(A/N: For those who still don't understand, the trio and Ginny travelled to their own past—everything before August 11, 1976, happened the same in both universes. However, things are going to start changing really fast, starting now. . .)

Chapter 2: The Butterfly Effect.

Gertrude Granger, known as Danger to her friends, walked home contentedly, having spent the past three hours at her favorite haunt—the local library. Darkness had already shrouded the peaceful, cookie-cutter suburban town of Little Whinging, but it was no cause for concern.

Why would I be worried about the dark? she wondered. There's nothing in this town that would ever hurt me. Just a bunch of old gossip-mongers, some shops, a small school . . . there's nothing remotely exciting here. Really, this town is too perfect sometimes. My only friends are the books I read.

But Danger wouldn't have traded her life for anything. Sure, she didn't have any close friends, but she had a wonderful, loving family that never had really fallen on hard times. There would be time enough for the other stuff later.

Then why do I feel so apprehensive about turning this last corner to my house?

Danger stood just before the corner of Wisteria Walk and Privet Drive, and felt an indescribable urge to just run away, run and never witness the horror that she was about to find. . .

What am I doing being so melodramatic? Come on, Gertrude, it's just your house.

And with that, she turned the corner—and gasped at what she saw. There were a few people milling about in front of her house, and a huge sickly green image of a skull and snake above it. Danger rushed home, pushing people aside, throwing the door open and not bothering to close it, not really caring about anything except making sure her parents were safe—the parents she loved and cherished more than anything else in the world.

They weren't.

She found them there, in the living room. They looked so peaceful, lying there, Danger thought at first that they were sleeping.

Then she noticed the expressions of horror on each of their faces, and ran over to check for a pulse. None. She checked again and again, more and more frantic, looking for breathing, movement, any sign of life.

None.

Danger fell to her knees between her parents and screamed, a loud, plaintive wail that seemed to just go on and on. The windows in front of the house shattered, as did several of the streetlamps outside. But Danger was heedless of this, did not even notice the destruction her anguish had wreaked—she could think of only one thing.

My parents. The two people who meant the world to me. Rose and David Granger, the best, most loving, most loyal people in the world.

Dead. Gone. Never coming back.

She collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

The observers outside left quietly. Even they weren't insensitive enough to intrude upon such a horrible scene.

And hundreds of miles away, in a small room off the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts, an enchanted quill scratched out a name, address, and two dates.

Gertrude Kelly Granger, 17 August 1976. 17 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. 4 December 1960.

The first week after the four's arrival in the past passed in a haze of research, studying, and (for Harry) occasional spell practice in the Room of Requirement. The presence in this time period of so many people who had died at Voldemort's hand seemed to serve as a catalyst for him, a sort of reminder of why he was fighting. It gave Harry a seemingly inexhaustible determination to prepare all he could.

Hermione, for her part, had taken up researching the Founders. She actually discovered quite a lot of information about them, but nothing on their artifacts other than the ones already known—Gryffindor's sword, Hufflepuff's cup, and Slytherin's locket. Whatever Ravenclaw may have owned, nobody seemed to have thought it worth mentioning.

Most interesting by far, though, was a passage from the creatively titled The Founders of Hogwarts regarding the founders' abilities: "Each of the four Founders of Hogwarts was well-known for a particular magical talent passed down through their bloodlines. Gryffindor could control fire, shaping it to do his will, and even when unconscious he was never burned. Ravenclaw had a Healing power marked by a blue aura; she could heal nearly any injury, but serious ones were extremely tiring. Most notably, she used her power to heal an entire class burned by a rampaging dragon, and was bedridden for nearly a month afterwards, with stress-induced white hair for the rest of her life. (It is believed that this incident had a hand in the creation of the school's motto.)

"Helga Hufflepuff's talents lay in Herbology; she could cause plants to grow with a thought and a touch, even on very large scales. Finally, Salazar Slytherin, as most already know, could speak to snakes, an ability known as Parseltongue and to this day falsely connected with the Dark.

"The founders' talents remained in their bloodlines except in 'very special circumstances', in the words of Gryffindor; nobody really knows just what those circumstances are. Not all blood Heirs of the Founders are immediately identifiable, though; a Ravenclaw heir with an aversion to Healing would probably never discover her gift, nor would a Hufflepuff heir with an aversion to plants, and Gryffindor's power often wreaked so much havoc for youngsters that it was bound by a family member soon after birth, to be unbound when the child reached majority . . ."

