Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros., especially parts of the dialogue.
Reviewers: Many thanks—excessivelyperky, ACforever, Olaf74, Bookworm.Annie, Alorkin, rellenh, PK Fan, fattoad, Tombadgerlock, fraewyn, honore, acacia59601, Nymoue, rekahneko, andinfiniteternity
Rating: K+/T
Pairings:Harry/Hermione
Summary: 'You can save one life, but you may lose another. Make one change and completely rewrite Destiny...'—Sixteen year old Harry is given the chance to go back in time to his Fourth Year to fix what came to pass. There he finds that even the smallest change can completely alter Destiny's course. But there is always a price with magic…
"Speech"
/Personal Thoughts/
'Telepathic Speech'
New Dawn
By Sentimental Star
Chapter Seven: What You Make It (Part 3)
Of course, when the children settled down, explanations were due.
After the man heard their story, and had his laugh—much to the embarrassment of the four who were in the pile up—the twins made good their escape, explaining to Harry, Hermione, and their younger siblings that they had spotted not just Lee Jordan, but also Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell. As well as Oliver Wood.
"All separately, of course, except for the three girls," George finished. He looked eager to see them—or, at least, Alicia. His interest in her was at least as well known as Fred's interest in one of her best friends—Angelina. Furthermore, there was always, "And Lee's promised to help us think up a few pranks for our new jokes line," in an overly loud whisper which Mr. Weasley pretended to ignore where he now sat at the kitchen table.
Folding up his copy of The Daily Prophet and standing, the head of the Weasley clan headed out to find Amos Diggory. Reminding the twins that they needed to be back to the tent by two o'clock.
When their father went out, Fred nudged his twin in the side with a grin. "Come on, can't keep the ladies waiting."
"Au contraire, brother mine," George protested, then winked at the three younger ones. "They're more likely to swoon at our feet that way."
"Augh!" Ginny cried, making a face. "You two are horrid!"
Fred smirked, patting her on the head where she sat next to Hermione (who was still on the floor). "Ah, so we are, Gin-Gin, but you see, we can't be any other way. Where's the fun in it, then?"
The younger girl rolled her eyes and scowled slightly, shaking her red-haired head. "Get moving, you great louts, before I Bat-Boogey Hex you. You know I can," threatened lightly.
"On that note," the twins both simultaneously gulped, paling and proceeding to make a hasty exit.
Harry's voice halted their progress a moment. "Fred, George, when you see Angelina and them, can you mention I have an idea I want to discuss when we get back to school?"
The two older boys turned, inquisitive enough to risk their younger sister's wrath—at least for a few minutes. "Whatever about, Harrykins?" George asked curiously.
Ginny, Ron, and even Hermione watched him with equal curiosity, although his female best friend thought she might have a guess as to what this "idea" of his was.
Harry simply smiled mysteriously. "Sorry, but you have to wait until school."
He laughed as the twins pouted at the same exact moment. Still grinning, eyes dancing, he wagged his finger at them, "Nope. Not telling."
George gave a dramatic sigh. Then perked up as a female voice suddenly sounded from outside the tent, "George? George Weasley, you better get your arse out here now!"
Apparently, Alicia (and likely her friends with her) were closer than the twins had thought. His face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Coming, Ali!" he called, and then darted out before any of the others could get a word in edgewise.
Fred stared mock-askance after him. "Utterly whipped," he remarked mournfully. But it should be duly noted that he exited the tent almost as quickly as his brother, leaving the three younger ones to dissolve in giggles behind him.
"Yup," Ginny observed between giggles, "most definitely whipped."
Once the boys, at least, had calmed down, Ron turned pointedly to the darker-haired boy beside him, "Soo…" he drew the word out after the twins were safely out of hearing range, eyeing Harry speculatively from where he now sat beside him on the bed. The girls were still sitting on the floor, continuing to giggle over the twins' apparent infatuations with Alicia and Angelina respectively.
Harry raised an eyebrow at his male best friend. "So?" he echoed.
Ron rolled his eyes and lightly poked the other boy in the side. "You know what I mean, Harry."
Harry twisted away with a soft laugh. "Sorry, Ron. I have to put you and Ginny in the same category as the twins. Not telling 'til we get to Hogwarts."
