Disclaimer- I do not own anything! The characters & such belong to the fabulous JK Rowling.
A/N: This story is AU, obviously, & will be extremely dark. It's a time-travel fic & our lovely Hermione Granger will be the protagonist, along with another character that took me longer than I'd like to admit about using her as a main character but it worked out so I'm not complaining.
I won't be putting up trigger warnings for every chapter & if graphic violence, explicit sex, non-con, dub-con, physical & mental abuse AND childhood abuse is something you cannot tolerate in a fic, then this is not for you.
This is your warning.
This will be a Sirimione so if that isn't your thing then, *shrugs shoulder, sorry about that.
Other than that! I honestly hope you enjoy & let me know what you think.
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"There's a storm inside my head, sometimes I wish that I was dead, I'm broken." -Bebe Rexha
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December 25th, 2008
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Sitting outside on the roof of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Hermione Granger deeply inhaled the cigarette firmly gripped between her lips, holding in the smoke and slowly letting it out through her nose, watching the twinkling lights of London.
The stars were hard to see in the city, with all the light pollution that created a sky glow all of its own, but it didn't stop her from trying to locate the constellations that she knew were there. It brought her peace and distracted her mind from more nightmarish thoughts.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Grabbing the tumbler of fire whisky beside her, the ice clinking together and against the glass, she took a swift drink, closing her eyes in bliss at the fiery warmth sinking down her throat. It wasn't often she enjoyed a glass, soaking up the silence around her, but it was Christmas and she deserved a beak.
A break from fighting for her life and surviving to live another day— for what, she hadn't a clue. It wasn't as if she were a thought in Voldemort's crazy mind since he accomplished in killing Harry, but the Death Eaters were relentless in wanting her head on a platter.
Harry Potter's Mudblood, they have dubbed her— she scoffed, thinking how inadequate they all were, couldn't even come up with a decent insult. Not to mention it had been ten years since the battle at Hogwarts and they still wanted her dead. She smirked, the thought of how easily she escaped from their clutches— several times and how her being alive bothered them to their core. It was nice to know her life still bothered so many.
"Happy Christmas, Hermione," she murmured under her breath, her eyes still closed and her cigarette held between her teeth.
Flashes of her fighting against Death Eaters played behind her closed eyelids; a terrifying sob escaping her lips as she watched her best friend, her brother, Harry Potter, crumble to his death under Voldemort's wand; screams of her friend's torturing rang through her ears; blood soaked her hands as she held Ronald Weasley against her chest as he laid motionless before her; tears marking her cheeks as she cried for Ginny—
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
The tears for her fallen friends had dried long ago, the fracture of her heart had healed and hardened. No longer was she a sobbing mess unable to think she'd ever move on— but she had; the loss of everyone she held dear to her heart had made her stronger, resilient, sharper, powerful.
No longer was she throwing disarming spells and simple jinxes as she fought for her life; no longer was she worried about her soul being torn into pieces as she threw unforgivables and hexes that killed her enemies— no, Hermione Granger didn't hesitate to kill, using her revenge to harden her resolve as she watched Death Eater after Death Eater dropping before her feet, enjoying the sickening thud that would follow after.
Of course, she knew killing Death Eaters didn't even make a dent in Voldemort's army, what with him accumulating thousands of wizards and witches over the years, but it was satisfying for her. Now that he had control of Wizarding Britain, which was causing turmoil in the muggle world, and was well on his way to the colonies, she knew they had no chance of ever winning against him and his regime.
"I don't think I'll ever understand why you smoke those muggle things," her friend of eight years had uttered in revulsion as she swiped the cigarette out of her mouth and threw it over the edge of the roof. "I may not know much about those foul little sticks, but I do know that it kills you slowly."
Rolling her eyes, Hermione grinned at her companion, watching as she settled beside her, "didn't know you cared."
Pansy Parkinson scoffed, snatching the tumbler of brown liquor out of her hand and took a dainty sip, shuddering at the taste. "I don't," she lied, clearing her throat, "but Severus does."
Slowly, Hermione took the tumbler out of Pansy's hand, knowing she despised the alcohol beverage, and took a sip of her own. She didn't bother to reply, knowing that she was right.
Severus was like a mother hen in his own, weird way. He wasn't overbearing like most wards, not that she nor Pansy needed one, being in their late twenties, but Severus worried. He nagged, he snapped, he snarled and sneered at the two witches but underneath it all, he was in a constant state of worry. She knew better to blame it on his old age.
