Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter- the books, the movies, or the characters.
Summary: A look into her future sparks a desperation in Hermione to change it. With the uneasy assistance of Dumbledore, she is sent back to 1944 for a chance to do just that. But dealing with Tom Riddle will prove to be more of a challenge than she would prefer.
Chapter 1: A Most Unsettling FutureA scream.
It was the only sound she heard- no wind, no creaking, no footsteps, no breathing. Just a single, twisted, tormented scream. In fact, her hearing was the only sense that seemed to be working. Either it was pitch black around her and she was floating or she just couldn't feel or see a thing. The hairs on the back of her neck stood, her knees grew weak, and the palpitations of her heart drummed loudly in her ears. This scream... It was so familiar. Her brain was working miles per minute trying to match that voice with its rightful face. She must have known it well for her stomach to clench and twist and threaten to force its contents back out into the open.
Suddenly, it was as if she were on an invisible train. Her body shot forward through the cold, stone inlaid hallway. Her head jerked back and she needed to clench her jaw to keep some composure. She watched as the hall became somewhat brighter, taking in the rocks that covered the floor of the hall, the rubble that sat high in dim corners, and the holes as deep as three feet that generously lined the walls. The place looked so familiar, and yet, so foreign to her.
The scream again. This time louder. Closer. More pleading?
Her heart beat heavily against her chest. She was sure it had grown three times its size, for it was restricting her air flow. With every weighted beat, it pounded against her lungs, making it harder to inhale; making her dizzy.
Who was it?
The better question was, did she even want to know?
Again the sensation of being sped through the building overcame her. Clearly she was going to get closer to whatever was causing her extreme discomfort whether she liked it or not. Her feet hadn't touched the ground once. Was this a dream?
She was reaching the end of the dark corridor. There was a light, however faint it was. She was moving faster, the walls and stones and darkness all one big blur around her.
And then she stopped. She saw it. Him. Them.
Her eyes grew wide, her breath came quickly, her throat was dry. Try as she might, she couldn't even shake her head.
Harry stood in the center right of the Great Hall. Around him were boulders and bodies- some she recognized as acquaintances, others she might have seen in passing. The house tables had been long forgotten, most of them a pile of wooden mess discarded in every direction, destroyed as though they were a house of cards. Harry clutched his side while blood flowed freely, lacing patterns around his fingers. The other hand held his wand and aimed it at a looming figure in the corner. With all of her efforts, she still could not turn her head to see who it was. She ground her teeth together in fear and frustration, and, for a moment, forgot to breathe.
She jerked as her body was thrown towards another figure.
She was standing, or perhaps not standing, less than six feet from Neville.
They were his screams. Neville's.
Bellatrix Lestrange cast the Cruciatus again. She watched as his body twisted back for Merlin knew which time that night. Neville's head rolled back as his eyes bulged and his cheeks took on a nasty shade of purple. He clenched his jaw, then released another blood-curdling scream. His fists were balled as his entire body stiffened impossibly. Then, before she could look away-as if she even could if she had wanted to- she watched him relax for a split second until the curse snapped his body backwards. She heard his spine fracture. This small, fragile sound was almost drowned out by his deafening howl as his fingers uselessly tried to dig into the concrete beneath him.
Nausea overcame her. She felt her stomach boiling with poisonous heat. No, no, no, no...
But she couldn't speak. She couldn't move, cry, look away, and she certainly couldn't help.
Her body jolted backwards again, stopping at a new scene.
Ginny lay crumpled underneath a large pile of rubble. Her lower body was completely covered as she lay in a pool of her own blood. Her fingers twitched. Her eyes stared straight ahead at Harry. She struggled to breathe, struggled to cough up the blood that was quickly filling up her lungs, but never once looked away from Harry.
It happened again, the rushed sensation. This time it was to Hannah Abbott, who was lying on the cold ground, lifeless eyes looking up. Her abdomen and left thigh were completely torn open. Entrails and blood surrounded her.
