March 1980
The Leaky Cauldron
Even with a solid Scourgify, she could still smell the stale alcohol and traces of vomit on her clothes. Her hair was an absolute nest, and the rest of her head wasn't faring all that well either, but the pain potion did soothe a bit of the throbbing in her skull.
That is until she had to take a seat across from a rather serious looking Marauder, his hands folded on top of the table and jaw set.
"Morning," she said with a grimace, falling into the booth. "Something you needed?"
"Yup." His lips popped around the syllable. "I want to know whatever it is that you've been hiding from Petey. You see," he said, sitting tall and eyeing her dangerously, "I like to take the mickey out of old Pete because he and I do that sort of thing. But the bloke is my brother, and I'd do anything for him. So whatever that slip was last night, whatever you're hiding in that little notebook, I need to know."
"Sirius, I can't just—"
"Bull-fucking-shit. You're playing around with people's lives. People I care about a great deal." Sirius extended his hand, and Hermione stared at it a long moment before gripping it in a firm handshake. He produced his wand and with a muttered spell, a small band of golden magic twined around their interlocked hands. "Anything said in this conversation, I solemnly swear to keep secret and never speak of it outside the two of us."
Hermione blinked several times, focusing her attention on the warming effects of the spell before it faded away.
"Now talk," he commanded, steepling his fingers under his chin. The gray of his eyes was hard as steel and she felt an uncomfortable thrill run through her.
Grimacing, she shifted in her seat. "It's complicated."
"I've got time."
xXx
Over the following half-hour, Hermione spilled the truth. All of it. Even Marlene's death and Peter turning, framing Sirius, and hiding as Scabbers.
Through the entire retelling, Sirius remained stoic. Emotion only flickered across his features when she told him of Marley's fate.
When she'd finished the whole thing, she shrank back, playing with the side of her mug, holding the tea that had gone cold.
"You seem keen to offer my friends and family up as bait, Kitten."
She flinched. "What?"
"How can you know Pete's gonna turn and not tell him? No chance to get his head straight?"
"I don't know he's going to turn—not anymore. Things have all drastically changed so I have no idea what's going to happen; I only know what did. I had a plan, one that included luring You-Know-Who to Godric's Hollow, but that's gone. Impossible. The prophecy that marks Harry as the one to destroy him... it's moot because he won't be born."
"This is so fucked up." Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled sharply. "Why does Pete turn?"
"I don't know. There's no information about why or when, just that something triggers it in the weeks leading up to Halloween 1981."
Sirius groaned into his palms, "And if Halloween is no longer important, how in the hell are you planning to get Voldy alone? I doubt he'll respond to an owl asking him round for tea."
"I have one idea but it's mad." Gnawing on her lip, she tried her best to organise her hazy thoughts. "Before everything changed, a prophecy was made that stated that a boy born in late July will be the end of You-Know-Who. When he arrived in Godric's Hollow, he chose Harry as his equal. But Dumbledore wrote in his notes that it could have just as easily been Neville."
His brow tugged tightly together. "Neville?"
A knot settled in her throat, and she swallowed hard, fixing Sirius with a hard stare. "Neville Longbottom—born July 30th, 1980." Sirius blinked back at her before erupting in loud belly laughs and slamming his palm against the table. Her lips pursed in a tight frown. "Excuse me, why are you laughing?"
Sirius swiped a tear from the corner of his eye and his head fell back, exposing the stubble disappearing down his neck and his sharp Adam's apple. When his gaze fell on hers again, he was void of any real amusement. "You're going to go tell Alice that you'd like to lure the Dark Lord to her home so he can attempt to kill her firstborn child? I knew you were smart, but damn, Kitten." He paused to suck his cheek between his teeth a moment, a smile fighting its way back onto his face. "This is your best one yet. Please let me be there when you pitch this idea."
A shadow fell over the table, and they both jumped as James sank into the seat next to her, grumbling and groaning and smelling as awful as she did. "Fuck, I feel like shit."
"Kitten, tell your boyfriend your genius plan to offer up the Longbottom baby as bait." Another bark of laughter chased his words, and she cut her eyes into narrow slits at him.
