Chapter 1 – Second Chances
Back and forth she rocked in her wooden rocking chair, enjoying the creaking it forced from the floor boards beneath her. Her old bones weren't what they used to be and although in her more youthful days she would have taken advantage of the cool breeze and bright sun to tend her garden, the old hag was now content to sit lazily and simply exist. She had other things on her mind today. She was expecting company and wouldn't dream of greeting the gentleman with dirt staining her hands.
"Just because I'm blind doesn't mean I should forget that others can see," she chuckled merrily. How long had it been since some desperate soul braved the Black Forest seeking her guidance and insight. That alone showed their worth, but the man she was expecting had traveled from farther than most. Her sisters did not condone her interest in the world of man, but she liked being able to point an influential few in the right direction. The one she intended on meeting with would be influential indeed. The winds had whispered of his coming for three days. The night owls hooted their warnings that she should flee and even her faithful cat had ran away that very morning. The Hag did not fear her fate. She knew she would die on this day.
"But at least it'll be by the hand of a handsome young man!" she cackled again, which quickly turned into a dry, hacking cough.
The shutters of her window shook from a breeze that signaled the arrival of her demise. She reached out her right hand for her walking staff and slowly used it to push herself into a hunched standing position. She adjusted her shawl around her shoulders and faced her front door, smiling sweetly.
She heard the dry door hinges squeak followed by steps. The pair of feet stopped before her. She could smell his sweat, his soiled clothes and his hate.
"You have traveled far," she said slowly, unsure of her German accent on English ears.
"I have," a velveteen voice stated matter-of-factly.
"And to have come during such a time as this! The war brings dangers to all of those who enter Germany."
"The war is over," he said. "Grindelwald's defeat was but a few weeks ago."
She grunted. "My, is it that time already? As well as I can see all that is to come, you would think I could be better at knowing the now!" she barked a laugh. "But please, where are my manners? Have a seat. You have a question for me, do you not?"
He did not sit. He stood perfectly still. Had her keen ears not picked up the sound of his even breaths, she might have thought he vanished.
"My future, witch. I would have you tell me everything you see of it."
"Goodness, straight to the point then." Her lips stretched into a toothless grin. She lifted her walking staff slightly off the ground then slammed it down with a loud crack. Suddenly, she could see. The walls and furniture of her home became visible and shown with dull blue hue while the view outside her windows glowed with a rainbow radiance that only life could create. Drawing her gaze to the man before her, there stood a red and pulsing figment of depravity.
He is already so far gone, she thought. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled a white mist. "You will rise above all wizards. Admired, exalted and above all else feared." As she spoke, the mist flowed from her mouth, swirling around and forming the shape of a skull above the man's head. He looked up at it, but remained silent. She continued. "Your ideals will be shared by many and they will bow to your command. They will indoctrinate your philosophy into their lives. They will serve you. They will kill for you." A long stream of mist slithered from the skull's mouth and took the form of a snake. "But prophesy will spell your doom." The snake and skull shattered. "A mother's love and a savior of your own making will render you into something less than a man. Less than an insect. You will scrape and crawl your way back to the heights you once stood from, but will fail in the end." Three figures of mist rose from the ground forming two young men and one girl with large wild hair. "The savior will topple you once again aided by one shown to me as the knight. He will keep the savior's spirit true and just." The figures of the two men slowly evaporated. The hag's voice raised an interval. "But she will pave his path. She will guide him with her wisdom and cunning. The true irony in your downfall. The death of Voldemort," she hissed his self-made name as the mist began to swirl chaotically, "will be brought upon by a muggle-born witch."
"No!" a bright green light blasted the hag backwards and into the wall. Her head cracked hard, breaking the oracular spell and with it dispelling her brief vision. She slid to the ground coughing. Rough hands grabbed her shoulders. "You will tell me her name," he demanded.
The woman grinned. "You will learn it in time. This is not the question you should be asking me."
The hands on her shoulders tightened for a second, then relaxed and withdrew. "How do I change it? How do I keep myself from being defeated?"
