Author Notes: So, I've had this intro sitting in my WIP folder for about two months. I was debating whether I liked the story concept or not. It's one of those that is either a hit or miss, but I want to hear what you think.
Summary: Hermione always has a choice. Death gave her one when the battle turned sour, and she took a killing curse for Harry. Now, she has the chance to fix the wrongs and trespasses in time without Harry Potter, but the real question is, will she find the right time to do it? Time is never your friend when you have only so much time to fix it.
A drumbeat of thuds was the only thing heard with the crunching of the brush. The air was almost heavy as it puffed in a stream behind the figure. You could smell it, taste it, even feel it in your bones; they were hunting. If her cloak didn't catch on the toppled log, she would have kept sprinting for her life as the howling continued at a closing distance.
Her mind focused as she grappled for a sudden plan… the woman rolled in the leaves before tossing the cloak away and into the darkness. Scrambling up the giant tree, she tried to gather her wits as she clung to the branch above her for dear life.
Their paws sounded with massive snaps and thumped on the dirt; they were the judgment of her sin. She would likely die in the forest if her trail were even hinted. Her mouth was buttoned shut as she tried to hold back the sound of her own breathing when they appeared below her. Giants of the most insidious type. Their fur all seems to hold the same dull tint in the moonlight, but it was their golden eyes that stopped her heart. She was going to die. Again.
The werewolves sniffed and snarled at each other as they tried to place their prey. There were five of them. No, six. The last one was a lighter brown and hung back from the rest. It seemed almost reluctant to approach the group as it nibbled and licked at the blood on the brush. She was sure he saw her above them as his golden eyes locked on hers, but it must have dismissed it as the wolf snorted and paced toward the group.
There was a grumbling discussion among the animals for a few moments. She could almost smell the apprehension of the pack as they nipped and huffed at ears and snouts. Noses rose. This was it. A lone howl was heard in the distance of a stray dog. A dog with a streaming bark to follow, and then they were off.
She pressed her forehead to the bark and dug her nails deeper into her support. Her legs shook as it clutched the arm of the tree, and her breath was shallow as she crumpled in weight. The howling started to fade long before the woman fell hard to the ground. Bruises were a sign of the times in this day and age, but there was uncertainty how long she could go.
Hermione Granger was so over this timeline.
"Wake up, sweetheart," a firm voice rose her from her sleep.
Hermione shot up with a gasp and frowned at the firm hand on her shoulder; it's origins from behind her. "Fred?"
"Mhm, we found you barely able to crawl into headquarters, are you alright?"
Hermione exhaled and shook her head. "No, the werewolves were out strong last night. I should have known better, but it had to be done."
"Did you find it?" He questioned as he sat down next to her; she admired his youthful face.
Hermione dug in her pocket and pulled out the ring. "I did. We'll bring it to Dumbledore today."
Fred analyzed her with a scrunched brow. "I shouldn't be surprised you have been through this before."
Hermione exhaled roughly and turned her grime-covered arm to reveal the nearly translucent etching. It was multiple circles, oddly surrounding an hourglass. The sands were almost full at the bottom, with very little left falling below. They were running out of time. "Too many to count, Fred. Far too many to even attempt," she sighed before rubbing the marking.
There was a bustling and clatter from the other room, and Molly entered with a tea tray. "Dear, you're going to need your strength if you plan to find the others soon," she murmured with a shake of her head.
Fred rubbed the smaller witch's shoulder while pressing his face into her hair. "Let us help you," he whispered.
Hermione shook her head and reached for a cup on the tray. "No, it's too dangerous. I've already risked too much by even attempting this. I almost got killed. Worse, if any," she paused when the front door opened.
Bill stomped in and yanked her from the sofa with a swift accord. "Don't you ever pull that shite with me again, Granger!" he snapped and shook her body.
Hermione winced and blinked in shock at the volatile Weasley. "Bill, but," she attempted.
"No, you listen to me. When I say to the end, I mean it!" He snarled with his teeth bared.
"William, you stop that now!" Molly shouted, causing her other son to jump.
He let the witch go but shook a finger in front of her nose. "I mean it. If Albus gives me an order, then I mean to follow that order to the t."
She rubbed her face and bobbed her head. "I understand, Bill. I will take into account that you don't understand how pressing my time is."
"The nerve of you, girl," he scoffed as he took a step back from her.
Hermione's eyebrows knitted as her cheeks tinted. "I have lived many different lives of this ballocks, Weasley. If you want me to write you a preparatory novel on this, I will spend the precious amount of time on it to educate you."
Fred buttoned his lips. "Listen, she's pretty banged up after last night. Why don't we let her get mended before we go over this," he said with a tired tone.
Bill inhaled deeply as he turned back toward Hermione. "I'm sorry. I was worried about you."
Hermione rubbed her face and motioned agreement. "I understand. I just didn't want you to get hurt when we heard the werewolves."
"Albus heard back from his contact. He said that the wolves almost had you," Bill whispered.
"Well, even if being muggleborn was socially acceptable at this rate, I wouldn't trust his contacts," Hermione hissed, rolling her eyes.
She maneuvered toward the kitchen, and she heard them whispering. "Maybe you should go easier on her, son. She has to face her own death," Molly breathed.
"Even so, where is our life going to lead when she's gone, mother," Bill insisted and Hermione exhaled as she crossed the barren kitchen of the Burrow.
Life was incredibly different in this time. Just like every other time before, her task was the same. Death wasn't unkind to her; he did give her the option. Accept the world without Harry Potter and find the right way to save the world, or accept a world in ruins that you leave behind in peace. Death being her old headmaster, didn't make the decision any easier. She had to save all those she loved without her best friend… at the end of the day, what mattered was what he died for… a better life for those they loved.
