Fight or Flight
Prologue
He had been fifteen, at the time.
His fifth year at Hogwarts had so far been exactly the same as his last, filled with the same people, the same friends, the same rules, the same classes, and the same antagonism between himself and those he did not like. The only thing which had so far set apart his fifth year from the years previous was the subject matter which he was learning, and the shining, slightly scratched badge displayed on his robes with the carved, flourished letter P in the center.
Sebastian took his duties as one of the Slytherin Prefects relatively seriously, willing to uphold the rules among his classmates by setting punishments and taking points with general fairness from those around him, but he was somewhat lackadaisical in his general willingness to do the extra work. He watched his classmates with an air of suspicion which had been well-cultivated by his equally suspicious mother. As such, he was the first person to notice her.
She had nothing about her looks to recommend her. She was plain in every way; short, brown-haired, unassuming and kind looking. Her mud brown eyes were filled with worry and confusion and Sebastian very much wanted to know why.
The only real reason he had noticed her was because she was all alone in the hallway leading to the Slytherin Corridors, and he was prowling the hallway on his way from the dungeons to the lavoratory and happened to spot her walking stiffly towards the entrance to the dungeons. He tried to recognize her as he walked towards her, scanning his memory for any sign of her face, and found nothing. She was flouting the dress code, as well, wearing a plain black robe in a slightly different cut than his own over a style of jeans he had never seen before and a plain white tee-shirt.
"Hey," he called to her, remembering his duties. "What are you doing in the hallway during class? Have you got a note?"
She froze, having not noticed him coming, and turned very slowly to face him properly, stuffing something down her shirt as she did so. Sebastian saw the glint of a thin golden chain before it completely in her clothing and he wondered why she had felt it necessary to hide it. Normally, he didn't care so very much about students with restricted substances and joke products that had been banned by the caretaker. But something about her brushed his instincts the wrong way and he wanted to know what it was.
"What is your name?" he asked her when they were no longer far apart. As he drew near he caught a better look at her. Her eyes, while plain and brown, were clearly intelligent, and by the set of her chin, he guessed that she was not a person who would respond well to superior attitude. He forced down the pompousness of his upbringing and tempered his voice until it was softer and kinder. He watched her as she started to answer him, her eyes flickering over the Prefects badge on his chest as she did so, and then resting on his chest with an air of incalculable confusion.
"Hermione Granger," she said. Her voice was bossy and strident, but soft at its base, uncultured and confused.
"I've never heard of you," Sebastian said after a moment of thinking. "What year are you? And what house?"
"Third year," she said quietly, "Gryffindor."
She raked her eyes over his badge again. "Who are you?"
Sebastian startled. While his name wasn't as big or pompous as Malfoy, the Villeneauve name extended back a thousand years and commanded immense power, both in its native France and beyond. He was very well known among students and teachers alike both for academic achievement and his high rank in Slytherin, and for his fortune and his fathers name. "I'm Sebastian Villeneauve," he said, frowning.
Whatever he was expecting her to say, he never expected her to gasp and clap her hand over her mouth in shock. "Oh my god," she said through her fingers. "You're supposed to be dead!" Sebastian did not have time to dwell on this. She rapidly pressed her other hand to her abdomen and felt frantically for whatever was on the chain, and upon finding it, clenched her fingers around it tightly. "I have to go – I'm not supposed to be here... You're not supposed to be here!" And with that, she fled.
Sebastian was too confused now to let her just run away. He snarled and took off after her, his cloak flapping out behind him and between his legs, almost tripping him and slowing him down, but she had the same problem, and he, with his longer legs, caught up to her just before she reached the corner that turned into the dungeon corridor. He grabbed her arm and hauled her back, nearly sending both of them sprawling to the floor, and she fell back against his chest with a great 'ooomph' and cried out in fright. Sebastian turned her around in his arms and felt for the chain resting against the back of her neck with one hand while holding her still with the other. Upon finding it, he pulled the length of it from its place under her shirt and snatched the end as soon as it dangled over her collar. It was heavy in his hand, and he stilled as he realized what it was. And then he paled.
It was a time turner. A very well made, very advanced time turner.
"What year is it?" he demanded, his voice no longer under the pretense of kindness.
"W-what?" she stammered. Her eyes widened and flinched guiltily from his.
"I said: what year is it?!" She looked down at the heavy gold object in his hand and blinked.
"It's 1993." Sebastian felt the blood drain from his face.
"No it isn't," he said, so softly she nearly couldn't hear him. "It's 1975. May 12, 1975."
Her eyes widened even more. She pulled away from him when he let the time turner drop around her neck but he held on, remembering what she'd said.
"You said I'm dead," he whispered. She looked away. "When do I die?" He had to know. He squeezed his fingers around her arm until she was in pain. "How do I die?"
"I can't tell you."
"Tell me!"
"I can't! I've said too much already! I shouldn't be here!"
"TELL ME!" he bellowed. He was frantic now, trembling, his hands forcing bruises into her skin.
"You- you died in a raid..."
"A what?"
"A raid – Voldemort sent a group of his followers to kill a m-muggleborn family, and the Aurors came – there was a small battle, and you died."
"When?" He shook her.
"In September, 1980."
He didn't ask her how she knew. He didn't ask her how she knew so much about his history, or his future, as it were. All he cared about was that he had only five more years to live. Five years... so little!
"You say I joined the Death Eaters?" He had been thinking about it for a year now. He had two more years of schooling, and then he would be eligible, and so he had not yet made a decision. But, he realized, time was quite literally running out. She nodded silently.
"I must go." She pulled from his hands gently, extricating herself. He stood there dumbly, staring after her. Just before she disappeared into an alcove, he called out.
"Wait!" She stopped and turned, wearily. "Will I – Will I ever meet you again?"
She shook her head. "No."
And then she turned, and she was gone.