Out of Time
By Rurouni Star
Nyeh. You're cruel, dangling fanart. It's my biggest tragic weakness, besides chocolate. Take your chapter, woman.
Chapter 8 – Secrets
"Reveal not every secret you have to a friend, for how can you tell but that friend may hereafter become an enemy? And bring not all mischief you are able to upon an enemy, for he may one day become your friend."
-Saadi
"Sirius? Are you there?" Tentative. Had he lost his sanity again? It took so much just to coax him back for a few minutes, she didn't think she could hold on that long-
"I didn't betray them." His voice, hoarse and defiant.
"I know," she whispered. "I know you didn't."
"No you don't. You know nothing. You are nothing. You're a dream within a nightmare and you'll disappear just like them." He glared at the wall in front of him as though he were simply talking to himself.
"I'm not a dream, for all that I might as well be one," she sighed. "You're right about one thing, though… I will disappear."
Hermione groaned and sat up in bed, sighing as she saw the sun was not yet up. Not only was she not getting to sleep on time now, she couldn't even stay asleep long enough for it to matter. Perhaps – perhaps she ought to get some dreamless sleep potions…
No. That would be admitting to too many things. At the least that she wasn't able to take the stress. And that was not acceptable.
The girl pushed herself bodily out of bed, moaning quietly at the pounding headache that seemed now to have taken up permanent residence inside her head. The timeturner around her neck slapped against her chest, inside her flannel pajamas, and she resisted the urge to glare at it.
This is all its fault.
It was, of course, stupid to place the blame for this situation onto an inanimate object. But she would sure as hell try.
Hermione gathered her robes, ignoring the shifting of her roommates (still happily sleeping – she envied them and sometimes hated them for it) and slipped out of the dormitory, out of the portrait, down the hall. She wasn't entirely sure what time it was – time was so relative nowadays, it was stupid even to try to set a certain number to an hour – but it didn't matter. The teachers patrolled, near dawn. Hermione clicked the timeturner gently, used to using it by now. She only fell out of step with the world for a single moment, before the dizziness ended.
She had to see him, had to make certain, for no reason at all. Had to make sure he was the same person she'd glimpsed, just for a moment.
Two hallways. One. And if a teacher were out for an early morning stroll? Then what would she say? Sorry, one too many turns on the timeturner – you know how it goes.
A noise from her left made her jump. Hermione stifled her shriek against her hand and realized with relief that it was only one of the portraits, stirring.
The room was ahead. Wand out, tap, whisper the word-
Hermione slipped inside quietly, stowing her wand. The room was dark, it looked like. She was half expecting him to be awake.
The fire was glowing dimly. A figure was splayed in front of it, soaking up the remaining heat. At first, she thought he might've said her name in greeting, but then she realized he was just mumbling nonsense in his dreams.
Feeling strangely as though she'd just invaded some kind of private inner sanctum, Hermione moved closer, compelled.
The lines of his face had softened, just a little – he almost looked peaceful. Clean-shaven, hair cropped to an unruly but still handsome mess. He was keeping up his appearance, then. She almost laughed aloud at the thought – if anyone other than she ever saw him, his appearance would be the last of his worries.
"James- didn't- I didn't know-" his voice croaked.
Tortured murmurs of a tortured man. Even in sleep, perhaps especially in sleep, he couldn't forget. His face had twisted painfully now, his breathing sped to a frantic rhythm.
Her hand moved before she could will it to, landing on his shoulder and squeezing gently. A fevered warmth washed over her skin – the words stopped, and slowly, his breathing slowed to a more regular rate. She found herself staring down at him, though, with something other than pity. Something was stirring…
Lush green grass outside – residue of a spring rain, with more yet to come as the sky rumbled quietly. The smell of wet leaves… cool, cold glass, pressed against her hand, as she stared outside unhappily.
"I'm going to have to go home soon, aren't I, James?" That wasn't her. Hermione turned around to look at a very young boy, not more than eleven, surely. Soft black hair was falling over his face as he stared out the window, much like she was.
"Afraid so, Sirius, my friend. That doesn't mean we can't make the most of our last few days, though, does it?"
That voice was one she knew. Harry – but a quiet, subdued Harry, one that was trying unsuccessfully to cheer someone up. Hermione stared at him in fascination for a moment – how could Harry be here? – before realizing it had to be James. A shudder went through her. James Potter, eleven years old. But he was dead, had been dead since Harry was young.
"It's so easy to say, isn't it?" Sirius was saying bitterly, "Back on the train, pack your trunks – bam, you're there. I bet loads of kids never think about it. I bet they're not wondering if they'll get killed for being put in the wrong
house-"
"You're exaggerating now. They're your family, they won't kill you."
A quirk of the mouth, and Hermione found herself staring at Sirius with a pang going through her. "You don't know my family." He was gone, he was gone, he was gone, but he was younger than she was, just now, if she could only scream at him what was going to happen-
"You can come visit me if it's really all that bad, you know," James said gently. " I'm sure mum and dad wouldn't mind."
Sirius frowned. "Oh yeah, I'm sure my mum would jump at that. 'Go live with the mudblood lovers for a while, sweetie. Just don't start picking up their dirty habits or I'll have to take away your allowance.' Nah, you don't know what you're talking about, James."
The boy behind him put a hand on his shoulder. "You know if I could I'd help more," he offered quietly.
