AN: Hello again my lovelies! Welcome back to Turn on the Light. I just want to thank everyone again for the wonderful response that this story has had so far. And now, to answer some reviews!
leonix2009: I absolutely agree that they can't trust anyone right off the bat! I think it would be unrealistic for them to just immediately all become the best of friends. Dumbledore has his reasons for putting them together, which you'll see at the start of this chapter. Thanks for your review and I hope you like Ch. 4!
gabytahijar: Don't worry, I have no plans to abandon this story! I've got almost the entire thing outlined already, so I have an idea how the story is going to end. However, I am in school and so there will be times during the year where I'll have to take a break from updating - final exam season and stuff. I love this story but uni comes first!
KateKat1992: I'm glad you're liking it so far! I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations.
Damonsprincesss: I'm glad you liked the Lily/Hermione dynamic so far! There's a part in Prisoner of Azkaban where Remus mentions to Harry that Lily was an uncommonly kind witch - I'm basing how I write Lily off of that.
DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, not I.
Albus Dumbledore paced slowly around his circular study in the tallest tower of Hogwarts Castle, gently stroking his beard with his left hand. Ms. Hermione Granger certainly added a new set of variables to the equation, and although he wouldn't admit it, Dumbledore was slightly off kilter. He did not like unknowns, instead preferring to subtly manipulate situations until they fit the needs of what he called, 'the greater good'. The introduction of Hermione shredded his carefully laid plans to ribbons. He hoped, that by placing Ms. Granger with the young Mr.'s Black and Lupin, he would once again be able to regain control of the situation. Musing quietly to himself, he continued pacing, until the stars in the sky had came and went, and the sun was a sliver of pink on the horizon.
Hermione woke at the crack of dawn, padding quietly out to the kitchen and unobtrusively making herself a cup of tea. Settling in to a worn chair in the sitting room, she curled her feet underneath herself and slowly sipped her tea, the warmth seeming to fill her from the inside out. She felt worn, and her body ached deeply, both old wounds and new making their presence on her skin known. She groaned under her breath as she shifted slightly and a bruise on her side brushed against the arm of the chair she was sitting in.
Remus studied the strange girl from where he stood in the entryway to the parlour. Her hair, when not matted with blood and dirt, was a dark honey brown, curling wildly down to her waist. Her skin was sallow, and pulled tight over her bones, as though she hadn't had a proper meal in years. She was mottled with bruises and cuts, and to put it simply, Remus thought she looked like she'd been to hell and back. However, he didn't think she looked dangerous. In fact, quite contrary to the opinions that Sirius seemed to have formed, Remus thought that Hermione looked rather fragile, with her haunted eyes and hands that shook at every moment, despite her obvious efforts to still them. As she groaned, Remus flinched, his heart going out to the small, broken witch.
Clearing his throat to announce his presence, he winced internally as Hermione just about jumped out of her skin at the sound.
"Good morning," he greeted her warmly, smiling shyly. Hermione studied him for just a moment before offering her own, very small, smile in return. "Morning," she mumbled, hiding behind her mass of hair. "Did you sleep well?" He asked gently. Hermione nodded, but as Remus caught a glimpse of her face, he noticed that the circles under her eyes were even darker than they had been the previous day.
"I'll just get out of your way." She murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she rose, her eyes flickering back and forth towards the exit. Remus gently reached out, and softly took her bony hand in his own.
"Stay, please. It's no trouble." Hermione stared at Remus, and for a moment, he had the uncomfortable feeling that she was looking right through him.
"I'm sorry." She stuttered, before turning and fleeing. She darted past Sirius, who had just entered the room, and Sirius looked at Remus, wiggling his eyebrows.
"You really know how to clear a room, hey Moony?" He joked, causing Remus to look churlish. "I'm just joking mate. She's a fucking odd bird, that one."
About an hour later, the small flat was deceptively quiet, and Hermione tentatively padded out into the kitchen, dressed in a pair of jeans and an old Gryffindor jumper of Lily's that hung, baggy and shapeless, on her skeletal frame. Hermione fidgeted self consciously with the sleeves of the sweater, making sure the cursed scar on her arm was completely covered. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a velvety voice rang through the silence.
