Six AM found Hermione revising her opinion on the dog, however. Not that she suddenly disliked him, or even thought she might be better without his company. To be honest, she knew that nothing would help return her to a sense of herself like a disciplined routine, especially one that included an early wake-up. Simply that, sometime in the previous year, Hermione had discovered that she was really rather not a morning person.
Having suddenly found the time and means to read to her hearts' content, as late as she wanted, Hermione had quickly developed the pattern of reading until two AM, and only waking up at a quarter to nine; just in time to shower and be to work by nine-twenty. This was one of only two restricting factors in her schedule; be to the store in time for opening at nine thirty. The other was that she wouldn't get home until six thirty each evening.
Honestly, though, there hadn't been a need to work at all. Harry had given her far more than enough to survive for two years. In point of fact, a job hadn't been planned on. She had been sent here to figure things out. It was simply that, she couldn't possibly figure out anything when all she had to do was sit and think about it. Though she had been more than a bit worried that she would have trouble finding a job, or that she would be found out when she applied.
The dogs' barking brought her out of her reverie, however, just as it had brought her out of sleep. Really, you would almost think he'd done it on purpose, to wake her up. She was slightly apprehensive as she slipped out of her bedroom in her pajamas, considering he could have quite literally destroyed her house in the night. Silently berating herself for not even thinking of such a thing (who knows if he's even housetrained?) she advanced on the kitchen, where the sound was coming from.
Oddly enough, he fell silent as soon as she came in, his white "eyebrows" highlighting an expression she could only see as a grin. Her house was in a perfect state, really, nothing even seemed to be touched. If the dog had needed to go out during the night, he'd made his complaint to neither herself nor her floors, for which she was eternally grateful.
Since the barking had ceased, Hermione figured he'd been clamoring for breakfast, and that presented another problem. Her fridge had been raided dry in last nights attempts at feeding a dog. All that was left was... some milk, and a jar of peanut butter. While this could be called breakfast in her terms, she wasn't entirely sure that the dog would see things the same way. Did dogs eat peanut butter? For all she knew, it could be as lethal as Chocolate. Hermione certainly didn't want to see him poisoned from a failed attempt at breakfast, and it was far too early to phone Mark. Only one recourse, then. Research; the internet.
Five years of living half-time in the wizarding world might have put a lesser scholar at least somewhat behind the technological curve. Hermione, however, had made the effort to never completely lose touch with her muggle side. Being two years back in time, one now, don't forget, actually put her ahead of the curve.
She paused in spreading toast with peanut butter (which turned out to actually be a decent thing to feed a dog, oddly enough) to ponder that thought. It was truly weird, trying to keep track of when it actually was, or how old she really was. A thousand and one factors went in to such equations, and she was likely the only one of the three who were experiencing such a thing to ever even bother contemplating it.
At this exact instant in time, Hermione Jane Granger was fourteen years old. She was on summer break from Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, and she was most definitely residing at number 12, Grimauld place, along with Ron Weasley. Come to think about it, Harry might be there as well, any time now. She might even be, at that moment, holding the badge of a prefect she'd wanted for so many years. She was also, however, very much here, in a small flat, feeding a dog toast with peanut butter on it.
By looks, she was in her early twenties. To be exact; last year, when she'd gotten here, she'd been twenty-two. Right now, she was a year younger. Yet not even this had any real bearing on the age of the girl, standing in this kitchen. If you simply counted the number of years she'd been alive to experience, discounting any odd effects by that time-turner in third year, she was sixteen. It was an odd situation, chock full of complications, and it was, frustratingly enough, one of the simplest things in her life right now.
Though, in some ways, her life was quite simple. Finishing her own piece of toast, she went off to find a bit of something she could use for a leash. The dog had to go out, for certain, by now; besides, what else would she do until it was time to leave for work? Making a mental note to buy a leash on her shopping trip, she rummaged through her closet hoping for... rope, maybe? She had to find something. Even if he wasn't hers, she couldn't have him just running about. There were laws, and besides, she'd feel awful if he ran in front of a car or something. She couldn't find anything to pass for a leash, but settled on dragging out a leather belt she thought might hold. She slipped the belt under his collar, looping it through the belt buckle, and gave it a tug to see if it would hold. Satisfied with the result, Hermione grabbed her key and set out through the front door.