The sand was running out… Hermione knew she had no choice once again. Her one hundred and eighty days were coming to a close. The tattoo glowed red which she found out signified the last day. This timeline was a wash, and so there she was, standing on the cliffside next to both living marauders.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sirius asked with a scowl.
Remus stumbled closer and touched her shoulder. "You don't have to do this alone, maybe if we just continue on, we can still do this," he whispered.
"Not this time, Remus," Hermione voiced as she turned to him.
"How long are you going to have to do this? How many has it been now?" Sirius questioned with the hint of pity and disappointment framing his tone.
Hermione pivoted just enough to stare out at the ocean where the sun was setting. "Too many to count. One of these times, I will do what is needed to succeed in my task. Until then, I'm stuck in this continuous line."
"Maybe you don't have to do it alone, Hermione. There has to be an answer to your query," The werewolf insisted.
"I suppose I'll find it eventually," she said with a nod. "Alright, I wish you the very best," she added when turning back to them.
Both, beaten up and scarred from the war they've fought most of their lives, bowed their head in unison. The crisp wind blew as the sun was nearing its disappearance below the horizon. She could smell the evolution of the day growing to night by the thick salt on the air. It was time.
"We're sorry," Sirius murmured and touched her arm. "I wish we could have done more," he finished.
"Here's to the end," Hermione said and stood on her toes, touching her lips to his cheek. "Try not to mourn me, Sirius. You have a bad habit of doing so." The witch maneuvered to the werewolf and repeated the action. "Don't harbor sadness, just press forth and finish what I started, Moony."
Remus halted her departure and nosed her cheek. "Hermione, we promise your death won't be in vain."
Hermione caressed his cheek and closed her eyes. "No matter what I do, I cannot shake you both. I've spent years loving you. Remember that you are loved from this time to the next," she concluded, and before anyone could say anything else, she lept from the cliff and sped toward the water.
Dying always was the pits. Hermione found out after the first three attempts that it was easier to end it herself on the final day than it was to feel her heart stop and die in someone's arms. By the fifth try, she knew that plunging to her death off a cliff was a far swifter route. It was endeavor eleventh that she fell in love and lapse number thirteen that she knew that her heart would forever be changed.
As she felt herself cut into the ocean and life leave her limbs, Hermione Granger prayed that she could end the cycle with this next attempt- number twenty. The timelines were always random. Never following the same course or rules as the others. Occasionally she would come across a time when life was happy. No one was under tyranny, the war hadn't ruined as many lives, and the Potters were still alive. It was all luck.
When she was finally able to breathe again, she felt the warmth run through her. Hermione sat up and groaned as her mind finally caught up to the fact that she was resurrected and needed to recalibrate to the setting. Her eyes blinked into focus, and the first image she processed was a large dog sitting in front of her and panting. It had waited for her to notice its presence before trotting off across the snow.
Hermione glanced around and noted she was on the beach of the lake… at Hogwarts. The water was nearly covered with ice, aside from the hole she exited from. Her robes were soaked and stiffened in the cold air, she likely seemed like an odd mermaid, and if her estimations were correct, Sirius Black was about to inform someone of her presence.
Yes, he did. A well-formed version of Remus Lupin came striding up with his wand in hand. His age, if she could gauge it, was about the same as when he died. If she could guess anything about this timeline already, she was about to be interrogated by an Order member who would assume her to be a spy.
The werewolf didn't fling a spell at the dripping witch; he didn't even keep his distance, which would have been appropriate for a questionable stranger. No, Remus decided to reach his empty hand toward her and pout. "Are you alright?" Remus asked.
"What year is it?" Hermione croaked.
Remus frowned as his hand was still outstretched toward her. "Nineteen ninety-seven. Hermione, are you alright? You missed your classes this morning, and Albus was worried," he huffed.
Hermione blinked as her eyebrows rose. "My classes?"
Sirius had formed and straightened his quidditch robes. "Well, yes, I'm sure your students weren't happy that Binns subbed for you today. You gave us a rather large scare, love."
What? Her mind skipped and sputtered like a scratched disc in a cd player. "What do you mean? You mean to tell me I've been teaching at Hogwarts? For how long?"
Remus returned his hand to his side as he grimaced at Sirius. "What's going on? Do you think someone obliviated her?"
Sirius ducked down and scowled at the witch. "Sweetheart, are you feelin' okay?"
"Ah, Professor Granger, I see you've made use of your time off," Albus's voice rose over the clearing.
Hermione glanced over at the wizened Headmaster and finally found the gumption to climb from the ground. "Professor, I'm still trying to catch up," Hermione admitted as she pulled her curly hair from her neck.
Dumbledore nodded and waved her along. "Let's have some tea and have a chat. You can meet up with your partners after."
Hermione mouthed the word 'partners,' with a pinched brow before gazing at each of the marauders. She bent to grab her wand from the ground and noted the sizable ring on her ring finger. That sparked a rapid heartbeat and shock as she lifted her left hand in front of her. "Merlin, what's going on?"
The pair of young wizards winced at her question. "Seems she's a bit lost today, Albus," Remus grumbled.
"Not to worry, Remus, we will sort it out over tea," Albus confirmed before coaxing the witch to follow. "Let's get you warm."
Hermione shuffled on her feet before nodding. "Alright, I will see you later," she told them and padded over to the older wizard.
Albus touched her shoulder and strolled with Hermione back up toward the castle. She was freezing, stiff, but she was alive, and apparently, she was married. This was already much different than the last nineteen attempts. The rules were changing, and this timeline might be a hard one to swallow.