going numb. Rose did not want their last moment with her to be projectile vomiting. She had to leave.

“We do win against Voldemort, right?” Uncle Harry blurted out. “You’re safe and he’s gone for you?” He grunted when Mum elbowed him in the gut, though she looked just as keen for Rose’s answer as the rest of them. They all looked so hopeful and brave, with a hint of fear peeking out of their too-young faces, and Rose was struck again that they were her age right now and yet stuck carrying an incredible, almost unfathomable weight.

Rose knew she shouldn’t answer. Knew it, but couldn’t stop herself. Uncle Harry wasn’t just asking for himself, he was asking for his friends and for her—for Rose. How could she stay silent in the face of his love and concern? “Yes, you do win,” she said with a tremulous smile, “you defeat him in just a few m—”

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

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

∞⌛∞

Chapter 12:

∞⌛∞

∞2021, May 21—Hogwarts∞

~Rose Weasley (16)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Rose opened her eyes, her mouth still shaping the word, “more.” Or perhaps open in a scream. It was hard to tell and she decided not to think about it too deeply. Time travel with the necklace felt like falling into an abyss with some eldritch horror and then nothingness. As long as you didn’t look at it too closely, you probably wouldn’t go insane. Probably would have to be good enough. She had work to do.

Rose’s fingertips ached where they pressed against the metal of the necklace. She let them drop to her side, finding herself alone in her dorm room. Pushing off the scarlet and gold blankets, she stood up and looked around. Paused. It was Rose’s room, but subtly different. The calendar was open to May instead of April. Somehow she’d lost a month.

Disquieted, Rose went to open her trunk. Spellotaped inside the lid were pictures of her family. Different pictures from before. HAPPY pictures. Eyes darting back and forth as her mouth fell open, Rose saw her mom being sworn in as Minister of Magic looking smug and stressed and her Dad in the background looking slightly sour but trying to hide it; Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny smiling together with their kids, though right before the image reset Aunt Ginny took a step away and looked wistfully off into the distance while the rest squeezed together and mugged for the camera; the Burrow with every Weasley and Potter who could fit on a broom wearing muddy Quidditch gear after a game and grinning; Dad smacking a kiss on one side of Mum’s head while Uncle Harry did the same on the other, both men coming away coughing with hair in their mouths as Rose and Hugo covered their faces and acted like they were gagging while secretly giggling; and a picture of Rose and Scorpius holding each other around the waist, heads tilted together so their temples touched, darting shy but happy looks at each other from the corners of their eyes.

Like water soaking into dry fabric, Rose felt new memories flood her mind, diluting and darkening the memories of before. Not just new memories, but good memories. Gasping, Rose felt tears flooding her eyes. Her mother was alive here.

Alive!

Rose had changed the future for the better! Her time travel had fixed everything! She was a genius! Feeling ecstatic, Rose jumped to her feet and started dancing around the room, crying and laughing like a lunatic.

Her family was saved! Her parents, though they still fought regularly, were mostly happy, even if her mother was a workaholic who wasn’t around as much as Dad wanted. Rose hadn’t really liked that either, sometimes feeling like a stranger to her mother. They weren’t as close as she’d been in the other timeline, but they still loved each other and Mum was alive to get closer to now. Rose would be grateful. Uncle Harry didn’t come over to Rose’s house as much, and he seemed a bit restless and had trouble understanding or supporting Albus, unlike what she remembered from the other timeline, but Aunt Ginny seemed to be around helping out more and their family seemed happier too, at least from the outside. He and Dad had managed to keep their friendship alive this time around too. Grandma was still overbearing, but Dad didn’t seem to listen to her as much here. He also didn’t have a work flat anymore and probably wasn’t cheating. Hugo also wasn’t at risk of flunking out or having a mental breakdown. He was just a normal annoying younger brother.

Rose looked at the photos again and remembered that she was dating Scorpius now! And he was a good boyfriend and kisser. I’m a good kisser too, she thought smugly. She needed to kiss him again. Kiss him with intention for the first time—though not this body’s first time, she thought with disappointment and disquiet. She shook it off. Already the memories of the past were becoming muted. She was going to focus on appreciating her new life and being happy here, starting with going to the Great Hall for breakfast and to find her boyfriend, followed by writing a letter to her mum—who was alive!

