A/N: A new story. This is replacing my other story Lapdog as my primary focus. Hope you all enjoy. Also, see profile for my standard Disclaimer please.
It was raining out.
Pouring actually was a better description. The woman drew her jacket closer together; trying to ward off the last of winter's chill as the umbrella swept away most of the rain from falling on her. In the light of a lone street lamp she looked through the gloom before making a left and heading forward with a determined pace.
Soon she stood outside a darkened storefront. She looked left and right before stepping forward. The sheet of glass shivered and wavered like a puddle of water before returning to its normal solid state. No one saw, no one would have noticed and none were the wiser.
Inside the woman dropped the umbrella to the side and gave it a vigorous shake, it slowly rippled into a simple oak cane with a small knotted top of blackened wood. Her hand gripped the knot and she slowly placed her weight onto the cane, allowing it to support her as she smoothly moved forward, only the slightest limp now noticeable.
She stopped at the front desk and removed the wide brimmed hat that had been sheltering her further from the torrent outside. A cascade of light brown locks fell down and brown eyes peered inquisitively at the receptionist. A few gray wisps floated gently whilst she waited for the receptionist to look up. When she finally did, she smiled and nodded.
"Two floors down, in his usual room at the end of the hall," she said with a polite and well-timed response. The brown haired woman's lips quirked slightly at the edges and she smoothly slipped into one of the waiting lifts. She pressed the appropriate button and reached up to hold the provided straps just as the lift jerked and with a swift dropping feeling, opened on the ward she was looking for.
As she stepped out she looked to the left and then quickly turned on her heel and brought her hand up to her face. The accident known as Gilderoy Lockhart was currently regaling nurses with a made up story of heroics and bravery in the October 31st food fight of 2080. She did not want to get caught up in yet another introduction to the man.
She moved quickly to the end of the hall and came upon the door. It wasn't just a door, but the door. Three full inches of mythril and wards and inscribed runes. The door cold hold back Fiendfyre if needed. It was a work of art and she stopped to admire the play of the runes lights as they shifted across the surface. It had been her idea to contact Ancelstierre and through them the Old Kingdom. With that contact, a Charter Mage had been sent to inscribe yet more protection upon the door, for inside lay one of their own, locked in battle with a sorcerer far more deadly than any could consider.
The woman placed her thumb upon her forehead and then placed it again upon a single symbol on the door. A triangle within a circle, it began to glow, resonating with the identical symbol upon the woman. After a brief moment, they both faded and a lock could be heard cycling open. She shivered as the rush of the Charter left her and she lost the feeling of knowing the world completely.
The door swung open and she slipped inside. The room was dimly lit, as always. A bed with a chest at its foot lay within. She shut the door and the locks cycled closed again. She locked the door from the inside with both a key and a word. The whole door glowed a solid white for a moment and then dulled once more.
The woman stepped up to the bedside and carefully interlaced her hands with the sleeping form in the bed. The fingers of the hand she grasped encompassed hers in warmth. She slowly stroked the man's hair and carefully swept the strands away from his face. His eyes flickered beneath their lids as if in a dream, but she knew it was nothing of the sort. On his forehead were two marks, one similar to hers, but instead it was a circle within a triangle and bisected, next to it a much more pale and easily missed scar of a lightning bolt persisted, years after it was first given.
"It's me again Harry, it's Hermione," the woman murmured as she stroked his forehead. She lowered herself to him and placed a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. She had never truly kissed him since he had fell into his current state.
She continued to whisper sweet nothings for a moment or two, taking care to fluff his pillow and adjust the sheets he had loosened in his shivering state. She checked under the blanket and noticed that the sword and bandoleer he had worn were still there; no one had been able to remove them from his possession.
After taking care of the small niceties, she stepped over to the chest and placed her thumb upon it once more. A locked clicked and the trunk lid popped up slightly. She divested herself of her jacket and umbrella, and placed them to the side. She slid the satchel on her hip to ride slightly behind her and then drew on a sword frog on the opposite side.