"Yeah…" Sirius was sullenly silent for a moment. Then-
"Hey, you know what?" James said brightly. "How about you come live with me, once you're sixteen? They can't hold you back at that age – we'll stay up late all night and watch all the muggle movies you want and then we'll go to a muggle quidditch game, just to spite 'em."
Sirius' face brightened incredibly quickly, making her ache for him. "You- you really mean it?"
"Yeah. You're practically family anyway, you know."
A pause.
"Do they really have muggle Quidditch?" Sirius asked doubtfully.
James scratched his head. "Um… not sure, come to think of it. They must use some kind of broom substitute."
A quiet laugh at the strange things muggles had to come up with, just to have sports. Then, smiling: "It's a deal, mate."
"I don't want to see this," she whispered, talking to no one, knowing they couldn't hear her.
She knew, even as he embraced his eleven year old friend warmly for a childhood promise, that he was going to be betrayed and imprisoned and-
Hermione took a sudden, shaking breath, and realized she hadn't been breathing, before. She pressed a hand to her chest shakily – then found that her other hand had moved to his forehead, brushing the hair from his eyes.
He'd calmed now, completely. And she was still intruding.
Hermione swallowed, stumbling to her feet. That vision – it had been clearer than the rest, so much clearer. As though it had been a real memory – or a memory within a memory – or whatever it was.
Why on earth would she have seen that kind of thing?
She shook as she made her way uncertainly outside, watching as the sun came up and as the call to breakfast was sounded. She didn't go to eat, but returned to the Gryffindor commonroom, pressing her hand against a certain window and wondering how the landscape had changed so much in so little time while the commonroom remained almost exactly the same.
-----
Potions was after – well, actually at the same time as – Muggle Studies.
She hated Potions.
Not because of lack of content (never!) but, as usual, because of the teacher.
"Partners! I want all Gryffindors paired with a Hufflepuff – no same house pairings. That includes you, Mr. Longbottom…"
Snape.
Hermione moved over to Justin Finch-Fletchley's cauldron with a sigh, knowing she'd probably end up doing most of the work herself. The Hufflepuff had reached a kind of truce with her, as they had both been victims of the Basilisk's curse – and perhaps most especially because she'd been the one to solve the puzzle and, in the end, save the school from it. All while petrified in a hospital wing. Her mouth curved upward into a wry smile as she measured out a sizable amount of their blackspice for the lesser Pepper-Up Potion.
"Oh good, you've gotten that done already," he said brightly, having just begun to count it out on his own. "What about the congruent-"
"Coagulant, Justin," she told him, "You're mixing it up with Arithmancy again."
The boy smiled and shrugged. "I suppose so. But do I need to get that out – oh, I see you've already stirred it in. Wonderful!"
Hermione sighed and put her head into her arms, waiting for the potion to come together. Luckily, this one didn't have an exact brewing time – it could be taken off the fire at any point after it had thickened to a decent viscosity.
"Were you ever in love, Hermione?"
A snort. "That's a rather odd question, don't you think?"
"Not at all! I should think it's very important. You're as much a girl as I am, even if you don't want to admit it."
"Well…" Hesitation.
"Yes?"
"Maybe – and I'm not really sure on this one, mind you – maybe Ron. Fourth year, mostly."
"Ron?"
"Oh, I knew it was stupid to tell you."
"Oh no, Hermione, I'm sorry, I really am – I just remember the way he always used to get jealous… does this mean there's someone else now?"
A pause.
"I- I don't know." She was fiddling with something uneasily, it felt like – maybe her hair or a pen… "Can you be in love with a memory?" she whispered.
"Yes," her friend said, in a pained voice. "If a memory could almost kill me, you can be in love with one."
Boom.
Hermione jerked awake with a gasp, looking toward the corner of the room.
Neville looked gloomily at the smoking cauldron. His potion had sublimated from its solid form instead of congealing.
"Twenty points from Gryffindor and ten points from Hufflepuff," Snape said almost casually. "Detention at seven, Longbottom."
What was he-
Snape was reading something intently. His eyes were fixed on it in the way a hawk might sight a mouse. She found herself morbidly curious.
Hermione bottled her sample of the potion, casting a withering glance at Justin, who was replying to a note the girl behind him had written, and set it on Snape's desk, casting her eyes over it casually.
What she saw made her freeze.
Have You Seen This Wizard?
A madly laughing Sirius Black. Unkempt, shaking – but only she could see the despair, only she could see the insane disbelief…
"Frightened, Miss Granger?" Snape said suddenly, black eyes glittering as he looked at her. "A murderer on the loose, near Hogwarts somewhere. They haven't found him yet…"
She swallowed, taking a step back. "Yes, w-well-" Hermione straightened. "He has no reason to come after me, now does he?"
Snape smiled coldly. "Of course not, Miss Granger. Now, I would advise that you get going – you'll be late to your next class."
Late? But I can't be late, I've got Arithmancy same time, and the Timeturner goes farther back than I need-
He was watching her suspiciously as she stalled. Hermione decided then that anywhere was better than being glared at by Professor Snape.
Once outside, though, she had to wonder…
Why did Snape not know about her Timeturner?
Well, who did know?
McGonnagal, certainly, and Dumbledore as well. Lupin knew too, apparently. But no one else had said a word.
"I am trusting this to your confidence, Miss Granger. I hope I do not need to impress upon you the great need for secrecy…"
Secrecy, even from the teachers?
Strange.
But she certainly wasn't going to argue, if it meant she could finish this dratted year.