August 18, 1976, started the same as every day had since their arrival, with the four teens eating breakfast in the Great Hall. Dumbledore was there, as were some of the teachers—McGonagall, Flitwick, and a couple Harry didn't recognize—but the vast majority of the staff wouldn't be arriving for another week or so.

Hermione read the Daily Prophet over breakfast, as usual; she had taken out a subscription the morning after they arrived, claiming she needed to get up to speed with the news of this time.

"It's horrible," she said. "Another attack. I swear, this is even worse than our sixth year was. Voldemort's forces are in full swing."

"You're right," said Harry. "I never realized how bad it was. I guess I can understand a bit better now why people idolize me so much." He grinned wryly. "Not that I like it."

"And—" But what Hermione was going to say, the other three never found out, for at that moment she emitted a terrified squeak and started breathing heavily. "No, no, no. Oh my God. Oh my God. Please tell me I did NOT just read that." Her hand shook as she handed the paper to Harry, who scanned the article she indicated: ". . . attack on a Muggle village . . . Little Whinging, Surrey . . . three houses attacked . . . Rose and David Granger were killed . . ."

Harry's heart sank. He passed the article to Ginny and Ron, who read it and assumed the same expression he was now wearing—one of mingled shock and horror. "Could they . . . could they have been some other Grangers?" asked Ron timidly.

"No," said Hermione; it seemed to take a great effort for her to even say the one word. "Those were my parents. Rose and David." She broke out in tears. "How did this happen? We didn't change anything!" Harry stood up and walked to Dumbledore, article in hand; he was wondering the same thing. Ron and Ginny stayed to try to provide Hermione some measure of comfort.

It seemed to take an age for Harry to reach the Head Table. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Well, sir, Hermione was reading the Daily Prophet, about the attacks, and— and one of them was on her house. Her parents were both killed." Harry offered Dumbledore the article; Dumbledore took it and read it gravely.

"My condolences on her loss. Events such as this one have plagued us for years, but that makes it no easier when those closest to one's heart are the ones affected.

"I suppose you're wondering how this happened, since by your expression it didn't in your time?"

"Yes, Professor. I don't understand— we didn't change anything, and— and—"

"Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore gravely, "I believe you have just discovered, in the worst possible way, the reason why no way has been found to send people forward in time. Your mere presence here has changed events, even in spite of your keeping a low profile. Events have so many causes, Mr. Potter, that it is often impossible to identify the results of one's actions, or even one's presence. If I understand correctly, a Muggle author has referred to this phenomenon as the 'butterfly effect'."

"So we can't go back, sir?" Harry didn't seem too displeased at the prospect.

"I will continue to research the possibilities," said Dumbledore, "but no, I do not believe you will be able to return to your own time. Nor should you expect events to play out exactly as you may remember them, though your knowledge of the future will probably prove useful in other ways."

"Okay, then," said Harry. "Thank you, Professor. I'll go tell the others." And with that, he walked back to the Gryffindor table.

Hermione seemed to have calmed down a bit by the time he arrived, although she was still sniffling. "I know they're not really my parents in this time," she said, "but they always cared for me, even when they didn't exactly understand what was going on at Hogwarts. . . . It's just so hard knowing two more of the people I love are dead—but it's easier when the other three are sitting next to me." She looked at Harry. "Did Dumbledore say how it happened?"

"Yeah, he did," said Harry. "He called it the 'butterfly effect' or something. Basically, the mere fact that we're here is causing the changes—I didn't really understand it, but there you go."

Hermione seemed to understand, though. "I've heard about that. A butterfly flapping its wings could create a tornado halfway around the world, or something. It's quite interesting."

Ron was the first to ask the question that seemed to be on everyone's minds. "So how are we going to get home?"

"I'm guessing that we aren't," said Hermione sadly. "I assume this is why Dumbledore said it was so hard to undo time travel—I mean, we haven't consciously changed anything yet, and something as big as this happens."

"That's what Dumbledore said," affirmed Harry, "although he did also say he'd keep looking. He didn't sound like he expected to find anything, though."

"We can't go back?" asked Ginny in a very small voice. Suddenly, Harry realized how hard this must be for her and Ron. They both were part of a huge, loving family, and they probably wouldn't ever see them again . . .

Harry moved over and drew Ginny into a tight embrace. "No, Gin, I think we're here to stay. And I'm sorry you got dragged into this, I know how much you must miss your family . . ."

Ginny looked up at him with a weary smile. "If you were going to go off and disappear anyway, Harry Potter, I'm glad I got the chance to disappear with you. It'll just take some getting used to, that's all."

"Thanks. I'm glad to have you here, too, you know. All of you. I can't do this alone."