She didn’t notice she’d forgotten to take the necklace off or that it was visible again until someone in the hall made a snide comment about overcompensating for something. Ducking into a bathroom stall, she tapped a triangle and the necklace went invisible again. Curious, she tried tapping pendants with circles and lines, but they didn’t seem to do anything, or at least not anything obvious. When she checked in the mirror, she hadn’t grown a dog face or anything. Shrugging, she continued on her way to breakfast.

Everything in this new life was going great and according to plan until lunchtime, when Scorpius got a letter.

“What’s wrong?” she asked a few minutes later as they strolled hand in hand through the courtyard, soaking up the sunlight before their next class. They’d both signed up for the optional sixth year of History of Magic because it was the only way they could have a class together on Fridays. “Are you still regretting having to see Binns this semester?”

Sighing, Scorpius shook his head, lifting her hand and kissing the back of it in an absent-minded gesture that almost made her swoon. “I’m just sad over a letter from my dad,” Scorpius said. “He was asking what I wanted to do for the summer since there’s only two of us now. I know you can’t understand what it’s like to lose your mom,” he stopped to swallow and Rose tightened the clasp of her hand, wanting to insist that she DID understand all too well, but knowing there was no good way to explain that without getting yelled at for not being more careful. He’d also probably spill the secret to Albus, who would spill to the rest of the family, and then Rose would be grounded until she died.

Scorpius swung their hands between them and attempted to lighten his tone and seem unaffected. “My mom was always the one who planned out our summers. Dad liked to be more impromptu, springing trips and experiences on us the day before so we could rush off together in a burst of excitement. He could be silly and fun with Mom around, but now it’s like he’s forgotten how his smile muscles work. Summers with my parents used to be so happy, but last year without her was really rough and I don’t think this summer is going to be any better. While at school, I can sometimes pretend she’s still there waiting for me at home, but I can’t pretend over the summer once I’m there. I can’t escape reality and keep smiling as if something inside me isn’t still broken.”

Looking away, he chewed on his lip. “Neither of us has gotten over losing her and knowing that if she’d just held out for one more year we could have cured her and she’d still be here with us.” Eyes glassy, he fisted his hand over the inner pocket of his bag where Rose knew he carried around the treatise laying out the cure that had been published too late. “It’s just hard and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“I’d fix it for you if I could,” Rose said, hugging his arm to her chest and rubbing her head against his shoulder in an attempt to offer him comfort.

“I know you would, thanks,” he said softly. Clearing his throat, he looked away and tried to hide that he was wiping his eyes. “Oh, look at the time. We should get to class.”

Heart turning over, Rose followed him into History of Magic as a dangerous and daring plan started swirling through her brain. What if she could fix things for Scorpius? What if she could go back in time and save his mum just like she’d saved her own? But how?

She didn’t bother paying much attention in class as the pale and translucent Binns read from an open book on the desk, droning on about the time surrounding the defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. His classroom was also always cold because ghosts gave off a chilly aura. Some ghosts still had some desaturated color to them while others only had shades of gray. Binns was all boring gray and a horrible teacher to boot. Also, if he had to read from an outside account, why pick such a stupid and useless one? The scroll mostly focused on what the goblins were plotting during that period instead of the heroic actions of the actual witches and wizards who’d saved the day—like her parents.

Bo-ring.

Not that Rose needed to learn about the War. She’d heard that ancient history about a million times before, though mostly through official accounts, newspapers, and people outside of her family. Grandma Weasley was too traumatized by the death of her brothers in the first war and her son in the second to be rational when the topic came up. Her parents were also surprisingly tight-lipped about the details for some reason, maybe too much trauma. If Rose had helped kill one of the greatest Dark Lords of all time while still a student, she’d be bragging about it to everyone who’d listen.

