Here and Then Again

Author's Note: Hello everyone. This is a re-post from an earlier attempt of this idea that I abandoned because of some unfixable character errors. So if this seems familiar, that may be the reason. This will be Ginny/Sirius, but you can expect to see other couples fluttering about as well. I love reviews and can assure you that they motivate me to (1) update faster and (2) stick with the story. I also want to stress that if you have any questions/comments/concerns with or about the story please, please ask them. I am re-posting this story because of excellent feedback that I received the first time around that has, in my humble opinion, made this story better. So, spelling errors, people out of character, whatever it is, just let me know. (This isn't an invitation to flames, just honest feedback).

Prologue: The White Bridge

Walden MacNair grew up to be a Death Eater. It wasn't the career choice his parents would have picked for him, but one choice leads to another and sometimes you wake up someplace unexpected.

Truth be told, MacNair's mother was a pureblood witch from Scotland. Her family had never been exceedingly talented at magic, but they made do. She'd gone to Hogwarts, but married outside the magic community to a muggle. Alistair MacNair wasn't just any muggle though. He was a druid, learned in the arts of druidry. MacNair was a little fuzzy on the details considering his father had died when he was ten. What he remembered of his da was a deep rolling laugh and a dark tan. That an innumerable walks on the moor, his da teaching him how to listen to the earth, feel the chemical imperfections in the soil, and heal the land with a bit of druid magic. He also remembered the White Bridge, but he didn't remember it until the end.

After his da's death, his mother moved back to England. MacNair got his letter written in green ink. A new chapter to his life started. He went to Hogwarts. Was sorted into Slytherin. Met some purebloods and lied to them in order to fit in. Of course he was a pureblood wizard. But his father was actually his mother's brother, so it had to kept on the low-low. He'd initially been uneasy about hanging out with people who thought it was okay for his mother and uncle to have an intimate relationship but thought it was taboo for his mother to have a relationship with an unrelated man with a talent for magic more obscure then what they practiced. But no matter. Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Black and the others had been so bright and shiny to him. The perfect rolemodels. They welcomed him in with open, backstabbing hands.

MacNair grew farther and farther from his roots. He dyed his brown hair black. Pierced his nipples and belly button and tongue. Drank alcohol. Tormented those weaker than himself. Dabbled in the dark arts. Joined a group led by a terrifying powerful and successful wizard named Voldemort. He was branded with the Dark Mark and wore the badge proudly.

The things he did would make his da's blood curdle. Well, at least his da was dead and never did see him murdering muggle families in their sleep. Not quickly either. At least his da was dead and didn't see him spread chaos and fear through the wizarding world during the First Wizarding War. At least his da was dead and didn't see his shameful behavior afterward, slinking back and pretending to have been under the Imperious Curse.

Then there was the monotony of the restless peace. He took a job as an executioner of dangerous beasts. And there he stayed until Voldemort's return.

By the time the final battle rolled around he was no longer his father's son in any sense of the word. He was filled with a poisonous darkness, attacking a school and laughing at the pitiful defenses of the students trying to defend it. Laughing at the anguish of those who's friends and family were being permanently severed.

He laughed his father's booming laugh, but it was not warm, it was cold. Like thunder rippling across a lake. His wand flashed green light and struck his hapless target in the back. It was the battle of the century. Good versus evil. Strong versus weak. Harry Potter versus the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord was winning. And then, inexplicably, he wasn't. All it took was a rebounded curse and Voldemort was falling to the floor looking weak and deflated.

True chaos erupted then. Not for Harry's side, but for the Death Eaters. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then absolute bedlam. Curses started flying again as everyone tried to flee at once. One curse ricocheted off a suit of armor and struck MacNair in the small of his back. He fell in the courtyard, wand flying from his fingers and clattering on the flagstone. His head smashed down hard and he tasted blood from a suddenly split lip.

Droplets of blood struck the earth. Droplets of the blood of a dying druid. To him it seemed as if cotton was removed. He could suddenly hear the earth again. Feel it. And what he felt wasn't good at all. Evil was seeped into the ground, strong, black magic. The Dark Lord's spirit aligned with the spirit of the earth. It wasn't enough to revive Voldemort. It was just enough to delay, to allow Voldemort to suck the life from the planet. MacNair had a vision, brief and poignant. Dry rivers and dying trees stripped of leaves. The end of the world.

He started to chant, slowly at first, lips struggling to remember the old rites his father had used to heal the earth. His blood flowed in free sacrifice, but it wasn't enough. He was about to give up, let himself fade quietly into the next life saddled with regret when the memory of the White Bridge pricked in his mind.

