Falling Leaves
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
There were dry leaves on the ground, whooshing here and there with each gust of whistling wind. There were tree branches peppered with colors, from sickly yellow to dark amber to hints of ruby red. And there was a fallen door, resting at the bottom of the stairs. What there wasn't, was the injured girl Remus had been half-carrying to the Headmaster's office.
He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them as though they had just momentarily failed to process the girl's presence. Apparating was impossible within the castle's grounds, so the former explanation made more sense, however nonsensical it was. Even James' Invisibility Cloak–on the event his friends were behind the whole thing–couldn't hide her scent from his enhanced senses: she had smelled of rapture at reading a great novel, of the heat of a lit fireplace on a chilly day. That was also how he gathered that his theory was just as flawed as the others. Only the faintest trail of her scent remained, slightly stronger inside the garden: her robe and book.
Could he account for her disappearance? Not currently, which didn't mean he wouldn't try. All he needed to do was think, barely a hardship at all, being a task he was often assigned. While James' magic was the strongest, Sirius' talent the most impressive, and Peter's furtiveness the most artful, the how of things usually fell to him in their little group. Though instead of figuring out a way to pull a prank, this time he had to work out the way a prank was pulled. So he made his way down the steps once more, dodging the door on the ground, to see what he had to work with. The robe was of no help, standard Gryffindor uniform from what he could see, a Madam Malkins label on the collar, so he reached down for the rumpled book.
It seemed to be a limited edition, the cover different from his, fancier, and he winced at its state. As he righted the pages into some semblance of flatness, the colophon caught his eye. It read '1989, 11th edition'. He chuckled. Vanishing time-travelers, of course… The attention to detail was impressive. Of all the practical jokes, this was the most elaborate one he had ever witnessed. And, for someone with friends such as his, that was the highest praise there was.
When he cast a Finite Incantatemon the page, however, and none of the numbers changed, his amusement faded. He cast a number of revealing spells on it, one after the other, all for naught. For the first time since the garden's door came crashing down, Remus wondered if... He shook his head. No, it was impossible. Traveling twenty years back, with or without a time-turner, was unfeasible. And there was a way he could think of to prove it.
Remus crossed the grounds and entered the castle, climbing staircase after moving staircase, all the while holding the book in front of his body with both hands, her robe draped on his shoulder. The walls, portraits, and people painted a blur around him, although he made sure he didn't run at any point. Despite the niggling of possibility lighting up inside him like a Lumos spell–one that he was constantly trying to put out–it wouldn't do to give someone the satisfaction of having him shoot through the corridors like an overexcited first-year if and when his earlier assumptions proved correct.
Once he arrived, password on his lips, Remus ignored a still-fuming Lily and made his way to the boy's dorm. He freed one hand to open his trunk and rummaged through clothes, parchments, and quills until he found it: Numerical Charts and Probability: A Progressive Approach by Janet Boyman. He spent the remainder of the afternoon, most of the evening, and went well into the night making notes and contrasting information between the two.
The changes were considerable. He applied the calculations and the results were, at least, 12% more precise than the ones he had obtained from his version. Remus closed both books and collapsed against the headboard of his bed, pressing his lower palms to his eyes.
He had deemed her a prankster, a liar… Both being things that he was. While he was at it, he might have as well accused her of being a werewolf.
By the time daylight was filtering in through the curtains around his bed, he had determined two things: first, that she had been, in fact, a time-traveler, and second, that he was a complete and utter knobhead. Who, given the chance to talk to someone from the future, would have buggered it up so terribly? The first thing he should have asked her was her name. No wonder Sirius was the popular one among witches. Padfoot might never remember a girl's name, but he made sure to at least ask for it. Would he even be able to identify her on looks alone two decades from now? Having been with her for all of what? Forty minutes? He'd be lucky if he found her strangely familiar, yet unable to put a finger on why.
After that sleepless night, and before he even went to the Great Hall for breakfast, Remus trudged through the bitter morning for the garden. He stayed through the first period - Binns was unlikely to notice his absence, and he could always read about the Vampire Wars in a book. Learning all about a newly reinstated Triwizard Tournament, however… But Transfiguration class came along, and Remus had to leave. He would have returned in the afternoon had Mr. Filch not handed out a week's worth of detention for their stunt. The next morning, he made his trek back to the garden. The door remained as he had left it two days before, and Remus single-handedly–albeit with some use of magic–restored it to its place, in the hopes that she would come crashing through it once again.
Suffice it to say she didn't.