As the child of heroes, Rose had an obligation to carry on the family tradition of saving people. She might not have a dark lord to defeat, but she could still save lives in other ways. Saving her mother was a good start, but she could do more. Fingering the invisible necklace around her neck, she looked over at her boyfriend, mind racing over possibilities. Scorpius was being good and had his History of Magic textbook out on his desk, taking notes on what he was reading about Voldemort’s defeat instead of the useless drivel about minecarts and greedy goblins Binns was spouting. His bag was open at his feet and Rose could see the thin book outlining his mom’s cure in there.

A slow smile spread across her face. All she had to do was get that book into the past and into the hands of the right person. Wiggling in her seat, Rose checked the clock, eager for the class to be over. She was so excited to make Scorpius as happy as she was.

In the back of her head she heard a quiet voice that sounded like her mom, warning her about danger, calculated risks, and the butterfly effect. Rose dismissed it. She just wanted to help. That wasn’t wrong. Though she should try to minimize the chances of something going wrong, which meant not adding extra variables like taking other people with her, including Scorpius.

At last the bell rang and Scorpius slid his History of Magic textbook into his bag and closed and secured the flap. Rose packed up slowly to give other people time to leave. When they got out into the hallway, the two of them were mostly alone.

“I need you to give me your bag,” she said, biting her lip with excitement.

“Why?” he asked, looking at her strangely.

“I can’t tell you now. You’ll understand later.” She bounced on her feet.

Eyes narrowing, Scorpius shook his head. “You’re up to something sneaky. Tell me first.”

A group of third years pushed past on their way into History, distracting Scorpius as he tried not to get stepped on. Taking advantage, Rose darted forward and snatched his bag out of his hands, taking off running down the hallway.

“Hey!” he cried, trying to grab it back and missing. “Rose!”

Rose raced away up staircases, down corridors, and around corners, knowing he’d be hot on her heels. She had to save Scorpius’s mom. Ending up on the seventh floor in an empty hallway with a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet, Rose looked back but didn’t see any sign that Scorpius was close. Trying to catch her breath and fighting the stitch in her side, she paced back and forth in the hallway, planning her trip to the past.

On her third rotation, Rose noticed a door appearing in the wall opposite the tapestry. “Well, hello,” she breathed, delighted to discover a secret.

“Rose, where are you?” Scorpius called her name in the distance. “This isn’t funny! I need my bag back for class!”

Darting forward, Rose opened the door and ducked inside, shutting it fast behind her and locking it. Inside she found a cozy chamber with a couch, chairs, and fireplace. “Oh, I know what this is! It’s the Room of Requirement! And James said we’d never find it without his help. Ha!” She was pretty sure Hugo, Albus, and Lily hadn’t found it yet either. Feeling smug, she decided not to tell any of them about it unless they did something nice for her, meaning Lily would probably get to find out first, since she was the nicest out of all of them, including Rose.

Grinning, Rose plopped down into the chair, tossed her bag to the side while looping Scorpius’s over her shoulder securely, and pulled out the necklace from under her collar, making it visible. Scorpius’s parents had gotten married around the same time as hers, so Rose would travel back to 2003 and get her mom to give them the book with the cure in it as a wedding gift. Then Astoria Malfoy would be cured and their parents could be friends and everyone would get to live happily ever after.

Rose pulled out the pendant, letting the loop lengthen and unspool as she tried to figure out how to get the necklace to cooperate. Outside the door she heard the muffled voice of Scorpius again, “Rose! Where are you, Rose?”

Mum had told her once that the door disappeared unless you wanted people to find you and come in, so Rose should be undisturbed until she was ready to leave. Her parents had discovered this room during their fifth year at school when trying to find a place to hide from a bad teacher to practice Defence Against the Dark Arts with other students who wanted to protect themselves from Voldemort’s return versus burying their heads in the sand like the Ministry of Magic. Rose thought about trying to live through that time herself and shuddered.

Passing the rectangular pendant back and forth over the necklace, she felt it tug toward a different pendant than last time, one with a deep line carved into it. She let them connect and merge into the open V, lifting it up and out from her body so the sunlight from the window could better fall on the sundial and cast a shadow for the glowing symbols to appear in. Twisting in the chair to get the sundial out of the general shadows cast by her body, Rose saw a flicker in the corner of her eye.