"I must say, kitten, that jumper suits you." Sirius' gaze was icy, and Hermione thrust her chin out stubbornly as she walked purposefully towards the door.
"Where are you going?" Sirius demanded, his tone suspicious.
"I don't see how it's any of your business, but if you must know, I thought I'd get a job. Mudbloods like me don't have our inheritance to rely on, you see." She spat back waspishly. Sirius let out a low growl, and took several menacing steps forward until he and Hermione were toe to toe, each glaring with unadulterated hatred into the others' eyes. At such close range, Hermione was able to intimately study all the shades of grey in Sirius' irises, and she found herself dreadfully missing the clever, flirtatious, mischievous older Sirius. A memory flashed through her subconscious.
Sirius fell almost as if in slow motion, his eyes widening just slightly in disbelief. The Veil fluttered, as if moved by a strong breeze, before becoming still once more. Blood roared in Hermione's ears as she slowly turned to face Harry, whose mouth was open in a silent scream of grief...
She stepped back a half-step, and Sirius grinned ferally, as though he had just won something important.
"I suppose that's all right." His voice was conversational, though his face was standoffish. "The sooner I don't have to look at your zombie face anymore the better." Hermione hissed under her breath at the insult, but didn't retort, instead, spinning sharply on her heel and exiting the flat, slamming the door behind her, leaving nothing but a lingering scent of her hair.
Sirius swore profusely once her emaciated figure had vanished from sight. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was about the witch that drove him mad, but he was certain that whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
That first altercation with Sirius set the tone for their relationship. Hermione, who had acquired a job at Dogweed and Deathcap, the local Herbology shop, avoided the flat at all costs, spending nearly every waking hour either working, or poring over obscure tomes on time-travel and horcruxes with a pint of Butterbeer in a dimly lit corner of the Three-Broomsticks. She would not admit it to anyone, much less herself, but Sirius' torment of her was taking it's toll. The offending wizard, however, could not be bothered one whit, coming home every night with a new floozy on his arm, and spending his days gallivanting about with his friends, he spared not a single thought to the curly haired young witch that happened to be living in his guest room, except to say unbearably nasty things to her.
Several days after Hermione's unceremonious arrival in 1979, Hermione's boss had given her the afternoon off, and she immediately rushed home, eager to delve back into the research she had been slowly compiling. She had been slowly formulating a plan on how change the future, and she believed she had almost worked it out entirely. She sat at the kitchen table, scraps of parchment littering the surface around her and muttering darkly as she flipped through the various books she had spread open. She furiously scribbled notes, biting her bottom lip as her quill flew across the page.
Time is not cyclical, as so many witches and wizards imagine it to be, but could rather be interpreted as a tapestry of various interwoven futures and pasts...
She furrowed her brow, so entirely focused on what she was writing that she did not notice Sirius enter the kitchen, suspiciously peeking over her shoulder to glance at her notes. He drew in a deep breath, and the sharpness of the sound pulled Hermione from her research. She stood so quickly she sent the chair she had been sitting on skidding backwards, and spun on the spot, fear filling her golden brown eyes.
"Sirius," she breathed nervously. "I didn't think anyone was home." His grey eyes were colder than Hermione had ever seen them, but he composed his body into an exaggeratedly relaxed stance, lifting his wand and pointing it at her casually. Hermione stiffened at the threat, but she lifted her hands in surrender.
"I can explain." She pleaded softly, looking imploringly at him. Sirius' lip curled up, a sneer worthy of Severus Snape on his aristocratic features.
"Okay, kitten," he spat darkly. "Let's see how you talk yourself out of this." Hermione opened her mouth, and even as the warning that Professor Dumbledore had given her in her third year rang in her mind - Terrible things happen to those who meddle with time - she could not stop the words from erupting from her lips. Sirius, although he wasn't sure what excuse he had expected, surely did not expect the words that now hung in the air between them.
"I'm from the future."
AN: This chapter was hell for me to write. I've probably re-written it three or four times, and I'm still not entirely certain I like how it turned out. I hope, however, that you enjoy it! Please leave me a review, and the next chapter will be uploaded next Monday.
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