He had taken to carrying both her robe and book on his rucksack at all times, and to read bits of the book every night, fearing they would vanish from his grasp as she had. After a full moon, when his senses were still painfully heightened, he could pick up traces of her scent on them. But Christmas came and went with no sign of her, and Remus began researching the garden. His copy of Hogwarts: A History lay in James' Quidditch locker, as they had been gathering in the changing rooms outside of practice to work on the Map and would sometimes consult it, so Remus went for the Library instead to check out the book. His search for any indication that the garden had been responsible for bringing her to his time proved fruitless and, when he found no plausible explanation–or, more importantly, no way to replicate it–in those yellowed pages, he rebelled against the useless book.
The next time he found himself in that garden, it was autumn again. He hadn't meant to return, had meant to forget all about her, but the pumpkin pranks he had been escaping from when they met were back. Sirius, it seemed, had developed a penchant for them, for the sole reason that his mother abhorred both crop and season. Instead of exploding, however, they were now charmed to bite anything their carved teeth could reach, arses in particular. So Remus's feet found their way into his old haven.
And standing there, surrounded by weeds, hands covered in dirt, was her. When their gazes met, a gasp escaped her lips. "It is you! I've been waiting and I didn't know whether or not you would come!"
Remus slipped as he dashed down the stairs but somehow caught himself before falling.
"Careful!" She had rushed to his aid, but stopped short of touching him, wrinkling her nose at her hands, "I hit my head the last time, let's not make it a habit, shall we?"
"You."
The witch dusted off the dirt and reached for a rag, "Yes?"
"Name."
"Pardon me?"
"Your name. I never asked your name. Before."
"Hermione, my name's Hermione. Pleasure to see you too, Remus."
"Why did you come back?" Remus had always considered himself to be of average intelligence, at least. Somehow, though, stupidity seemed to flourish whenever he was around her, and he vowed never to poke fun at James again, not when words kept coming out of his mouth like a Bludger he couldn't stop. Yet, while she hadn't seemed to mind his lack of articulation before, her eyebrows drew together and upwards at his question, the chocolate-colored eyes he had longed to see again darting from him to the door. He almost choked. "No! In time, I mean. Sorry!"
"Oh, of course. It's fine," She trapped a misbehaving ringlet of brown hair behind her ear and ducked her chin to the side, yet Remus was certain he was the one to blush. Either that or he had become feverish all of a sudden. Then she let out a short, breathed laughter and it was all he could do to pay attention to what she said next, "Well, I didn't have a reason in the beginning. That first time I kind of just… fell back into the past, I suppose. Though I should probably say I fell forward into it since, ironically, that's what's happened. This time… This time I came back because of you."
"Me? Are you sure?"
"Of course, you. Which reminds me, you, sir, are in deep trouble."
Remus' whole body should have tensed. Those words never boded well, exponentially less so coming from a time-traveler. Yet they made more sense. She wouldn't have come here for his company. Had he died? Gone to prison? Was that how she had come to know him, from an obituary or a wanted sign printed on the Prophet?
When he couldn't form a response, she continued, "How dare you…" And the words got worse. Had he slighted her somehow? Or, worse still, had he unwittingly bitten someone she… He sighed. No, he had tortured himself enough about that the last time and concluded she didn't know. Not a crime against a loved one, then, or not a serious one at least, or there would have been a wand at his neck as soon as he had arrived. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, the girl–Hermione–removed something from her rucksack and pushed it into his hands, "...scribble on a Library book? Honestly! I expected better of you."
When he opened at the bookmarked page, Remus smiled in spite of himself, the knot in his stomach loosening, and his earlier thoughts melted away. He recognized that volume of Hogwarts: A History, his words still tainting the paper. "You found it."
"I'm known for thoroughly researching things. I was trying to find a way back to you and none of the books—"
"You keep saying that."
"What?"
"Me. That you're here for me."
"You just so happen to be one of my favorite people, Remus John Lupin. The earlier you accept that, the better. Now, unless you don't want to see me again, in which case you better say so now, we have a garden to research."
Remus tried to suppress the spark of hope igniting in his chest. He didn't think he was successful. "Then I believe we have a garden to research."
He had never seen a smile so brilliant.
Hermione–and didn't the name feel right in his head, now that he knew it?–knelt down and proceeded to remove a mountain of books from her sack, so many, in fact, that he doubted all of them could have fit inside. Once he realized he was staring, and that silence had begun to stretch too long, regardless of how heedless of it she seemed, Remus tried for some light conversation, "So, how did the tournament go last year?"
She gripped the book in her hand harder, her tone low when she spoke, "Someone died."
Shite. "I'm sorry."
"So am I. Things are… rather bleak at the moment. Those of us with any sense at all are scared out of our minds. The others… not quite."
