Free Falling

The coming days seemed to drag on like a thousand days locked in one week.

It was as though it was all a bad dream. There she was, trapped in her 16 year old self with her 19 year old state of mind. Waiting, with waning patience for some electric paddles from a Muggle Paramedic to pull her back from this hell to her real hell coming out of an avalanche.

She had even thought that maybe this was, in fact real—as far as comas went. And perhaps Fred Weasley was pulling a prank on her before escorting her to the other side, the after life or whatever came next. He was the friend that would ferry her across the waters if she chose death. Hadn't Harry talked about waking up in Kings Cross when Voldemort killed him? Fred was one of her closest friends who died during the war. Why not him? Why shouldn't she wake up in Hogwarts Hospital Wing dead waiting for an escort to the beyond? Merlin knew she had spent enough time there in life. And honestly, she'd rather be here than King's Cross.

But the shock never came from a paramedic. Fred dressing up in Dumbeldore's robes to ferry her across the lake didn't occur either. Instead it was sight of Ron and Harry when the barriers came down, Madam Pomfrey deciding it was easier to close the ward than it would be to separate them.

She hadn't realized how young they looked. She had to pinch herself to stop staring. She probably looked just as young.

She had just sat there for the longest time. She couldn't remember what she said three years ago when Harry came in after visiting with Dumbeldore. Had she offered some guiding light of " It'll be all right Harry" or "Sirius would've have killed himself had he known you were the reason they had all escaped the school for a faux rescue mission." Sirius—she had probably tried to talk to him about Sirius—of course you had. Not even dead two days and you wanted to have a discussion on his feelings…

They had asked how she was doing. If she could remember anything. She told them the same she had last time. That she was fine, just a little sore. That was a hell of a lie. She had her ten potions lined up in the pattern she had developed the first time around. She had developed a game of them the first time, making toasts in her head, trying them in her tea (not a good idea). The second round of this, the games had lost their novelty and the only spontaneity or fun she put with it was making sure there was a lemon shortbread cookie waiting for her afterwards.

Ginny's ankle had been fixed from the Healer's error by Madam Pomfrey in a heartbeat, Neville's nose put back to size. Luna had left the same time Ginny did. Harry only came back to sleep in the Infirmary the first night. She had forgotten that it was just her and Ron that had stayed in the Hospital for more than one day. The first time, they had sat their in conversation wondering what they would do about Harry now, now that he had lost Sirius.

"We'll get him out of his Aunt and Uncles house earlier than usual," Ron resolved the first night Harry didn't come back. "No need to keep him there, especially when he thought he could go back and live with Sirius."

"We'll have to check with Dumbledore, but we could try," she repeated, looking at her friend as he lay in the bed next to her own. She turned on her side to look at him. The moon coming through the window she could see the light flame of his hair against the pillow, the welts from the Brains a slight pink in the moonlight. But he was talking, he was planning. He had that glint of stubborn drive that was so familiar with his twin brothers, but the past years had shown her it was shared amongst all the Weasleys. This was the Ron she had fallen in love with. The one that cared so passionately for his friends. The one that would move heaven and hell if it helped that one friend.

She was certain that the first time around, they had long chats. It was in this time that she had thought maybe she started liking him. But everything was easier the first time around. The First time around it was all unscripted and spontaneous. This time, she was trying to say lines she had whispered so long ago.

Ron kept his eyes dancing in the distance. There was a sense of panic, of urgency as he did so. He had confessed to her, after the War, when they were in their first few weeks of cozy talks of possible futures, that in the days following the Department of Mysteries he had visions of them dying. All of them. That he would look at a person and when he blinked he saw them dead, or injured. And that he had to dart his eyes every now and again in hopes that a new face would have a better outcome. Side effects of the brains, you know?

Did you see me dead? she had asked, and the tightening grip of his hand in hers gave her the chilling answer before he could string together the words.

He rolled over on his side too now facing her. His eyes darted so quick she could only assume that's what he was seeing now. "It's going to be alright Ron," she told him with all the resolve she had. And it was. She knew it was going to be alright. She had lived through it. She had instinctively reached out and held his hand at one of these moments, her thumb dancing over the welt left from the brains— but he looked away "Good night," he muttered as his ears blushed pink, rolling over, her hand falling on the bed sheet.

You don't fall asleep holding hands till your on the run….

Till your on the bloody run….

