Disclaimer: I do no own Harry Potter. I will alert you if that ever changes.
A.N. In most of the "Harry-Potter-goes-back-in-time-to-change-what-happened" fics Harry Potter goes back in time after winning the war but losing too many people to make it seem like a victory. Not in this one. In this Harry Potter can't go back in time because he's been dead for almost 7 years. In this one the Order didn't win at such a high cost it wasn't a victory. In this one they lost and it's up to a seven year old werewolf to change that. Contains reference to suicide and later on rape and rather gory violence. Now please read, review, and enjoy.
"Star Light Star Bright
First star I see tonight
I wish I may I wish I might
Have the wish I wish tonight," a figure stood on top of a small tower, whispering the words with her face towards the heavens, searching the heavens for something, anything. "Yeah right," she scoffed suddenly, turning and walking down the trap door, which she closed with a definite thump.
Hermione sighed, releasing bubble which floated gently to the top of the tub. See this was easy, painless, just breathe in, breathe out, and watch the bubble pop. Dimly she registered that part of her pain was screaming for oxygen, but she brushed it aside. That was obviously the stupid part of her brain; oxygen would ruin everything right now. Just breathe in… Darkness crept at the edge of her vision and the dim sound of a door opening reached her ears through the water. Then-
"Anapneo.Ennervate. Aunt Hermione? Aunt Hermione, wake up."
The dark spots cleared and she was breathing in deep gulps of oxygen. A small figure hovered over her, wand drawn and with an anxious expression on her face.
"Oh it's you Allie dear." Hermione sighed, "And why would you be interrupting my bath?"
"Generally, Aunt Hermione, one takes one's robes off before bathing. Now yours are sopping wet and I forget how to dry them."
Hermione sighed again, "Never try to drown yourself, Allie dear, someone always comes in."
Allie gave a smile that didn't reach her dark eyes, "Hopefully," she said very quietly, as if speaking her dreams too loud would make them not come true, "Hopefully I won't have to kill myself. If our plan works-" Her voice caught in her throat. How long had it been since she really had hoped for something, anything? Had hope died with the dawn of this new millennium?
"Ah yes the plan. It is perfect. You will rewrite history. I can't be seen."
"That is why you're not going Auntie." Allie said with a voice that betrayed how often these sorts of talks had happened and made one rethink who was looking after whom.
"That's why I'm not going. You are going. Capture Pettigrew and everything's perfect. Just capture Pettigrew. Voldemort isn't resurrected. Harry can train and we win. Just need to finish the spell. It's my anniversary," Hermione stopped abruptly.
"I know Aunt Hermione," Allie whispered, "but right now the potion is almost done, we just need to add the dragon's claw, and I'm packed. I wish that I could've brought some more money but with Gringotts-"
"He's dead you know."
"Gringotts was a building Aunt Hermione. Remember, Voldemort destroyed it because the goblins had decided to stay neutral."
"Ron's dead," Hermione's eyes filled with tears as she stared at the wall, as if in a trance, "I can't feel him. In my mind. It's empty, half-gone. Where's my Ron?" She turned about franticly, searching for her lost love.
"He's dead! He's been dead for five years, remember? He died seven months after your wedding, while you were still joining your minds-"
"No! He's not dead! Not my Ron, oh my poor Ron," Hermione fell to the ground sobbing hysterically. Allie sighed as she watched her guardian and renewed her promise to never give someone so much of herself that she couldn't live without them. She couldn't remember much about her Uncle Ron, but she knew he and Aunt Hermione had decided to join each other completely at their wedding. That involved the melding of their minds, hearts and souls. It was unbreakable once made and would have forced them to follow each other in death, but it took a year to complete. After seven months Ron had been killed and Hermione had lost- not her life- but half her mind, heart, and soul. She was never the same again, half-mad, half-dead, and forever wishing she was completely dead. But she was now the only full grown witch or wizard in Britain- excepting the death eaters. Hopefully that was about to change.
Allie left the room after emptying the tub. She was rather used to Aunt Hermione's suicide attempts; they usually weren't well thought out but it never hurt to be cautious. Walking down the tower- they were currently living in an old, crumbling castle that was more ruin than anything else- she reviewed the check list of things to take with her to the past. Mummy and Daddy's rings and wands were both around her neck. The anointment for her left arm was with the other potions ingredients they had left here. There was a small vial of Felix Felicis she would take before attempting the spell. Judging by the amount of magical energy it would require they would only have one shot before the Death Eaters figured out where they were. Clothes, Mummy's books, Uncle Bill's books, and a few other important books were packed, along with a photo album. If they still had Moody's invisibility cloak she would have taken that but most of their magical objects had been lost over the years. Her few robes were packed, and most importantly Mooney was lying safely at the top of the first compartment in her trunk. It had been Moody's at one point but he'd relinquished his claim on it upon his death. Yes they were all set to go once Aunt Hermione got down.
A calm, collected Aunt Hermione entered about fifteen minutes later. It was one of her rare moments of sanity and Allie was determined not to let it slip. Downing the Felix she stepped, with Moody's old trunk, into the center of the room. A quill made from a phoenix feather was used to draw a circle of complex ruins around her. Allie nodded to her aunt and they began a chant in Latin, each of them forcing out as much magic as they could. Allie threw the last ingredients into the cauldron, which created a translucent, grey smoke that filled the circle. She held on tightly to the trunk as she heard her aunt give a cry. Allie watched numb as Hermione fell to the ground, dead. The spell had taken its sacrifice and was preparing to work its magic. The smoke condensed into the figure of an old man- Father Time.
"State your request," the voice echoed oddly.
Allie drew a deep breath. "Take me to December 19th, 1987." That was exactly 19 years ago and would put her in the same year as Harry.
The smoke-man opened his mouth and bellowed- or did he whisper- one syllable, "No."
Allie barely had time to contemplate what that meant as the circle condensed and she and her trunk vanished to who-knows-when.