"That's not at all what I said." Turning to her boyfriend, she softly shook her head. "But You-Know-Who will most likely assume the child that will eventually lead to his demise is Neville. I'm not saying we offer him as bait," she paused to glare at Sirius. "I'm saying we use that to our advantage to get him where we need him at the exact right time."
Sirius snorted. "When's that again?"
"We time it perfectly. The attack happens right as we destroy the Horcruxes and weaken him."
The man beside her was still hunched over, massaging his temples and pinching his eyes shut. "I don't follow anything you two are saying. Am I supposed to?"
"No," they said in unison, leaning over the table to speak in hushed voices.
"The problem is," Hermione continued, "Peter is the one to lead him to Godric's Hollow. I don't know how we are supposed to do that without him—without someone on the inside."
Sirius stared back at her, the gears in his mind working silently before he splayed his fingers on the table and nodded. "If it comes down to it, I'll do it. No one else."
That caught James' attention, his head shooting up to study his friend. "The fuck are you saying, mate?"
"I'm saying we don't keep Reggie in longer than we have to. We don't send Pete in, and we sure as hell don't tell him anything about what happened in your timeline; that'll eat him alive. I'm saying that if anyone else is going in, it'll be me."
"Paddy, you're not—"
"Let's hope I'm not," Sirius interrupted, folding his lips into a thin line. "But if it comes down to it, it's me. No one else. Deal?"
Grey eyes locked onto Hermione's, and her hangover, which had been an oppressive cloud hanging low over her head, had vanished. "Deal."
xXx
It was incredible what a hot shower and a greasy lunch could do for one's constitution. She padded down the stairs feeling like an entirely new person.
She tended to her potions, still insistent on brewing the Wolfsbane for Remus even if he wasn't here to take it. When he returned—because he would return—there would be a stockpile. As she floated the cauldron to the bay by the window to soak in the moonlight, a soft knock sounded against the door.
"Hermione? It's Dorcas. Are you busy?"
Slowly setting down the cauldron, Hermione crossed the room and opened the door. Dorcas' wild curls rivalled even Hermione's, although they were much shorter. She had a friendly smile, high cheekbones covered in freckles.
"Hi, Dorcas. I was just finishing up in here. Did you need something?" Hermione's brows pitched higher on her forehead as she stowed her wand.
"Dumbledore wanted me to check in with you. I'm free for a few hours if you wanted someone to talk to."
Fumbling, Hermione nodded aggressively and sputtered out, "Yes! Yes, thank you! Should we…" Her features crumbled as she looked around her messy lab.
"I'll meet you in the library," Dorcas said with a smile. "Whenever you're ready."
About ten minutes later, Hermione made her way to the library. Dorcas was sitting on the floor with a pile of books, the fire roaring behind her.
"Sorry about that." Hermione fell to the ground, setting her journal at her side. With a shrug, she said, "I really have no idea where to start."
Closing her book, Dorcas' lips bent in a kind smile. "How about at the beginning?"
xXx
For the next half hour, Hermione showed Dorcas the photos and notes she had on the Horcruxes.
The corners of the page curled, its surface covered in tea rings and ink stains. Some of the notes were in Dumbledore's hand but the majority were her meticulous script. Dorcas read them silently, gnawing on her lip.
Known Horcruxes:
The Gaunt Ring
Location: Little Hangleton, North side of town in a small shack, revealed by Revelum Caligo.
Notes: Do not wear; irreversible curse—possibly attached to all Horcruxes.
The Locket of Salazar Slytherin
Location: Unknown—Cave by the sea
Notes: Unreachable by magical means; RAB Missing and presumed dead Spring 1980.
The Journal of T. Riddle
Last Known Location: In the possession of Lucius Malfoy as of 1992.
Notes: Proceed with extreme caution; Riddle may attempt contact through the journal before it has been destroyed. Has the power to possess for short periods of time.
Nagini
Location: Unknown
Notes: A maledictus; created in 1994.
Harry Potter
Location:
Notes: Created Halloween 1981.
At the bottom were quick notes from Dumbledore, circled words and errant thoughts, but the ones that stuck out were: Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor, the latter of which was crossed out so hard the parchment had torn.
