A/N: 1995's great and all, but we can't ignore what's happening nineteen—pardon, twenty-four years later in 2019. The panic's setting in and Ginny's embracement of CAPITALisation would put even angst!Harry to shame.

General Disclaimer: Snape, Snape, Severus Snape. DUMBLEDORE! P.S. I didn't create Potter Puppet Pals, nor Harry Potter, and I'm making money from neither.


"DADDY!" Came a high-pitched shriek from the kitchen.

Ron Weasley, happily married father of two, lacked a certain amount of common sense. Hermione Granger (having not only felt there were far too many 'Mrs. Weasley's, but didn't see anything wrong with keeping her maiden name) would normally step in before this had too much of a negative or fatal effect. Unfortunately, the brunette was upstairs in their soundproofed library. In her absence, it was easier to embrace his Gryffindor bravery and ignore the instinct to run screaming from the house.

"Rosie, what's wrong?" Ron cautiously poked his head through the doorway, having just enough self-preservation to keep himself out of the immediate line of fire.

"Nothing." Hugo answered before his sister could pipe up. Ron, though momentarily relieved, felt his heart sink as he got a decent look at the kitchen. Hermione was going to murder him.

"What did you do?" Ron asked weakly. "I've only been gone ten minutes!" Yet it took less than that for the kitchen and his children to become coated with flour and maple syrup. But even amidst the mess, he was most concerned with why Rose was fuming, her bushy red hair furiously shaking as she pointed at—a goopy something—on the counter.

"Don't blame me," Hugo said, backing away from Rose's jabbing soup spoon, "I was cooking. It's a bit messy, so what?"

"A bit?" His dad replied faintly. "You've wallpapered the room with food!"

"It's not that bad." Hugo swiped some whipping cream off his eyebrow and slurped it. "Still, it's mainly cause Pig flew in and tried to help. I think he's somewhere in a corner? Pig? Piiiggg? PPPIIIGGG!"

A small, happy hoot came from an upper shelf, where vanilla and syrup slurped over the side in great drips. Hugo looked up at the noise. "Or not. Who knew Pig really liked cinnamon?"

"That's not the point!" Rose snapped, clicking her tongue. "I couldn't let Hugo ruin lunch. French toast? Please. But look what he's done!" She gestured angrily at the pile of products.

Ron gingerly stepped forward, walking around the puddles of goop. Peering at the countertop his bewilderment rose.

"Blatant sabotage!" Rose threw the soup spoon down at the cracked and oozing eggs. "He knew I wanted omelettes, so he ruined all the eggs."

"I didn't ruin them." Hugo said, exasperated. "I needed them for french toast. Very different."

"Then why're they splattered over the counter?" Rose huffed.

"Because your aim's terrible?" Her brother said slyly.

"What!" Rose squawked. "I had nothing to do with it. Daddy, don't listen to him! Hugo's a compulsive liar—he needs help."

"Says the Slytherin." Hugo rolled his eyes as Rose's glare intensified.

"Kids, kids!" Ron interrupted before magic and body parts started flying. "Let's get back to explaining, oh, I dunno. How about how the kitchen imploded?"

As Ron listened to his children's screaming insults and blame towards each other, he actually found himself relieved. Yes, this was bad. But at least Rose had been cut off before she could grill her dad and brother on how Slytherin House was unfairly stereotyped against, how snakes were far more cuddly than lions, and how the entire family—excepting the like-minded Al and Lily Potter—were reckless, self-righteous lemmings who adored seeking out dragons to attack. Then Merlin help them all if Hermione entered the shouting match. For she'd correct her daughter's arguments, Rose would scream right back, and their volumes would rapidly increase to ear-splitting levels.

Ron suppressed a shiver at even the thought of this hypothetical calamity.

"RON!"

Hugo and Rose both jumped at the piercing noise. Leaving the mess where it lay, they hurried over to peer out of the kitchen (ignoring their dad's faint sigh of relief).

"Is that Aunt Ginny?" Rose asked. Tilting her head, she strained to see…without actually leaving the kitchen and risk abandoning her determined stance.

"Sounds like her." Ron's smile at the sudden stop to the screams turned to a frown as his sister continued to shriek. This didn't bode well. "She must be in the floo. Look, both of you, start cleaning up while I see what's going on."

Rose opened her mouth to argue, but Ron cut her off with a look that promised a grounding for a week.

Hugo tried his own token protest. "But can't you use magic—"

"RON! HERMIONE!" Ginny Potter's voice reverberated through the house. "I KNOW YOU'RE THERE!"

