Title: Destiny's Charm
Abstract: Time was not to be toyed with, she understood. But when all hope seems lost, Hermione's destiny changes as she was unwittingly tossed back to the Marauders' era with her memories intact. With the fabric of time re-stitched with the inclusion of a Hermione Meadowes, will history be rewritten this time round? AU. (RB/HG)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter universe, much to my eternal regret.
Prologue
Forest of Dean, October 1997
It was time. Thirteen months of preparation had come to this, and she was drained. She was tired, so tired. Tired of fleeing from campsite to campsite with snatchers sniffing on their trail like dogs after a bone. Tired of feeling the bone deep fear that etched itself on her heart and never let up. Any moment of silence and serenity in the lush green of the Forest of Dean was inevitably threaded through with a lining of fear. But most of all, she was tired of seeing the light dim in the eyes of her boys with every passing day. They were duelling fiercely in the ring of chestnuts now, magic sizzling and sparking in the air vibrantly as they flicked spell after spell at each other wordlessly. Necessity, and the abundance of time, had allowed them to experiment and master the art of nonverbal spells. Of the trio, only she and Harry had tentatively and then successfully managed to wield wandless magic.
Hermione watched pensively. Yes, it was time.
The Shrieking Shack, December 1997
"We need a pensieve". Harry's face was ashen, the green in his eyes darkened to nearly black as he finally tore his gaze away from the tube he had been handed. The three teenagers, huddled under the invisibility cloak, had arrived just in time to witness Nagini puncture the smooth skin of the man's neck with pin points sharpened to deliver the most potent of poisons.
He was dying, Hermione realised belatedly, a hundred thoughts whirling around in her head even as she stared at the still form of the potions professor who had been the bane of their school lives. Snape was dying, murdered at the hands of the master he had served and then betrayed.
"Dumbledore's office then?" Ron asked hesitantly, a frown present on his face as he nodded at the tube Snape had pressed into Harry's hand only moments before. Harry nodded resolutely, turning to head back, the two boys, no men, Hermione amended thoughtlessly, ducking under and through the entrance in sync before they realized their bushy-haired friend had not followed them.
"Hermione?"
She started slightly at her name, curls flying as she snapped her head up to meet the concerned faces of her best friends.
"Go ahead first guys, I'll head up and meet you later" she replied, a strange twinge in her chest compelling her to stay by the dying man's side when she had absolutely no reason to.
They nodded their acceptance worriedly but swept the invisibility cloak over their heads once more. One "Stay safe" later and she was left in the silence of her thoughts, the musty smell of the shack mixed with the coppery tinge of blood in the air, sending her gut writhing.
Hermione paced over to Snape's side, tamping down her nausea furiously. He was on their side, she reminded herself harshly, and she would be damned if she left him to die alone like this. She had hated him fiercely once, hated him so for the cold-blooded murder of their headmaster. Only later when Fawkes had emerged with Professor Dumbledore's last will and testament did they understand that Snape had been Dumbledore's man to the end.
"Miss Gr- Granger" came the raspy croak, startling the witch from her internal musings.
She peered up carefully, assessing her former professor with guarded cinnamon eyes. He was conscious, that much was apparent, although if the blood leaking out of his wounds were anything to go by, that would surely change. His eyes were still closed, thin lips pressed into a hard line with effort in order to hold back the screams she was sure were aching to be released. Flicking her wand with a practised ease, the brunette cast a numbing charm on his body, the spell having an immediate effect when the surly professor sighed in temporary relief. If this was how the man had to go, she wanted to ease as much of his suffering as possible with what mediwitch skills she had picked up. Shortly before their hasty departure from Headquarters, Hermione had taken to secretly apprenticing under Madam Pomfrey, the aged mediwitch having agreed graciously to take her under her wing.
"I. . . I can't do anything about the snake bite. We ran out of bezoars and dittany on the run and –", She babbled, hands wringing together helplessly until she saw him raise a hand weakly to stop her tirade.