Rose turned and saw a hooded man standing across the room. He spun around to face her and stomped forward, silver-gray cloak flaring around his body but not revealing anything but shadows. “So you’re the one who—” his voice thundered, only to cut off as he jerked to a stop and stared at her cowering away from him.

“Rose?” His much quieter and bewildered voice sounded familiar, though she couldn’t identify him through the cloak. The deep shadows inside his hood were opaque and concealed everything except the bottom of his mouth and chin, which was morphing into a deep frown.

Mum must’ve been mistaken about other people not getting in, she thought wildly, willing the necklace to work faster as she pushed her magic into it and pressed down on the lever.

“Rose Weasley, don’t you dare activate that!” His voice boomed with power.

It was terrifying enough that Rose would have obeyed him if she could, but it was already too late. The world flashed black and everything twisted, turned, screamed, burned. The hooded man threw himself after her into the dark, fighting through the chaos as he desperately reached for her hand, crying her name, begging her to take it, but she was too scared to trust a stranger and then he disappeared—or rather, Rose did.

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

∞⌛∞

∞1996, March 16—Hogwarts∞

~Rose Weasley (16)~

There was nothing.

There was life.

Landing on stairs, Rose tripped, belly-flopping over the bannister and sliding down only to fly off at the next landing and land in a heap. Groaning at the book-shaped bruises forming on her hips and thighs, Rose staggered to her feet.

“Flying in from nowhere’s illegal, unless you’re a seagull,” sang out Peeves as he swooped down in front of her face and poked at her nose, making her feel like she’d been splashed with ice water. “So who’re you, little birdy, hmmmm?” The ghost’s voice got louder and more high-pitched with each word. “Out after curfew? Oh that just won’t do-oo!” he screeched.

Turning on her heel, Rose sprinted away like lightning, hoping she could escape before Peeves’s caterwauling brought down a professor. He chased her for several turns of the hallway before dropping away through the floor, finally bored with her. Rose stopped running and dropped her hands to her knees, puffing like a bellows. She’d done a lot of running today. She let Scorpius’s bag slide off her shoulder and thump onto the floor, tired of it banging against her back and digging into her poor spine.

What was she doing at Hogwarts? She was supposed to be at her parents’ wedding in 2003! Now what was she supposed to do?

“Do you hear something?” said a high-pitched woman’s voice from somewhere nearby. “Hem hem, perhaps a naughty student begging for detention?”

Jerking up, Rose twisted around looking for a hiding place. Down the hall she saw a large statue of a fat Hog with a bushy mustache dressed for the opera in a three-piece suit, hat, and eyeglass. Rose ran forward and wiggled her way into the shadows behind the stone beast just in time. She had no idea how she’d explain her presence here. If she got discovered it would be a disaster!

Seconds later, a female professor she didn’t recognize came marching around the corner with a wide, cruel smile. The witch wore bright pink robes and had a wide, fat face and creepy round bulging eyes. She looked eerily similar to a toad. Rose felt bad for anyone who had to take classes with her. At her heels were three boys wearing unfamiliar badges. The blond and brunette boys were thinner and mostly hidden by the bulk of the boy in front.

Looking right past Rose and her hiding place, the professor frowned and blinked rapidly. “Nevermind, perhaps I was mistaken.”

“We can keep searching to make sure your rules are being followed, Professor Umbridge. I’m sure you have better things to do than entertain boys like us after all your hard work of teaching and whipping the misguided members of the school into shape.” The blond boy who’d spoken so obsequiously had his back turned to Rose so she couldn’t see his face. He reached behind his back and pinched the thigh of the brunette boy behind him, making him jump.

“Oh! Yes! Malfoy is right. You should go back to your quarters to put your feet up and relax with a cup of tea.” The brunette boy rubbed his thigh and sent the professor a weak smile. “We’ll do a patrol. That’s our job, after all.”

Rose got excited at hearing the Malfoy name, wondering if it was Draco or his father Lucius or someone even older. Besides being universally disliked by the older generation of her family, she didn’t know much about Scorpius’s Grandfather Lucius, except he’d died before Scorpius was born and followed Voldemort. Draco Malfoy was disliked by her family too and had also once followed Voldemort, but Rose knew from personal experience that he was a good man. If she wasn’t so afraid of being discovered, she’d crane her head out so she could see better.