The White Bridge was a euphemism for time travel. It was complicated druid magic, but if he recalled, there were times of the year – solstices and such – when the gate could be opened and one could travel into the past. MacNair had this thought that he would travel into the past and . . . fix it. Somehow.

He whispered the last words in Gaelic, thankful that he'd taken the time to study for his last ancient runes test. But as the White Bridge started to spin in his mind, Walden remembered something horrible. He'd failed that test.

And now he had no idea what he'd manipulated Time into doing. If his da were still alive, he'd be so ashamed. MacNair prayed feverishly that whatever happened, he wouldn't end up someplace where he couldn't fix anything. Just let this work, he thought, and then blackness fell like a veil across his eyes.

Chapter One: King's Cross Station

Ginny felt she must have passed out from exhaustion. She remembered Harry defeating Voldemort. And everyone celebrating as the Death Eaters scrambled away. She'd been sitting with her head on her mother's shoulder, crying softly with relief and grief. She'd felt a strange sensation for a second, a prickling tingle, and then a veil of darkness shuttered over her and she slept.

At least she thought she'd slept. She was waking up now and not under altogether pleasant circumstances. Someone had seized her shoulder and was shaking her violently shutting "Wakey-wakey eggs and bakey!" over and over again.

Her eyelids felt like they were glued shut, but she managed to pry them open and glare blurrily at her assailant. It was George. How could he be so cheerful, what with Fred . . . she blinked rapidly, tears making it harder to see.

"Whadaya want?" she grumped.

The twin clutching her shoulders grinned, lips quirked up more on the left like Fred's smile. George grinned up on the right. It was subtle but after knowing them all her life she had finally figured that particular tell out only weeks before knowing it was useless. "F-fred?" she stammered.

His grin widened. "Wake up, Ginny! If you don't get up, you'll get left behind. Then where will you be? Here with mum, while the rest of us are off at Hogwarts playing pranks on Filch and ole Ms. Norris!"

Her mouth opened but before she could say anything he shook her again. Her teeth clacked together painfully. "Aren't you dead?" she croaked.

"Dead?" He looked around, brown eyes suddenly haunted. He let go of her, turning. His shoulders started to shake. His freckles seemed to stand out starkly. "I-I-I'm . . ."

Ginny swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat. It was George. Not Fred. And she'd just reminded him that Fred was never coming back again. They were going to put him in a box in the ground with a pretty headstone. A poor substitute for such a lively and fun-loving brother. Tears prickled. "I'm sorry," she said. "George I wish that there was –"

The twin in her room whipped around, drool oozing from his mouth. "I'm a brain-eating zombie agggggggghhhh!" He lunged toward her, spittle flying everyone. Ginny shrieked. He started laughing. "Seriously, Ginny, you're way too easy." He fluffed her hair. "Now hurry up and pack before mum gets up here and realizes you're not ready for school." He left the room. She stared at the door, heart hammering in her throat, drool drying on her forehead where he'd had the audacity to maul her. The door opened again, and he gave her a pained look. "And for the record, I'm Fred, not George. Sheesh, and you call yourself my sister." He pranced off.

Ginny stayed put. She wiped at the drool with one hand, letting herself fall back toward bed. George had cracked. That's all there was to it. Fred's death had been too much so he was going to . . . going to what?

The door opened again. This time her mother bustled in. Her mother who had out-dueled Bellatrix Lestrange only one day earlier. Her mother who had lost a son and had another one slipping into insanity. Molly Weasley looked surprisingly well in Ginny's eyes. She was a bit plumper than she'd looked the day before and with less worry wrinkles marring her face. Her fiery red hair was in a low bun and escaped tendrils framed her face. Her kind grey eyes took in the state of Ginny's room and of Ginny herself and she sighed theatrically. "Ginerva I told you to pack last night. You said that you would and here I find you with not a thing in your trunk."

"Uhmmm, mum?" Ginny whispered. "I think that George needs some help."

"He's got Fred for that," her mother said stiffly. "You clearly need more help than those two. Honestly, you're normally more prepared than this. Bill too." She pulled her wand out and started directing a pile of textbooks from shopping bags into a beat-up red and gold trunk. Next went a mass of school robes, socks, undergarments, pants, skirts, ties (ties?), and white blouses. Molly gave her an annoyed look when she was done. "Well, off into the shower with you. We're going to miss the train if you and Bill don't stop giving me troll faces."

"Troll faces?"

"It means you're acting like you don't have a clue what's going on," Charlie said heading by the door lugging a school trunk behind him.