Ron, for possibly the first time in his life, was jealous of Hermione being obliviously secluded in the library. Not enough that he'd join her amongst the piles of books, but still.

"You two made the mess, you're cleaning it up. Which means no underage magic!" Ron shouted over his shoulder as he walked in a quick pace from the kitchen. Reaching the living room he cautiously opened the door. An increased blast of sound marked his entrance; it was only with years of practice that he restrained his impulse to run for the hills.

"WHAT DID HE DO?" Ginny screamed. Tiny bursts of green flame erupted into the living room with every syllable. He shot out an aguamenti as the carpet caught fire and restrained himself from rubbing his pulsing ears.

"You mean George?" Ron asked his furious sister, hesitantly walking up to her fiery head. "Whatever he did, I know nothing—"

"Not. George!" Ginny appeared ready to breath fire. Which, considering she was in the floo… "MY BLASTED HUSBAND."

"Harry?" Ron spoke even more hesitantly, his heart sinking. This really didn't bode well. "That's not giving me enough information."

"WHAT WERE THE THREE OF YOU UP TO?" Ginny shrieked.

Ron blinked, trying to remember if they had been up to something. Either way, his answer was clear. "Ah, nothing."

"Nothing? NOTHING!" She began to cry while still yelling. "Don't tell me it's nothing!"

Ron felt a headache coming on and decided he'd better get Hermione. She was always good at explaining what girls were upset about. "Just come through and tell me what's wrong. Where's Harry? Why aren't you shouting at him?"

There was a pregnant pause. The fiery redhead transformed into regular flames, then the actual Ginny came hurtling out of the fireplace to slam into Ron, knocking them both to the ground. He tried to catch his breath as he rolled back up to a sitting position. "Gin! Blimey, next time give a bloke a warning."

"They're gone!" Ginny said, her scream morphing into a shocked whisper. She didn't move from where she'd fallen. "I, I need Hermione."

"Wait, what—"

"NOW, Ron." His sister spoke, gripping her bag as though it was her only lifeline. He finally noticed that tears were streaming down her eyes. She began to hiccup. "If you, if you don't know what I'm talking about, it's even more urgent! Get Hermione!"

"She's right upstairs, calm down. It'll be fine. I'll get her, but what's this about?" Ron asked pulling her onto the couch. In response, she opened her bag with another sob. Her brother didn't understand but peered into it with concern. What he saw didn't clear anything up: it was just some dirt, golden powder, and a glass broken in half.

Ron looked back at his sister, confused…until it clicked into place. He grabbed the bag from Ginny's resisting grip, furiously rescanning its contents. "This, this isn't good. Really not good. At all. Tell me this isn't what I know it is?"

Ginny was still crying. For a few seconds Ron could only stare at the broken time turner in mounting fear. But with another glance at his distraught sister he tried to push this feeling aside.

"Hermione will be able to figure it out. Nothing to worry about." Ron said with true conviction. As he carefully closed the bag, he wondered how his brother-in-law kept getting into these situations. "So Harry dropped it or something?"

Ginny shook her head. He stared at her in confusion. Hadn't she been screaming about Harry earlier? So who had—her echoing voice sounded in his head. She hadn't said he's gone: she'd said they're.

"Ginny," Ron tried but failed to hold back his panic, "who was sent back in time?"

His sister attempted to answer once or twice, before finally managing a devastated whisper. "Everyone. Harry, Teddy, the…the kids. All, all of them! THEY ALL VANISHED!"

'Yeah', Ron decided as he flew out of the room and up the stairs, screaming Hermione's name as he went, 'now's an excellent time to panic.'


Ginny was not normally one to tap her fingers nervously. Or twitch at the slightest noise. Or endlessly cross and uncross her legs while fidgeting on a chair. A chair which was coated with a thin layer of something sticky that smelt like pancakes.

'Pancakes.' She thought nostalgically, twisting her hair as Rose's and Hugo's protests about going upstairs drifted into the kitchen. 'Why did I tease them about that? So what if Al and Lils top theirs with mounds of cinnamon, Jamie likes his with ketchup, or Teddy drenches his with syrup and eats with his fingers? Who cares if Harry cooks with wild flavours? Heavens, he even converted us to rosemary and chocolate mango pancakes! It's endearing, not crazy. I was the mental one to—'

"Ginny!" Hermione hurtled back into the kitchen. She only just stopped herself from tripping on the slick, syrupy floor and spilling her mound of books. "The Unspeakables firecalled. The time-turner can't be repaired, but they're working on alternatives."