"Scared about the tournament?"
Hermione bit her lower lip, "No. Yes. It's... complicated. And I don't think I can tell you."
"Temporal paradoxes and such…"
She gave him a nod and resumed producing a library out of her bag, albeit slower. "Sit. Just watch out for the moss."
Remus had been so distracted by her presence he hadn't noticed anything other than her. Now that she mentioned it, however, and he recalled his slip upon descending the steps, he looked around. "What happened to this place?"
It didn't resemble the garden he used to visit at all. Grass–or tall weeds, he couldn't determine which–had taken over every available patch of soil, spilling over the fences. The contrast between dark grey and green was gone as well as cushions of moss covered most of the stone floor, and wild, unrestrained greenery was all there was. Moreover, it made the place redolent of dampness, pungent enough to bother, yet not strong enough to be worrisome.
She looked up from her endeavor and made a face, "Doesn't look very good for a garden, does it? I didn't think much of it, but then, I wasn't exactly paying attention the first time. Ever since I started trying to have it send me back here, it's been like this. Well, a bit worse for the wear, actually. I've been trying to fix it, not very successfully, to be honest, gardening isn't exactly one of my—Only… Remus, it's wrong! The garden is wrong. I don't think I traveled back. This time-this time you traveled forward! That's why it's different, we're in my garden. It has been closed off for a long time, I think I told you so, remember? It would be rundown for me, in my present, but not for you in yours."
"I'm twenty years into the future?" This one he attributed to shock instead of plain idiocy.
"Yes. Or at least I think so. I left my book and robe last time, and they vanished. I think, if you were to leave something behind, they would still be there for me."
"I still have them... But why? Why the past one year and the future the other?"
"Perhaps it's interchangeable. Or…"
"Or?"
"You were here first last time."
"So whoever is first to the garden determines the year?"
"It's an assumption. We could test it, we'll both leave, then I'll wait three minutes before going back inside. Make sure you close the door when you enter."
"What if it doesn't work?"
"You're right...We'll devise a schedule first and try again, and if nothing works…" Her hand found his, and she gave it a soft squeeze, "Well, I'll see you next year. I'll still come here often, even if you don't see each other."
Once she had produced a detailed timetable, with several different dates and times allowing for each of their given classes and activities, and he had packed her books, flipping through one or two that hadn't even been published yet, they left. Remus hoped–to Merlin, Morgana, and Circe, and whatever other great wizards and witches there were–that their plan would work.
Yet it still felt like a loss when he watched her disperse like fairy dust in the wind. Once he entered again, the garden was as it should be. Pansies and Heathers were already in bloom, the grass short and delimited to its space. The three most stagnant minutes of his life were passed cataloging all the plants he could see. Anemones, Asters, Basil, Colchicums, Chrysanthemums, Crocus, Cyclamens, Dill…
And he couldn't care less what any of them looked like. He would take the moss, and the weeds, and the—
"This place is beautiful."
It worked.
When she demonstrated an interest in trying to revive the garden in her time, Remus spent a while telling her about the plants he knew. His mother loved to garden, and, being a confined child, Remus had learned a great deal on the subject. He skipped, however, the monkshood, as though his voice or even addressing it would give his secret away.
Once the hour grew late, and they had grown mostly silent, observing the garden itself, Hermione spoke, "You can't include this on the map, you know."
The quiet, the company, and the fragrances had lulled him into a state of complete peace. "What map?"
"The Marauder's Map. It would be around the time that you and your friends are putting it together, I think."
That woke him up. "You've seen it?"
"It's a truly brilliant piece of magic, be warned that I plan on picking your brain about it. My friend has the map, has had it for close to two years now. He was given it to break rules, by two rule-breakers before him, so I guess it's serving its intended purposes," Hermione stood, shooting him a sideways glance and a half-smile. "Mischief Managed, Mr. Moony."
A/N: It's here!
I'm having such a great time with this story, and I hope you all are as well!
As always, I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter, but I completely get those of you who are too shy. You guys are appreciated, too! *sends lots of hearts your way*
To Canimal: I'm so glad you liked it, thank you! I've been answering you through here since I can't reply to your reviews directly, but let me know if it bothers you, and I'll stop :)
All my love to caprubia, Canimal, Chantal9, WinterOrion, szaboalexandra1991, and xXMizz Alec VolturiXx for the reviews. To LadyBlitzs, WinterOrion, dolphingirlrrg, and jdysbl for adding the story to their favorites. And to RemisGrl, WinterOrion, Punnamipuvvu, xXMizz Alec VolturiXx, 1991, dolphingirlrrg, and jdysbl for following the story.
You all are fantastic! :)