Ginny swung her feet out of bed and hurried to look at him. There was something off about him. Besides the fact that he was wearing a white dress shirt, a red and gold tie, and dress pants. "Where's Charlie going?" she asked her mother.

Molly's exasperated look faded and was replaced by concern. "Are you feeling alright, dear?" she asked. She touched her hand to Ginny's forehead. "If you're sick I could –"

"I'm okay, mum," she said. She spontaneously hugged her. "I love you and dad and everyone, okay," she said. "I'm just a bit . . . I don't know. Exhausted. Yesterday is going to take a long time to recover from. I'll get showered and dressed and be down in a few."

A "few" later she was at breakfast. It was a noisy, typical affair, full of rapidly changing conversation, exceedingly delicious oatmeal and fruit pieces, and all eight of her immediate family members. Both Fred and George were there. Both of them. Ginny starred at the twins so hard that she barely touched her food.

George nudged Fred and they both grinned at her. George's mouth quirked on the right, Fred's on the left. She looked away and found herself ogling Ron. Something was seriously, seriously, seriously wrong with him. He looked like he was eleven, not seventeen. Had he gotten de-aged or something? He looked a little green around the gills and was pushing his oatmeal around his bowl instead of eating it. Ginny looked away from him to the rest of the family. Everyone looked wrong, younger or plumper or less scared or less dead than they'd been the day before.

"Did I die?" she asked finally. But her voice was too quiet to hear over the racket Fred and George were making. They'd finished eating and had started a game of exploding snap.

Ginny decided later that if she wasn't dead she was in the world's weirdest dream. Ron was apparently only eleven. Her mum thought so and so did her dad. It was his first year at Hogwarts. The new term was slated to start the next morning and today they had to go to King's Cross to board the Hogwarts Express. Ron was still taller than her, but he was shorter than he'd been the day before and his shoulders less broad. His fuzzy facial hair was gone too and his baby teeth were back. Eleven years old. Clutching his pet rat, Scabbers, that he'd inherited from Percy. Scabbers the pet rat that was actually an animagus named Peter Pettigrew. A traitor hiding as a rat in a wizarding family. She'd come back to that later, once she had a better idea what the hell was going on.

"Mum . . ." she said as Charlie and Bill piled the trunks into the car. Seven trunks, one for each of the Weasley children going to Hogwarts. Molly had tears in her eyes and was already feeling the beginnings of empty nest syndrome. "Are you . . . do you know what year everyone is going to be in? Do you remember?"

Molly sniffed. "Oh, you're just as bad as Bill," she said. "Of course I remember. I'm your mother and I love you all. Bill's in his last year, Charlie's in Sixth, your starting Sixth, Percy's in Fifth and dreadfully anxious about his OWLS, Fred and George are in Fourth, and Ron is in his First Year." She patted Ginny's hand. "How could I forget any of that?" She ushered Ginny into the backseat of the pale blue Ford Anglia. Fred and George got in on either side. Molly and Arthur were up front with Bill and Charlie. Percy squeezed into the backseat. Ron squeezed into the front.

As they whizzed into traffic, Percy took out his Prefect badge and started polishing it, completely unaware that Fred and George had jinxed it to say "pinhead."

At King's Cross station Arthur, Bill, Charlie, and Ron went to get trolleys. They loaded their trunks, two per trolley and started into the building. It was bustling, muggles hurrying to their trains while wizarding families arriving without floo powder checked their tickets to confirm their destination at Platform 9 ¾.

Ginny's eyes swept the crowd, searching for some explanation for her situation. Because she couldn't comprehend that this was in fact reality. She didn't know about MacNair's attempts to save the earth from Voldemort's final spell. In fact, there was no reason that she should have been unaffected by the spell and yet sometimes magic had a funny way of working. So although she was clearly unaffected by the time magic, everything around her was. Ginny suspected that she was (a) dead or (b) dreaming.

Out of the corner of her eye she finally saw one of the people she thought would know what to do. The boy was tall, with unruly dark hair sticking up madly in all directions. He was pushing a trolley loaded with two trunks and a large snow white owl hooting quietly in its cage. Harry!

She peeled away from her family, zeroing in on the wizard who had finally ended Voldemort's reign of terror. She'd gotten two feet before Charlie caught her arm and pulled her to a stop. "Platforms this way and we're already running behind –"

"Er, gotta pee," she muttered. "It'll only be a second."

"Can't it wait for the train?" Charlie asked. "We're gonna be done for it we miss it." Ginny grimaced, finally figuring out what was missing from Charlie: burn scars. All of the shiny patches of magically healed skin were gone. And most of his other scars were missing too.