She reached in and with reverence drew forth a bandoleer upon which seven pouches were held, black lacquered handles poking out of the bottom. They ranged in size from the size of her pinky to the size of her forearm. She carefully unlatched the smallest, the largest and the second largest, but the bells remained in their pouches, awaiting her to draw them and ring them. She reached again into the chest and pulled out a sword of gleaming white metal which she carefully inspected before placing a thumb on its hilt. It flared briefly before dulling, and she slid it into the frog.
Finally she drew a small stick of wood and swept it around herself, before drawing a circle on the floor, the circle was made up of runes, both of the Charter and of Futhark around herself and Harry. She smiled grimly as the circle shimmered like a heat wave. She then drew the largest bell from its pouch, keeping a firm grip on the tongue of the bell, lest she start the ritual prematurely.
She reached up with her free hand and began to draw symbols in the air, they glowed like liquid silver in the dim light of the room. Soon there was a full block of symbols littering the room's air. She splayed her hands and then made a clenching motion and the symbols fell to the floor and began to weave themselves into the circle as well. She then carefully removed her hand from the bells tongue, raised it high and slowly dropped her arm.
"Astarael," she intoned lowly. The bell rang with a low monotone sound that drew on long after she had placed her hand within its mouth. She quickly placed it back within its pouch and drew the second largest bell whilst drawing the sword, with a small whisper of courage to herself and a last glance at Harry in his bed, she strode forward into death, leaving her body behind as it quickly became rimed in frost.
The world went dark, black overtook her vision. Slowly she felt a swirling tide rise up to her ankles; the water was warm and dark. She kept her eyes forward, following the flashes of light and snatches of sound towards the one bit of activity in the Ninth Precinct. She dared not look up lest she find out it was her time prematurely. She held Saraneth by the handle, letting the tongue roll around, but she took care not to let it sound just yet. The sword in her other hand glimmered in the starlight.
She slowly approached the light show and stared in awe at the power the two beings displayed. Caught in a web of molten gold, with phoenix song playing, two entities dueled across the single strand of the effects Priori Incatatum. Brother wands, matched in every way, were held by two ragged men.
One looked exactly the same as the Harry she had left, only two bells remained in their pouches and the sword lay broken in the water. He held his wand in one hand and Kibeth, the Walker, in the other. He was slowly ringing Kibeth in a rhythmic motion, the sound carrying far and wide through the Ninth Precinct. Hermione fought the compulsion to listen to its tone.
The other man in the duel however, fared far worse. He twitched with each ring, his snake like features shivering and contorting as he fought against the commanding sound. He struggled not only against the magic of Kibeth but the magic of the golden web. 85 years had led him to this end, and still he fought to re-enter the living world.
Hermione gazed at the two men with an experienced eye and knew that Harry had won a couple inches since the last time she had seen them. It was miniscule, but in the realm of Death and the Ninth Precinct, all it took was one small mistake and it was over. She watched as Harry slowly started to crouch, placing all his weight on his front foot as he crept his back foot forward. Soon it was placed a few inches ahead of his now back foot and with a mighty heave he shoved all his weight forward.
The effect was small but instantaneous. The whole web shifted an inch or two forward and Voldemort was forced back as well. He had to quickly adjust his footing to manage the small movement without falling victim to the tolling of Kibeth which Harry kept up even as he grunted from the exertion. Hermione smiled grimly, as long as Harry still fought, so would she.
But she wasn't here to fight, or to watch. She had a purpose, one she'd been building towards for a very long time. Over twenty years spent learning what was needed and another five perfecting the arts needed to construct and execute the ritual she was about to enact.
She carefully splashed her way over to Harry and stopped in front of him on the edge of his periphery, she could not enter his line of sight fully lest she break his concentration. She did however smile slightly as he nodded once, acknowledging that he knew she was there and he knew what she was going to do. He straightened up and glared harder at Voldemort, holding the web steady. He squared himself and then set his feet and held.
This was the moment they had been waiting for. She stuck the point of the sword into the silt that lay under the warm black waters of the Precinct and slowly drew a circle around her and Harry. She left a small gap open, exactly where the beginning of the Priori was spitting out of Harry's wand. She then turned and lifted her chin but kept her eyes forward. Her mouth opened and she tasted burnt metal and felt fire tear at her throat as she spoke the words of Free Magic that would aid them.