It wasn't yet hot at this time of day, actually being cooler than it usually was when she ran. A fleeting impression that perhaps she should jog crossed her mind, but she wasn't really sure how well that would work, with the dog; besides, she didn't even have a proper leash for him. She worried for a moment that he might run off, despite the "leash", and then smiled wryly to herself at how nice it was to have such normal things to worry about. She sighed, the sound coming from somewhere deep and hidden, and the dog paused in his walk to look up at her.
She regarded him for a moment, and then realized that a good talk was exactly what she'd been wanting. With someone to listen, to help her sort things out, but who couldn't cause trouble with the timeline. Who understood. Well, scratch the understood bit, Hermione thought although I have heard that dogs are empathic. With a smile on the last thought, she found herself explaining everything.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all wound up at 12 Grimauld place by half way through August that year, the summer before sixth year. In the very beginning of the visit, Ron and Hermione had been very worried about how Harry would take returning to a place that would remind him so strongly of Sirius. When Harry had gotten there, though, he hadn't been in any condition to notice where he was. Though the threats of the order members had worked to keep the Dursleys away from Harry in the beginning, it was really only necessary for Harry to be left to himself to inflict torture on him.
Only a few weeks into his summer visit, the Dursleys had found out about Sirius. Most importantly, they found out that Harry blamed himself for Sirius' death. After that, it had been easy to manipulate Harry into writing letters to the order, telling them he was doing well, when conditions had really reached their worst ever. The Dursleys had used Harrys feelings, had convinced him that everything was punishment for who he was and what he had done. In the end, it had gotten so bad, that Harry had... well, needless to say he'd ended up at Grimauld place after that.
All of those memories, every moment of them, were burned into Hermione's mind, as though she had suffered them herself. She hadn't understood Harry, not at all, in the beginning. No one had, not really, not like they thought. Even having rescued him from that horrible place, from the torments he endured there, they had all, however unintentionally, chalked it up to one more chapter in the saga of the Boy Who Lived. She had tried to understand, back when she didn't know. But a decently good family life left her unable to comprehend. Only in a basic sort of way, had she understood what Harry had gone through. That was before, though.
Before the day they had all done the stupidest thing of their lives.
The Order had known about a series of coordinated attacks on the families of Muggle-born Hogwarts students, and every available Order member was going to help defend them. The trio had been told to stay inside, and frankly, they had no inclination to do anything else. Not when Harry was only just beginning to recover. Hermione and Ron were happy that he was finally leaving his room at all, and the greatest amount of excitement planned for the day was a few rousing games of chess.
Even Dumbledore thought he'd kept them safe, that day. Dumbledore cast a binding spell, a powerful one. It was powerful, because while the spell was initiated using the magic of the caster, its true strength was determined by the strength of their feelings for one another. It also made use of their own magic; even in a weakened state, Harry had a downright incredible level of sheer power. The spell ensured simply that they wouldn't be able to leave each others' sides, not until Dumbledore freed them from it. Even at that, for the spell to be removed, they all had to want it removed.
It should have been foolproof. No matter what, they wouldn't be able to be more than a few feet apart. Hermione had then been made responsible, for the lot of them; to keep them from trouble, not to do anything foolish. All that was required, to keep them safe, was that one of them, Hermione, kept her head and stayed out of harms way. The fact that Harry hardly moved for any reason seemed to positively guarantee that they'd stay within bounds.
If only he'd stayed in the house. If only his desire to protect others hadn't proved the one thing that could over-ride his seeming inability to move.
The trio had been seated in the sitting room when they heard it. The distinctive pop of apparation was enough to bring Hermione out of her book-induced reverie, even in a room so far from the door. Granted, things had been quiet, but an apparation that made enough noise to carry into the sitting room had to be done by a wizard who was either terribly inept at the process or horribly injured. Considering the Orders' current... situation, they had all immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion. Which had only seemed proven correct, when they got to the door.
