Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.

Chapter Twenty | So Crazy It Just Might Work

Things are tense right now… very tense. I've caught Dumbledore attempting to use legilimency on me at least five or six times an hour at meals, and I can see he's getting more and more frustrated. He knows. There's not a chance in hell he doesn't know, and I don't know what to do. I blew up, got ahead of myself, and I'm probably going to be locked up in Azkaban for the rest of my life for it. Yeah, I'm going to live to a ripe old age while wasting away in prison, because that's obviously what Death meant by me making it past my centennial.

Shit, the whole family is on edge. Sirius and Octavius are doing everything they can to push out Rita's novel as fast as possible in the hopes that it may distract Dumbledore, but I doubt it's going to do any good in terms of protecting my ass. Severus is in a tizzy trying to figure out what he should do, coming up with the most insane plans to put down Dumbledore before he decides to confront me. I think I've got a week at most before the old man comes after me guns a blazing.

I'm trying to keep my head on straight, training every free chance I can get in the Chamber. I've blown most of it to bits and repaired it repeatedly over the last couple days, doing my best to stock up on and master every spell I can in the hopes that it'll give me an edge in the fight that I know is to come. But what do I do against someone who has a hundred years of experience on me? What do I do against someone who was fighting in wars long before even my parents were born? What the fuck do I do?

I've done a number of rituals since the confrontation, taking full advantage of Salazar's old chamber. I'm terribly glad that I decided to keep blood on hand in case I needed to undertake some new ones, and I wouldn't have been able to get them done without my little stockpile. I'm doing everything I can to get an edge, regardless of the impact it may have on me later down the line.

My respiratory system has been augmented, leaving me capable of breathing in low oxygen environments, as well as being able to hold my breath for an extended period of time. That should keep me from tiring too much if there's a lot of smoke or debris in the air, as well as allow me to kick ass in the tournament next year, if I manage to live that long. I've also completed a ritual to augment my senses. It's going to take a few days to get used to how overwhelming some things can be right now, namely bright lights and loud sounds, but it'll help me react faster to something I can't see and detect someone who's sneaking up on me. Dumbledore may be old, but he's still an incredibly talented and powerful wizard, not to mention clever as hell. I wouldn't put it past him to ambush me when I least expect it and take me into custody then, if he doesn't murder me immediately.

Fuck.

I'm just so goddamn stressed. I know people are starting to pick up on it. The rings around my eyes, the way I jump at every noise like a scared rat, how I peek around every corner expecting the vivid green of the killing curse to be rushing at me. I'm splitting at the seams holding myself together, and it's only a matter of when, not if, before I snap under the pressure and make another mistake. Hermione's been following me around more, and I'm not really looking forward to our chat tonight. I know I promised to be there for her, but I don't know if I'd be the best emotional support when I'm on the brink of a nervous breakdown my self.

I tap my tongue against the roof of my mouth in agitation.

I don't expect myself to come out of this in one piece, because even if I do by some miracle defeat Dumbledore I'll still have to get the fuck out of Hogwarts and lay low somewhere. It's not like one can just kill the most famous wizard in the world and expect to walk away scot-free. Hell, even with my luck I'd be a political refugee at best considering the old mans past. Well, if they even believe what I have to say about him. Why yes officer, the Leader of the Light is a child murdering prick. Oh, you don't believe me? That's unfortunate.

Would it count as self-defence even if I was using what is arguably the darkest magic known to man? Probably not, as he'd most likely be justified in attacking such a 'terrible Dark lady.'

I chuckle morosely, startling Padma, who's sitting across from me. I'm currently holed up in the common room trying to kill time through homework and mindless reading.

"Helene Potter? Laughing? The world must be coming to an end," she says sarcastically. "You feeling a bit better?"

I shake my head. "No, not particularly. I just had a funny thought is all."

"And what would that funny thought be?" She asks, hoping to drag me out of my shell.