When the words settled in the air, she finally stopped speaking and a hacking cough erupted, something she had never managed to quell, unlike Harry.
She then reached up with the sword and began to draw out symbols of the Charter, identical to the ones she had drawn back in Life. The resonance from the Free Magic in the air created a tiny but important bridge through the dimensions to the circle in Life, connecting the two. She finished the block of Charter symbols and they fell into the same pattern on the floor of the riverbed, undulating and circling them.
She turned around and carefully placed the sword back within its frog and drew out her vine wood wand. She watched Voldemort glare at them in confusion as she meticulously drew out a set of Futhark runes, followed by a set of Keltoi runes, and finally a set of Charter symbols again. They also drifted down to join the ever changing mass on the river bed. She then turned to Harry and nodded once.
Harry took a deep breath, steeled himself and then, with an almighty jerk, ripped his wand upwards and Hermione threw a bolt of light at the opening of the circle, it enclosed the pair. She saw Voldemort shoot two bright orange spells that sizzled in the air, violently clashing with the circle she had drawn. She grabbed Harry's arm and with a cutting curse drew some blood from him. She did the same to herself and then dripped it at the four cardinal points.
Voldemort kept up the barrage on the circle, anger seeping in as his curses became more vicious and destructive in nature. Harry sheathed Kibeth and drew his only other bell, Saraneth. Together they began an alternating rhythm, tolling the Binder in a rapid pace as if ringing in a new year. Light began to gather in the mouths of the bells and shimmering energy poured off the runes in the circle. Hermione began a chant that Harry soon echoed.
Voldemort screamed in fury as the two ignored him. Soon he couldn't even look at them, the light was too blinding. As he watched, the light began to form a beam that moved with agonizing slowness towards the stars. As the beam crept upwards, he felt his eyes drawn to it, he couldn't look away.
Then, it happened. An ear shattering shriek rent the air, the first real sound to be heard in this Precinct besides bells in long time. He tried to tear his gaze away from the light but it was too late. His eyes met the stars, his face paled further and he felt his hand go dead, his wand falling into the river. His feet left the ground and as he gazed upwards, his body became opaque and soon he was lost in the black of the sky.
The beam of light began to turn, as if a tornado was forming in its center and suddenly, red and gold joined the white. An almighty boom sounded over the persistent shriek and suddenly the light disappeared, the sound died off and silence enveloped the Ninth Precinct once more. Nothing stirred, save the ebony wand of the Dark Lord Voldemort as it slowly caught fire, even under the water, it burned brightly and died quickly, not even ash was left behind.
Harry awoke.
Bright emerald eyes stared at a darkened canopy. Ears registered a loud snoring from the bed over and quiet murmurs from two floors down. He shifted and felt for the bedside table, his glasses lay upon it, and under his pillow with a handle protruding was his old holly wand. He felt himself and noticed the lack of a bandoleer over his chest or a sword at his side.
Slowly, Harry sat up, his body groaning in protest as he left the warm fuzzy sanctuary of the blankets. He moved swiftly to the water closet and turned on the shower as hot as he could stand. Stripping down, he gingerly stepped in and slowly turned, reveling in the warmth. It had been a very long time since he had felt this close to life. He needed this.
As he harry slowly turned under the gentle spray of warm water, he thought back on the dream he had been having. It was terrifying to think of, dueling the Dark Lord in a different realm. He had looked so old and worn. He looked at his own hands to see the clear smooth skin of a newly turned 15 year old. There were no calluses for the bells or the sword, there were no lines or spots from age. It was a dream, that's all it was.
He stepped out of the shower and checked himself in the mirror, noting the absence of the strange mark on his forehead. He touched and prodded his face, noting the missing age lines and smoothness of the skin where it wasn't covered by barely noticeable stubble. His lips quirked slightly as he realized he'd have to start shaving again. It had been a long time since a razor had touched his cheeks. Nothing ages in Death,
He shook his head, trying to clear the dream from his mind. He didn't know where that thought had come from but it disappeared as he tried to grasp it. He wrapped a towel around his waist and padded back to the bed room.
