IMPORTANT WORK IN PROGRESS:
I'm currently rewriting this story chapter by chapter, not only improving my style, but also changing some points in the story. This means that:
1. Followers will need to reread the story not to get confused. Please review if you think it's an improvement or not!
2. New readers will find some errors in continuity. I'm aware of most of these errors, but please do inform me, maybe you'll see something I overlooked!
Now, enjoy the story :)
"Hello, Minister!" bellowed Percy, sending a neat jinx straight at Thicknesse, who dropped his wand and clawed at the front of his robes, apparently in awful discomfort. "Did I mention I'm resigning?"
"You're joking, Perce!" shouted Fred, as the Death Eater he was battling collapsed under the weight of three separate Stunning Spells. Thicknesse had fallen to the ground with tiny spikes erupting all over him; he seemed to be turning into some form of sea urchin. Fred looked at Percy with glee.
"You actually are joking, Perce… I don't think I've heard you joke since you were –"
The air exploded. An unfathomable force wacked Fred forward, but before he could even begin his fall a heavy piece off castle stone crushed his spine, black blobs hindered his sight, debris cut into his flesh and his ears filled with a sharp tone as his grin faded – then all stone and rubble flew aside, as arms yanked him up and held him closely.
Fred struggled but couldn't escape their strong grip. Panic stroke him; why couldn't he feel pain, was he dead? What was happening to him!? He caught glimpses of the hall he was standing in, but his vision was distorted by the dark matter swirling around him in incredible speed, too quick to get a real understanding of his surroundings. Actually, everything outside the little bubble around him and his assaulter was incomprehensible and out of his reach.
Fred wrestled with all his might to see the person's face, but in all his confusion couldn't get the upper hand. Only when he was roughly hauled to the side he managed to break loose, turning around just as the attacker was thrown out of the whirlwind. Fred staggered backwards, noticed the chaos slightly slowing down before he also crossed its power field and was launched through the hallway, skidding over the carpet until he was stopped by a grey, unimpaired wall.
He lay on his back, taking a few deep gasps, before a dreadful wave of nausea overcame him. He had to do his utter best to prevent throwing up in that right instant; as it wouldn't be the place nor the moment to do so. He attempted scrambling upright, ending up on all fours, his vision blackening once again. Someone had seen him, feet walking, people talking, arguing.
That moment, he couldn't hold back any longer and vomited violently on the richly decorated carpet. He was barely aware of the disgusted cries in front of him, too preoccupied with not fainting in his own puke.
"Excuse me!? No way, Moony, no way I'm going to touch him."
"Sorry, I'm with Padfoot on this one."
A frustrated grunt resounded through the hall. "Peter, come with me."
The approaching footsteps mixed with the pounding in his ears; two people pulled him up, shoulders supporting his armpits. He tried to stand but failed miserably, so only let out a weak groan of protest when they started to drag him away.
The sound of his own voice shocked him into silence. It simply didn't sound like him at all...
Fred didn't know when he'd blacked out, but he woke up in one of the soft, familiar beds of the Hospital Wing. He was confused for a moment, but it dawned on him he was probably injured. Or just ill. Or probably injured, as he had been so often, pranking, playing Quidditch or just goofing around. Or all of the above.
The flowery smell of the place made him smile instinctively; whatever it was, if he was with Madame Pomfrey, everything would soon be alright.
He jolted up, wide awake. No, everything was not alright. Voldemort's troops had invaded Hogwarts. Everyone's lives were at stake. He had been fighting with Percy, the world exploded…
He'd been hit, obviously. He'd been certain he'd die, but clearly someone had saved him in time.
Another alarming thought sprang in mind. Why was he here? The wounded were tended in the Great Hall, not the Hospital Wing. This place was supposed to be in ruins. And by any right it wasn't supposed to be this light, this peaceful...
Where was George?
"I see you've healed well, young man."
The sight of the old, bearded headmaster startled him tongue-tied. "You should thank the Messrs Lupin, Black, Potter and Pettigrew for finding you." Dumbledore spoke fondly, "They brought you here and warned me, you could've had less luck with who'd be the first person to pass by."
