September 20th, 1999
Hermione was lying in her bed in Grimmauld Place staring at the ceiling. It was the day after her 20th birthday and she had never felt more alone, more lost and more helpless than she did right now. She couldn't help but think back to her 19th birthday and how different the two celebrations had been.
A year ago she had been celebrating her birthday at the Burrow. She and the others who had gone back to Hogwarts had been given permission to leave school for the party that Molly had insisted on. Despite missing many beloved faces it was a joyous party, filled with hope and the promise of a new start after the defeat of Voldermort and his death eaters. Sure, there were still some of his followers that were needed to be round up but no one was too worried, without Voldermort at the helm their movement would have stopped right?
Hermione shook her head, furious with herself and the rest of The Order for being so foolish. Just because Harry had 'died' they hadn't stopped fighting, so why did they think the Death Eaters would? In hindsight it was so obvious, but after years of Voldermort being the main evil no one else suspected that another would take up the mantle so soon. But again they had forgotten that many of his most loyal followers had never given up the fight, they had just been stuck in Azkaban.
It was during her party, a year and one day ago, that the remaining Death Eaters had made themselves known. Apparating onto the property the remaining Death Eaters, led by Rabastan Lestrange, started firing curse after curse into the group of party goers. Ron, Kingsley and Minerva fell before anyone knew what was happening. Quickly engaging the enemy the Order managed to hold their ground, but more fell including poor Neville. Antonin Dolohov stalked towards Hermione with a sadistic grin on his face taunting her about the wound he inflicted all those years ago in the department of mysteries which had left her with a scar that ran from the top of her right shoulder to the middle of her left hip. It wasn't an obvious scar like Moody's had been, but it was there. A faint white line that ran across her torso. As she was battling fiercely against him, Harry, beside himself with rage at the loss of his best friend, killed Rodolophus with the first killing curse he had ever sent before engaging with the new leader of the Pure Blood movement, Rabastan. Once Ginny and Molly fell to a slicing hex from an unknown Death Eaters, Hermione knew it was time to make their escape. They had been caught off guard and paid the price dearly.
She quickly apparated to where Harry was, grabbing him away from Rabastan and apparated them into Grimmauld Place. He had been furious with her from taking him away from the battle, but she knew he was just grieving. He had lost his best friend, his girlfriend and the closest thing he had to a mother all in one afternoon. This was the final straw for Harry whose spirit broke. He closed in on himself and locked himself in Sirius' old room and she had barely seen him since. After trying for a few weeks to get him to talk she gave up. There was a war to fight and she couldn't let it just happen. She had spoken to Kreacher who assured her that Master Harry was very much alive as Kreacher had continuously been bringing him meals and making sure he was still breathing.
Hermione had become the leader of the new Order. With Ron dead and Harry locked away in his room, she was the only one of the Golden Trio still able to fight, and fight she did. The last year had been a running battle between the Order and the new Death Eaters. Neither side gained the upper hand and Britain was once again thrown into chaos. The Ministry was barely functioning and day to day life had all but stopped. Many had died, or left Britain all together, Andromeda and Teddy just one example. It was clear to Hermione now as she lay on her bed all alone with no friends around her, that it didn't matter who won, Magical Britain was lost. It would never again be the thriving society it had once been, all the fighting, the pain and the countless lives lost had been for nothing.
She sighed deeply as she rolled over to face her window, desperately trying to find some way to remain hopeful in a hopeless time. As she was staring at the window she saw an owl fly up and start tapping its beak on the glass, a letter in its grasp. She frowned and flipped her wand out of her holster, she didn't recognise the owl, and she was under the most extreme wards magic could create, thanks to the Blacks and her own ingenuity. How could someone she didn't know have reached her? She was incredibly suspicious as she let the owl inside. Quickly stunning the bird and checking the letter for all known charms, curses and hexes she could think of she only got back with a positive result. A portkey, but not an automatic portkey, one that could only be activated with a password. Curious, she reached out to the letter and began reading.
To Miss Hermione Granger,
My name is Bernard Fawley, I am an Unspeakables at the Ministry of Magic in London. I am writing to you now in the time of our country's great peril. I have discovered a way to solve all of Magical Britain's problems, but I will need your help. It is imperative that you make your way to me immediately. This letter is a portkey (as I am sure you are aware). Just utter the phrase 'aut viam inveniam aut faciam' and this portkey will take you directly into my office.
I will be waiting,
Bernard Fawley.