((*))

The Sunday following her arrival, the rescue party reassembled in the Hospital Wing between their beds. She was set to be discharged the next morning with Ron, and she was counting the moments before she could run to the library and see if she could figure out if there was a medical explanation for her situation.

Her friends had set up their afternoon listening to Ron reading the newspaper article announcing Voldemort's return. Ginny was spread out at the foot of Hermione's bed eating some of the licorice ropes Fred and George had placed in their bags while Luna flipped through her Quibbler, oblivious to Neville looking at her curiously from his seat. Hermione smirked to herself, here we go, I'm doomed to come back to notice all the things I missed the first time around. Does Neville fancy Luna yet?

Harry sat at the foot of Ron's bed, listening to the newspaper that had, weeks ago, suggested he be institutionalized now sing his praises.

Oh Harry—

Where she had been amazed by the enthusiasm and optimistic faith that shone from Fred's face when he had visited her, she felt a pain set in her stomach when she looked at Harry. He was so raw. He had always been raw in his emotions. She didn't know if it was because she had grown up with him or if they had stared death in the face so many times, but she felt like she could read Harry's emotions better than she could her own or Ron's. When Voldemort had offered to spare them all if Harry came to him, she knew it was going to happen. She knew it the moment his shoulders settled with his mental sigh.

And she knew the way he looked right now was one that he hadn't accepted that Sirius was gone quite yet.

There were days before the feast, He was still wondering if there was a slim chance Sirius would return as a ghost. He'd asked Nearly Headless Nick as much.

But she knew how this all ended. And she knew he was going to be alright. Even if he didn't believe it already.

So that's why she didn't feel to bad as she passed him a list of books she wanted from the Library.

"You know that the term's ended right Hermione?" he asked looking down the half dozen books she had scribbled on the back of her medical schedule.

"Humor me Harry," she begged, wincing as she tried sitting up, "I thought of something when we were—in the Ministry. I need to do some research and Madam Pince won't let me take books out over the summer. If you took the cloak—"

The wince had done the trick, he gave a nod and by the end of visiting hours he had snuck back to the Hospital Wing with his arms filled with the requested reading.

"You're going to read all of those before we get out of here tomorrow?" Ron asked wearily. "Come on Hermione, am I that poor a conversationalist?"

"I just have some question I want answered before I forget," she lied, knowing very well that there was not even the slightest chance she could forget. But she didn't want to deal with a Weasley Inquisition.

Madam Pomfrey put out the lights at 10:30. She and Ron stayed up talking about how they'd distract Harry this summer until Ron fell asleep around 11. She pulled her wand out of the drawer and sent four little orbs of blue flames around her bed, giving just enough light to make out the passages in "Gallifrey Travels in Time and Space" "Magical Oddities Vol.4" "Accidental Apperation in the Modern Age" and "Time Turners in the last century."

Her eyes temporarily glanced to Professor Umbridge who was passed out in the bed down the row. She thought back to the Horcruxes. If memory served right, Professor Umbridge should have Slytherin's locket around her neck. She felt the knot in her stomach tighten. What would change if I grabbed the locket now?

If they had the locket now, they wouldn't have to storm the ministry.

They wouldn't have to head out on the run. They wouldn't need to vacate Grimmauld Place for that matter. Their exodus to the woods could wait till she was better stocked. Till absolutely necessary. Yes, she'd have to have a piece of jewelry more possessed than anything Tolkien could create for over a year, but she'd save them trouble. She'd pull it out when they were searching the house. Keep it hidden till then, somewhere she wouldn't have worry. Gringotts? No—somewhere accessible, she had had a hard time withdrawing money after her sixth year, opening a security box would trigger the onset of the Muggleborn Registration Commission.

The Muggleborn Registration Commission…

They'd save themselves the trouble, but they wouldn't be there to save the Cattermoles.

She hadn't ever learned what happened to them after they met in the Ministry, but she knew that they and their children had had enough warning to flee the country. And what about the others who had saved themselves in the scuffle to leave? How many families had been given a second chance to flee Britain because the three of them had been able to give them that second chance?

She tip toed out of bed, a slight blue light appearing from her wand. If we get it now, maybe it wouldn't get so bad. She could give it to Dumbledore. Dumbledore had died trying to get the locket. If they saved Dumbledore's life, how many more could be save? Couldn't that off balance the dangers faced by the Cattermoles?

