Author's Note 1: I own nothing. Enjoy the story. Time Travel fix-it that will do its best to avoid bashing.
December 3rd, 2001
Everything was ash.
Ginny limped into what remained of the Burrow, and dug into the liquor cabinet, favoring her right leg. Bottle in hand she sank to the ground.
Ginny wiped her brow, clenched her teeth, and poured the whiskey onto the gash in her leg. With a hiss, she reached a trembling hand into the cabinet for a clean cloth to wrap the wound. Her wand was lost to her, using magic potent enough to heal a wound would require she find a new one. Until then, she would be stuck with improvised means of healing.
With the bandage tied, Ginny slumped against the cabinet. Most of the kitchen was in ruins. Most of the house was in ruins. Come to think of it, nearly everything everywhere was in ruins. Her family was dead, all of them, including her not quite husband Harry Potter.
Harry had been killed nearly four years previously at the pitched battle on the grounds of Hogwarts, where victory had been snatched from them. Voldemort had taken over magical Britain, and his genocide now swept across Europe.
Still, those who opposed Voldemort fought on.
Every time they had moved against Voldemort, they had been met with overwhelming resistance, and the Order of the Phoenix had been systematically eliminated, until only a handful of resistance fighters remained.
They had believed it to be the work of a spy, Harry believed it to be Snape, but Severus Snape had also been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. Ginny believed the spy to be one of their contacts, perhaps Mundungus Fletcher, but he, too, had been killed. Ginny never had figured out who it was that leaked each and every one of their plans to Voldemort. Even after the deaths of their suspects, their raids continued to be found out and countered.
Today had been a last ditch effort to maybe win, to rise from the ashes of defeat, but the prophecy held true. Without Harry it was like they never had a chance against Voldemort.
Hermione and her brother Percy were now dead in the burned out ruin of Big Ben. Ginny had escaped, had apparated to the ruins of the Burrow, where she now sat, alone, with her brother's wand (that barely worked for her), and a broken leg.
Even with the element of surprise, and their most powerful magic at their disposal, it hadn't even been close. Voldemort's power was too great, and he had acted quickly and with no mercy. Percy had died instantly, and Ginny's wand had been destroyed trying to protect Hermione. She grabbed Percy's wand, she ran, and now she licked her wounds.
Not that she would make another attempt. She couldn't. She was spent, defeated, broken. There wasn't anything, anyone, left to fight for.
Ginny raised the bottle of whiskey to her lips and downed the quarter that remained. It burned, but it was distracting.
She reached into the cabinet for another bottle, she didn't care much what was in it. Ginny felt the bitter tears fall down her cheeks, and let her misry consume her.
Six Months Later
Peter Pettigrew had been working closely with a secret division of Unspeakables since Hogwarts had been captured and the students killed. A bold undertaking, and one not at all sanctioned by the Dark Lord. A project originally championed by James Potter and Sirius Black, but ultimately left unfinished and set aside as a failure. However, when Voldemort rose from the dead and destroyed the wizarding world, it was a last glimmer of hope, to perhaps make possible the impossible.
It was a chance at redemption that Peter Pettigrew had held at bay in the back of his mind since that fateful October night in 1981. Once he had allowed his fear to control him, once he had betrayed his friends, he had thrown himself into the cause of Lord Voldemort to distract from the guilt and the self-loathing.
The project folder, which was old and worn with use, was titled "The Greatest Trick." It was the groundwork for a weapon to defeat Voldemort, a one time use trick to give the wizarding world a fighting chance. The research had gone on for nearly six years, and had required a great deal of technical knowledge in both Arithmancy and Runelore. Peter had never been as bright or clever as his former friends, but he knew enough to continue their work. Learning the Dark Arts had its own advantages, after all. The Unspeakables didn't trust him, but he had the advantage of knowing how his former friends thought. Peter was too valuable to replace.
It was a modified version of a Time-Turner that James and Sirius had tried to create, once upon a time. And Peter Pettigrew had completed it.
He could send one person back in time. Just one. The caveat, of course, was that James and Sirius actually believed the tripe that Albus Dumbledore spouted off about love being the most powerful magic. And according to their research, and his own, he would not be able to return himself.
Only someone who was truly in love could go back in time. Peter had never truly been in love with anyone. Few Death Eaters ever truly loved anyone.
But Peter was a Marauder before he was a Death Eater, and despite his many betrayals and his overwhelming cowardice, he was also a Gryffindor. The Greatest Trick, of course, was that Peter Pettigrew would be the instrument of the Dark Lord's demise.
All he had to do was give the device to the last living pureblood witch in Britain who was not on Voldemort's side. He knew where she was, and she was left alone in her misery because she was not a threat.
The Unspeakables had their own plans, of course. They thought it best to send one of their own back, and to forewarn the necessary parties. Changing the course of history was a fool's errand, of course. But preparing Harry Potter to fight? That could work. It it best to send someone back that could directly look out for Harry Potter. Someone who could be sure that Harry would be ready to change the prophecy in favor of humanity. There was no room for error.
