Shattered Moments
By Rurouni Star
Er… wow. I think that's the quickest, greatest response I've ever had (I love you, by the way). So here we go… hopefully this will answer a few questions.
Speaking of which, this and the next chapter are the two that gave me the most trouble. The Burrow, despite being chock full of magic and having a ghoul in the attic, can be a surprisingly boring place.
Chapter 1 – The Brief Summer
"The beginning is always today."
-Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
Something was biting her lip.
Hermione groaned and sat up, rubbing at the sore skin.
The little owl hopped off her face with an approving hoot, and she glared at it. "Fine. I got it. Message." She turned to look at the clock near her bed and bit back a growl of frustration. Six am.
"Insistent little thing, aren't you?" she muttered as she stumbled out of her covers toward the parchment that still lay on her desk.
Admittedly, her handwriting was not going to be beautiful in the early hours of the morning. She gave it her best shot.
S,
I can easily understand your delay in writing – I did say 'if you could'. Thank you so much for taking care of Buckbeak; I know that must have been a bit of a hassle. Ron and Harry have been mostly regular, but summer is summer, after all. I'll make sure to get Harry something good, and I'll even leave him something else without a name if you want. Though I don't see why you should need to get him anything at all after the Firebolt – he adores it.
She paused as she tried to find the best way to approach the timeturner matter. Admittedly, she probably wasn't awake enough to do this right, but she did anyway.
I am taking extra classes this year, but I shouldn't need to use the timeturner much at all. Don't worry, I know my limits this year.
Your owl is a menace, and my mother is in love with it. I hope you're happy.
Write back soon,
H
She blinked as she realized belatedly he'd asked her for a name. Then she added –
P.S. – I'm calling the beast Geronimo.
The so-called owl was currently blinking at the parchment curiously as she rolled it up, intending to affix it to his leg. As she moved to attach it, though, he hopped away with a playful hoot, fluttering his wings a few times.
"I need to get this out," Hermione told it, annoyed. She made a grab for it, but it again hopped backward. "Would you sit still?" she hissed.
Geronimo was now having the time of his life, however, and was going unabashedly for the door.
Why was the door open?
Hermione shook her head, thinking to herself that she'd definitely closed it before she'd gone to bed, and ran to shut it before the owl could make its escape.
Thankfully, it closed just before the owl could get out, and Hermione shot her hand out to close her fingers around the tiny, ball-shaped owl.
It hooted, obliviously happy even as she tied the letter to its leg and pushed it insistently out the window.
"Get going," she shooed it. "See if he'll give you something to bring back."
Happily, the thing disappeared into the rising sun.
And Hermione went back to bed.
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Truthfully, she'd had a pretty good summer. The extra Arithmancy had kept her both busy and fascinated, and her (supposed) fourteenth birthday was coming up – her parents usually had a nice, quiet dinner at home, with her favorite cake. Letters from Harry and Ron had been, if not frequent, often enough. And now, she had reassurance that Sirius was safe.
So why did she feel so suddenly edgy?
Her uneasiness was temporarily forgotten when she received the news that Ron wanted her and Harry to join him for the Quidditch World Cup.
Her mother agreed reluctantly – she'd wanted to spend more time with Hermione, she said, before she went off to school – but her father seemed interested at the idea of a wizarding sports championship.
"As long as you bring some pictures back," he said. Then, with a glance at her mother, "Some of the moving ones, if you can?"
Hermione grinned. "Of course, Dad," she said.
Packing took her a rather short amount of time – she'd long since mentally revised what she would have to bring with her to Hogwarts – and she'd only paused a moment when her eyes caught on the golden hourglass still sitting on her dresser.
She would have to wear it. There was no way to pack it safely enough in her trunk. One of Hermione's most dreadful fears was that it would break.
Her fingers reached out hesitatingly to brush the glass while she held her breath. The voices had completely gone away, she realized quite suddenly. Why hadn't she realized it before…
She'd been busy. She'd not wanted to think on it.
Would putting the thing back on restart them?
Hermione bit her lip. She had to do it. The visions and the voices were important to whatever her other self needed to change. If she just gave the timeturner up, she would be condemning herself and others to things she didn't want to imagine.
All in one motion, she moved her fingers to close around the object tightly, pulling it from the dresser.
She waited cautiously.
Nothing happened. Hermione let her breath out and looped the chain about her neck, tucking the tiny hourglass under her shirt.
Something unfathomable clicked into place inside of her, like an old friend come home. So familiar was the sensation, in fact, that she didn't even notice it.
Hermione went down the stairs, lugging her trunk behind her. Her father caught her with a smile, picking up the trunk himself and helping her down.