"Come closer, dear boy, I'll tell you." He leaned towards her and tilted his ear towards her mouth. She breathed deep. "You can't!" she hollered in his ear and laughed uncontrollably as he flinched backwards. "Your destiny is set, Little Riddle, and it must play out! But," she sneered conspiratorially, "since you're going to kill me here anyway, there is a way you could be given a second chance." She reached to a golden chain she wore around her neck and grasped it tightly. The heavy pendant hung from the necklace but stayed hidden beneath her shirt. "The choice is yours, but it must be made now, I'm afraid." She levelled her face up where she knew he stood before her. "You can either take what I am offering you now or resign yourself to the fate I've shown you. You'd die a failure and, eventually, be remembered as nothing more than a small paragraph in history."
He was silent for only a moment. "You hardly give me a choice. What would you have me do?"
"What you do best," she sneered. "Raise your wand… and kill me."
The subtle rustling of robes signaled his lack of hesitation. She pulled on her chain and the pendant slid out of her shirt. Focusing intently on her vision of his defeat, she flicked her finger against the glass trinket and let it spin as she held it in front of her chest.
"Avada Kedavra!" The blast broke through the rotating necklace piece and pierced her heart. She gasped while her body arched painfully through the killing curse, but she held strong to her vision. The air around them blew violently and she had the distinct feeling of being pulled into herself. In an instant, all became still and she lay dying upon dew-dropped grass.
Hecate, Morgan, deer sisters, forgive me for tampering one last time in the fates of men. But hopefully, she thought as her heart stopped, hopefully my soul will rest in peace knowing he has a chance to do what's right and make a difference…
Tom blinked in confusion at his surroundings. They were in a forest and night's darkness surrounded them. The old woman was dead at his feet. He bent down to look closer at the broken object she had clutched in her hand. Small white sand slowly leaked from broken glass. A time-turner?
He snapped his head up as raised voices in the distance shouted out. He walked briskly through the trees and stopped at a cliff's edge. There, peaking out over the tree tops, was Hogwarts. Hanging above it was the remnants of a spell that only he knew...
Morsmodre.
A slowly rising sun put an end to the Dark Mark and cast light over the aftermath of complete chaos. Hogwarts was in ruins, but students and teachers were running to each other and…laughing? His gaze fell onto a tall, cloaked figure lying dead on the ground. It was him. He could feel it. He clutched his wand tightly. This was his defeat. And they smiled. They celebrated. Immediately, he knew he had to leave. He must go into hiding and learn all that had come to pass. He would reform his plan, and he would kill that girl.
The one with the wild hair.
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3 years later
Hermione patiently sipped her lemon and ginger tea while her red-headed and pregnant friend busied herself around the kitchen. Ginny Potter merrily unloaded Hermione's boxed dishes and chose cabinet space for them with the expertise of one accustomed to moving about a well-organized kitchen.
"Gin, as much as I appreciate the help, I really don't feel right sitting here while you do all of my unpacking."
"Shut it, Hermione. I'm pregnant, not inept. What exactly do you expect to get done with your wand arm in a sling?"
Hermione frowned down at her arm. Three days of choking down home-made skele-gro had her almost completely healed, but moving her shoulder was out of the question until the potions no longer had an effect. She made a mental note to owl for a new supply of scarab beetles in case she needed to brew more. Sighing in defeat, she leaned back against her chair. "I guess you're right, but don't worry about any of the bigger stuff. I've hired movers to set it all up for me next weekend."
Ginny paused to look at her incredulously. "Muggle movers? To move all that stuff?" She gestured to Hermione's new mattress, broken down bed frame and assorted furniture that sat stuffed in the corner of what would eventually be a living room. "With their hands?"
Hermione chuckled lightly into her mug. "Yes, Ginny. And then I'll pay them with my muggle money. From my wallet," she mocked her sarcastically. "I'm in London! Moving the muggle way is kind of expected here. Besides, you've helped me enough."
Ginny clicked her tongue and muttered a quiet cleansing spell on the counter-tops. "I just don't see why you felt the need to move all the way out into the muggle masses. Was getting this far away from Ron really all that necessary?"