Once inside he opened the trunk at the foot of his bed and pulled out some old worn jeans and a Weasley Jumper. He crept silently out of the room and down to the kitchen. He bustled around; preparing what was needed to make a cup of tea, the first real cup in a long time.
He rubbed his eyes until spots appeared, trying to rid his mind of the sudden thoughts once more. The kettle began its low wind up to the piercing whistle when he pulled it off the fire and poured the water into a mug he had found and meticulously cleaned of cobwebs and spider eggs. He dropped the small metal tea infuser into the mug and let the wonderful scent fill his mind instead.
A small thump alerted Harry to her presence before she actually slipped into the kitchen. He watched her for a moment, observing the small movements she made that had not been easily noticed before. Her hand kept moving to her hip unconsciously, as if grasping for something. Confusion was slowly setting in.
"Hello Hermione," he murmured. She didn't jump or gasp, she froze, a habit that could only be born from one who had trained to hide themselves quickly and efficiently. He mulled over the thought even as it slipped away. How had he known that?
Hermione slowly turned until she faced Harry fully, the gleaming moonlight fell across her face and he gasped quietly. She was beautiful, more so than he had ever thought before. Her gaze pierced him through, analyzing him in a way he had never felt before. Then the brief moment was over, her eyes softened and she became herself again, soft and inquisitive.
"Hey, couldn't sleep either?" Harry mutely shook his head. She sighed and moved to the kettle.
"Anything left in here," she asked even as she poured the remainder into another mug Harry had also cleaned. He remained quiet as he removed his tea leaves. She promptly picked up the infuser and dropped it into her own water. He smiled, it was the same as always.
But it wasn't, and that bothered him. He could tell she noticed because she jerked to a stop right after she let go of the infuser's small chain. It clinked into the side of the mug rather loudly in the gloom and quiet of the house. He snorted lightly and he could hear a small giggle. He had no idea what they both found humorous.
"What'd you dream about," he asked her quietly.
"I don't remember much, just a lot of visits to St. Mungo's, seeing friends badly hurt. Some graveyard visits as well. I have a feeling that this war is going to be horrific if we don't do something soon," she said quietly. Harry could tell there was more, but he didn't press it at the moment. He just let it sink in as he quietly sipped his tea, letting the warmth infuse him further, warding off whatever chill he had imagined up in his dreams.
"I dreamt of Death. I dreamed that I was locked in an unending battle with Voldemort, somewhere dark and cold. I never want to see it again," he whispered back. It was only fair she know what he dreamt as well. She looked at him with curious eyes and agape mouth. It snapped shut as she stood up and with a murmured 'wait here' she disappeared into the gloom. Harry was confused and made to follow her but he found himself waiting, trusting her to be back shortly.
She returned and placed a small bundle wrapped in fabric on the table. Harry looked at her with a question on his tongue, but it died in her throat as she opened the bundle. Inside lay a bandoleer he had thought was a dream. She pulled it up and laid it on the table.
"I don't think it was a dream Harry," she murmured. Harry was too shocked to move. He could feel the silent urging to take up the bandoleer and place it upon himself. He resisted it and noticed his hand had begun moving of its own accord. He snapped it back and glanced at Hermione who was doing her level best to ignore it.
"It was real," he whispered? He tried to grab a hold of the memories, to force them to the surface. Slowly, as if sluggish from sleep, a single memory came. It was a name, Astarael.
"The Weeper," Hermione said. He had said it out loud without noticing.
"It wasn't a dream. It was real. We're here Harry, it worked. We're back."
"Back from what," a voice asked at the kitchen door. Harry spun to see the last person he thought he'd ever see. He gave a choked sound.
"Sirius?"
The memories rushed back in a torrent of vivid emotions and terrifying clarity; finding the bells in the Come and Go room within Hogwarts, learning of the Charter Mages, gaining his own mark, becoming a traveler within the Precincts of Death. Sirius falling. Everything, he remember everything.
Then it was all gone in a flash, he couldn't remember why he had felt such an upwelling of emotion at the sight of his Godfather, whose house he was in. Of course he would see him, so why did it feel like the first time in a long time. Harry stumbled and grasped a chair for support as the memories rushed back again.