Hermione had aged gracefully, having traded her hair's teenage bushiness for a curly bob, her Hogwarts uniform for blouses and pencil skirts, and her adventure induced under-eye shadows for a hint of mascara. Yet currently, this mother of two looked almost as strained as Ginny felt. Unsurprising, as she'd gone from spending a lazy afternoon in her library, to fearing for her dearest friend and close family's lives. She currently held a perilously balanced pile of books and loose paper in her arms, her hair messily strewn about with trails of ink stains lining her hands.

Ginny was even more dishevelled, what with red-rimmed eyes, knots of hair sticking up from her ponytail, hopelessly smeared mascara, and fingernail marks running up and down her clenched palms. But she didn't care at all about that. The only thing she could focus on to keep from hyperventilating was time travel. And pancakes.

"I'm a terrible mother." Ginny said hollowly, staring at Hermione without truly registering her presence. "I teased them this morning, that was the last thing I told my kids! They must know I wasn't serious about the pancakes, right? Right?"

Hermione decided to ignore the odd mention of breakfast food. Placing her research on the kitchen table, she placatingly walked towards her panicking sister-in-law. "We're going to get them back, we will. But of course they knew you were joking! I need you to stay calm, okay?"

"I—I'm acting ridiculous, aren't I." Ginny fingered the cup of cold, untouched tea. "My family is stuck somewhere in time and I'm stressed over pancakes."

Hermione took her friend's hands in hers. "You're not being ridiculous. Anyone would be frantic in your place! If there is anything I can do…" but Ginny was already shaking her head. She'd finally stopped crying but suddenly didn't trust herself to speak without bursting into tears.

"They're going to be fine." Hermione spoke firmly, squeezing Ginny's hands. "Harry and Teddy are there, remember? They won't let anything happen to the kids."

"But, but what if—" Ginny started in a whisper, unable to finish.

"They'll be fine as well." Hermione spoke, blinking back a few tears. "They're aurors, they can handle dangerous situations. Besides, it's Harry. Stranger things happened to him at eleven! He can deal with this. Though, to be fair, he usually causes the things by meddling in the first place. 'Trouble finds me', humph."

"When I find out he's okay, I'm going to murder him." Ginny said with a hint of her former fierceness, roughly rubbing the wetness from her eyes and cheeks.

Hermione gave a shaky smile. "I swear, Harry's given me more grey hairs than Ron and the kids combined. …not that I'm greying, mind you."

Ginny snorted, her usual personality bouncing back. "The kids are the ones who're driving me barmy: two Slytherins and two who likely snuck their way out of the House?" She paused, pulling away from her friend to fiddle with the cup. A long pause stretched. "Is it awful that I have no idea who did it? Not that it matters but…I keep wondering. Lily could have been trying to spy on, oh, Arthur and Genevieve. Or Romeo and Juliet. Al or Jamie might have been proving a crazy theory, or trying for a prank. Or maybe Teddy wanted to meet his birth parents? Merlin. I'm almost hoping it was just Harry's luck."

"It doesn't matter. Besides, we won't know for sure until we find them." Hermione said diplomatically, yet she bit her lip guiltily.

Ginny knew that Hermione was right. But imagining increasingly creative ways to ground her kids fed into a distraction that she welcomed with calm relief. It was at least doing something, and since she knew nothing about time magic it would have to be enough.

"Really," Hermione hesitated, her worried frown growing, "it's my fault as well. Mainly me, actually. After all, I convinced Harry to take the thing. I'm not being fair to him at all."

"Don't be silly." Ginny twisted her hair, almost amused but giving her friend a smile. "As though anyone can talk Harry into anything. I tried to talk him out of it, but he didn't think it'd be a big deal."

"Still, I'm so sorry for getting him involved." For the redhead's reassurance didn't seem to help Hermione much.

"Don't be, it's not your fault." Ginny firmly told her sister-in-law, considering that matter closed. But she then eyed the books and papers and a better topic of conversation came to her. "Still, that's true, you know about this. Could you tell me about the time-turner? I need to understand this, I feel so useless."

Hermione looked at Ginny in concern. "It's pretty complicated. What would you like to know?"

"How far back can it travel?" The words burst from her lips before she realised what she was saying, or that this was a question she didn't want answered.

"We aren't sure." Hermione reluctantly answered. "The test results only showed was that it could travel back years. Anything more than that, and it becomes impossible to pinpoint anything without a significant margin of error. There was some success with linking the time turner to specific magical signatures but—"

"Hermione," Ginny sighed as her friend all-too-obviously latched onto a tangent, "so Morgana help me, I'll let loose my frustration with a few curses."

