Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.


Harry Potter and the Days of Future's Past.

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I. Prologue.

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Darkness.

Harry Potter woke to pitch black, to the creakings of a hard bed, and a throbbing head-which kept him awake in the middle of the night, leaning against the wood and staring at the witch who was lying next to him.

"Hermione?" he whispered, threading his hand in hers, and reluctantly, Hermione opened her hazel eyes and stared back at him. "Are you awake?"

Hermione leaned closer to him, until their foreheads were touching slightly. "Yes."

He pushed his glasses up his nose, met her eyes in one last second of silence before the storm arrived, before they came and destroyed everything, until there was nothing but ashes and a whisper of what once was.

"Are you ready?" he asked, and Hermione shifted slightly next to him, put her arms around her neck, and nodded once.

He stood up, and pulled her along with him, Hermione grimacing slightly as she stood to her feet.

She was still sore from the array of curses that had hit her yesterday, when she and Harry and Lupin had stood in the middle of London, fighting the army of wizards who smiled maliciously them.

They had gotten away in time, with Lupin badly hurt, and tears streaming down Hermione's face as she saw people she loved, people she knew, fall to the ground by her doing, even if they were firing curses at her also.

Their eyes were cold.

They changed disguises as usual, Harry's hair turning blond, and his eyes turning the color of the sky that twinkled above; Hermione's hair turning black, though her eyes still remained brown.

She took off his glasses and placed them on her bed, smoothed his hair back and gave him a watery smile.

"Are you sure about this, Hermione?"

"Yes," she said, although the Time Turner burned a hole in her pocket, and her hands were sweating.

Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time.

Could this work? she thought as Harry took a deep breath and they both apparated to Diagon Alley.

She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure.

But still, the little glimmer of hope was still brighter than the present that was unfolding in front of them, and as Hermione inhaled, they had no choice.

They had to go back.

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II. Memories.

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It had been four years since the Battle of Hogwarts since Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord, and still, he remembered.

It had been four years since he had seen Voldemort fall to the ground, and four years since he had realised that the game was never over, that it was only beginning.

It had been years since Harry realised that Voldemort was nothing but a pawn, and Albus Dumbledore was always behind the game silently watching it unfold.

Harry cursed himself silently under his breath, a murmur that lingered in the darkness of Diagon Alley, he should have known. He should have known.

We seize control for the greater good.

How could he have been so blind?

They had fought valiantly when he had first seized control and broken the International Law of Secrecy, took over the muggle world and the wizarding one, and darkness began to set in, the storm began to swirl.

They lost hope, and most of what was left of Dumbledore's Army-including Ron and Ginny- joined Albus Dumbledore in fighting for the greater good, killing muggles for pleasure.

They were the only ones who hid, Harry, Hermione, the Weasley twins, Molly and Arthur Weasley, Neville, Luna, Lupin and another handful of wizards and witches that had still stayed with them.

There had been hope the first few years, the flame of confidence and fury that still kept them alive, but then as they saw wizard after wizard fall into darkness, the hope had dimmed, and instead there had been shedded tears and half-hearted whispers, murmurs in the dark.

No hope, no light.

Nothing.

Someone had to go back, to change things, to convince eighteen year old Harry to open his eyes to see who the real enemy was, and try and stop everything from shattering into pieces.

Hermione had volunteered in the middle of the night at their hideaway, her lips pressed against his, and he shook his head, his head. His voice was cracked. "No, Hermione."

"It's the only way," she said, kissing his neck and peeling away layers of clothing.

And he had agreed, finally, shaking in her arms and holding on to her hand.

Hermione was going to go back, and everything would change, everything would be different.

But still, he a harrowing sense of danger and concern, that it would be dark and dangerous and difficult going back.

After all, terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time.

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III.

Diagon Alley.

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Hermione walked through the stores with Harry, until they met the abandoned building that was once Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

The twin's faces looked grave when they walked in, too pale, their brows furrowed and them unnaturally thin.

When had this happened? When had even Fred and George lost hope?

"Are you ready, Hermione?" George asked, as he handed her a piece of broken off chocolate, and ate the other half hungrily.

She nodded, even if she wasn't, and she didn't think she could be brave, not in a time like this, where there was nothing but desolation and fear and darkness.

She held the Time Turner in her hand, and she was about to turn it, when Harry appeared by her side and whispered in her ear, "I love you. Remember that, Hermione."

And she couldn't help the tears that were streaming down her cheeks, staining her face and making her fall backwards slightly.

"Be safe, Hermione. Come back alive."

She was crying now, of love and loss and shedded blood in both wars, of the glance that Harry gave her before the attack, of Tonks holding Lupin's hand just before she passed into darkness, of pain and ashes, of lost innocence.

Hermione glanced back at Harry again, her auburn eyes glistening, twisting the time turner to the exact date and time and place, closing her eyes.

And then she was gone.


A/n: Hope you like this!