LEAP

Summary: Hermione knew she was destined for something other than house-wifery and playing law. Instead, she was determined to fit the shattered pieces of her world back together even if it cost her everything she held dear. Time Travel.

1.

2001

Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably in her small heeled black shoes and knee-length pencil skirt. She clutched an armful of manila-enveloped files to her chest, as if to ward off some impending danger, fingers gripping so tightly her knuckles were almost white. Her hair was falling free of its sleeked back bun, and her whiskey eyes were alight with trepidation and excitement.

"I wish the Wizengamot would hurry up already..." she murmured impatiently to the black-robe clad man beside her. He was an unremarkable man, with a shock of white hair and large, full-moon spectacles that reflected the light from the lit torches along the gold-veined black marble walls.

He shrugged simply. "We have all the time in the world, Miss Granger. Take a breath." He turned to face her, the glass of his spectacles gleaming white so she could not see the color of his eyes. "Do you have everything?"

She nodded, patting the files at her chest. "All the data and the -"

A woman bustled into view, her plum robes swirling around her as she rounded the corner, effectively cutting Hermione off. "Miss Granger. Mister Presa," she said by way of greeting, all business. "The Wizengamot will see you now. This way."

Hermione breathed deeply as she strode through the double doors that lead into the cavernous courtroom and felt a chill seep into her bones; she was not on trial for any misdeed, but the reminder of her last visit to this particular room sent her mind reeling back, and she could almost see the vile pink mass of robes that Umbridge had worn sitting at the podium before her. Except, of course, Umbridge had long been imprisoned for her crimes against muggleborns, and a man with a ready smile and deep age-lines were in her place.

Presa stopped before the slightly raised dais in the center of the room, and Hermione set her large collection of papers before her on the table provided. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and took a steadying breath. "Minister Kingsley, esteemed Wizengamot."

"Miss Granger, lovely to see you," Kingsley beamed, his dark eyes smiling. Beside him, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley - both clad in their Auror robes along with four other men and a woman - shifted in their seats. "We have all been brought here today to hear of a proposal your department has deemed of Remarkable Importance. Please, when you are ready." He gestured down at her.

She cleared her throat. "As you are aware, I work for the Department of Mystery alongside the Unspeakables," she began. "Three years ago, I was assigned to the Time Room, where we have studied the idea of multiple timelines and the effects of time travel on the Wizarding Community..."

For the better part of an hour, she explained what her department had been examining, presenting the data accumulated and findings with the ease of any well-versed employee. The gathered Wizengamot and others listened with a half an ear, only a handful truly interested in what she had to say to them. When Presa jabbed her in the rib-cage rather forcefully, earning him a sharp glare from the lecturing woman, she trailed off, allowing her eyes to scan the room.

"In our quest to unlock the mysteries of Time, we have stumbled upon a truly remarkable device: a time turner more powerful than any other. From what we gather, we can send an object back...millennia. To the dawn of time itself, if we so chose." Eyes became wary and hard as they refocused on Hermione's face, apprehension beginning to fill the room like an overwhelming perfume. "And so, Minister, Wizengamot...Harry, it is with your permission and blessing we ask to send one of our own to a set date in history."

Kingsley coughed, leaning forward. "And when is that, Miss Granger?"

Hermione shot Presa a look of unease before squaring her shoulders and facing the gathered witches and wizards once more. "August 1981. The end of the first wizarding war."

Chaos erupted about the room, shouts and hisses echoing off the walls. Harry was gripping the banister with white knuckles, a look of consternation on his face. Ron merely looked down at her flabbergasted, his mouth hanging open like that of a fish, while the Aurors surrounding them jostled a bit and spoke in hushed whispers behind them. The female Auror shot her a look along the lines of disgust and awe, but Hermione refused to look away from Kingsley.

"We cannot allow it, Kingsley!" shouted one man.
"The war has passed! We won! Isn't that enough?" spat another.
"No good ever comes from meddling with time!"

Kingsley allowed the chaos to span several minutes before rapping his gavel for silence. When the noise had died down to a whisper, she peered down at the small witch before him with a scrutinous look. "And, pray tell Miss Granger, who are you wishing to send?"

"To what end?" added a woman with a tangle of auburn hair.

"Myself, Minister," Hermione answered back easily. Kingsley looked disapproving, but the curly haired witch raised her hands in a peaceful gesture. "I am the least experienced Unspeakable within my department, Kingsley, therefore the most expendable -"

"- this is a job for the wizened. Not a child scarcely out of her training brassiere!" someone scoffed.