Then to Tonks. It all happened so fast, she barely had time to register it all. Tonks cast a spell. A shield blocked it and sent it back. She blocked it. She sent another spell; a curse. Behind her, a death eater cast the most unforgivable of the Unforgivables. Someone shouted "Nymphadora" with so much love, desperation, and fear, and Tonks fell to the ground before the last syllable was spoken.
Her body lurched towards the voice that shouted Tonks' name. She stood no more than a foot away from Remus Lupin. Lupin watched her fall with wide, disbelieving eyes. He stumbled forward as though to catch her, but he was yards away. A mixture of blood and saliva dripped from the side of his mouth as his face distorted into such agony. This was the first time she had seen him cry. A clicking sound left his lips, one she was sure was an attempt at speaking. And then he lunged towards the death eater, screaming curses and spells. The lights from his wand made the room shine for only a moment before another death eater appeared behind him and snapped his neck like it was nothing.
She was moving quickly again. This time it was to Luna Lovegood, hunched over another body in her lap, sobbing heavily. Blood stained a section of her long hair and her jacket was torn in multiple places. She was even missing a sleeve. But that was no twhat was so unsettling. In Luna's lap was a motionless Ron.
All of the breath left her in an instant and she was sure she was going to faint. But whatever it was that prevented her from moving was also preventing her from missing a single second of this torture.
Ron.
Dead.
Once again she was thrown forward, but this time it was different. Everything was a blur and, though the pressure on her body was immense, she seemed to be moving in slow motion. Finally, she stopped.
Hermione could't even gasp as she stopped an inch away from his face. The pale, ghastly features of the darkest wizard of her time stared right past her, as though she was a ghost. She no longer recognized her surroundings. The only things she registered was Lord Voldemort's alarming scowl mere centimeters from her face. In an instant, the pressure dissolved and she let out a breath she hadn't known she had been holding. Her body fell to the ground in front of him and she broke into heaving sobs. Her chest was twisting uncomfortably, her hands were shaking without cease, and her voice sounded as broken as her heart felt. She could hear her echoed cries pound against her eardrums, almost making her sick. In a fit of hysterics, she was suddenly lifted from the ground at an inhuman speed, barely catching her breath.
Hermione's eyes snapped open. She blinked, wide-eyed and red faced as she looked shakily around the room at the confused and concerned eyes of her classmates. Half of them half-stood, while most of them leaned forward in their desks. Her eyes searched for no one in particular, just answers to the monumental confusion she felt. She didn't know what had happened or where she was. And then, as she locked eyes with a very familiar dark-haired boy in the front row of her Divination classroom, she felt her cheeks redden, her lip quiver, and her eyes gush with tears. Hermione fell to the ground and covered her face. There wasn't a sliver a shame in her as the emotions came rushing out in loud, heartfelt, hopeless sobs.
"Hermione!" Ron jumped from his seat. He threw an arm around her shoulder as his other hand lightly gripped one of the wrists the covered her face. "Hermione, what is it? Hermione!"
Harry quickly joined Ron in the front of the class, as did numerous other students, and looked up at Professor Trelawney, searching her eyes for answers, but the only answer he got was pure bewilderment on her part.
"W-well, I suppose... I suppose that con-concludes our lesson for the..." She cleared her throat. "...for the day. Class is... dismissed." Trelawney readjusted her glasses slowly, never letting her gaze stray from the crying girl in front of the crystal ball.
What had she seen?
The lesson for the day was supposed to be about seeing glimpses of one's future. Only small ones, naturally. Trelawney had recently done it herself and she had seen the future her in McGonagall's office returning a shawl. It was a very simple lesson with only small, near futures to gaze into.
But... what about Hermione's future? She had looked into the ball with a raised eyebrows and skepticism plastered on her face. Then, in an instant, a blank expression wiped away her doubt and she stared into the orb for no longer than eight seconds. What could she have possibly seen that scared her so?
Chapter one; complete! This will be a Tom-Hermione story, I swear. I just needed to set it all up before throwing her in the 1940s, you know? Anyway, I know it isn't much at the moment, and possibly not even worth a review, but it would still be appreciated if some kind reader could send some constructive criticism my way.
Thanks for reading! :)