After breakfast, Dumbledore returned to his office to think. He had half-expected something like this to happen—some event to occur unexplicably differently—but that didn't make it any less of a shock.

To be honest with myself, I have little hope of finding a way to get these four back home. There are some things that simply cannot be done.

And from their expressions, they already understand that. I certainly wish all my seventh-years were so forward-thinking; the amount of time the new four have spent in the library has dwarfed all expectations. Dumbledore wondered for a moment what was causing such behavior.

They are determined, he realized. They have a mission, and they have every intention of completing it successfully—and working as hard as they must to achieve that.

I can only wonder what things were like in their time to cause this. All four of them are old beyond their years.

But Dumbledore's musings were soon to be interrupted. As soon as he set foot in his office, he was greeted by the ringing of the little bell connected to the Hogwarts Quill—the enchanted quill that recorded the name and address of every magical child in the British Isles. At first, Dumbledore paid it little mind; it rang, on average, every nine days, and while interesting, it was not anything that required immediate attention.

But when the bell continued to ring after a few seconds, he realized something more was at work.

Curiosity piqued, Dumbledore walked through a hidden door into the small side chamber containing the quill and regarded the last entry on the list with interest.

Gertrude Granger. Probably a late awakening caused by her parents' deaths; they are rumored to occur occasionally, though I have never known of one personally.

And she is grieving, and her magic is unstable. Much as I hate to intrude upon her already shattered life, she needs to know what has happened.

With that thought, Dumbledore walked back into his office, grabbed one of Fawkes' tail feathers, and was whisked away to the backyard of number seventeen, Privet Drive.

When he opened his eyes, the wise Professor was met with the classic suburban backyard—well-kept, clean, and bereft of anything really interesting.

Except for that young woman lying desolately in the grass.

Dumbledore approached her quietly. "Excuse me, are you Miss Gertrude Granger?"

She didn't turn her head, didn't open her eyes, didn't give any sign of acknowledgement except a weak and monotonous, "Yes, I am."

"Could you sit up and look at me, please? I have something important to tell you, and I need your full attention."

She acquiesced, it seemed, with an effort, turning to look at Dumbledore with deadened eyes. "Okay, I'm looking at you. Now what in God's name is so important that you have to barge into my bloody backyard to tell me about it! In case you didn't know, my parents both were killed last night! I think I deserve some time to grieve!" Her tone had changed quickly from apathetic to angry.

"Please, calm yourself. I shall be quick, then, and leave you to yourself, since that is what you wish. Do you believe in magic, Miss Granger?"

This seemed to have sparked her interest, though only for a moment. "I didn't, sir. Not until last night. When my parents died. There was this huge green snake skull thing above the house, and the way they had died— it looked like they were just sleeping, so, so peaceful, just laying there, but they— they weren't— they were—" Tears came to her eyes in memory, and she was unable to finish the sentence.

"Magic does exist, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore with a comforting half-smile. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am terribly sorry that your first encounter with magic was so tragic, but please believe me when I say that most of us are good people."

"Thank God," said the young woman; she did seem to be comforted by the information. "I was so confused. At least now I understand what happened." She paused for a second, then looked straight at Dumbledore with a piercing gaze. "Do you know who killed my parents?"

"I do not," said Dumbledore sadly, "except that he, or they, were servants of the Dark Lord Voldemort, who is waging a terrible and vicious terror war on our world. The servants are called Death Eaters; the image you saw above your house is their sign, called the Dark Mark."

"And is there any way to tell these Death Eaters apart from other wizards?" She spoke with a forced calm.

"Sadly, none that we know of, apart from their beliefs and evil actions."

"Thank you, Professor." Her voice suddenly turned angry. "And if I ever find out who it was that did this, I'll— I'll— I'LL KILL THEM FOR WHAT THEY DID TO MY PARENTS!" she screamed. She collapsed, breathing heavily.

"Gertrude—"

"Danger, please."

"Danger, then," began Dumbledore, considering his words carefully, "I will not say I understand your grief, for I do not; nobody does, except you. But I do know that it does not do to dwell on this to the extent that it drowns out everything else. Grieve, but do not stop living your life—"

"My parents were my life, Professor," sobbed Danger. "And now they're gone. And I don't feel like I have anything left." She looked up. "No friends, no boyfriend—just me and my perfectly ordinary life that doesn't really seem to mean so much anymore without the only two people who ever cared for me in it."

"Danger," said Dumbledore placatingly, "do you really think I would have come here only to tell you why your parents died?"

Danger considered it for a second. "No," she said, "I suppose not."