"Don't forget to write," he told her. "We always love hearing from you."
She smiled back. "I'll send you a letter at least once a week," she promised.
At the door, her mother and father kissed her goodbye. As always, her mother was in tears. "Have a good year," she sniffled as Crookshanks rubbed up against her leg in farewell. "And Hermione, dear – say hello to your friends for us, won't you?"
Hermione tried very hard to hold back her own tears. "Yes, Mum," she said. "I'll say hello."
She gave them each one last parting hug before stepping outside her door and closing it behind her.
The street in front of her was empty, in the high afternoon sun, and silence rang in her ears. Hermione looked about the neighborhood slowly - a strange sense of loneliness hit her, all at once, and she wiped at her eyes to keep the moisture there from building up.
Crookshanks mewed grouchily as she hesitated – he got up on his hind legs to paw at her wand.
"Okay, okay," Hermione said. "Don't get impatient."
Sighing, she rolled her trunk to the street and held out her right arm, wand in hand.
She wasn't really sure what to expect – she'd only had Harry's strange recounting and Ron's reassurances to go by.
Therefore it was a complete surprise when a low hum filled the street – and a screeching sound came from around the corner.
Hermione's eyes widened, and she stepped backward – Crookshanks, standing behind her primly, yowled unhappily as she tangled her legs on his and hit the pavement.
A large, double-decker bus whirled into view in front of her just as Hermione held a cautious hand to her scraped elbow.
The bus doors opened, and she blinked at the man that leaned against the side wall lazily. "Knight Bus," he muttered halfheartedly, not bothering to elaborate in any way. Hermione took this to mean he wasn't the same person Harry had met.
She pulled herself to her feet with a wince and rolled her trunk on for herself with a confused glance at the man, who paid absolutely no attention to her problems with it.
The doors slammed shut behind her as she got on, and Crookshanks hissed at the driver as his tail was nearly caught in them.
There were more important problems, though, to take into account – the bus was beginning to move, and not slowly either…
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"Hermione!" a red haired boy was saying, shocked. "You look absolutely awful! What happened?"
She glared at Fred (or George) and crossed her arms. She meant to upbraid the group of young Weasleys gathered outside for not properly warning her, but any anger she might have felt evaporated instantly as she caught sight of the house behind them.
It was, for lack of a better description, absolutely fascinating.
"Is this the Burrow?" she managed, flabbergasted. Her eyes were glued to the seemingly stacked up house; layer upon layer of rooms and windows. The colorful house with the walkway to the front reminded her of a Technicolor cartoon.
Ron frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked her indignantly.
"Nothing," Hermione responded quickly. "It's just – I mean, it's amazing!"
Hermione jumped slightly as someone touched her shoulder from behind.
"I'm Charlie," said a voice behind her. "It's nice to meet you in person, Hermione."
She turned about with a smile. "Nice to meet you, Charlie."
He would have been slightly more intimidating than his photo, had he not been smiling broadly. Charlie was very tall (though not quite as tall as Ron) and quite heavyset. His face was covered in freckles, like most of the family, and his brown eyes sparkled with the unknown quality she'd very rarely seen come out in Sirius'.
She shook his hand, noting his strong grip, and felt herself settle into a comfortable half-familiarity with him. Charlie had written to her before, in the matter of Norbert, and she had always thought he sounded like a very decent person.
"Bill's not here yet," Ron's voice came from beside her. "He's going to get here in a bit, after he smoothes over some kind of last-minute thing with some old guy's tomb..."
"Ah yes," George said, feigning great knowledge on the matter. "The traps me and Fred installed there last time we were in Egypt must've gone off…" His grin gave away the very obvious fact that he was lying.
"I'd hate to see your tomb," Ron murmured with a shudder.
Hermione privately agreed with him as Fred and George looked at each other with smiles of inspiration on their faces. Fred pulled a tiny notepad out and began to jot something down forebodingly.
"Where's Percy, then?" Hermione asked, suddenly realizing that not everyone was accounted for.
"Off at the Ministry," Charlie said with a wink, "working on top-secret stuff."
Ron stifled a snort while George let out a loud cough that sounded very much like 'cauldron bottoms'.
Hermione frowned. "I do wish you wouldn't tease him so," she said to Ron, ignoring the others. "He's going to do a lot of good for someone with all that knowledge."
Ron looked very much like he wanted to say something sarcastic, but just as he opened his mouth, a loud POP! split the air and a red-haired man apparated just in front of them, stumbling a bit. He was bleeding from a cut just beneath his right eye.