There, not three feet from the door, was Remus Lupin. Collapsed onto the ground, horribly injured. The trio rushed outside in an instant, not thinking there might be any danger in the three foot walk. If one, just one, of them had hung back, they would all have remained. Perhaps the Death Eaters would have been able to harm the two who were outside the protective wards of the house, but more likely they would simply have tried to apparate them away. Which would have proven a useless attempt, and there certainly wouldn't have been anyone around to capture by the time the Death Eaters returned.
No one stayed inside, however. And three teenage magical students, still dressed in pajamas, completely unsuspecting, were no match at all for trained Death Eaters.
They had been at the mercies of the death eaters for nearly a week, brought to the point of death and then back to full health again time after time with the aid of magic. Each time the torture had become too much for their minds, a simple obliviate had allowed the Death Eaters to begin again afresh. In this way, tortures that would normally have driven them insane within hours were repeated again and again. When Voldemort had finally had his fun, though, all of their memories had been returned to them.
The Dark Lord's thought, for certain, was to return them to the wizarding world completely insane. For certain, that should have been the result. As far as anyone could tell at the time, that was exactly what had happened. The wizarding community had been devastated. Far worse than having been tragically killed, the Hero of the Wizarding World had been tortured into insanity, along with his two best friends. Exactly as Voldemort had wanted, the threat of Harry Potter had been eliminated, without providing the morale-boosting icon of a martyr to focus resistance against him.
But while Harry, Ron, and Hermione had retreated so far from the pain that they escaped their minds, the bond kept them from escaping each other. Released of their normal physical, mental, and emotional boundaries, the memory-regaining spell had brought about yet another unforeseen occurrence. In that first instant, as they regained all of their memories, they gained all of each others' memories, as well.
Lost in a whirlwind of thoughts that weren't even entirely their own, the three had certainly been driven past the ability to think. For a time, they were even what you might call insane. Yet even as they found themselves surrounded by the memories of pain, they had the comfort of the others. They found a timeless place where there was no beginning and no ending, even to themselves, and for an immeasurable space, simply took comfort from each other, comfort in simply being, and in not being alone.
At some point, they began to find that there were memories, began to sift through the things in their collective conciousness, and sort out what was. Slowly, from sifting through these experiences, they realized that there were three of them, and discovered who they were. The memories eventually found a sort of continuity, and they followed them right to the end. They wondered what happened, if they were dead. They eventually reached the conclusion that this was unlikely, as it was only the three of them who found themselves here. Shouldn't there be other people in heaven? And certainly, the place wasn't any kind of hell. Then they found the barriers in their minds, and broke through them.
So it was that the three returned to conciousness simultaneously, in a private ward at St. Mungos, on October the 24th, three months after being taken prisoner. And for the first time since anyone can remember, Albus Dumbledore was surprised.
Right out of his chair, in fact. Causing the first sound to come from the lips of the three friends in months to be croaking laughter, when one of them made a mental comment something like the look on his face. Which had been a good thing, as it immediately affirmed for the trio that they would still be able to share thoughts, even when conscious. That coming back didn't mean they had to be alone. Though the bond was, certainly, different. The physical boundaries were back in place, and mental communication suddenly required an intent and an effort.
Yet many days- and many hours of conversation- later, Harry had demanded that the other two take some time, completely removed from his influence, to decide their own course of action. By this time, they were hiding out at Hogwarts, deciding it better that no-one knew of their comeback. They knew about the prophecy from their time spent in each others' minds. Harry said, however, that this was his burden. That he may have to save the world, but he didn't want them to feel they had to. And he most especially didn't want the bond to decide for them. He wanted to give them a choice, a chance to live another life. He wouldn't be convinced that they knew their decisions there and then. He flat out demanded they leave, and take some serious time to think about it.
It was Dumbledore who had come up with a way. It was simple, really, though very difficult magically. Send them back in time, to where it was safe. Give them an aging potion, so they could live on their own, and sort things out. They were nearly of age, anyways; due to their experiences, Dumbledore thought they were more than mature enough to spend some time looking after themselves. Harry offered the use of his Gringotts vault, to fund the whole thing. Harry had decided to go back also if he could; it offered an invaluable opportunity to train for the fight, out of Voldemort's reach.