He gripped them this time, and tightly shut them within a small part of his mind, unaware that he was utilizing skills he had never heard of before. Slowly the deluge faded and he was left with two sets of memories. His future self and his present self.
He turned to Hermione, who could only nod as she noticed the new awareness within him. Sirius stared at him in puzzlement. Harry had to think quickly to hide his predicament for the time being, the less who knew the better, especially since he had broken the law big time.
"Sorry, you just gave me a fright," Harry hastily explained. Sirius peered around in the dark for a moment and then smiled.
"Yeah, happens to everyone in this grim old house," he said, waggling his eyebrows. Harry smiled for the first time in what felt like a hundred years, a true smile, born of good old fashioned real humor. He chucked a stale roll from the table at his Godfather and sat back down, noticing that the bells and Hermione had brought down were conspicuously absent. They would have a talk later he was sure.
"So what are you two doing up so late in my dear mother's humble abode? Well mine now I suppose, though Merlin knows I never wanted it," Sirius muttered the last part more to himself. Harry cast a quick glance at Hermione who shook her head minutely.
"Having trouble sleeping, Hermione's worried about the upcoming year because of the OWLs and I'm just not sleeping much lately," Harry responded.
"No dreams, nightmares, things of that sort? I'm sorry to ask but Dumbledore won't stop hounding me. I told him I'd ask for forms sake but I don't expect an answer if you don't want to tell me Harry. Just remember you can tell me anything and if you tell me to, I won't say a word," Sirius told Harry with an honesty that Harry felt endearing. It was almost enough to brush away the sting of Dumbledore not asking him directly.
"No Sirius, nothing like that. Just a bit of trouble sleeping is all. New environments and such," I said. He peered at Harry for a good moment, scrutinizing him.
"Alright Harry, just keep in mind what I said. Same for you Hermione, any friend of Harry's is good enough for me. Especially one that risks what you did. Time travel and all," he said with a small smile before leaving the kitchen. Either he didn't notice or failed to mention the two teens going white as paper at his time travel comment. They listened for a full five minutes before daring to breath out loud again.
"That was too close for comfort," Harry murmured to her. She nodded as she cautiously drew out the bandoleer again, wary of making too much noise with it. Harry leaned forward and drew the bandoleer to him. He felt his magic stirring as he touched the ebony black handles. They were slightly cool to the touch but smooth and well-worn. He knew they had been handed down for generations and he remembered the first time he had laid hands on them.
"Harry, we have to tell someone," Hermione said. Harry didn't look up as he checked each bell with practiced precision. There were no cracks, chips or dents. They were in perfect working order.
"Well, who would we tell 'Mione?"
"I hated that nickname last time. You do know that right," she huffed. Harry's smirk was all the answer she got, "what about Dumbledore?"
"Not him, not yet, if he's unwilling to sit down and talk to me like a human being with emotions and questions then he doesn't get answers. Eventually he will work it out, but in the meantime we're on our own. Unless you have another in mind," Harry said quietly. Hermione looked slightly put out, she still idolized Dumbledore a bit, or it was her past self's emotions interfering.
"Not Ron, he'd never understand. I mean could you imagine telling him?" Harry snorted in amusement.
"Yeah, I hear it now, 'Hey Ron, Hermione and I wanted to let you know we're actually time travelers who came back ninety years and now we're going to go save the day. You can stay here.'" Hermione smiled at that and was about to say something when the sound of a cup smashing on the floor alerted the pair to another in the room.
Harry's head whipped around, wand in hand and a spell on his lips that died as he met the gaze of the only other close male figure in his life.
"Care to run that by me again Harry? It sounded like you said you and Hermione time travelled ninety years?" Remus' voice reached a pitch neither of them knew he could reach.
"Shit, Moony, you weren't supposed to hear that," Harry said with a grimace. He didn't even try to deny it; the werewolf had superb hearing and was sharper than most people. Hermione gave Harry a pleading glance but Harry ignored it. Remus knew and he was on their side, it couldn't be that bad.
"Uh, yeah Moony, can you keep this quiet?" Remus was too busy staring at Harry with eyes as wide as saucers. Harry carefully stood and moved to Remus, he waved a hand in front of his face. Remus was still in shock.