"Aw, dammit," the red-head groaned, "and here I thought I was your best mate."
The sixteen-turned-fourteen-year-old kept snickering. "You are, mate, but I want to keep you guessing on this one."
Ron actually pouted. "No fair. And what about Hermione?"
Said girl overheard and raised an eyebrow at him. "What about me, Ronald?"
"Nothing, nothing," he moaned, dropping back on the bed and throwing his arm over his face in mock-despair, "it's not fair that you know what Harry has planned, and I don't."
In spite of herself, Hermione started snickering again, too. "Ron, I've only a guess, so you can stop the dramatics now."
Peeking out from under his arm, Ron glowered balefully at her. "That still doesn't help."
As the girls went into another fit of giggles, Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and gently gripping the other teenager's t-shirt, hauled his male best friend upright, "Come on, Ron, knock it off. Let's play some Exploding Snap. Girls, you, too."
IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI
Several rounds of Exploding Snap later, Ginny told them that she wanted to go meet some of her friends that she had seen that morning. Hearing that, Ron also stood to his feet. He glanced at Harry, "You want to come, mate? I saw Dean and Seamus earlier."
Harry shook his head, smiling and discreetly motioning Hermione (who had also gone to rise) to sit. "Nah. I'll catch up later, mate. Hermione and I haven't been out, yet."
At that Ginny glanced shrewdly at the older girl—who tried very hard to ignore that look. Sensing her best friend's reticence, the thirteen-year-old smirked. "That's because you fell asleep in 'Mione's lap. Care to share why?"
"Ginny!" Hermione squealed, turning bright red.
His sixteen-year-old mind quickly grasping the implications behind Ginny's statement, Harry was not long in following his female best friend's example. "It's not like that!" he immediately protested.
"Of course it's not," Ginny retorted, snickering. "Didn't you know? Hermione said the same thing."
"Ginny!" That was Hermione again, and she had colored even more deeply.
Laughing, Ginny dodged for the entrance as Hermione leapt after her, dragging a slightly befuddled, but clearly amused older brother after her.
"Oy!" Harry's exclamation halted all three in place.
Still snickering, Ginny turned back towards him, "Yeah, Harry?"
"Tell Dean, Seamus, and anyone else you see what I told the twins, will you?" he asked, chuckling softly in spite of himself.
More calmly now, Ginny acknowledged, "Sure, Harry."
"Of course, mate," Ron agreed, and then added, grinning. "I can't wait to find out what this 'big secret' is, you know. But, alas, I think I'll wait."
Snickering still, Harry nodded to him, "You do that."
When brother and sister left the tent, Harry swiveled back towards Hermione, grinning.
The girl watched him thoughtfully. "DA, Harry?" she asked at last. "That's what you're talking about, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Harry acknowledged, his smile softening, "I figured I'd put the bug in everyone's ear and get them talking. I'd really like to start DA this year, Hermione, if we can manage it."
"I think we can. We just have to see what the others think, since Crouch was a decent professor," she stated.
The boy raised an eyebrow. "Decent? Maybe. Deranged? Yes."
She lightly slapped him on the shoulder, a smile creeping up onto her lips. "You know what I mean, Harry." She shook her head, "And anyway, who says he'll still be the teacher? We can do something about it, you know."
Harry sighed. "I know, Hermione. But in this case, I'd rather know exactly where he is and what he'll do, so I'm not surprised by it. Who knows what will happen if we catch him? He'd be sent to Azkaban, yes, but what if he escapes, or someone breaks him out? In the end of it all last time he was Kissed by the Dementor. I'd rather have him near-dead at this point than have to face him next year after he does who knows what. With any luck, we can convince Dumbledore to put a counter-spell on the Goblet for the Confundus, and maybe even an anti-Porting ward on the Tri-Wizards' Cup."
Hermione was silent a full moment. Then, in spite of everything, smirked, "Wow, Harry, who ever thought you could be logical?"
"Hermione," Harry groaned, blush suddenly staining his cheeks.
The girl tittered. Then giggled. Then full out laughed. "All right, Harry! All right. We'll let it be for now. In the mean time," she eyed him meaningfully, "why don't you tell me exactly what that dream of yours was about?"
Harry balked. "What dream?"