There were many constraints on time travel. Firstly, it was impossible to travel into the future, excepting through the normal flow of time. Secondly, there were major limits on how far back one could go. Devices like time-turners had a limit of about a day. Specific measurements were impossible, because time travel worked using the magic of the sent as well as of the sender. Something like a time-turner could activate a time-travel spell, but the real energy for it came from the traveler themselves. Every time you doubled the amount of time you wanted to travel, the magical power requirement increased by a factor of ten. It was ten times as magically difficult to send someone back two days as one, and nearly a thousand times as difficult to send them back by a week. So while it was relatively easy to send a person, even a near-squib, back a few hours, sending anyone back a few days was quite a feat.
Only a wizard like Dumbledore could possibly send someone back by months. So it was surprising for all involved when Dumbledore discovered that, he could send them back for up to three years. Apparently, due to the bond, Hermione and Ron had a sort of access to Harry's magical power levels, which turned out to be phenomenally high. It was eventually decided Ron and Hermione back a little more than two years, to June of 1994. Hermione had asked for a specific date, and Harry and Ron didn't have to ask why. They had shared a smile about it, even. Arrangements were made for Ron and Harry both, as Dumbledore apparently kept prepared for the oddest of circumstances. They intentionally kept themselves unaware of the others' hideouts. They swore not to interfere in time whatsoever, arranged to meet back at Hogwarts (the same day, though only in one sense) one hour from the time they left for the past, said their goodbyes, and Dumbledore cast the spell.
Even using the combined forces of the strongest possible caster and absolutely phenomenal levels of power available due to the bond, it had left Hermione magically drained. Frighteningly, the magical drain had taken the bond with it. It had been far more than simply uncomfortable, to be truly alone again. And the power drain itself had lasted for months. That was hardly a problem, however, as she couldn't possibly use magic anyhow. Not even Dumbledore had been quite sure how the ministrys' underage magic monitoring charms would react to her or Ron casting a spell while "here." Would they recognize that the twenty-two year old was in fact sixteen, and be set off? Or perhaps they were set to individuals, to any witch or wizard under a certain age, and would be set off as though thirteen year old Hermione was casting a spell.
The whole point was to get away, though, and Hermione had no need for magic in her current life. Even if it would have been nice to transfigure a leash to walk the dog. Though he seemed to be taking his belt-leash rather well. In fact, he seemed to be taking the whole listening to her story thing well. It was helping her, honestly it was, to be able to tell this story in its' entirety for the first time. She could never have told Mark about the Death Eaters, or the torture. He would never have understood.
Though it wasn't necessarily the best to be remembering that time, either. While caught up in telling it as part of the whole story, she'd been able to simply speak it, and then pass it over. Now, finding herself back at the house, she began to hear their screams again. She shut the door and leaned against it, the dog having run straight in ahead of her. She found herself sliding down to sit, wrapping her arms around her knees, as the room around her faded out and she saw again the stone floor coated in red. The red of her blood, Harry's blood, Ron's blood. Pooled together, until one could not be told from the other.
She felt her pain, Harry's pain, Ron's pain. Saw it from three pairs of eyes, all at once, and started to shake. Suddenly, the dog was back, was at her side, and she reached for the comfort she knew she could find there. She buried her face in his long, soft fur, and began to sob. "Oh, God, and it was my fault, MY FAULT, just like it was Harry's fault with Sirius and the veil. I need to talk this out, but there's no one, NO ONE who understands. They sent me back to sort it out, but don't they see? I need them with me. After everything that happened, Harry and Ron, they're ... a part of me."
She fell silent, stroking the dogs fur, and thinking about what she'd just said. "They ARE a part of me. That's the answer. It was there all along. I have to go back. Harry is the hope of the wizarding world, but Ron and I, we're Harry's hope."
Hermione smiled "Thanks, dog." she thought, realizing how badly she'd needed just to cry it out, to feel sorry for herself, to imagine, for just a moment, that she wouldn't go back. And, by imagining, realizing how much she would hate it if she left Harry on his own. She looked into the dog's blue eyes, and they looked almost human, seeming to understand. "If Harry'd had a dog like you, perhaps he wouldn't have tried to kill himself."
And quite suddenly, there wasn't a dog there at all. And the blue eyes that regarded her were human, and most definitely familiar.
Hermione screamed.