Hermione eyed her desperate figure with a tinge of nervousness, halting her elaborate explanation for the concise version. "The maximum they could have travelled back would be about fifty years. But, for all we know, they might've only gone back a week."

"Or anytime in between." Ginny finished, suppressing a groan. "Isn't there a way to tell?"

"There's a fail-safe." Hermione flicked through one of the massive tomes, thoughts obviously in disarray. "I'm sorry, I should have mentioned it before. My mind's just been racing and—never mind. Look, anyone with access to the time turner was given a way to send messages forward in case of accidents."

"Thank Merlin!" Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. "How's that possible? Can't only people be sent through time?"

"With time turners, yes." Hermione explained. "But everything 'travels' through time at a regular, everyday rate. So if we know where a person in the past is going to place objects or messages, we can pick them up when they reach our time."

"What are we waiting for?" Ginny jumped from her seat, frantic strength surging through her at the chance to know her family was truly all right.

"Calm down." The brunette said patiently. "When I heard what happened I sent Ron out to get the Unspeakables as well as whatever Harry might have left. He should be back soon."

"Where is it?"

Hermione gave a forced smile. "Our favourite place, Gringotts. We've all been given the code to a Department of Mysteries vaults, though it took ages for the goblins to grant access to Harry and I. They can seriously hold a grudge. Not that I'm blaming them, but what a mess."

Ginny realised the problem with the situation. "Will Ron be able to get through? They hate all three of you."

The other woman's already stilted grin slipped into worry. "Oh my, that might be an issue. I wanted to see the message as soon as possible but wanted to start researching, so I didn't think it through. I hope it's okay."

Ginny nodded in understanding, before stopping in confusion. "How is that possible? Not that I'm complaining, but they're sure to be changing the past. Shouldn't we be feeling some alteration? Is it already here? Or was…I don't know, another future created? I can't believe I'm even discussing this."

"It—well, all of that gets very complicated. More theoretical than anything." Hermione frowned in thought. "To be honest, I haven't the faintest. Whatever the case, Harry knows not to change the past."

"But what if they went back to when his parents were still alive?" Ginny asked with growing anxiety. "If he had the chance to reveal Wormtail as the traitor, or stop some of the other deaths, he'd take it."

"No," Hermione shook her head, trying to convince both Ginny and herself, "he wouldn't risk messing up the future. All of us were given heavy instruction about what can and what can't be done in the past. Anything that can be eventually obliviated, so as to ensure a closed time loop, is all right. But that's it."

"Closed time loop?" Ginny asked, rubbing her temples as a headache pounded.

"It's when," Hermione hesitated in the explanation, "you remember how Harry and I used a time-turner in Hogwarts to rescue Sirius and Buckbeak? Before we went back, we saw all the events play out from an 'outsider' perspective. For example, we heard an axe drop from Hagrid's hut and Harry saw someone who looked like his dad drive away the dementors. When we used the time-turner, all those things were kept the same. But our past selves had misunderstood. The axe was dropped onto a stump rather than Buckbeak and Harry had seen himself cast the Patronus. That's a closed time loop: something where, even with changes in the timeline, the appearance of events in the past remain the same."

"We don't even know if that's what's happening!"

"To a certain extent, I don't think it matters." Hermione hedgingly explained. "If they meet and interact with anyone, that can be obliviated. Timelines are surprisingly flexible, I think. We'll have a certain grace period where it's still possible to go back, get them, and set things right. The only things that would really break a closed time loop would be if someone was killed who shouldn't be."

Ginny head snapped up. "Or if…if a rare magical object was destroyed. Hermione! What if Harry goes after the horcruxes? Or the Hallows! Oh Circe, the Hallows!"

Her friend was already shaking her head. "He wouldn't do that. Still, we'll find out soon. Breaking the time loop would certainly create an alternative or maybe parallel future. If Harry's able to send us a letter, we'll know that he hasn't changed anything too drastic."

'At least, not at the time he sent the message.' Both women internally added. Thoughts thus swimming with theories and worries, silence settled in the kitchen. Ginny began to pace, returning to her nervous fidgeting, while watching Hermione skim through her volumes of papers.

"Do you want a hand?" Ginny said finally, restlessness clear in her voice. "With the research?"

"Hmm?" Hermione looked up from her work. "Oh, no thanks. These are mainly my shorthand or just reference books."

"Do you want to move at least?" Ginny glanced around at the still messily sticky kitchen. "I can't imagine you're comfortable studying in here. Why not go to the living room with the big table and sofas?"

Hermione began to reply when both women froze at the distinct sound of the flaming floo. Without a moment's hesitation both witches flew from the kitchen, hurtling towards the living room with unabashed anxiety.