Hermione sighed. "Harry," she crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. "Talk."
Seeing he had little choice in the matter, Harry sighed and followed her orders.
IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI
Hermione was chewing her lip when he finished. "That's no ordinary dream, Harry," she finally told him quietly some moments later.
The boy gave a light snort. "Glad you think so, too. It's nice to know I'm not losing my mind." He sighed, and flopped back on the bed in a near-imitation of Ron. "Damn," he muttered. "Why can't anything be normal about me?"
"Harry, dear," Hermione advised him patiently as she perched next to him, "when has anything been normal about you?"
The other Gryffindor peeled open an eye. "Hermione," he remarked dryly, "that does not make me feel better."
The girl warmly rolled her own eyes. "I figured as much. Bear with me, all right? I'm just trying to figure this out. Do you think Voldemort's sending you these dreams? That's the second one you've had in the past two days."
Harry shook his head. "Not unless he's started predicting the future, Mi."
She looked very interested—and rather worried—at that. "The future?"
Harry sighed again. "Everyone in those…dreams, I guess we can call them, is older than they are now, Hermione. In both times. And I just feel…older, I guess. Like I know stuff that I don't know now, that something's different about me. And it's not like I'm there because Voldemort's there, or because he's plotting. In fact, both times I've gotten the distinct impression that he isn't there. It's nerve-wracking, actually," this part muttered. He glanced up at her, emerald eyes completely serious. "But most of all, my scar doesn't hurt."
Hermione's brown eyes stared, blinking rapidly in shock. "Not at all?"
Harry shook his head. "Not at all," he confirmed softly.
She stirred uneasily in her place. "That's odd, Harry. Really odd. Nothing like this has ever happened before."
"Tell me about," the boy grumbled, rubbing at his face.
"So," she sighed, slipping an arm around his shoulders, "what do you think we should do about it?"
Harry leaned into her. "Change it," he whispered.
IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI
Hermione and Harry spent most of their time until the Weasleys returned planning how they could fix what happened in Harry's dream. Unsurprisingly, it was the girl who came up with the idea: "I know you want to call a truce. What about charming a parchment, you know, like the ones you saw at the Ministry when you went to your hearing—the paper airplanes? You can send it to him, sort of like a memo."
Harry stared at her a full two minutes before exclaiming with a wide grin, "Brilliant, Hermione!"
They set to work, making sure it appealed to its intended reader, as Harry knew the blond would only buy this if he received something in return. Like any proper Slytherin.
He had it now, charmed and complete, discreetly fingering it where he hid the parchment in his jacket's pocket, following Ron up the stairs to their seats in the Quidditch stands.
"Blimey, Dad!" Ron huffed. "How far up are we?"
Around his neck, Harry wore the pair of omnioculars he had snagged just before they entered, as well as wore the Bulgarian regalia that the twins had insisted he should to buy, although Fred and George themselves wore Irish colors.
Hermione had her Irish scarf, as did Ginny, although the younger girl also had the Bulgarian hat. Both carried omnioculars Harry had made a point of buying for them, and Ron wore his own—which, incidentally, he had paid for himself, although Harry already knew what he would be getting the red-head for Christmas. The other fourteen-year-old boy wore Bulgaria's colors, too.
At that moment, before Mr. Weasley had the chance to respond, the voice he had anticipated hearing all afternoon unfortunately spoke up, "Put it this way," everyone glanced down to where Lucius Malfoy stood with Draco, both dressed in all black and the older of the two peering up at them in mock-sympathy, "if it rains, you'll be the first to know." He smirked.
"Lucius," Mr. Weasley acknowledged icily, pulling back Fred and George who looked about ready to vault the rail, four-foot drop between the two pathways or not.
Their group started walking, and the Malfoys started walking. Harry had to remember to act irritated as Draco prattled on:
"Father and I are in the Minister's box," the other boy crowed, and Harry noticed with some bemusement that it actually sounded more excited than haughty or snobbish, "by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself!"
With a soft snort, Harry shook his head, carefully withdrawing the charmed parchment he and Hermione had worked on earlier today as they continued to walk. He had to plan this right. If Draco was indeed as genuine as he seemed in his…dream, and was indeed as genuine as he seemed now, then the last thing he wanted was to attract the senior Malfoy's attention. If he wasn't…well, then, Harry would make very sure he had cover (from Hermione) and at least three escape routes.