"In any event, I do have more to tell you, and it is certainly better news," explained Dumbledore. "Normally, witches and wizards are born—you either are a witch or you aren't. Occasionally, however, one's powers can surface in the wake of a traumatic event—"

"A 'traumatic event'? Like finding your parents dead in the living room?" Danger's expression was inscrutable.

"Exactly. I came here, first and foremost, because your name appeared this morning on the register of magical children in Britain. As such, you have a place at Hogwarts, should you wish to take it."

Danger's mood changed in an instant. "Could I, Professor? It would be perfect; I could get away from here, concentrate on something else for once, something important, and I. . ."

She trailed off, not really wanting to say what she had thought, but Dumbledore guessed it anyway. "And you could join the fight against Voldemort? Of course that would be a motivation, Danger, and there is no need to be ashamed of it," he said, eyes twinkling.

"So it's settled then," affirmed Danger with finality. "I'm going with you. Could I just have a few minutes to get my things from the house?"

"Of course, Danger. Take all the time you like."

Danger disappeared into the now-vacant house at a run.

I am amazed at how well she has taken this, thought Dumbledore.

Though perhaps I shouldn't be. She has intelligence and drive, and I've given her a path to follow when she believed none existed. I wonder what Hermione will make of her?

In any case, I have no doubt that she will do great things in our world.

Danger emerged from her house five minutes later, carrying a trunk with all her clothes and some money. She had placed her parents' wedding rings on a chain around her neck. As she walked, she placed one hand to it, as if steeling herself for something, then said firmly, "I'm ready. Let's go."

Dumbledore called for Fawkes, and the unlikely pair returned to Hogwarts in a brilliant flash of flame.

That afternoon, the four time-travellers were relaxing in the Gryffindor common room, a couple to each couch, when Danger walked in. Hermione immediately stood up to greet her.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger. What's your name?"

Danger seemed to be quite surprised at Hermione's last name. "Gertrude Granger, but you can call me—"

"Danger?" asked Hermione before she could stop herself. She had vague memories of her older sister Gertrude, whom she used to see over the holidays sometimes before she got her Hogwarts letter. . . she didn't know her all that well, but she knew of her. And she knew she wasn't a witch. What more have I changed?

Danger nodded, eyes wide. "How did you know? And are we related or something?"

Hermione sighed. Now why did I have to go and shoot my mouth off like that? I won't be able to explain this one away too easily . . . "Come over here and sit down, it's a long story." Danger did so. "Am I right in guessing you've never been to Hogwarts before?" There, redirect the conversation on her.

"Yep, first time here," said Danger. "Last night, I came home, only to find the . . . Dark Mark, was it? above my house. And, well— you can probably guess what I found inside." Her voice cracked at the memory. Hermione nodded sadly; Danger took control of herself and continued to explain. "Anyway, Professor Dumbledore says he thinks the shock of it brought out my magic, or something. So now I'm here, and trying to cram four years' worth of material into two weeks so I can start my fifth year with everyone else. . . What about you?"

Oh well, it can't work forever, thought Hermione. And for some reason . . . "I trust you, even though we've only just met, so we will tell you—everything," she added with a pointed glance at Harry, who was sitting with Ginny and watching the Grangers' conversation with interest. "Please don't tell this to anyone else."

"Deal," Danger said, wondering what could possibly merit such secrecy.

"Anyway, the gist of it is: we're from the future, got sent back some twenty-one years in time, and we probably won't be able to go back."

That would do it. Danger gaped at them. "Is that how you knew my name?"

"Yes, it is," said Hermione. "I'm your sister, twenty years younger—or, as of a week ago, two years older."

"And what are your friends' names?"

Harry, Ron, and Ginny introduced themselves. "I'm the son of the two people in sixth year who hate each other the most," Harry said with a wry grin. "You'll probably figure it out the night of the Sorting Feast when they start yelling at each other."

"This is all too much," said Danger, shaking her head. "I'm going to go to the library and get to work. We can talk more tonight, and I'm sure I'll have questions about all the studying I'll be doing . . . What do I need to prepare for, anyway?"

Hermione rattled off a list of subjects. "Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, and Defense are probably the most important; Herbology, Astronomy, and History of Magic you can probably pick up during the year. Fifth year is O.W.L. year—the O.W.L.s are like the Muggle O-levels—so you will need to make everything up eventually."

"I'll manage," said Danger with a smile. "And when my eyes glaze over, I'll just come in here and let you entertain me with stories about the future."