"Nothing important," I reply. "Sorry, just having a tough go of it lately, thanks for watching out for me though," I continue, groaning internally when she doesn't look as though she'll let up.

"I don't know what's bothering you, but you can't keep pushing me and everyone else away. You've been a bloody zombie for the last few days Helene, and we're worried about you. What's going on?"

"I- I can't tell you, even if I wanted to. Trust me when I say you're better of not know, alright? Can we leave it alone, so I can focus on my paper?" I snap, instantly feeling guilty at her crestfallen look. "Just, ugh. I really can't tell you what's going on, alright? I'm sorry that my shitty attitude is bothering everyone so much, but until I figure things out on my own, I'm going to be a bit gloomy."

She nods, unconvinced, and gets up to go chat with Lisa, who looks back at me sadly. I sigh quietly, praying that if everything blows over and I do miraculously come out of this in one piece that I haven't lost my friends in the process. I hunker down, dipping my quill into murky ink and setting it to the page, doing my best to dash through this transfiguration essay without looking too much like a prodigy. Sure, I could top the charts with my future knowledge, and I do to a degree, but I don't want to go so far above and beyond in my work that I start garnering even more attention. God knows that would be awful. Helene Potter, Girl-Who-Lived, Smartest Witch of Her Age and other assorted titles.

I fall into a rhythm, quill flying across the parchment as I work through my essay, my wrist cramping and fingers chafing as I write frantically, throwing myself into my work. I forget my surroundings as I focus myself on the task, finally keeping myself occupied and pushing away my maudlin thoughts. I feel a tap on my shoulder an hour later (an hour which felt terribly short), breaking me out of my fervor and startling me beyond belief. I shriek loudly, smacking my ink pot across the desk and spilling it onto the floor.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" My attacker gasps, murmuring scourgify and vanishing the mess, the deep black of india ink disappearing from the carpet. Really, whose bright idea was it to put a carpet next to a writing desk, particularly in a school that uses open pots of ink. I would understand its placement if we used fountain pens or something that wasn't terribly messy, but having a carpet there just shows a severe lack of planning.

"It's alright," I breathe, picking up the empty pot from the ground, making sure it's clean before stashing it in my bag. I look around to see who just scared the ever-loving shit out of me.

"Oh, hey Hermione."

"Hey yourself," she says, looking a touch sheepish. "Sorry for scaring you there, I tried calling for you, but you didn't respond."

"I was pretty absorbed in my work," I reply, scratching the back of my neck. "At least my essay is one piece, right? No harm done."

"Yeah, true… still, sorry about that. I know how focused I can get, I'd probably have had a heart attack if you startled me like that."

"You'd have shot through the ceiling."

"Shush you," she chides playfully. "So… were you still up to chat? If you're feeling up to it of course!" she adds hastily.

"I'm up to chat. Where were you wanting to talk? From what I could tell from our last conversation I'm guessing you want this to be a bit more private?"

She nods, blushing slightly. "I'd like that, yes. Um- do you want to go out to the lake again? It's not too cold out," she awkwardly gestures to the exit, tilting her head pointedly.

"Sure, sure. Let me just go get a coat, alright?" I say, jogging off to our dormitory.

"Can you grab one for me as well?"

"Yep!" I call back, dashing up the stairs and rummaging through my trunk, nabbing a black biker jacket as well as one of my woolen jumpers. I throw the jacket on, the leather cold on my neck as I head back down the stairs at a more sedate pace.

"Here, take one of mine," I say, handing Hermione my jumper.

"Thanks," she chirps, grinning widely as she slips it on and walks next to me towards the exit. We stroll silently through the halls, feeling the tension rolling off each other as we slowly trudge down the stairs, strolling out of the castle and onwards to the lake. We sit by the same tree from the other day, a warming charm placed around us to stave off the crisp night air.