"Charm. My pocket. Please." Snape slurred out, his eyes taking on a hazy sheen and sweat breaking out in dots over his forehead. The poison must have entered his bloodstream, she knew. It would work into his cells, all his cells, and they shrivel up and die, she recalled robotically, pages and pages of medical journals flashing before her eyes in an instant.
Honouring the man's last request, Hermione dropped down to her knees, dipping her hand into the pockets of his bulky blood-soaked robes hastily. Feeling about, her fingers finally caught the cool metal surface of an object and she fished it out, holding it out to Snape apprehensively.
It was a charm of a flower. A lily flower, she realized, the meaning of the charm hitting her like a brick.
"Pot- Potter . . . will not succeed" Snape wheezed, an urgency breaking through the haze of his eyes.
"What? What are you talking about?" Hermione choked, panic starting to take hold as she gripped his shoulders harshly, shaking him furiously when he drifted. Her voice shot up several decibels as the fear for her best friend twisted her heart.
"There . . . is an . . . eighth"
"Enervate!" She gritted out impatiently, hoping against hope that the dying man would rouse. Heart pounding in fear and worry, she watched as he stirred minutely.
"I . . . I am . . . sorry" Snape twitched a hand up weakly to point at the charm Hermione held loosely in her hand, an unfathomable look in his dark eyes as he rasped "Portus!"
A beam of white hit the lily charm and enveloped the white-faced brunette, eclipsing her small body. She felt her head spin like a vortex and then, there was nothing.
It was done.
Meadowes Manor
"Herms! Wake up, wake up!" A feminine voice chimed out eagerly. "Come on, lazy bug, don't you want to go to Potters'? Merlin knows it's been ages since maman gave us a day off and it's only a week till I finally go to Hogwarts!"
Hermione felt the fog in her head lift and cracked an eye open, wincing when the morning light flooded her vision. She turned towards the source of the chatter and found herself staring at a blonde girl perched on the foot of her bed, a happy smile lifting her pretty face as she waited.
"Herms . . . any later and maman will have my head for this! Dorcas Meadowes, pureblood ladies are never late for engagements" the girl imitated cheekily, rolling her brown eyes as she spun a strand of dark blond hair around a finger lazily.
At once, a rush of memories invaded her head and sparred. Hermione cried out in pain, cradling her head gingerly when the blonde girl, Dorcas, looked on worriedly, crawling up to rest next to her.
It was as if there were two different Hermione's in her head. In some memories, she was a muggleborn, best friends with a redhead named Ron and a black-haired bespectacled boy, Harry. These memories, she found, carried her from childhood in a comfortable Muggle neighbourhood with her parents Jean and Edward Granger to the end of her sixth year in Hogwarts and the start of her Horcrux hunt with the two men. In others, she . . . she was the ten year old pureblood daughter of Richard Meadowes and his wife, Amélie Meadowes nee Malfoy, raised in their luxurious manor in Godric's Hollow. Younger sister of Dorcas Meadowes, the blonde girl, she realised with a start, who now had her hand resting on Hermione's forehead, mouth pinched in anxiety. She remembered Dorcas, the two sisters always doing everything together, from having lessons with their governess to playing in the gardens overlooking their estate, making daisy chains in the warm summers. With a flash though, all the memories about the other Hermione were slipping away, even as she knitted her brows in concentration and attempted to hold them, bring them back to the surface of consciousness, only to fail.
Trembling in confusion, she scanned her surroundings warily and found herself nestled in a plush canopy bed. The thick drapes of the curtains were swept to the sides, allowing light to illuminate the light blue walls of the room.
"Hermione, are you alright?" concern laced the words of her older sister. Her sibling hugged her close gently, patting her head to soothe her.
"Dor, I'm fine. Let me get ready and we can get some breakfast?" Hermione whispered, peering up at Dorcas who still looked concerned at how pale her sister had gotten upon waking up this morning.
She nodded and plodded her way out of the room, making Hermione promise with a pinky to call Boogy, their house elf, if she needed help.