Hermione pressed her lips tightly together and looked out the window.
"Right. You won't talk about it. You won't tell your best friend why you suddenly broke your engagement with my brother and decided to move your life practically next door to your job."
"Ginny, please…"
"I just want you to understand one thing, Hermione, then I'll let this go." Ginny's green eyes stared hard into Hermione's. "I know Ron has been in a rut lately. Being asked to step down as an auror was a hard blow to his ego and no amount of success at George's shop is going to help that. I understand wanting to give him space to figure his issues out, but don't let whatever this is tear the two of you apart." She smiled sweetly. "You two were meant to be!"
Hermione forced a smile. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind."
"Good," Ginny smiled back. "And you know I'll be here for you any time if you want to talk."
Hermione raised here eyebrow skeptically and looked down at Ginny's prominent 'baby bump'. "Sure, Gin. Maybe any time in the next two months."
Ginny laughed and flicked her wand at another box of dishes, letting them swoop through the air and land neatly stacked in another cabinet. "Even after James is born."
The rest of the evening passed amicably. Ginny was playing the part of the dutiful house wife better than Hermione had expected of her. Ginny was one of those girls that could have gone in any direction with her life. She had been scouted as a Quidditch Chaser, her scores on her NEWT were good enough for working in a few Ministry departments and her writing skills wouldn't have taken working as a reporter off the table. She was a jack of all trades, but she chose to stay at home and raise baby Teddy Lupin. Hermione had never seen her happier. Now that she was pregnant, motherhood looked good on her. For the last three years, Harry, Ginny and Ted lived together in a humble cottage near The Burrow. Molly made frequent visits while Harry was at the Auror's office to help Ginny with the young child. Her dream of becoming a grandmother had finally seen fruition through her youngest child and she took every opportunity to dote. Hermione hadn't completely written off becoming a parent, but being an auror did put a damper on the home life, which Harry could attest to.
As the sun began to set, Ginny decided to return to the cottage and prepare dinner before Harry returned. She pecked Hermione on the cheek and exited through the fireplace.
Checking her watch, she opened her purse and reached for a vial of skele-gro. Taking a deep breath, she uncorked the small tube and knocked it back. She didn't have to suffer long through the taste. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder and she fell to her knees gritting her teeth. She counted backwards from ten in her mind and focused on her breathing. Over the years, she'd been dealt many types of physical pain. It came with the job and she'd learned to block it out to an extent. She slowly rose back to her feet and sat on her couch where a box that Ginny brought her lay unopened. Harry had sent his wife with progress reports on all of Hermione's open cases. He knew that she would want to stay up to date on them. Deciding that focusing on work would help distract her from the pain, she reached for a thick file labeled "Priority". She flipped it open and read through the latest incident. A family of wizards had been attacked two days ago. The mother, father and older sister were all slain, but their newborn baby boy was left alive in his crib with a lightning bolt carved into his forehead. Twenty-three similar cases were in the single folder. Each family, after having a baby boy born into the family, ended up murdered. The babies were the sole survivors each time, enduring only the strange cut along their foreheads. The Prophet had the wizarding world in a panic claiming "He Who Must Not Be Named" had returned, despite the Ministry of Magic's press release stating these were copy-cat murders. Harry had remained calm on the outside, but Hermione knew each murder put across his desk was a constant reminder of his parents. And with a baby of his own on the way, Hermione feared for the entire family. The murderer's pattern wouldn't put them in his line of sight for another couple of months, but they would need to go into hiding before too long. There was no denying the Potters were an inevitable target.
After an hour of sorting through the lesser case files, Hermione noticed the pain beginning to recede, signaling the potion's work was done. The last two potions she took had lasted all through the night. Carefully, she peeled back the Velcro and pulled her arm free. She held her hand out in front of her and watched in dismay as her fingers trembled. She swore and grabbed her wand holding it out straight and trying to relax her grip. The wand shook violently. There was no way she would be able to cast spells with her right arm.
"Damn you, Ronald Weasley. You bloody bastard…"