That duel in his dream had, if nothing else, instilled a healthy respect in Harry for his rival's dueling capabilities, and they really did not need to erupt into a duel in the middle of the Quidditch World Cup.
"Don't boast, Draco," Lucius Malfoy's silky voice re-entered the conversation as he popped the boy none too lightly in the stomach with the serpent's head of his cane (which, as Harry knew, held his wand), bringing both groups to a halt. He sneered up at them. "There's no need with these people."
Harry knew what would happen next, and he knew what he had to do—but he had to do it deliberately, without giving away anything. So deliberately, he turned away, following Ron's lead.
Lucius Malfoy did not disappoint.
Hissing as the crooked head of man's cane slammed down—hard—on his wrist, Harry turned slowly to coolly regard the older man. Malfoy senior gave a barely perceptible start, and he was pleased to note the slight flicker of uncertainty that entered the man's eyes.
Then the older blond masked it and remarked idly, almost gleefully, "Do enjoy yourself Mr. Potter," he drawled, then leered at Hermione, causing Harry's hackles to rise, "while you can."
He gave a tch and a very unsettling wink, before releasing Harry and stalking off.
Draco smirked at them, starting to follow his father, and Harry chose that moment to act. "Oy! Malfoy!" he called, and gave a very brief nod to Hermione, who cautiously slid her wand out of her sleeve, tip pointing out and directly at the Fourth Year Slytherin.
When Draco turned back, sneer on his face, he was hit directly between the eyes with the charmed parchment Harry had blown. When he scowled, and wrenched it away from his face, the Gryffindor merely smirked, "Consider it pay back for Second Year," while inwardly praying the other boy would at least spare it half a glance.
Draco gave a wordless snarl before proceeding to do more than just that—he read it. Startled. Blanked his face. And read it again, narrowing his eyes:
Malfoy:
Clearly, I don't like you, and you don't like me. If I ever will, that's debatable. But I'd rather deal with your pompous arse than fling curses across a battle field or across a manor dungeon. Look at it this way—one less enemy for you, and one less enemy for me, that way we both benefit. If that's not enough, think what bloody Saint Potter might be able to do for you if we declare a truce. If you agree to this, meet me after the game at the souvenir stall, the one farthest from the west entrance of the pitch. Come ALONE.
Potter
Raising his head, he narrowed his gray-silver eyes even more, the intensity of his gaze piercing through Harry, trying to figure out, in all likelihood, whether this was some sort of joke. Harry let him, undergoing the blonde's scrutiny without so much as a twitch, keeping his face clear of deception and utterly serious, surprised by how badly he wanted this to work.
Gradually, Draco's face cleared of all emotion once again and the Slytherin gave him a very slight nod.
Harry released a breath he had not realized he had been holding and nodded back. Then Draco turned and stalked off, much like his father. Harry was pleased to see, however, that he safely tucked the note away into an inner pocket of his own jacket.
Once the blond was out of sight, the Gryffindor heaved an even bigger sigh—this one of relief—and nodded to Hermione as his shoulders relaxed and a delighted grin stole across his face. Very discreetly, the girl tucked away her wand before coming over to Harry and shaking her head in fond disbelief. "You are absolutely something else, Harry," she remarked quietly.
The boy gave a small, pleased smirk and shrugged as the two of them continued on their way up the grandstands.
"Mate, what the bloody hell was that about?" Ron demanded lowly as he gained Harry's shoulder.
The raven-haired Fourth Year winced slightly, but simply stated, "A proposition. You'll see when we head to Hogwarts, Ron. Don't ask me anymore—I'm not even sure this'll work."
"Oh, great, another thing I have to wait for," he groused softly.
"Leave it, Ron," Harry warned quietly.
The other boy did not look happy, but even through his mild scowl, he nodded.
Harry sighed. "Thanks, mate."
He knew, once Ron found out he had proposed a truce with—of all people—Draco Malfoy, there would be hell to pay. But he could live with it if it meant more peace of mind when the time came for him to go head to head with Voldemort. With any luck, things would work out—for the better, he hoped.
Tbc.