Hermione tottered out of bed and towards the bathroom she somehow just knew was attached to her suite. A young girl stared back at her in the mirrors. That was her, she knew, Hermione Meadowes. But still, her memory conjured up the picture of a slim young woman with bushy hair and chocolate eyes. The girl in the mirror was in many ways, still a child, on the cusp of being a teenager but not quite. She shared Dorcas's hair, she noted with pleasure, dark blonde in colour though hers laid over her back in soft curls streaked with coffee and auburn strands. Those buckteeth that she had been teased mercilessly for as Hermione Granger were gone, replaced with a set of normal pearly whites. All in all, Hermione Meadowes was a pretty child, she concluded, feeling a tad weird that she was evaluating herself like a third party would.
:-***-:-***-:-***-:
"Hermione, there you are! Le petit déjeuner is ready", her mother greeted cheerfully. Amélie Meadowes was a beautiful woman with straight blonde hair that she had passed down to her eldest, and cinnamon eyes that were shared by the girls. Her husband chortled merrily as he pressed a gentle kiss on Hermione's temple the way she knew he had for all ten years of her short life. A formidable wizard in stature, her father had deep laugh lines etched in the corners of his eyes and mouth and blue eyes that twinkled merrily when he smiled, Hermione knew from memory.
"Good morning père et maman"
Hermione glided over to her seat with a grace she knew she certainly did not possess in her alternate life, seating herself opposite Dorcas who was nearly bouncing in her own seat in excitement. "Maman! What time is Lady Potter expecting us? Can we play some quidditch today pleaseeee? I know James got a new broom for his birthday last month!"
Their mother looked regretful at this and said sadly, "Oh I'm sorry mes chéris, Lady Potter floo called earlier and said James came down with a cold. I am afraid you'll not be going to the Potters' today." Dorcas's sunny smile fell and she pouted, prodding her scrambled eggs around her plate listlessly.
"Oh? Then can we go to Paris with you, père et maman? I miss grand-mère Malfoy" Hermione found herself saying, finding that she did indeed long for the austere but loving grandmother who lived on the opposite side of the Channel.
Her mother chuckled at how close her daughters were to her own mother. "Not today, chéri." She smiled tightly for a minute and exchanged a look with her husband. "Lady Walburga Black has said she would be pleased to invite you girls over for a play date. The Blacks have two boys, the same ages as the both of you I think"
The girls looked on at their parents curiously, the edge in their mother's words having taken them by surprise. Despite being a Malfoy at birth, Amélie Meadowes was unfailingly polite and courteous to everyone who met her and to hear their mother speak like this was a little disconcerting.
Seeing his daughters' confusion, their father sighed deeply. "Girls, the Blacks, no doubt, are a distinguished family. Their House, like ours' trace back to the Sacred 28 but . . . our views on some issues such as blood purity do not align. And Walburga has been known to be rather . . . outspoken" he cleared his throat uncomfortably, "on the subject of this."
"So we would like you to listen to anything she says with a pinch of salt, understand?" their mother joined in, seriousness set in her face.
"Oui, maman" Hermione agreed softly, watching as her sister nodded solemnly in understanding.
:-***-:-***-:-***-:
"Have fun, mes chéris. And take care of your sister, Dorcas" their mother bade gently, fussing over their robes as she herded them to the fireplace. The sisters had been prodded by Amélie to dress up in a set of their nicer robes and they stood side by side. Dorcas, Hermione admired, looked like a perfect little pureblood princess in her pale yellow dress robes with a white ribbon tied to her straight hair. They encircled their mother in a hug and blew a kiss to their father who laughed and pretended to catch it and tuck it into his pocket.
Dancing over to the fireplace with a pinch of floo powder, Hermione laced her fingers with Dorcas as her sister winked at her.
"Grimmauld Place!"
A/N: I chose the Meadowes for Hermione's new life because the Dorcas Meadowes wasn't really explored in the books so I could take some liberties with the development of their personalities and family history. Now, their mother was a former Malfoy and the Malfoys trace their line back to France. Hence, I do sprinkle in some French here and there, courtesy of Google Translate of course, so if the French isn't very accurate, so let me know!
* Le petit déjeuner: Breakfast
* Père et maman: Father and mother
* Chéri: Darling
Next chapter, look forward to meeting the Black brothers! Reviews make me write faster;)