"I can only imagine that these," Hermione pointed to the words at the bottom of the page, "are clues that the final Horcruxes must be very important to these Houses, perhaps even belonging to the founders. The Locket was from the direct line of Salazar himself; I've no idea how You-Know-Who got it since he was an orphaned half-blood, but at some point, it came into his possession."
"The death of Hepzibah Smith." Dorcas broke out in a grin as she stared down at the page, her finger darting out to tap at the word Hufflepuff. "It was in the news when I was still at Hogwarts, and Professor Binns was particularly invested in it. You see, Hepzibah Smith was an old witch with little family, and she collected rare and priceless artefacts from magical history, often hoarding them for herself. I asked Binns about it at the time because she was well known, and an archived list of her belongings was published in the Prophet."
"I didn't think much of it at the time but..." Shaking her head in disbelief, Dorcas sat back, awe etched into her features. "But he mentioned that he'd spoken to one of his students—Caractacus Burke."
"Burke?" Hermione echoed. "Like of—"
"Too right," Dorcas laughed. "Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley. They had a shared love of magical history; Caractacus would stop by a few times a year to show off his new baubles. Well, Caractacus told Binns that he'd be interested to get into Old Hepzibah's family vaults because, although he had no proof, it was rumoured that she owned priceless pieces belonging to two founders of Hogwarts. A locket, which he himself sold to her, and an item thought to have descended through the Smith line. Furthermore, the Smiths believed themselves to be the heirs of Helga Hufflepuff."
Hermione shifted in her spot on the floor, tapping her finger against her lips in thought.
"Now here's where it gets interesting. Hepzibah Smith was allegedly murdered by her house-elf, who gave a full confession. The entire thing was rather strange because, as you know, elves are fiercely loyal to their masters. The case was on the front page for weeks; it was entirely unheard of. There was this one day when I was meant to come by to sort through some essays in Professor Binns' office, and he was floating about, commiserating over the loss of two priceless heirlooms: the locket of Salazar Slytherin," Dorcas paused, her finger floating to the page again, "and the cup of Helga Hufflepuff."
Shaking her head, Hermione's hand shot to her lips, muffling her gasp. "A cup?"
"Yes, a cup—more like a chalice, really. Neither has resurfaced since."
Pieces began shifting into place in her mind, locking together and forming the first tendrils of a thought. "What if her house-elf didn't murder her?"
A lopsided smile worked over Dorcas' features. "What if, indeed. If the locket somehow made its way into You-Know-Who's possession, I think we can safely deduce that the chalice has as well."
It was a start. But even with this one small piece of the puzzle plausibly decided on, they still had no idea where to look for the blasted thing. "Is there anyone who may know what it looks like? Maybe someone in the Smith family?"
"Hepzibah Smith was the last of her direct line. It's possible there are connections..." A wrinkle formed between Dorcas' brows as a thought fluttered over her features. "I remember seeing a sketch of it though, maybe in the paper? I'm sure the Prophet has public archives. That may be the best place to start."
Hermione nodded, feeling an odd pain at the idea of the end of the Hufflepuff line, and her thoughts wandered to the other house not crossed out at the bottom of the page. "And Ravenclaw? Any idea there?"
Lips twisting in a frown, Dorcas shook her head sadly. "Not off the top of my head, unfortunately. But I'm sure we're on the right track… I'll see what I can dig up but if you can make it to Hogwarts, Binns or one of the other ghosts may be your best bet. Their memories are long and may have an answer for you."
"Of course! The Grey Lady; I'll start with her."
At that, Dorcas laughed and pushed a particularly buoyant curl from her brow. "Good luck. I was in Ravenclaw, and that ghost is sooner to lob you from the top of Ravenclaw Tower than she is to say a passing hello." Hermione's features fell dejectedly, and the older witch nudged her with her elbow. "We'll get you to Hogwarts, Hermione. We'll find them—I promise."
It was an empty promise, one the witch had absolutely zero way of keeping, but it still filled Hermione's chest with emotion so foreign that she barely recognized it.
Hope.
xXx
A/N: Thank you so much for joining in for another week of 1979! I'm hoping your enjoying the story and I'm so grateful that you follow this WIP and for all your support.
Big thanks to my Alphabet: Farmulousa, Ravenslight, and NuclearNik! You guys are wonderful, and I appreciate you girls so very much.
Until next week, stay safe friends!