Harry grinned widely. "Works for us. Trust me, there's plenty to tell." He extricated himself from Ginny, stood up, and extended his hand. "Friends?"

Danger took it. "Friends." She smiled at them and left the common room in search of (what else?) the library.

Over the course of the next two weeks, the five students settled into a routine. They would eat all their meals together in the Great Hall, study (in Danger's case) or research (in everyone else's) until three o'clock or so, then take a bit of time off for fun. (For Danger and Hermione, this "fun" often involved more reading; they were both true bookworms, although Danger did have a fair amount of wittiness to go along with it.)

Danger's magical studies were enlightening. She understood the theory well enough for Charms and Transfiguration, but putting it into practice was difficult. Ironically, it was the simplest spells that caused her the most trouble; she spent longer on Wingardium Leviosa than on the Summoning Charm. Hermione had a complex theory about this relating to "age of magical awakening" and "balance between general and special magics"; nobody else understood it, including Danger.

Reminds me of myself, to be honest, was Harry's opinion. Corporeal Patronus at thirteen, and it took me weeks to learn the Summoning Charm. Who knows why?

Potions required some work; Slughorn would be arriving on 23 August, but that was still several days away, and there was no way to get into the dungeons until then. As such, Danger didn't have any supplies or cauldrons until Harry showed her the Room of Requirement.

"She's learned more about the castle in a week than we learned in five years!" Ron complained indignantly that night.

"And she's earned it," said Hermione icily. "She's completely new here, cramming like crazy for two weeks, only found out she was a witch a week ago, when her parents died—or did you forget that, Ron?"

"Sorry, Hermione, you're right." Ron had learned very quickly, after he finally asked Hermione out in the wake of Dumbledore's death, that it was best not to argue too much with the bushy-haired witch.

In the two weeks before the students' arrival, Danger heard plenty about the future—among other things, the merits of Canary Creams and Ton-Tongue Toffee, which had caused plenty of laughs—and grew to know the four time-travellers as good friends. Being in a huge castle with nobody else for company can do that to you, she mused idly. Even without the shared experiences that bound the trio and Ginny together, they found that they connected quite well with Danger, probably because she was just so fun to be around. And they were all misfits, in a way.

The five also met the staff as they arrived. Some, like Professor McGonagall, Harry knew from the future; some, like Professor Kettleburn (the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, whom he liked) and Professor Johnson (the Defense teacher, whom he didn't), were new. The reason for Danger's presence was not a secret, but only McGonagall and Flitwick knew about the time-travellers' time travelling. (The truth, Dumbledore believed, would only cause mass confusion, and Harry had to agree.)

On the misfits' last night of peace before the students came, Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, and Danger relaxed and talked in the common room. Danger had finished her revision that afternoon with some work on the Whistling Charm. Ginny forswore studying for a day, claiming she was frustrated enough that she was as likely to set fire to her book as read it, and Harry and Ron quickly followed suit. Even Hermione relented—"but just this once."

"So, I daresay you'll meet some interesting people tomorrow, Danger," teased Harry late that night. "Like, say, Remus Lupin? I think the two of you would make a good match . . ."

Harry could've sworn he saw a flicker of recognition on Danger's face before she masked it.

"Three weeks ago, I might've ignored that," she said with an impish grin. "Now, though, I can do THIS!" She waved her wand, conjured a pillow, and beat Harry repeatedly over the head with it. Harry retaliated by running up to his dormitory and getting his own, and Ron and even Hermione soon followed suit. The portraits on the walls of the Gryffindor common room witnessed a pillow fight that lasted almost an hour.

When it was over, the five collapsed on sofas, chairs, pillows, pretty much whatever was closest. "I'm knackered," said Harry blearily. "I think I'll just sleep down here."

The others didn't answer, having already drifted off to sleep.

Danger woke up with a poem literally drumming in her head . . .

"The lion's son, his lady bright,
And hawk and cat do darkness fight,
Saved through time by lion's kin,
But without friends they cannot win.
So join they will with canines two,
The one a lion, the other—you,
And warriors' patience guard you must,
For, in time, dog and stag gain trust.
And thus the pack begins to meet
That one day will the dark defeat."

(A/N: And here's our Danger, along with some of Dumbledore's "unforseeable consequences". . .

The character of Gertrude "Danger" Granger-Lupin belongs to Anne Walsh.

Okay, so I lied: no Marauders yet. Next chapter, "The Marauders," will contain them, I promise! Does anyone notice the symptoms of a lack of good outline? And is there anyone who really wants to see Peter?

Keep those reviews coming! I send replies to anyone who was logged in, so if you ask a question, expect an answer.)