That night, he grasped the small locket that would pull Ginny Weasley to the past, and killed the Unspeakables as they slept. If it didn't work, it would be best to cover his tracks and return to the Dark Lord's side posthaste, even if it was only to beg for a quick death.
He disappeared with the telltale crack of apparition, and popped back into existence in an alley beside a ramshackle muggle pub.
He felt the alarm trigger as soon as he appeared. He had minutes, at best, before the Death Eaters were upon them. No time to panic. Peter opened the door.
Within, the stench of despair and cheap ale hit his senses. He wrinkled his nose in disgust strode to the bar. The patrons were all lost in their sorrow and drink, and the barman was busying himself putting clean glasses on a shelf.
"A Guinness, please," Peter said as he sat beside a woman with filthy red hair.
Ginny Weasley did not look up from her whiskey. She did not react to his voice, one that should be familiar and hated. He glanced at her and doubted his plan would succeed. Ginny Weasley was haggard, filthy, and somewhere quite far past beer was placed before him.
"I have a proposition for you, Weasley," Peter said.
She looked at him with glassy eyes. "No," she said. He was impressed she managed speech at all.
"You mistake my candor as a request. You will be doing this, Miss Weasley," Peter said.
"I won't."
Peter sighed. Pinched the bridge of his nose. "When was the last time you were sober?"
"December," Ginny said.
"It's May," Peter said.
"So it is."
"You spend seven hours a day in this bar, Weasley. Don't you think you should be doing something more productive?"
"Being drunk is very productive. I don't cry when I'm drunk."
"What if there was a way for you to avoid crying and drinking?" Peter asked.
"I'm too much of a coward to kill myself. Believe me. I've already tried," Ginny said.
"I'm going to give you a necklace, Weasley. But you need to memorize a few things before then. June 6th, 1994. I escape and help the Dark Lord return to the land of the living. You must tell me something before then. Tell me that I pull off the Greatest Trick. Do you understand?"
Ginny looked at him. "You are the reason everyone is dead. I hate you."
Peter hated himself, too. "Do you understand?" He asked again.
"June 6th. Ninety-four. Greatest Trick. You got it," Ginny said. "Now go away."
"I'm afraid you're the one who will be going. This will be disorienting, but you are the only hope we have. Best of luck, Weasley. And know that I am truly sorry for everything I've done. I was then, too," Peter said. And then he slipped a necklace around Ginny's neck and twisted the small mechanism on the front.
All around him, the pops of the Death Eaters signaled his own end. To them, of course, Peter Pettigrew was sitting alone at the bar enjoying one last drink.
September 1, 1991
Ginny Weasley stumbled, completely off balance, and crashed into someone who was very much taller than she was. She blinked stupidly and found herself flat on her back in a place that was very much not a bar.
"Ginny dear are you okay? This is certainly not the place to be tripping over your own feet."
Ginny knew that voice. She knew it, but it couldn't be. It wasn't possible. She sat up and took the hand of her mother, who was giving her a look somewhere between concern and annoyance. Unable to find her voice, Ginny nodded and viciously fought against the tears that threatened to spill. She looked around.
They were in King's Cross station. Percy, Fred, George, and Ron were all there. She wanted to whoop for happiness. But she didn't know what was going on. For an alcohol induced fever dream, this one was actually quite nice. Usually she had restless nightmares.
In short order, Percy, Fred and George went through the barrier to platform 9 ¾.
This moment was familiar, Ginny realized. Because… because…
"Excuse me," Harry Potter said as he approached them. Ginny thought she might die. There he was. Alive. Her family. Her lover. All of them. What was happening?
"Could you tell me how to… to…" Harry trailed off.
"How to get on to the platform?" Molly asked. "Not to worry dear, it's Ron's first time to Hogwarts as well."
Ginny stopped listening. She couldn't do this. She didn't even know what was happening. She needed a stiff drink. Reaching into her pockets for her wand, she found that she had no wand, nor any pockets that would be deep enough to hold a wand. Bugger.
Ginny closed her eyes and took several deep, steadying breaths.
"What you do, is just walk straight at the barrier between platform 9 and platform 10. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on now, before Ron."
Ginny trembled, watching her mother explain to Harry how to get to the Hogwarts Express. She wanted to hug him, she needed to touch him, to make sure he was real. She had been with him for nearly three years before he was brutally taken away from her in the thick of battle.
Harry nodded, and Ginny tried to say something, anything to him, but her voice had left her.
And then he was gone, and she was being ushered through the barrier with her brother.
She was going to hyperventilate. This was too real to be some sort of drunken stupor. Here, on the platform, there were people she knew, people she loved. Friends, family members, her lover. Seeing them all in front of her, alive, was too much.
Ginny hugged her brothers goodbye and let her tears fall freely. They would be fine at Hogwarts, and she would have a year to ponder why and how she was back in her ten year old body once she was back at her home. At least everyone would think that she was only crying because she would miss them all while they were at school.
As the train pulled from the station, Ginny made eye contact with Harry, and she lifted her hand to wave to him. She ran after the train, she couldn't control herself.
He waved back.