Title: Problems Aside, I Think I Taught You Well
Summary: During DH, Hermione and Ron accidentally time travel back to April, 1980; Hermione is determined they should find their way home without contaminating the timeline, but things don't exactly go to plan. Family's coming out of the woodwork, their memories might just be altering, and where in the world is Harry Potter?
Genres: Adventure, family, drama, friendship, general, suspense
Pairings: None planned right now, aside from what's already laid down in canon.
Warnings: Time travel, vague potential for slash sometime in the future, Doctor Who references
Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling ):
Word count: 1, 877
Notes: I'm mostly writing this fic to get a better grip on creating multi-chaptered stories, which is definitely not my forté. Any advice or input is appreciated (especially re: the pace of the plot!), ditto encouragement. I have some idea of where I want the plot to go, but a lot of it is in the air - so if anyone has any comments about things they'd like to see happen, or vice versa, feel free to let me know. Thanks x JJ
It was exactly the sort of eventuality Hermione should have prepared for. "How could I have been so stupid?" She muttered under her breath, wringing her hands together under the table as she frantically tried to recall an academic text that would give her the answer she so desperately needed. "Possibly Emilia Pinkstone's Theories of An Unraveling Universes... but that specifically says that a royal unicorn would need to be present and there are absolutely none of those found in Great Britain anymore. Maybe the timey-wimey conundrum as stated by John Smith in Time Steps...?"
Hermione bit down on her lip. Much as she hated to admit it, she just didn't know what had happened to the two of them, nor could she think of any similar occurrence outlined in any of the multiple texts on time travel she'd read cover to cover during her third year. "Oh, I wish I'd taken more books with us. I don't know what I was thinking, leaving behind The Ultimate Encyclopedia of Time. I just know it would have the answer in it."
She turned to Ron, face etched with angst, saw that he was stuffing another lemon custard tart into his mouth and promptly began to beat on him with frustrated fists. "Ronald - Donald - stop - eating." Her throat tightened at the unintended slip, but the other guests were busy tutting over their own feasts of sweets and didn't notice. Choosing Donald and Harmony as their fake names had been done for just such a reason.
"'Ermione!" Ron said in alarm, treating her to a less pleasant view of the mushed up contents of his mouth as he tried to duck out of her way without disturbing the platter of treats set before them both. "'Elax. We're not 'oper 'ood in ages."
An exasperated sort of stress took over Hermione's features. It was another insult to her cooking, but now was not the time to get offended. Time was precisely what they did not have on their side. "I can't relax! And you shouldn't be able to, either. You-Know-Who isn't going to wait around for us to have desserts when we should be hunting down Horcruxes. Harry must must be worried sick about us!" The thought of their best friend, all alone, sent another round of painful wringing action to Hermione's hands. She knew he could take care of himself without them, but, well, he hardly had the best track record for doing as such without seriously harming himself.
"He 'on't be, 'ough." Bits of lemon threatened to spittle across Hermione's face when Ron spoke. At least he recognized that, as he send her an almost guilty look before swallowing. "It's like in third year. You and Harry were gone for hours saving Sirius, but it only looked like 5 seconds to me."
It was a good point. Somewhat unusual for Ron she would normally have said, but Hermione couldn't deny that this past year he had grown quite a lot in cleverness and sense. Especially since returning from his solo months apart from her and Harry. "But we don't know if it's the same type of time travel." She fretted, picking up the perfectly white napkin on her lap and beginning to shred it into pieces. "Doctor's law states that how a person travels through time has an effect on what kind of footprints they-"
"Do you like Doctor Who too?" The bright interruption came from Mrs. Kershaw; a thin-boned woman with hair twice the size of her face, who ran the muggle B&B that Hermione had directed them to through thick, unpleasant weather. Even now, a heavy rain still pounded on the perfectly square windows of the dining room. She had managed to come back without Hermione's hearing, which was a bit worrying. But the older woman didn't seem to find anything too odd in what Hermione had said, as she set down in front of them a tea-set decorated with robins. "My grandsons just love that show."
Ron's face was scrunched up in such an expression of befuddlement that Hermione was forced to revisit the idea of letting him be in such close contact with muggles. But of course it was. It had to be. The wizardry community was much smaller than the muggle one, and wizards' memories lasted a long time. Better he be thought odd by muggles, than memorable by wizards. Still, Hermione slid the tea and scones closer to Ron in the hopes that he'd cover his mouth with crumbs instead of total confusion.
"It's one of my favorites. My dad and I used to watch it together." Hermione did her best to ignore the dark ache in her chest at the thought of her father, safe in 1997 Australia with no idea of her existence. She focused instead on the matter at hand, her mind ticking over with how to estimate the date without drawing attention to themselves. The newsagents all being closed meant a little creativity was necessary. "I can't remember the name of the man who plays him right now, you wouldn't happen to know, would you?"