The words scarcely penetrated his mind. There he was, Dumbledore, standing a mere meter from his bed, in all his aged wisdom and sparkling glory. His bright blue eyes twinkled, his semi-circular glasses rested on his considerable nose. All joy and spirit of life, reminiscent of themselves, curious and attentive. He and George had always loved the Head Master, and how stricken they had been by his death. So how was Dumbledore here?
Nothing changed, but suddenly Dumbledore's gaze became unbarable and Fred felt the urge to cast his eyes down, studying the sheets out of the corner of his eyes. He shuddered. He had the oddest sensation of being watched through a looking glass, being scrutinized like a phenomena one couldn't quite figure out.
One thing he could count on: something was wrong. Something was critically wrong. Dumbledore was dead. Died a year ago, by Snape's hand, the bloody bat. Wasn't that something Dumbledore himself used to say, that no spell could reawaken the dead? That death was the end point, no turning back, terminal station, a no-go area even he and George wouldn't dare to tread?
And if Dumbledore somehow had escaped death, why wasn't he helping them in the battle? Aiding Ron, Harry and Hermione on the secret mission he'd sent them on? They could use his help, no doubt there. But the battle was gone, as if it had never been there in the first place. Something was terribly, horribly wrong. What had happened? What was happening? Where was he?
Where was George?
"Professor Dumbledore?" he asked wearily, wondering if any of this was real, or if he was still unconcious and dreaming everything up. He was again startled by the sound of his voice, but further ignored it as he needed to ask something. "Why are you here? Is this a dream?"
Dumbledore frowned slightly. "To my knowledge, all of this is real. What do you think?"
Fred stared at the bed cover with wide eyes, thinking hard. He felt the texture of the linnen at his fingertips. He was aware of every breath he took. It didn't feel like a dream, at least, not like any dream he'd ever had. Maybe this was what Harry experienced when he had one of those visions, or like that Legimency thing. But none of that explained how Dumbledore could suddenly appear at his bed. None of it made sense.
"If all this is real, then how are you here? Aren't you supposed to... you know..." Was it rude to tell the dead they were dead? Well, Dumbledore would surely survive it, metaphorically speaking, "...be dead?"
Someone snorted loudly across the room. "Of course he isn't dead! The whole world would be gossiping about it if Albus Dumbledore died! ... No offense, Headmaster."
"None taken."
Fred stared at the boy who had spoken, who looked like an exact replica of Harry, minus a few years. He was sitting on the bed opposite of his, beside another dark hairded boy around the same age. Two other boys sat in front of them, one of them small and slightly pudgy and one of them not in entirely good health. All of them seemed to be friends, and all of them seemed eerily familiar.
"Who are you?" the pudgy boy asked out of the blue. Apparently this was something that occured regularly, as the dark haired boy behind him laughed merrily and pushed him playfully in the back, while the other two just sighed and rolled their eyes.
Fred didn't feel the need to answer that question. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around Dumbledore's being there, and his head was too fuzzy to give his usual cheeky reply. This annoyed him - he almost never lost his wits, but when he did, the infamous Weasley temper tended to surface instead, and then only George could calm him down. Where was the git when he needed him?
"I could ask you the same, dimwit, I don't remember ever seeing you before." he retorted, before turning back to the Headmaster, "With all due respect, Headmaster, I just don't understand, how are you still alive? What am I doing in the Hospital Wing, anyway? Wasn't it destroyed? What happened? What day is it? Where's George?"
Dumbledore calmly began answering all his questions. "You're in the Hospital Wing because you fell unconsious, boy. You were found in a seventh floor corridor by these four gentlemen. I can't tell you what happened to you, but I can inform you it's the fifth of February 1971, and as for your other questions... I don't know who George is - but I'd love to meet him one day - the last time the Hospital Wing has been destroyed was in 1884 when a Welsh Red Dragon crashed into it, and as to why I'm still alive at age 90, I can't tell you for sure, but I like to believe it's because of my joy for life."