"Harry, so help me if you make a 'broke Remus' joke I won't talk to you for a month," Hermione warned. Harry smirked slightly. He felt comfortable with this, the new memories and personality felt more and more at home than his old one. The memories of his old self were slowly locking themselves away, he could feel it. Just as he could feel the dark brooding presence once more, of Voldemort's shade within him. He turned from Remus and motioned Hermione over.
The two carefully lowered the stunned man into the nearest chair and proceeded to make a cup of tea for him as well. He slowly inched towards the cup, his eyes gradually shrinking. As the man regained the use of his faculties, he raised the shaking mug to his lips and cautiously sipped.
"So," he began rather lamely.
"So," Harry responded with a small grin.
"Well, um, what can I say? Will you tell me anything," he asked first. Harry and Hermione looked at each other for a quiet moment. Remus gaped again. When the two turned back, they nodded as one.
"That's scary," Remus murmured. Harry cocked his head slightly in question.
"That was just like what your mother and father used to do." Hermione gasped lightly. Harry just smiled sadly.
"Yeah, we know Remus, you've said that before," he murmured.
"What, I did? When?"
"At our wedding."
Harry and Hermione stared at Remus as he slowly came back to Earth again. He gripped the mug of tea so hard, his knuckles started to turn white. His breathing slowed and he slumped a bit.
"You traveled back in time, unregulated. That's," he stopped and gulped, "that's illegal. That's hugely illegal." He swallowed some tea.
"How far back did you travel?"
"About ninety-ish years, give or take," Hermione answered. Harry just nodded; she had done all the calculations and research. He had simply provided the power. Remus' jaw dropped once more.
"This is so bad. We are so dead. Do you realize that most people who go back a few days are regulated? What you did, it's. Well quite frankly it's unprecedented, and foolish as hell" Remus mumbled into his mug. Harry and Hermione smiled at each other again.
"Not necessarily Remus," Harry started.
"Who knows what we've done Remus?" Hermione finished. Remus glanced back and forth between them.
"Ok, that was weird, please don't do that again. And I suppose just the three of us," he finally said.
"And of the three of us, who's going to tell the Ministry about what happened?" Harry continued. Remus pondered the question before slowly nodding.
"Ok, we're not dead. Yet. Now that you're here though, what are you going to do?"
"We took over two years to find and destroy items of importance to Voldemort," Remus flinched slightly at the name and Hermione sighed exasperatedly, "this time we're going to do it in a month."
"Yeah, and no chasing him through Death either," Harry whispered, but the other two caught it. Hermione slowly shifted around the table and gathered Harry into a hug. A moment of silence lingered awkwardly as she comforted him.
"Not to sound insensitive but what does that mean?" Remus looked hesitant to ask, but curiosity gnawed at him. The pair slowly drifted apart again as Harry reached forward to the bandoleer.
"It means exactly what it sounds like Moony, these bells along with two special types of magic, called Charter and Free magic, help one who is christened Abhorsen to travel through the physical realms of the dead and lay to rest those who need it," Harry clutched the bandoleer like it was a lifeline.
"Those who die in our world are sent to one of the precincts based on how much baggage they have left. Ghosts are said to hover inbetween the First Precinct and life which is why even regular wizards can see them. Inferi though, are the souls and bodies of those who have passed all the way to the eight precinct and are brought back with no mental faculties, that is why it is such a perversion to raise them," Harry quietly explained. Remus shuddered at the thought of Inferi.
"There's a tome in the Black study, called the Old Kingdom. If you really want to know more, I suggest consulting it for a start," Hermione explained as she guided Harry up, "We're going to a safe place for now. If Dumbledore asks, just tell him the truth about everything. If you want to that is, just know that I and especially Harry, have taken you into our trust. Should you break it, well, I'll let Harry be responsible for whatever happens." Hermione said the last part over her shoulder, the room darkened a bit and a slight breeze blew through.
Remus could only nod as he watched their retreating backs, uncaring if they could see it or not. As soon as the door closed behind them he trotted off to the study, his thoughts swirling in the night.
"What the hell is an Abhorsen," he could be heard muttering to himself.