"Did you get it!" Hermione cried out, rushing to her husband as he brushed ash from his robes. Ginny didn't bother saying anything, instead struggling to grab the yellowing envelopes from her brother's hand.

"Oi!" Ron protested, scrambling away from the two crazy women. "Careful with those. Also, yeah, I'm fine by the way. Thanks for asking. The goblins were only slightly psychotic, no problem at all."

"RON!" Both of them cried as he held the precious papers out of their reach.

"I know, I know, you can curse me later." Ron said quickly, setting the goblin issue aside. "But I have to warn you about the letters."

"Warn us?" Ginny narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean," Ron took a deep breath, "you aren't going to like what time they're in."

Ginny's mind raced. Fifty years. Which of those years would she panic about the most? The answer came to her instantly and she had to clutch the wall to avoid fainting. Her sister-in-law, having reached the same conclusion, plopped onto the sofa with wide eyes.

"No." Hermione whispered while Ginny was too frightened to catch her breath, let alone speak. "They can't be back there, they'll get killed! We were on the run! Al looks just like Harry! The kids don't know about it—oh Merlin, his idiotic stunt! The Hallows! How is—"

"What?" Ron looked at his paling wife and sister in confusion. But then his mistake caught up to him. "Oh, no. Absolutely no! They aren't in '97 or '98."

Ginny began to breath once more. "You prat! You scared me half to death."

"Didn't realise what I was saying." Ron apologised sheepishly. "Though, you aren't going to like where they actually ended up much more."

With apprehension, Ginny haltingly took the faded envelope that Ron held out to her. She'd recognise Harry's messy handwriting anywhere, and seeing her name written across this envelope in his chicken-scratch penmanship was strangely calming. Taking the letter out and folding over the lined creases, her breath hitched at the first few words.


5th September 1995,

Dear Ginny,

We're fine, we're safe. This 'fine' isn't one of my dramatic understatements. I'm so sorry you saw us disappear and have to deal with this, but I love you and swear things will work out. Don't shake your head, you know I'm right! I might have a tendency to attract trouble but I'm brilliant at sneaking out of it.

We (Teddy, Jamie, Al, Lily, and I) arrived at the end of Hogwarts' Welcoming Feast in 1995. It was tense at first but everything's going smoothly now. Partly. You were right, again: sheltering the kids from the darker parts of the Second War has come back to haunt me. In fact, Jamie stole/grabbed the time-turner because he wanted to know about our pasts. But I can handle that and divert their questions. The real issue's with the Deathly Hallows. All three of them are in this time, so you know what that means. In case things get out of hand I've told Teddy about the risks. Not the details, but he knows what might happen. …


While Ginny had sunk onto an armchair with the relief of the first paragraph, she halted at the end of the second. She reread the sentences to make sure she hadn't misunderstood, then looked up at a horrified Hermione (who'd clearly seen something similar in her own letter).

"All three?" Hermione stared at her paper, as though willing the words to morph into something else. "That's not possible. He didn't possess the Wand or Stone in that period!"

"Do you really think it matters?" Ron brushed a hand through his short hair. "Those things stuck to him like spellotape. As though the Hallows would care about time travel when it came to the 'Master of Death'."

"But it's all three." Ginny spoke anxiously. "Harry almost went mad last time! If this nightmare's back, if that bloody ring's back…"

The three paled at the implications.

"He knows what he's doing." Ron forced himself to speak firmly, sinking onto the couch next to his wife. "Besides, it took a while for it to effect him after the Battle of Hogwarts."

"That was at the start of peacetime." Hermione pointed out with a grimace. "The effects sped up when he was stressed or angry. He nearly took Pansy Parkinson's head off because of her insults! So if they're at the start of the Second War?"

"Don't say that." Ginny said weakly, wishing more than anything that she could be with her husband. "Look, it's fine. He'll get rid of the ring again. He won't have access to the Department of Mysteries, but it's Harry. He'll find a way. I mean, he's broken into the Ministry enough times."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other worriedly.

"Ginny," her brother asked slowly, "did you finish the letter?"

"No, not yet. Why?"

"Harry doesn't have the ring." Panic prickled through Hermione's calm voice. "Which is good, I suppose, because the effects might be diminished. But if he can't find it he can't destroy it. Which he shouldn't do anyway, since that would mess up the timeline."

"What about the Wand? Or the Cloak?" Ginny said, but without much hope as she already knew the answer.

"Like Harry would destroy his Cloak," Ron snorted humourlessly, "and if he has any sense he'll keep the Wand. That time's too dangerous to do anything else."