"I'll just be a second," she said, tugging loose and hurrying away. She felt Charlie watch her head towards Harry and heard him mutter "oh Potter" before she caught Harry's sleeve. "Hey," she said. "Tell me that you know what's going on."

He was talking with a short, plump blonde boy wearing a Gryffindor colored tie, but turned slowly. "Well, look who it is," he drawled. "It's . . ."

Ginny blinked, catching a hesitation in his voice. "Tell me that you recognize me," she said. "You have to recognize me."

"Hmmm," he murmured, cocking his head to the side. "Let's see . . . you look like a Jenny?" He flashed a crooked, charming smile.

She deflated. "It's Ginny."

He leaned forward, tapping her nose with one long finger. "Of course it is, Ginny," he said softly, his voice seeming too polished now that she thought about it. "How could I forget a cute little freckle dusted nose like that?" He drew his finger from the tip of her nose to her lips and she blushed. He chuckled. "You're awfully cute when you blush."

She forced herself to meet his eyes. "Listen, Ha-"

He stared at her with startling blue eyes ringed by dark lashes. His wire-framed glasses glinted as a train pulled onto a nearby platform. "I'm listening, sweetheart."

She stepped back, shaking her head. "It's a dream. A dream," she repeated. The boy standing before her looked remarkably like Harry. The shape of his wrong colored eyes, his nose, his lips, hell, even his ears looked similar. But he wasn't built like a seeker with wiry muscles. He was built like a chaser, all hard muscles showing through his white dress shirt.

"Most girls think I'm a dream come true," the young man standing before her said. "They usually don't say it to my face like this though. Probably worried my ego can't take it." His smile faltered when she continued backing away, shaking her head in disbelief. "Ginny?"

"N-nothing," she stammered. "I have to go." She turned and hurried away.

"Smooth," she heard one of the man's friends say. "I think she realized you forgot her."

Ginny reached the safety of her family. Charlie's arms were folded across his chest. "Really, Ginny?" he asked. "Potter the prat?" He shook his head and then pushed the trolley with their bags through the barrier.

Ginny was still shaken, but started to follow him. She made it two or three feet before she heard a soft, almost hesitant voice. "Excuse me, ma'am." The voice was painfully familiar. She turned slowly as if she were trying to catch a raindrop and time slowed down to make it seem possible.

The boy was wearing round glasses held together with tape. He had untamed black hair and brilliant green eyes. His mother's eyes. He was speaking to Mrs. Weasley.

"Hello dear," Mrs. Weasley said. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new too." She pointed at Ron who was clutching Scabbers nervously.

"Yes," said Harry. "The thing is – the thing is, I don't know how –"

"How to get on to the platform?" Mrs. Weasley asked kindly. "Not to worry. All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platform nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on now before Ron."

"Err . . .okay," Harry said. He wheeled his cart in front of him and started for the barrier. Picking up speed, he disappeared into the wall. Ginny gaped after him.

"You're next, Ron," Mrs. Weasley said. And as her youngest son started forward, she looked at Ginny. "My goodness, dear," she said. "You're not awake yet are you?"

"No mum, I'm not," Ginny said, eyes still too wide. "I think I just had a bad dream and it's sticking."

"About what dear?"

"Voldemort," she said, nearly stunned at the events happening around her. She hardly noticed the effect her words had on her mother, until she was in a shaky death grip. "What?" she asked. "Did I say something weird?"

"You said You-Know-Who's name," Mrs. Weasely whispered fiercely. "What were you thinking?" She looked around, almost as if she expected him to come sailing into the station with his red eyes gleaming bloody murder.

"Thinking?" Ginny said. "I'm thinking that I'm in a dream." She was biting the inside of her lip, chewing furiously with nerves. Abruptly she bit down a little hard and the coppery taste of blood exploded in her mouth. She gasped. She's had plenty of vivid dreams before, but none where she tasted anything. "It's not a dream, is it?" she whispered.

Her mother touched her forehead again, but Ginny shrugged her hand away and gave her a furious hug. "I'm going to be late for the train," she said. "We should go." Together with her mother she hurried through the barrier. This was just getting weirder by the second.

Although she didn't know it, things were only going to get stranger. You see, when MacNair did his spell, he didn't send anyone back into time. It was more like he took time and smashed it flat blending parts of the past into the present and making a new reality that was between the here and now and the then. Time, in an effort to right itself, re-tied all the strands as best it could. People's ages were altered. Their memories affected. Besides Ginny, only a very few people remembered all the details of their former futures. But more on that later. All the complicated details would soon become clear the confused Gryffindor student.