It took his complaining brain a moment to process this information, but then the last moments before everything went black rushed back to him. Almost dying, someone grabbing him, the swirling black - shaking his assaulter off and being thrown out. He looked at the foursome opposite him with a bit more interest. "You were the ones that found me there. You brought me here."
The boy with the long, dark hair wrinkled his nose distastefully. "Yeah, after you puked all over the floor. I think a thanks is in it's place."
"Oh, yeah. Thanks." he repeated dumbly.
"No thanks. The name is Sirius by the way, Sirius Black, and these are my friends James Potter, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew." Fred tried to hide his anstonishment as Sirius indicated his friends one by one, but wasn't sure how well he succeeded. Sirius. A young Sirius Black. Alive. And Harry's dad, alive as well and much younger than Harry currently was. Remus Lupin, who had been fighting at Hogwarts and Peter Pettigrew... He repressed a shudder. That dirty rat...
Suddenly another part of Dumbledore's answer flashed through his mind. The fifth of February 1971. Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Harry's dad... Yes, Dumbledore definitely said the fifth of February 1971. Which meant, if that was true...
Heck, it was entirely possible Harry's parents were at school now. And all those people, alive, suddenly younger...
"But now we've introduced ourselves, I think you should answer Peter's question. What is your name?"
It had all become blatantly clear to Fred. He'd, somehow, travelled back in time.
He then noticed Sirius was looking expectantly at him, as were his friends, and Dumbledore. They'd answered his questions, now he should answer theirs. Merlin's knickers, where to start?
"My name..." 1971, George and he weren't even born yet! "My name is..." Wasn't it a rule of time-travel to never reveal your identity? "...Fred Weasley." Oh, bugger. His family was large enough for them to still don't know who he was. "My parents never went to Hogwarts, and home schooled us in magic and such, but you see..." the First Wizarding War must be brewing outside... he could use that as an excuse, "some men came to our home, and asked something of our parents, they wouldn't tell us what. But they were afraid for our safety, and preformed some spell to send us off to Hogwarts, and well... here I am." He shrugged.
"I see." Dumbledore said gravely, as he sat back down. "If I may ask, were there more of you sent to Hogwarts?"
Fred swallowed an unexpected lump. More of him. He'd been talking in plural, and hadn't even noticed it. "Me and George." he answered, remembering he already had mentioned George, "Isn't he here?" Of course he wasn't there. He'd just time-traveled, and George was still... home. If home still existed somewhere. Bloody hell, what a mess.
Dumbledore shook his head regretfully. "I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley, but you are the only stranger who arrived at Hogwarts today."
Fred nodded, once again casting his eyes down. "Well, then I guess he'll arrive later." he mumbled, the irony once not able to lighten things up.
Dumbledore frowned. "Is everything quite alright, Mr. Weasley?"
Under the sheets, Fred clenched a fist. "I'm fine." he lied, having decided to give away as little as possible. Just one fact to many could turn events upside down, and the future would be destroyed, different. He cast a glance at the four boys on the opposite bed. Sirius, James, Peter Pettigrew... No, he couldn't tell the truth. If they only suspected the tragedy that was to come, they would change their plans that Halloween night and Voldemort would never try to kill Harry, only destroying himself. If they knew he came from the future, Voldemort might win the war even before him and George went to Hogwarts.
Harry's parents were going to die and it would be his fault...
"Well, if you're feeling well enough, I suggest Mr. Potter and his friends will leave so I can introduce you to Minerva, who, in turn, will introduce you to the other second year Gryffindors. If everything runs smoothly, you can start the curriculum tomorrow. So, Mr. Potter, Mr. Lupin, Mr. Pettigrew, Mr. Black, if you'll excuse us..."
As the others were already leaving, James opened his mouth in protest, only hesistant because it was the Headmaster he was about to talk back to. "Wait, he gets to be in Gryffindor just like that? Doesn't he need to get sorted?"