"I beg to differ," Hermione cut in quietly. "If I am unsuccessful, then you still have several more than qualified wizards to continue the research into this particular brand of magic. Why waste an invaluable resource and possibly drain a fountain of endless knowledge, when you can send an untrained soldier in their stead?"

"You are hardly an untrained soldier, Miss Granger," Kingsley objection. "Nor are you cannon fodder."

"And what of the possibilities, Minister?" she continued, ignoring his protests. "I am one of the few who know the finer details of Voldemort's reign of terror, the timeline of his actions; his creations. His who's and what's and how's."

The wizard suddenly looked thrice his age, rubbing his temples in soothing gestures. "And what if you succeed?"

"Then I will have saved the lives of countless. I will have stopped the second war from happening."

Silence filled the room like a heavy cloak and Hermione scanned the crowd with a determined eye.

"If you were so meant to do this," someone intoned, "then shouldn't the war have never happened in the first place?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose, shaking her head. "Time is a...finicky thing. There is, of course, the chance that I did, indeed go back in time and alter things to play out just as they have. That certainly makes sense. But," she murmured. "there is also the chance that we are simply a part of a timeline that has not delved into an alternative past, yet."

"And what happens to the world now if you do, indeed, go back?" queried a man with a long black beard. "What happens to us?"

She smiled. "There is no singular answer, sir. The popular idea among my colleagues and myself is that this timeline will simply stop, and I will jump into a time where things are wholly different. You will still exist, just not here; but there."

A few murmurs could be heard from around her. "I don't like the sound of just...stopping," she could hear someone grumble.

"We have the chance to change...everything. To save lives. To stop a war," Hermione practically shouted. "Mothers would have their children back. Sons would get their fathers. Families could be whole again." She trailed off, her eyes gleaming in the torchlight. "You won't even know the difference."

There was the sound of shaking heads and shifting fabric, and Hermione stared pleadingly at Kingsley.

"Hermione isn't called the 'smartest witch of her age' for nothing, Kings," Harry finally spoke. All eyes fell to him. "If anyone has a shot at this, it's her."

She gave him a small, appreciative smile before addressing the gathered Wizengamot for a final time. "We owe it to them. All of them."

With a heavy sigh, Kingsley drew back. "All those in favor of allowing Miss Granger this task, raise your hand."

At first, only Kingsley raised his hand, then Harry, then a sporadic hand or two came up from the center of the gathered mass, and more and more began to rise. Ron did not move for the longest time, still staring hard at her, and her heart sank until he, finally, caved and raised his hand high. Little over half of the gathered wizards had raised their hands in favor, and Hermione felt her skin prickle with excitement as she began to gather her papers.

"Miss Granger," Kingsley boomed. "Your request has henceforth been granted." He paused. "Make us proud."

The curly haired witch bundled all of her paperwork together, tapping them against the desktop before tucking them under her arm and striding, determined, from the chamber. Her mind reeled with information and plans; things to do, things to pack, people to say goodbye to...

"Hermione!" came a familiar voice, and she turned around just as Harry, with Ron in tow, came bounding up to her. Ron looked slightly out of breath, but she couldn't tell if it was because of his being winded from following after Harry, or from emotion.

She stared at them for a long second before throwing her arms around, first one best friend, then the other. "Isn't this exciting?" she cried.

Harry shuffled his feet against the black marble floor, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his Auror robes. "Ah, yes," he murmured, brows furrowed. "But, Hermione..."

"Are you insane?" Ron cried, startling his two friends and the two or three stragglers that had not left the Wizengamot directly. Hermione flinched at his unexpected outburst and had the sense to mutter a soft muffliato. "I mean, come on, Hermione! You're just going to, what? Pop into the past, and say, 'hey, how ya doing? I'm Hermione Granger and I come from the future!'"

She shifted on the balls of her feet. "Don't be idiotic, Ronald," she chastised quietly. "I'm not popping off until late tonight. Plenty of time to get everything in order."

Harry eyed her with a disgruntled look as Ron glared at her, unyielding. "You were going to go regardless, weren't you?"

"I -"

"- don't bother, Hermione," he sighed, waving his hand between them. "We both know it. This was all a formality for your Department." He ran a hand through his hair, the ends sticking straight up. "Godric, what am I going to tell Gin?"