"So," I begin, unsure of what to say. I fidget, picking away at a hangnail on my thumb, hissing quietly as my finger slips, a small tear of blood leaking from the miniature wound. The one time I bleed, and it's because of a hangnail, because that makes sense. "I'm not the best at these… emotional talks, but I'll try my best, alright?"

Hermione laughs nervously, but I notice her shoulders relax a bit, a smidge of tension leaving her. "As long as you try your best, that's all that matters," she says, crossing and uncrossing her legs, unsure of how to sit. She settles on sitting lotus, legs interlaced in front of her. "I… I don't really know how to say this," she admits, eyes downcast. "I've been working myself up all week to talk to you, but the words are just stuck in my throat."

I lay my hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "Just know that whatever you say, I won't judge you. Alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," she concedes, still looking a touch doubtful. She scoots over, turning herself towards me and placing her hands on her legs, her fingers kneading away nervously, rubbing small circles over her knees. "I… I- bloody hell."

"I think I'm… I know- God!" She huffs, punching the ground and hissing when she hurts her knuckles. I raise my eyebrows questioningly at her language, unused to her cursing as I cast a quick healing charm over her hand, garnering a smile as thanks. "Why is this so difficult?"

"Hey, it's alright," I reassure her. "I'm not going anywhere, take your time."

She picks away at the grass, tearing small tufts of it from the ground and watching it drift through the air. She does this for a while, murmuring quietly to herself.

Puffing out her chest, she says, "Well, here goes." She lets a slow breath hiss through closed teeth, blinking slowly. "I'm… I'm interested in you Helene. Interested, as in, you know, more than a friend. You know? I… I fancy you."

My brain shorts out. I just stare at her, absolutely unaware of what to do in a situation like this.

Hermione fancies me?

Fancies me?

"Oh," I squeak, completely unprepared for this. I blink once… twice, probably wearing the most mystified expression in the world as I try to register what she's just said. "You… fancy me. Me," I drawl, the words unfamiliar on my tongue. "No one's ever fancied me before."

Hermione chews on her lip, the skin turning white under her ruminations. "I should have known," she sniffs, her eyes begging to mist over as she starts to climb to her feet. "I'm just… you could never look at me that way."

"No, no!" I gasp, startling her as I grab her hands to stop her from leaving. "I… I'm flattered, honestly Hermione. You're an absolutely lovely person, beautiful, clever beyond belief- "

"I'm sensing a but here," she says sadly, eyes downcast.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair as I try to figure out how to let her down easy. I can't exactly tell her that she's too young for me, right? Well, considering she's physically older than me, that'd probably confuse the hell out of her. But… can I trust her? Of all my friends, would Hermione not be the one I could trust the most? The one person I could tell my secret to?"

"Yes, there is a but," I confess, squeezing her hand. "But, it's not for the reason that you imagine it to be."

"…and what would that reason be?" she queries, hope in her eyes.

"I… Christ, I see what you were talking about earlier, this is bloody hard to say," I chuckle, wondering how to begin. "You're going to think I'm absolutely and utterly insane."

"I wouldn't! Ever!" She argues.

"...are you really sure? Because this is going to make absolutely zero sense."

"Absolutely!"

I take out my wand, looking at her pointedly as I wave it through the air, casting a ridiculous amount of silencing and privacy charms. "I swear on my life and magic that I, Helene Lily Potter, am originally from the year 1996 and traveled backwards through time to this universe, arriving in the year 1991, so I say, so mote it be." My wand flashes brightly, signifying the oath taking place. Since I don't drop dead, Hermione stares in shock and confusion, her mind working furiously as she attempts to figure out if this is all just some sort of incredibly elaborate prank.

"…"

She continues to stare at me, absolutely dumbfounded. "You're… you're not joking, are you? That was a genuine oath, wasn't it?"

"No, I'm not joking, and that was a genuine oath," I confirm, squinting one eye as I do the math in my head to figure out how old I really am. "I'm mentally… what would I be- fifteen plus… wow. I'm seventeen years old, mentally."