"Dad!" Charlie said in alarm, rushing toward the new arrival. "What on earth-"
Mr. Weasley moved back a step and rubbed at his cheek ruefully where a trickle of blood had begun to travel its way down to his chin. "Don't worry," he reassured them hastily, "It was just an out of control hat-rack… honestly, the things people will enchant these days…"
"A hat-rack, attacking people!" Hermione said before she could stop herself, feeling scandalized. "That's completely irresponsible, what was the trigger?"
"Coming in the door without saying your name," Mr. Weasley said to her, not without a trace of frustration in his voice. Then, without waiting to hear her response (he was obviously very tired), he turned back to the boys. "I'm going to bed – will you lot take care of Hermione for me?"
There was an immediate murmured assent, which made Hermione feel slightly warmer.
"Come on then," George told her as Mr. Weasley disappeared into the house. "Me and Fred have things to do." He stopped, then rephrased himself carefully with a look back at the others. "I mean, we're glad to see you, Hermione-"
"But you want to try to make an attacking hat-rack now?" she muttered dryly, not without a little humor in her voice.
Fred beamed, grabbing her by one arm and dragging her forward. "Right in one. No wonder everyone says you're so smart…"
Hermione knew blatant flattery when she heard it, but she let it go – she'd been much more lenient with Fred and George since stealing their map.
She noticed belatedly that Charlie and Ron had grabbed her things and were carrying them in after her. She made to protest, but Ron gave her a look that dared her to try it – her mouth shut with a snap.
Fred and George lugged her into the kitchen – an amazing whir of activity and magic and color that made her feel immediately at home. Her eyes roamed almost hungrily about the room, taking in all of the things that the Weasleys must have taken for granted by now. The broom (of the non-flying kind, she could obviously tell) was sweeping the floor industriously on its own – it moved aside to let her pass, then continued its peculiar job as she passed. Fred muttered something amusedly about jinxing brooms to attack people; she could swear she heard Percy's name in there as well. George's immediate agreement only made her more nervous.
It was then that her eyes alighted on the clock hanging on the wall… she wasn't entirely certain what time it was, and her watch was in her case. Hermione blinked as she saw the hands of the clock, and stopped without realizing it. They had names on them – the whole family, it looked like. It took her a moment to read them – Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, Charlie, and Ron were all resting on the "Home" space of the clock. Ginny (written "Ginevra") was currently "shopping" along with Mrs. Weasley.
Hermione gasped as she caught sight of Bill's clock-hand; it was pointing straight upward at "Mortal Peril".
"Fred, George!" she said in a panic. "Look! Bill's clock-hand, it's-"
The two looked where she was pointing but didn't react quite as she'd expected.
"Again?" George said, sounding at once both impressed and envious. "That's the third time this week!"
Fred sighed. "Bill always gets the good jobs…"
Hermione's mouth fell open for the second time that day. "What?" she nearly screeched. "What are you talking about, it says he's in danger!"
Fred and George exchanged amused glances before looking back at her. "Shall I?" Fred asked his twin congenially.
"No," said George, "I think I shall." He grinned at Hermione. "My dear, dear fourth year – Bill is almost always in mortal peril. He's a curse breaker. It's part of the job."
Hermione felt something inside her shirk at the idea of 'always' being in mortal peril. "But aren't you worried?" she asked in a small voice. "I mean… I'm surprised your mother hasn't asked him to get a different job…"
Fred shrugged. "She tried, believe me. Still tries every time he comes home, in fact. But he's not yet died, which he likes to point out."
George got a slightly more serious look on his face at this, which surprised Hermione momentarily. "Bill's never been one to do anything other than what he wants. He's good at the job, and someone's got to do it, after all."
Hermione sighed and deflated, as Ron and Charlie entered with her bags. "I guess I shouldn't get involved in it anyway," she admitted, shame-faced, her hand going instinctively to the time-turner beneath her shirt to make sure it was hidden. "It's just the thought of either of my parents in mortal peril… I don't think I could be calm about it no matter how many times it happened."
"…happened so quickly…"
She felt the blood drain from her face abruptly, and felt Fred and George's eyes grow intent upon her. She hoped they would chalk it up to a vivid imagination.
"You'll be staying with Ginny, I think," Ron interrupted, apparently unaware there had even been a conversation or a significant pause on Hermione's part. "I'll… I'll show you where it is, if you like?" He sounded uncertain, as though she might for some reason refuse.
"That'd be wonderful," Hermione said quickly, with great relief at the opportunity to escape. She was one of the few people that had recently become aware just how intelligent the twins were – and there were just a few secrets they could not know. That no one could know, in actuality.
Ron smiled with a relief of his own as he showed her up the stairs, but Hermione, being slightly distressed and out of tune, completely missed it.