Whatever Hermione had been expecting when she opened this letter, this had not been it. The unspeakables had contacted her with the promise of how to win the war. She didn't allow herself to feel any real hope at this letter, the last year had killed any trust she had in people, she was sceptical about accepting this proposal, but the bird had made it through her wards which were designed to keep out anyone or anything that caused its inhabitants ill will. She looked down at the letter again and studied the name⦠Bernard Fawley. There was something familiar in that name. She had no doubt that she had seen it before and decided to check the Black Library. It had become her one solace over the last year and she had studied the books there for hours on end when she wasn't out fighting the war. Her skill in magic had grown immensely in the last year. She had always been a smart witch and had known more spells than any of her classmates, but now she truly excelled. She couldn't deny that the Blacks knew their stuff when it came to magic and she learnt all she could. Her youthful innocence towards the Darks Arts had left her. Seeing Ron, her teenage crush, die infront of her, including countless other friends, removed any idea from her that simple disarming and stunning spells would be sufficient to win this confrontation. Yes, Harry had defeated Voldermort with the disarming spell, but only because he owned the Elder Wand not because it was a powerful spell. So she had dug into the knowledge provided by the library and her knowledge and skill grew daily. She practiced for as many hours as she read, quickly becoming proficient in Dark spells and had surprised the Death Eaters and Order members alike when she used them in their next battle. This is when the Order started to distance themselves from her, yes she was still technically their leader, but only in spirit, not in reality. Instead George and Arthur were leading the resistance, she was merely a figurehead, one that no one spent much time with as they were worried she had truly lost herself. Hermione found that she didn't care, she was going to fight this war her way.
As she arrived in the Library she asked Kreacher to make her some tea and began to search for the name of Fawley. Grabbing the Blacks Book on pureblood families of England (she had studied it one month as she wanted a better understanding of the pureblood families and why they were so bigoted) and flipped to the page that had the 'Fs'. Unsurprised she saw the name of Fawley, she did have a good memory after all, but what did surprise her was the special marking next to their name. It was a small 28 with a red circle around it. It signified that the Fawley's were one of the Sacred 28, one of the Wizarding Families that started magical Britain and had a seat on the Wizengamot. Beneath the name was the passcode for the portkey that was on the table next to her, clearly it was the family motto, 'aut viam inveniam aut faciam', 'I will either find a way or make one.' Bold words she thought, and for some reason they resonated with her. She felt comforted as well as inspired by these words but quickly moved on from the feeling. As she read about the Fawley's she was shocked to find that Bernard claimed to be one. According to this book the Fawley family had mysteriously disappeared in the early 20th century from England and no-one knew where they went. According to the scribbles in the pages by one of the Black Ancestors, it seems that they had left a considerable fortune in England when they disappeared. They had a large Manor House, somewhere no one knew where, and many had tried to claim their wealth over the last 70 or so years with no success. Her curiosity was now well and truly caught. Why would someone pretend to be from such a powerful pureblood family? Albeit an obscure one that had no doubt been forgotten by most of the wizarding public, except perhaps the other purebloods who were still wanting their wealth.
She looked back down at the letter and the book in front her and decided it was worth the risk. She didn't know why but she felt she could trust this Bernard and decided that in the end she had nothing much left to lose. Calling Kreacher to her again and demanding he look after Harry, she gripped the letter in her hand and spoke clearly 'aut viam inveniam aut faciam' and felt the typical pull in her navel as she was whisked away from Grimmauld Place.
After one of the more intense portkey rides of her life, Hermione landed in what was clearly an office. In many ways it reminded her of Dumbledore's office, filled with books and strange contraptions that were either spinning, smoking or flashing through a myriad of lights. Behind the desk sat and a figure with a grey cloak pulled up to cover their face. Hermione pulled her wand out and pointed it at the person behind the desk.
'Bernard Fawley?' She asked in a clear, threatening voice. She wasn't going to take any chances here.
'Hermione Granger, it is good that you have come.' came a calm, gentle male voice.
'What is it you want from me?' She asked, wand still pointed at the man.
As the man lowered his hood to reveal a man that Hermione assumed he was in his mid 70s. He had long white hair that rested on his shoulders, but it was tucked behind his ears in quite an aristocratic fashion. He had a clean face which showed that even now he was a handsome man with dark brown eyes and she could only imagine how he must have looked in his youth. It was clear that he was a tall man from how he sat in the chair, his shoulders were broad and it was clear he was an imposing man.
'To send you back in time.'