"How did you travel so many years back? When did you come back? How old were you when you came back?" she fires off, her academic mind immediately chomping at the bit to glean every bit of information she can from me.

"Slow down! Slow down!" I gasp, hands up in surrender. "I came back when I was fifteen, nearly sixteen," I explain. "There as an… accident of sorts. I sort of, well- I died, and ended up back at eleven."

"You… what!?"

"I died."

"I'm so sorry," she mutters, grabbing my hand and rubbing her thumb over it protectively. "That's… that's insane."

"That's what I said."

She laughs loudly, wiping the tears from her eyes as she tries to restrain herself. "Only you could say that with a straight face," she marvels. "Helene Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived-Twice."

"Please, please don't give me a new title," I beg frantically. "I really could do without the attention. Please?"

"Well, I'm not about to go telling the world that you're some sort of time travelling super witch, am I? I'd be locked up faster than you could say 'bullshit.'"

"Language, Hermione!"

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "Oh, come off it! If I'm going to curse, now is the best time! Jeez, now I get why you're not interested," she laments. "I'd be uncomfortable dating someone four years younger than me as well. I do have to say, this wasn't what I was expecting for a rejection."

"Hermione, if I was four years younger I would have happily said yes," I admit, smiling at her shocked look. "Seriously, the you I know, the you I knew, you're a beautiful person, inside and out."

"Thank you," she breathes. "Huh… so you were my friend in your past life as well?"

"Yeah, it was me, you, and Ron."

"Ron?"

"Ron Weasley," I say, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline.

"Oh- oh. I'm so sorry Helene."

"It's… it's fine," I mutter doubtfully. "I'm coming to terms with it. I didn't really reconnect with him in this timeline, what with him being in Gryffindor and all."

"So, you were in Gryffindor?"

"All of us were."

"I never would have thought I'd be a Lion," Hermione admits. "The hat offered it to me, but it just didn't feel right. I convinced it to put me in Ravenclaw instead."

"See, I had to have an argument with it last time as well. The thing almost put me in Slytherin. That does remind me, I did promise to see if I could get it a job as the new history teacher…"

"I think the hat would be much better than Binns- and honestly? That doesn't really surprise me. You do have some Slytherin tendencies, not to mention your whole being a parseltongue."

"Hey! That doesn't automatically mean I'm a Slytherin!"

"Really? Having the trait that Slytherin himself was most famous for doesn't make you a shoe-in? That seems a little far fetched to me," she argues.

"You do have a point," I admit. "But yeah, it was the three of us against the world. God, the shit we got up to… absolutely mental."

"What do you mean?" She asks, leaning forward, curiosity shining bright in her brown eyes.

"Oh yeah, none of that stuff happened this time around," I remember, patting myself on the back for having made sure that my friends and family haven't gotten caught up in any of the potentially traumatizing adventures I tend to go on. "Every year we got caught in the middle of something, more often than not it was Voldemort related."

"What!? A bunch of children messing around with something involving Voldemort!?"

"Trust me, our lives here were just one dangerous adventure after another. I've done my best to prevent them in my time here, make sure everyone's safe." I pause, thinking about my imminent confrontation with Dumbledore. Hermione notices my sudden change in demeanor, worriedly clenching my hand, rubbing circles in the crook of my thumb.

"What's going on?"

"I can't explain, you'd be in too much danger," I clip, averting my eyes from her intense gaze. "This isn't something you can get yourself involved in."

"Helene, tell me. If I went through the things I imagine the other me did, I can handle this," she argues, her eyes shining with determination. I purse my lips, looking a bit like McGonagall as I argue with myself. Hermione always did come up with the best plans, and I probably wouldn't have lived past first year without her around…

"That's the problem Hermione. I don't want to tell you those things. They… they're the type of problems that break people."

She leans forward even closer, enunciating each word emphatically, "Helene, let me help you."