Dumbledore sent Fred a enigmatic smile, though somehow Fred felt it didn't quite reach his twinkling eyes. "In the past three hunderd years, there hasn't been one Weasley who wasn't male, wasn't red-headed, or wasn't sorted in Gryffindor. I have reasons to believe he would fit right in there."
Feeling the tone of dismissal in the Headmaster's voice, James followed his friends through the double wooden doors. Once they were alone, Dumbledore turned to Fred, "I would like to ask you a few more things in private before you join the others."
Fred attempted not to show his nervousness at the upcoming eye-to-eye-talk. "What is it, Headmaster?"
"What you just told us, wasn't the truth, now was it?"
Fred was shocked. Okay, he hadn't expected it to be easy to fool the Headmaster, but he was a pretty decent liar and his story was plausible, if out of the ordinary. How was he going to talk himself out of this one?
"I understand you have a need for secrecy, but I do need to know why you decided to lie to me. You see, I trust you, and I don't think you mean the school any harm, but as its safety is primarily my responsibility, I must be sure you are not an enemy in disguise."
"How did you know I lied?" Fred asked dumb-foundedly.
"I have methods to detect lying, and no one can enter Hogwarts through thin air, be it by Apparition, by Portkey, or by some obscure spell your parents could preform. It is just not possible. So my only conclusion can be you already were in Hogwarts before you came here." Dumbledore scrutinized Fred over his half-moon glasses, "You haven't travelled through space, so you must've travelled through time. From the nearby future, I guess, as you seem to have known me and I died not too long before you left. Am I correct?"
"Head on." Fred admitted.
Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking more his age than he ever had. "I hope you can explain me how this came to happen?"
Fred swallowed nervously. Time-travelling defied laws of the Misitry and magic, he and George knew that very well. They had once researched the topic for one of their items - even the use of registrated Time-Turners had hunderds of rules. Besides majorly messing up time and even his own birth, their was the legal issue: he could easily end up in Azkaban for this. And then there was the fact the spells used probably were very dark, nearing ink black. If Dumbledore ever thought he had spirited himself twenty-seven years in the past, he would be hunted down as the dark wizard he would've been, in this time frame, he would be considered even more of a threat than Voldemort. He only hoped Dumbledore would believe his story.
"I... was fighting, I can't tell you against who, as that might mess up the future, and I thought I was about to die. It went very fast, actually, I was about to die and then I wasn't, someone had grabbed me and hold onto me, I couldn't see who it was, and we were in this black kind of whirlwind. Maybe the person who'd grabbed me had cast the spell. I shook him off when he tried to pull me with him through the whirl, and a few moments later I fell out myself. I was launched through the corridor, felt really bad, and fainted shortly after."
Dumbledore looked at him gravely. "The Departement of Mysteries recently developed a device that can send a person a few hours back in time, experiments with any larger lapses thus far resulted in death for the traveller, and disturbances over the whole world. I don't know how you managed to get sent back longer than that with only a little sickness, but my most urgent advice is absolute cautioness. One ripple can destroy history as you know it. Which is why I'm glad you already seemed to be aware of that, Mr. Weasley, I am glad you lied to us and I won't pry into your secrets."
Fred exhaled in relieve at those last words. The last thing he needed now was a curious Dumbledore unfolding the future.
"But I must warn you, apart from highly dangerous, using experimental means of time-travel also is highly illegal. I trust you understand little of what happened to you, and I would hate to see a twelve-year-old in Azkaban, so I'll give you my protection, however, your teachers and fellow students might not be as tolerant, and the Ministry certainly is not. I want to ask you, would you not speak a word to anyone about this?"
"Not a word, Headmaster." Fred assured him. He already knew about the risks.
"Good. Then I would like to see you next Saturday in my office again. I want to help you with getting back to the future as soon as possible." Dumbledore smiled at him. "Can I count on your cooperation?"
"Of course, Headmaster." Fred replied, immensely grateful he wouldn't be alone in this. He vowed to himself to put his utmost best in getting back to the future again, before... before that future was destroyed, and his family was lost to him forever.