Mrs. Kershaw tilted her head to one side at the question, clearly not a diehard fan of the show. But Hermione would have faith in the Doctor. It was a faith that paid off, as after some hmming and ahhing, the muggle said that though she wasn't sure of his name, she was certain it was still that bloke with the very long scarf.
"Tom Baker." Hermione said promptly, although not without a little disappointment. He was the longest lasting Doctor, which did only a little to narrow down the year they were in. The mid-70s, and no later than 1980. She bit her lip, wishing they had access to a newspaper. Did B&B's generally have magazine strewn around to be read, or was that just dentist's offices? She'd been out of the muggle world for so long, she'd forgotten how it was in her own time, let alone decades earlier.
Mrs. Kershaw's face lit up, her large hair seeming to bounce out even higher. "Yes, that sounds about right. Mr. Christopher, are you a fan of the Doctor, too?"
Even though the muggle had pointedly turned towards Ron for an answer, he went on buttering his scones. Hermione was forced to kick him under the table to get his attention. "Er," Ron said, finally seeming to remember that Christopher was meant to be his surname. In that moment he reminded Hermione so much of Harry that her heart ached, and her napkin got torn into sixtieths. "Yeah, we go to him all the time. He cuts us up. Keeps us healthy."
Ron looked pleased with himself, but now it was Mrs. Kershaw's turn to look puzzled. Hermione forced a laugh, a sound that came across too high-pitched to her own ears, like a noise one of her dorm-mates might make. "My husband is just making a not very funny joke. He doesn't watch much TV." The emphasis she placed on the last two words seemed as if they'd clued Ron in to what they were talking about, but maybe not. It was hard to tell when he was so intent on avoiding her eyes.
Being more familiar with the 1980s and attitudes to how a girl and a boy travelling together could look, Hermione had given their surname as Christopher. She'd intended them to be brother and sister, but to her embarrassment Mrs. Kershaw had taken them as a married couple. Ron had about passed out at the implication, but Hermione - though her face had tinged a coral pink - had the presence of mind to slip off the sapphire necklace her mum had given her for her 12th birthday and transfigure it into a pair of simple wedding rings.
Hermione twiddled with her own ring now, wondering what her parents would think of this fake arrangement. Probably, they'd be surprised that she wasn't pretending marriage with Harry. Due to how much she talked about him, and what they assumed was an unnecessary level of concern for him, they'd suspected she'd had a bit of a thing for Harry. Not that there was anything more to this than a way to skirt attention.
"You didn't have to kick me, Hermione." Ron said as soon as Mrs. Kershaw was out of earshot, off to answer a ringing phone. He slathered raspberry jam onto of his buttered scones. "I would've caught on."
"Harmony." Hermione hissed. She took the jam off him before he could add anymore to it, and got a mutinous look for her trouble.
"You'd think that you'd not even missed good food."
"Just because I'm not wolfing my food down like some kind of wild animal, Donald Christopher, doesn't mean I don't appreciate it." As if to prove that, she took a sliver of jam onto her knife and neatly put it on. "And I'll have you know that my cooking-"
"I'm sorry for the intrusion, but did I hear that your name is Hermione Christopher?"
Hermione fumbled with the knife. It fell onto the floor, splattering a slick trail of jam on her hands and the cherry-patterned tablecloth. She should lean down and pick it up, Hermione though in a daze, and did just that. It took longer than it should have. It was one of those rare times when her head felt full to the brim with clouds.
Ron was more on top of things than she was. "Er, no, it's Hermio- Harmony Christopher. Sounds similar though, eh?"
There was a woman's laugh, warm like non-sugar lemonade. "Oh, I must have misheard. It would've been such a peculiar coincidence."
"Not hardly!" The man sounded as if he might have a cold, although the pronounced way he spoke was not because of that. The man was 28. He had a square jaw and navy blue eyes. When he smiled, as he did now, it was clear that his front tooth was chipped. Hermione occupied herself trying to find something to wipe her hands on. Oh, why had she torn up her napkin? Her breathe felt a little fast. Hermione found a tissue in her left pocket, after searching it twice already. "You're a married woman now, remember."
"For now." The woman threatened ominously, and then ruined it with another, smaller laugh. She was 26, and had brown hair that was thick like Hermione's own, but teased artfully into the feathered do of Farah Fawcett. Her teeth were perfect. "I'm Helena, and this is my husband, Martin."
Ron looked somewhat baffled, and kept edging glances at Hermione for help. He hadn't, she knew, interacted with many muggles. She was somewhat at a loss for words herself. She managed a rather nervous looking smile at the couple, struck with the wish that she'd taken the chance to chec her teeth in the shine of the butter knife. "Harmony." Hermione said finally, coaching her voice into polite friendliness. When she lied, it was flawless, "And my husband, Don."
Hermione saw Helena smile, and subtly look at both their teeth. "It's just would have been such an odd thing. My maiden name's Christopher, you see, and our daughter's name is Hermione."