Hermione shrugged. "Nothing." She looked at them with tears in her eyes. "You...none of you...will even know who I am in a few hours, I wager."

Ron's mouth twisted into a snarl. "And that's supposed to make us feel better about this, Hermione?" His hands were clenched at his sides, and he looked murderous. "That we're suddenly supposed to just forget our best friend existed?" His cheeks were ruddy and his eyes bright with anger.

Harry, sensing the brewing trouble, stepped between the two of them and enveloped Hermione in a tight hug. "I know where this is going," he grumbled, pulling back to stare into Hermione's eyes. "Regardless of where or when you are, Hermione, don't ever, for a second, think that we will just forget you exist. And regardless of my...feelings...I won't cause a fuss. Just be safe." He kissed her cheek lovingly, drawing back and patting Ron on the shoulder as he passed, whispering something in his ear that had Ron clenching his teeth and cutting his eyes to his best friend, before he stepped from the muffliato bubble Hermione had encased them in.

Ron refused to look at her for a long minute, the silence stretching like a thick blanket. She gripped the fabric of her skirt in one hand, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. "Ron, I -"

"- how could you?" the red head cut her off, mumbling darkly. "How could you just...abandon us like this?"

"Ronald -"

"- No." he snapped. "You don't get to stand there and tell me everything will be okay, when you're planning on running off on your own to play some...some hero while you leave Harry and I to just...forget who you are."

Tears welled up once again in Hermione's eyes as she watched her best friend's face flit between anger and anguish, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Ron," she whispered, reaching to touch his cheek, but he pulled away just as her fingertips grazed the skin. "Ron, I need you to trust me. To believe in me." She reached out again; this time, he leaned into her gentle caress, his blue eyes sliding closed. "This isn't the end for you...for us."

"You don't know that," he whispered in a strained and tired voice. "The next time I'll see you, you'll be old enough to be my mother."

Her other hand came up to grasp his face firmly between her small palms, the paperwork hitting the ground with a small thud as loose leaf parchment slid from the confines of their manila folders. "Ronald, listen to me," she hissed. "This isn't the end for us. If I do this right, you'll meet a regular, black haired boy named Harry who wears glasses and plays quidditch in his spare time, and a bushy haired girl with buck teeth and a penchant for punching snarky Slytherins in the face, and we will be a regular trio of kids who wreak havoc in their spare time and skip classes and...and blow up potions. You'll spend summers with Harry, and Harry will come to the Burrow every Sunday with his parents for brunch, and it will be good. No war. No death. No pain." She smiled up at him as he watched her with a pensive smile. "And you'll ask that bushy haired know-it-all to Hogsmeade one day, and she'll give you everything you ever wanted...and it will be good, Ron."

Ron took a deep, steadying breath, exhaling loudly as he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers in an intimate manner. There was a bright flash, but Hermione didn't bother to care; the photo would be as history as this moment in a scant few hours. "I...I know you're going to go, even if I try and talk you out of it," his words were quiet and solemn. "But, Hermione, you have to know...be prepared...you can't - won't - save everyone."

Her eyes screwed up as she thought of the deaths that she would be unable to stop. Would it be James? Lily? Both? She knew it was a possibility, but knew she would do her damnedest to prevent the second war from ever happening. "I know, Ron," she whispered back. "But I have to try, regardless."

He pulled her in tightly, the strength of his arms holding her tightly against his chest as she clutched the cloth of his robes in her small hands. He bent his head into her curls and whispered, "just don't let it be you."

Then, with a press of his lips to her forehead, he pushed away from her and followed in Harry's footsteps. She watched him go with an ache of sadness in her heart; would things have been different if she hadn't been put on this path? She imagined, vividly, the two of them together, years from then, with two red headed children of their own, waving them off as they boarded the Hogwarts Express alongside the children of Harry and Ginny, Neville and Hannah, even Draco Malfoy and Astoria.

Bending, she regathered her papers, whispered finite, and made her way slowly to the Time Room in the Department of Mysteries.

She had a lot to do before she was ready to save the world.

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A/N: So here we go! Much kudos to my practically-Beta, InsertCleverPotterNameHere, who lets me, as usual, bounce ideas off of her. Of course, the fact that I'm supposed to be writing something wholly different is a totally different story. Oops. Leave a review and let me know what you think!

Much love, Em.