“Hem hem, you boys are so sweet. I’ll just do that, though do let me know if you find someone in need of a special punishment,” Professor Umbridge said, turning and waddling back the way she’d come.

As soon as she disappeared, the three boys relaxed, sagging against the walls of the hallway. “Oh, thank Merlin. If that had gone on much longer I would’ve had to cut my hand off with one of her teaspoons. She kept touching and petting me!” whined the hulking third boy with a shudder. The brunette boy mimed gagging.

“It almost makes me want to let whoever was running around out after curfew escape,” said the blond, turning around to reveal the boyish face of Draco Malfoy, Scorpius’s father. “But only almost,” he added with a sneer as his friends laughed.

Rose sagged with relief, barely paying attention to the words in her relief at being able to place herself in time. Oh thank goodness. This wasn’t going to be a disaster after all. Mr. Malfoy was cute, but with a narrower face that wasn’t quite as handsome or as earnest as his son’s. Rocking back and forth on her heels, Rose was tempted to go out and talk to the younger Mr. Malfoy, but she wasn’t sure she could trust his friends. Ultimately she decided against it.

The boys started walking down the hall, only to stop on seeing Scorpius’s bag against the wall where she’d dropped it. Rose winced. “What’s this?” the brunette boy asked, scooping it up.

Malfoy snatched it from his hands and started searching through it with a frown. “Interesting. I don’t think I’ve seen this edition before.” His pale eyebrows rose sky-high on his forehead as he flipped through the history textbook, pausing on the front flap where the name Scorpius Malfoy was written in bold black strokes before flipping to the copyright page with the year. “Very, very interesting,” he breathed. “Could this be legitimate?”

“What is it?” asked the brunette boy.

Malfoy winked at him and slapped the cover of the book closed, tucking it back into the bag. “You wouldn’t understand even if I showed you, but just wait until my father sees this.”

“Shouldn’t we tell Professor Umbridge first?” the hulking boy asked.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll tell her later if I decide she needs to know. Until then, keep your mouth shut, understand?” He looked mean when he said it, making Rose uncomfortable. If he’d spoken to her parents like that, maybe that was why they didn’t like each other.

The other boy stepped back, hands raised. “Whatever you say, Malfoy. I didn’t see anything.”

“Me neither,” echoed the other boy, examining his fingernails.

“Good.” Malfoy turned on his heel. “Come, to the owlery!”

Shaking off her reservations, Rose decided not to worry too much. It would probably be fine. Draco was sure to prioritize getting his father’s help to cure his future wife, he just hadn’t seen the treatise on curing blood curses yet, that was all. Then Astoria Greengrass could marry Draco Malfoy and they could raise Scorpius as one big happy family, maybe even give him some siblings. Rose couldn’t wait to get back to her own big happy family and her sure-to-be happy and grateful boyfriend.

Rose tried to picture it in her head and drew a blank. Confused, she frowned, closing her eyes and trying harder, pressing her forehead against the cold hard statue of the hog. Perhaps she wasn’t in that future long enough, as her memories of her parents’ happy marriage and her mom’s successful political career suddenly felt fuzzy and hard to grasp.

Opening her eyes, Rose sat back and shook her head sharply, refusing to panic. It probably was just a fluke. She had the rest of her life to remember those good times and make more happy memories. It was fine.

Climbing out from behind the statue, Rose pulled out the necklace and unspooled the central piece, waving it back and forth slowly, trying to get it to attach to the one that would take her home. It wasn’t cooperating for some reason, drifting this way and that but not clicking firmly into place on anything. Looking away in frustration, she noticed on the base of the statue in front of her a small brass plaque.

The Dapper Hog

Gifted by Horace Slughorn

Dec. 7, 1942

The sundial snicked unexpectedly into place. Relieved, Rose pressed down on the lever and pushed with her magic. The world flashed black and everything twisted, turned, screamed, burned.

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

∞⌛∞

---