I groan, knowing that she has me wrapped around her little finger. "I'm telling you this in utmost confidence, understand? You can tell no one, I mean no one what I am about to tell you."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," she swears, her hand signing across her chest.

I flinch. "Please, don't say that."

"Say wha- oh," she utters, understanding washing over her features. "No, no hoping to die over here- but you understand what I mean, right?"

"I understand. Now… shit- how do I even begin? When I… when I came back, when I was thrown back in time I gained an affinity for the darker forms of magic," I begin, holding my hand up when Hermione's eyes fly wide open in shock. "Just… give me a moment to explain, alright? I died, Hermione. I died. Death itself sent me back, and it turns out that there are a few perks to that. I'm a Necromancer, a true Necromancer. I am the only person in the world who can use any spell that involves the direct manipulation of life and death, sans-killing curse, although most believe that that's a soul spell anyways."

Hermione sits still, a tumultuous battle occurring within her mind. I can see fear and curiosity warring within her unfocused eyes, curiosity eventually winning out. "That's… that's a bit scary to be honest, to have that much power at your fingertips," she deadpans, unsure of how to think about the situation. "So, what does that mean?"

"It means I'm much more powerful than the average wizard, at least in terms of the spells I have access to. I can use magic that hasn't been seen in nearly a millennium, and Dumbledore is probably going to try and kill me some time this week because of it."

"He what!? But- but… what! Why? You haven't done anything… have you?"

I shake my head, staring down at the ground. "I tried to bring Ron back. You have to understand, I couldn't let him die, not when I had the power to stop it, to reverse it. Dumbledore… he found out. He knows it was me… and knowing him, he's going to have me locked away or executed as a monster. I wouldn't put it past him to personally execute me."

"God…" Hermione whispers, absolutely horrified. "Ron didn't come back though, did he? I mean, Ginny is still a wreck, she would be doing fine if he was still alive."

"He was back for all of twenty minutes," I say. Do I tell her who was the one to kill my friend a second time? Do I completely destroy Hermione's trust in authority? God damnit, why do I have to make these decisions?

"Dumbledore killed him," she murmurs, disgust washing over her as she works it out before I can even reply. "Oh my God… Dumbledore killed him?"

"Yep."

"…fuck."

"Took the words right out of my mouth," I echo, leaning back on the tree and closing my eyes. "That's why I've been so stressed lately, why I haven't been talking to you and the rest of the girls. I've been trying to figure out how I'm going to still be alive come next week."

Hermione frowns, her eyes flitting back and forth as she leafs through her mind, drawing up imaginary folders and scanning over them to come up with something. We sit there for an hour, brain storming and arguing over every plan under the sun. Leaving Britain, faking my own death, assassinating Dumbledore, you know, regular plans that thirteen-year-old students make.

"Wait, wait a second," she gasps, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Do you have a book covering the spells you're learning? You know… the-"

"Necromancy?"

"Yeah, that, uh- Necromancy. That one," she says, looking very uncomfortable as the word slips through her lips.

"I do, why?"

"Give me the book," she states, holding her hands out demandingly, like a greedy toddler.

"Are you sure? It's not the most pleasant reading."

"Just give me the damn book," she growls, her hands now shaking insistently.

"Jesus, alright, give me a second," I surrender, rummaging through my book bag and pulling out the massive tome, Hermione lighting up instantly at the sight of five kilos of new reading material. She snatches it out of my hands, flicking through it at light speed, her finger running across the page and her brow furrowed in concentration. She goes over page after page, the sound of fluttering parchment and the worried clicking of her tongue echoing across the empty grounds.

"I think I found something!" She cries, handing the tome over to me and pointing out a ritual that I haven't yet come across, as it's closer to the end of the book.

"Holy shit," I croak, reading the page once, then twice. I read it over and over again, my mouth slowly creeping into a smile as I start to really register what I'm looking at. "Holy shit."

"I know!" Hermione chirps, teeth sparkling as she grins at me.