She tried to imagine giving the locket to Dumbledore. She tried to go through the conversation "Sir, I found this in Grimmauld last year, I know I shouldn't have kept it, but it was so lovely—" he'd see through that, but he'd survive. They'd have Dumbledore for the war. If Dumbledore lived, how many more lives might be saved?

Dangerous things happen to wizards who meddle with time, her own voice echoing in her ears from years before.

Her heart sunk when she reached Umbridge's bed and saw the necklace wasn't there. Reality crashed down on her. The necklace was either still at Grimmauld or was in the process of being looted by Mundungus at this moment—The Order having vacated the moment Sirius died. It was probably already gone.

She felt a rush of disappointment sweep in on her. You can't change the past Hermione, she lectured herself, you know the consequences, you know the price. Has a year on the run soiled your regards for the rules that much?

Returning to her bed, she fell asleep around four. She had no Horcrux to save Dumbledore, neither did she have any answers on how she got here to begin with. She had thought perhaps Fred's Bracelet was partially responsible, but her last book had squashed any ties to that. Besides, all of the time turners had been destroyed in their rescue attempt. There was no way that her bracelet, which she had yet to find among her personal effects, had enough of a kick to send her back to the past…it had to be something else. But whatever it was, there was no doubt in her mind that she wouldn't be finding an easy way back, if she could find a way back at all.

((*))

When Hermione reached Kings Cross Station, she realized how much the War had changed everyone.

The smoke rolling off the engine cast the group of parents assembled at the platform into another time. Hermione had a grandmother who had died when she was a little girl, who had spent Sunday afternoons when Hermione was a girl telling her of being sent from London to live in the country during the war. She had told Hermione what it was like to wave good bye to parents and head off into the unknown of strangers and new houses. Hermione was starting to get a good idea what the scene looked like.

There were some parents going thru the papers, others talking quickly and quietly with each other, eyes darting. Some of them had bags of their own, as thought they were going to disappear with their child the moment they got off the train. She was trying to remember how many people didn't come back her sixth year. There was a small number. Some, having given up the idea that Hogwarts was the safest place to be.

Several students had transferred to Beauxbatons. There was even a handful that had gone to the Americas thinking distance would be better than anything else in staying alive amidst the Second Rise of the Death Eaters.

But there were always more that stayed behind.

As the train reached the station, she was surprised to see only her parents genuinely smiling. They had no idea how much danger their daughter had faced, nor how much darker the world had becomes over the past week and a half. If they knew how large a target their daughter had on her, if they had known what her friendship with Harry meant…

She could see Lupin talking with her parents and she wondered, trying to remember if he was telling them what had happened.

Hermione had been very bad—or good—at informing her parents of what was going on in the world. She hadn't ever seen the need of explaining to her parents just why Harry was as famous as he was. They knew his parents had died and lived with his Aunt and Uncle in Surrey, but otherwise, they didn't know he was nearly murdered as a baby. Or that there had been four new attempts since. They knew she had been sick towards the end of her second year, but they hadn't known she was a victim of a Basilisk attack. She had never seen the point of that changing… until the Department of Mysteries.

If she remembered right, this was the year that she sat her parents down in their Saturday afternoon tea time and told them they needed to be careful. This was the summer that she evenly explained that there was more danger in her world of purple wrapped chocolate frogs and singing teacups than she had ever let on. This was the summer she explained Death Eaters. And that, as one of Harry Potters better known friends, they needed to be careful least a Death Eater sneak into the office.

She also remembered that as soon as she told her parents this, they demanded she stay home and not return to school. She had to beg. She knew the news had frightened her parents. And that her normally brave mother was more anxious, or so her father wrote.

I won't tell them this time, she thought to herself. There were other ways of protection, not just her frightening them. No need to do that. She'd write to McGonagall. She'd know what to do. She had worked with her Parents as a part of the Transition Program her first year, helping them realize her daughter was a witch, but was in good hands all the while she was gone.

They got off the train and made the same threats to the Dursleys as they always did, resulting in Harry's walrus of an Uncle waddling off in a scowl. As the Dursleys and Harry disappeared in the crowd, She felt a hand on her shoulder and whipped around to see the still very living, very breathing Fred.

"You doing alright Granger?" he asked, a smirked tucked in the corners of his face, "Need the date for today?"

"Its such a good thing you don't know muggle movies, or you'd have the whole lexicon of Marty McFly to pull from," she responded rolling her eyes, holding in a laugh. "Don't worry Fred, I'm safe and sound in 1996."