Hermione knew it had to do with the weariness the war had brought upon him but she knew better than to bring that up. After all, he had fought in the first war and now was suffering in the second one that lasted longer than most had thought it would. It didn't help that he had survived through hardship and lived a dreadful life while everyone they knew were killed gruesomely- always on the run, always hiding. She could see the tiredness wear him down, the way his eyes would glaze over with emptiness; he was no longer the snarky man she grew up despising but a man who longed for rest and peace that she came to adore and love. After all this time, he still refused to give up with everything he had lost being destroyed in front of his very own eyes.
From the time he reached her when Harry had fallen, he apparated away, taking her back to Grimmauld Place, where they had reset the fidelius charm, put up extra wards, and placed her as secret keeper. She never understood why he had tried to protect and she never thought to ask, too lost in her sorrow to really give a damn. Then two years later, he had brought back a broken Pansy, her face slashed with claw marks as she screamed with agony for her family and friends who were murdered— for what reasons, Hermione didn't know, her friend had never told her and she had never asked. It was years ago but for Pansy, the scars, the memories, the sorrow, was still fresh in her mind.
If the ongoing war had hardened Hermione's resolve to the point of no return, it had softened Pansy's to the point of despair. Although Hermione had lost everything to the other side she fought against, Pansy had lost everything to the side she fought alongside with. It couldn't have been easy for her raven-haired friend.
They sat in comfortable silence looking out towards the city in front of them, at peace with their loss, each in their own thoughts.
"It's finished, 'Mi," Pansy spoke quietly, "I came to tell you we leave in an hour."
'Mi. How she loathed people shortening her name. She didn't understand the reason for it and it annoyed her that everyone just couldn't call her Hermione. First 'Mione and now she had to deal with 'Mi. It was infuriating but she would never tell that to Pansy, knowing how fragile she was nowadays.
"Okay," Hermione answered just as softly, bringing the glass to her lips and chugging the remains of the liquid down, welcoming the fuzziness that it caused her mind.
"Mysterious thing, time. Powerful and, when meddled with, dangerous." — Dumbledore's words rushed through her mind, a warning of what was to come. Although she knew it was a risk, not only for herself, but for Pansy as well, she couldn't stop the willingness of fixing the past for a better world.
It was a thorough plan. A good plan. A plan that needed to work no matter the cost. And if she could change the fate of her friends, her family, the world— who wouldn't take that chance? She'd be a fool if she didn't. But it didn't stop the nagging feeling of something horrible about to come. You do not tamper with time and hope for the best, it didn't work that way but she honestly couldn't think what was worse than what they were living in now.
"Do you think it'll work?" Asked Pansy, fiddling with the hem of her shirt, avoiding eye contact. "I know this is beyond dangerous but, in your own opinion, do you think it'll work?"
Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Hermione took her time to answer. She honestly didn't know what to say. There were so many scenarios that could go absolutely wrong but to tell that to Pansy? No, she couldn't do that to her. She could lie and tell her everything was going to be okay and they'd fix it all but she didn't want to do that either.
It was a lose/lose situation for Hermione and she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. They had gone over their cover story so many times, she knew that part of the plan was legit, but like she had said, so many times before, time was dangerous to meddle with. Voldemort could hide his horcruxes in different places or he could have gone for the Deathly Hallows and become even more untouchable— the list was endless.
But she kept her mouth shut, refusing to voice her opinions on the matter, hoping, beyond hope, that it wouldn't lead down to that. This was their only shot and she wasn't going to ruin it now.
"I don't know, Pans," Hermione answered, glancing at her sideways, "but I really hope it does." She reached for her friend's hand, "besides, as long as we have each other, we'll be okay, right?"
Squeezing her hand reassuringly, Pansy smiled, "right."
Swallowing the lump that was lodged in her throat, Hermione sniffed, turning her attention back to the twinkling lights of the city, the citizens unaware of what she, Pansy and Severus were about to do.
Hermione had come to accept her fate. There wasn't much for her to lose if something went terribly wrong. She was ready to sacrifice her life for a better future but as she sat there on the roof of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place with Pansy's hand in hers, she couldn't stop the way her heart stuttered a beat at the thoughts of her best friends, her family, growing up in a world without her being there.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
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& here it is. This has been bothering me for the longest & I am so excited to share this lusus naturae of a fic with you all!
I will be posting every Monday's & reviews/follows/favorites are always welcome!
Ahhh! Let the story begin!