"This could work!" I burst, standing to my feet and pulling her up with me. She squeaks loudly as I spin her in a circle, my laughter echoing across the school grounds. "This could actually work! If I could just get someone to help me… not you," I add at her pleading look. "There's no fucking chance I'm bringing you to a duel with Albus Goddamn Dumbledore."

She acquiesces, huffing quietly but accepting all the same. "I get it, I just wish I could help a bit more."

"Hermione, you have helped me more than you could ever imagine," I retort, snatching up her hands again. "Trust me, you've just given me a fighting chance. I never would have been able to figure this out without your help. Really, you've been saving my arse since 1991."

"That… that wasn't me though," she denies.

I pull Hermione in and kiss her on the cheek, laughing as she blushes deeply, stammering confusion. "W-w-w- what was that for!?"

"That was for saving my arse, for the umpteenth time. This is you, that was you. You're just as impressive as my old Hermione, hell, you're a bloody saint, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Now… let's get back inside, alright? I've got to go see someone about this," I explain, gesturing at the tome.

"Alright," she sighs, a tiny smile gracing her face. "Thanks for hearing me out tonight."

"Same goes to you," I reply with a smile of my own. "Let's go, it's chilly out."

I draw her into a warm embrace, hugging her tightly and burying my face in her marvellously bushy hair. "Thank you," I murmur. "You're the best friend a girl could ask for."

"Right back at ya'," she sighs, nearly snapping my ribs as she returns the hug. We stumble up the hill back towards the school, our legs tired and numb from sitting for so long. We stop outside the Great Hall, both of us heading off in different directions.

"I'll see you tomorrow, alright? I think I'm going to be out late tonight."

"Stay safe, okay?" Hermione asks, her voice full of worry.

"I promise," I vow. "I've got to go, alright?"

"Goodnight!" She calls, trudging back off to the common room as I sprint towards the dungeons. I knock on Severus' door frantically. The door swings open and I waltz in with a wide grin on my face.

"Have you been practicing cheering charms? Because there should be no possible way that you would be this happy after what has happened," Severus says doubtfully, wondering why I'm practically skipping whilst my head is on the proverbial chopping block.

"Nope! No cheering charms," I hum, swinging my arms at my sides in a very good Luna impression.

"So? What's going on? Do we have a plan?"

I slap Et Necromantium loudly onto the table, its legs rattling under the weight of the massive tome. I flip open to the spell Hermione found, jabbing my finger at it.

"Severus Snape, tonight is the night you're kidnapped by Helene Potter, Dark Lady in training," I cackle.

Note: So, if you're wondering why Hermione is so quick to accept that Helene is a time traveler, disregarding the oath, I'd like to explain. I know it's a trope and it hurts me deeply to use it, but Hermione is still Hermione, and by that, I mean she's a bit starved for attention and love from her peers. She has a gut reflex to trust authority on a whim, as shown in the books numerous times. I think it's entirely believable that a very close friend that she's romantically interested in, who also happens to have a suite of ridiculous powers (eg: Parseltongue, speaking to Dementors, an incredible handle on powerful wandless magics) could potentially convince her that they were a time traveler. Hermione latches on to people and having close friends for the first time in her life won't instantly change her into a confident young woman.

DaSalvatore: Don't worry! I've got plans in motion and I'm getting ready to finish this current 'arc.' The revelation has happened for a reason, and the story is going to keep picking up from here.

soni-columbine: Glad you enjoy the story! I'm happy to hear that my characters come across as believable, since it's such a hard thing to capture, especially when writing in first person. If fem-slash ain't your thing, then it ain't your thing. If it makes you feel any better, I refuse to write lemons.

pennywise123: I'm not planning on it. If I feel that it will work into the story well then it will be involved, but I think animagus transformations tend to be tacked on for the sake of it in a lot of stories, or they're unreasonably overpowered. If it is in the story, it will be important to the plot.

Edited, 12/06/18.