He looked puzzled for a second, before brushing off confusion with a laugh. She looked him over, she forgot he used to wear that ridiculous Dragon Jacket. She only saw him wear it this once. The next summer Charlie was in the country and he would have been murdered on sight had his older brother seen a hide draping him.

"Nice jacket Fred," she said with a smile, her fingers brushing the scaled sleeves that tickled her finger tips "Shop's going well yeah?"

"Death count goes high, so does the need to smile again I guess," he responded too quick. Realizing what he said, he tried to back peddle, "That came out wrong, what I meant—"

"It's alright," she lowered her voice, "Just not in front of my parents. They aren't to know, got it?"

He gave her a dubious look, as though he was disappointed. "Hermione, you know—" For a split second, she supposed that maybe he was going to say something to her about it, about how she should tell them. But her dad saved the day, "Ready to go Hermione?"

She looked up at Fred, dismissing his cut off words with an uncharacteristic hug, wrapping her arms tight around his neck. They weren't huggers. They were British. Hermione most assuredly, and especially towards Fred. She was positive that this was the first hug they had shared in all the years and summers she had spent at the Burrow. But he's dead in two years, she thought hugging him a little bit tighter than she normally would anyone else. Like she didn't want to let go. As if, perhaps if she held on to him this bit longer, he'd never meet the wall. She felt his arm circle her, steadily holding her in as though he too was unpleasantly surprised at the sudden change in emotion. "Have a good summer Fred, Go on and make us laugh," she whispered.

She didn't look back to see the confusion on his face, or the tint of pink in Ron's ears, but she did walk away with a new resolution. To treat people as though every time she saw them was the very that time she would.

Because for some of them, there was only so many encounters left.

((*))

"People seemed, off this year at the platform," he father settled into their compartment on the train that would take them back to their home in Essex, "Anything happen in your world this year?

"Just some mix up at the Ministry, they're going to have an election this week," Hermione side stepped. I won't tell them. They don't need to know.

"Must be a serious election, Molly looked like she hadn't gotten much sleep lately," her mother chided in, looking again at their daughter dubiously.

"She's like that when ever the boys come home," she lied, "The election might be tied to Mr. Weasley's job, I can't remember how well his department is effected."

"Hopefully they'll manage through," Her father answered, pulling out his copy of the Times, "Good people," he muttered, his glasses slipping down the thin bridge of his nose. His eyes glanced through headlines, "Looks like there experiencing storms to the south, I don't know if we can make it to the West Country with how unexpected the Weather's been."

It's not a storm—

"Maybe we shouldn't go to the West Country this year," Hermione suggested. Her father liked going their for the Arthurian Legend. Ever since he found a Merlin Chocolate Frog Card, he had become an enthusiast and it had taken a theme in the Grangers Vacations thru Britain. He sighed, "Caroline, I think we've reached the parents-are-uncool years."

"Now Evan," her mother sighed, "You said the same thing yourself." She turned to her daughter, "We know you're going to be busy next year preparing for your tests, we just want to make sure we get to see you before you head back. Mr. Lupin made it sound like Molly was just going to fix some things around the house and then you'd be invited over. Don't have too many summers left with you sweetie, that's all."

She knew what was coming. She knew all too well that she'd be home three weeks tops before Pig zoomed into the kitchen window with an invitation and a promise Harry would be coming soon.

The first time around, three years ago, she had completed her homework the first week and proceeded to spend the remaining two going on walks thru the library and trying to think how she could secure her parents safety while she was away. She had also spent considerable time reading up on "How to help a friend thru death of loved one" books at the library so she'd have the answers and help Harry needed when the time came.

What she hadn't done was spend too much time with her parents. Both of them worked 9-5 at the dentist office. She'd meet them for lunch, but that was it. When her father had suggested they go out on an adventure, Hermione veined bad headaches until the letter came from Pig.

But this year—if you really have to do this a second time—

When they were hunting for horcruxes, she had missed this. Her, sitting with her parents trying to be the perfect, happy little English Family. Her father reading the paper in the compartment while her mother tried to keep her up to date with all her former classmates at the grammar school down the way.

"Maybe we could do a family vacation before then?" she asked, looking at her parents, "that is, if you can scrape a Holiday together on the dime."

She watched the usual smile pull at her mother lips and her dad look above the paper amused. "We haven't been camping in a while, have we?" he asked and Hermione almost instantaneously wished she could eat her words.