Fallen Gods

When Hermione opened her eyes, she couldn't quite see what was going on.

Nor could she tell where she was. It was too dark to identify for the smooth, white marble on the ground. That seemed to glow in the faint light coming from the torches that lined the wall. As her eyes adjust she realized partially where she was.

She was standing on a chess board.

It was like her first year. She stood, centered on a white, marble slab, surrounded by the deep onyx black squares that checkered the marble. It was dim, just as it had been before. Ron's eyes must have been better when they had been younger, because she couldn't quite make out her surroundings. His eyes might have been good, but his skill at chess was even better.

She could make out the shadows of the pieces across the board, still looking as daunting now as they had when she was twelve. The queen, staring down, her sword in hand, ready to cut anyone who came in her way down. It was only in comparison to Voldemort, to every thing they had faced since their first year, that the set wasn't as daunting as it had been. Perspective Hermione. Perspective.

Perspective—

The last time she had been on a Chess set like this, she had run back through the smoke from Snape's Riddle to see if Ron was alright. To rouse him up so they could go and get help for Harry. She had been terrified. She often thought back to that and hated how naive they had all been. You're a great wizard Harry, you can't write an essay to save your life but you should have no problem taking on Snape-they had been such naive, optimistic children. I'll go back and save Ron, who you know, could be dying of a concussion because he thinks you can take on a grown wizard as well. They hadn't even check Ron, they had just moved to the next obstacle.

It's a miracle you lot even survived to your second year, she thought, straining her eyes in the darkness. Smarter idiots have died than you three.

And she wasn't standing in her Bishops square. This time she was standing opposite of the daunting, black queen. Ron had cast her as the white of the queen.

Her sense were growing more alert. She looked to her side and there she could see Harry standing next to her as the King. But he was yelling now—he was calling out as though he was in a significant amount of pain. She could see him shouting as the pawn fell in front of them. Distress lining his face like a warriors scares. It's just a pawn Harry—it's just a spare part of the game, she wanted to tell him. Spares had to be sacrificed to win. But as the enemy pawn came to cut the pawn down her heart stopped and she understood just what had cause Harry be alarmed. The Pawn had transformed from the faceless victim to someone they both knew. What had been a stone was now Cedric Diggory.

She was straining her eyes again, this wasn't real, it couldn't be happening. But the pieces were morphing before her. As the outline of the piece became clear, it transfigured into another person they knew, just how it had done so with Cedric. Another familiar face. It wasn't just swords they were playing with. There were flashes of light and the masks of the Death Eaters gleamed in the torch light and sparks of green.

In the place of pawn there were members of Dumbledore's Army. People she had seen rise to competency in spell work that would make them threats to the Death Eaters. People she knew and cared for. Collin Creevey, Justin Fletch-Fletchy, Seamus, Dean, the lot of them. Even Lavender and Nigel. All Perched on stones, wands in hand, their faces fixed upon the shadows before them. Ginny and Luna were on the edge as the rooks. She supposed it fit well for Luna, having grown up in a house that resembled the piece, but Ginny? She had been left to defend the school, she reasoned to herself. She had been left to protect the castle, only right she play for it now.

From the corner of her eye, she could see a few other players that seemed to have been assigned as pieces similar to the role they had in the war. Neville was on a horse as a knight, Ron reclaiming his post as the other. George stood at the flanks as a Bishop. If George is here, then Fred—She turned her head around quickly, looking to find Fred who was the Bishop nearest her. She couldn't quite make out his face but he seemed to be calling out to her, whistling over the clash of stone, trying to catch her attention. She knew it was him, he calling out "What's a nice girl like you doing on a chess board like this?"

She couldn't feel it, but she could hear her laugh as the game went on. It was going so much more quickly than it had the first time. Before, Ron sat from his horse, examining the board, making moves and counter moves in his head. This time, the Players were moving this time on their own free will. Not directed by Ron or Harry. Certainly not by herself. They just seemed to go on their own free will. That, or they were being moved by fate.

On the far side of the board, George to be trying to launch a counter attack with Neville against the black rook, but the were failing. Seamus trying to work his way over to help. They were loosing. They were always loosing.

The smell of smoke and flicker of torch light were swirling about her head. The clatter of stone on stone drowned out the noise around her. But there was a voice that now echoed in her head, like that of a distant memory steeped in childhood bravery they had only began to understood. Once I make my move, the Queen will take me, then you're free to check the King—

it was a memory that kept repeating itself. She knew what would happen. Ron would make the move that would sacrifice his piece, but end the game with a victory.

But what were they playing for? What victory did they want?

If Harry was their King, she knew in an instant the other King was Voldemort. And the seven others—the rooks, the bishops the knights, even the queen—there were seven of them. Where they the horcruxes? It made sense, or at least as much sense as the fate of their world relying on a game of chess could. They defended the King. But she could see the outline of the snake circling Voldemort's feet. In addition to Harry—. That meant there was six Horcruxes on the board, and two loyal followers of Voldemort.

She wanted to yell at the pawns. Tell them to not worry about the enemy pawns but to attack the greater players. Neville and Ginny seemed to have caught on and were pushing towards the enemy Bishop. But the Queen was helping, yelling her own directions along the way, casting the two off.

Once I make my move, the Queen will take me—what if she was the hero this time? What if she took Ron's place and took down the Queen? Then, at the very least, they could destroy the Horcruxes and be able to defeat the king without the protection the Black Queen offered?

Just as before, some of the other pawns started to get picked off. Collin. Nigel. Then Lavender. Hermione's plan to save them had failed. They had taken two rooks, and Ron just destroyed an enemy knight. Had that been the locket? She wanted to ask. But it didn't matter. She was in check with the Black Queen. A stinging sensation danced up her forearm, burning as it went. You know who the Queen is, she thought. You know whose under that cloak—

Once I make my move, the Queen will take me—Ron's voice echoed still. Once the Queen took her, Harry would be exposed and would be checked by the Victorious Queen unless someone made a move. Ron had been good last time. He had made sure the only one that was hurt in Wizard Chess was him. He was always one move ahead. But even he was beyond reach of helping her. He had wandered too far off. He was at least three moves away. She would be the sacrifice this time. Harry would have to move after her, he'd have to run, but maybe there'd be another way. He had always found one.

She didn't notice Fred going out of the way of his brother's voice. Bellowing out the move before Ron could. Hermione hadn't even realized what was happening. She just saw Fred gliding to a few squares over, just diagonal from her. "Eyes on me Granger," he said calmly, "That's what's key. Just keep your eyes steady on me."

"Fred, what are you talking about?" she said, tilting her head trying to get a better view of him. She was angry enough she wanted to whack him down herself. "Get out of the way, I can do this—"

But the Black Queen was moving, Hermione could see that from the corner of her eye, Bellatrix wasn't moving towards her. She was moving to Fred.

"Fred, get out of the way—" she argued, panicked this time, " At least hide behind your piece—"

"Weasley's are many things, but we're not cowards," he said, keeping his eyes steady on her "Couldn't let it have been you," he said with a shadow of a smile flickering in the torchlight that danced on his face, who now turned to face his opponent head on. The queen stopped, raised her sword, and in a fluid motion stones began to fall around Fred. Hermione called out, shout this time. She couldn't see him this time. She fumbled trying to grab her wand, something to halt the attack. To save him. To pull him away from the derbies.

That's Wizard's Chess.

The smoke seemed to envelope her as well, swallowing her up as little pebbles of what had been Fred's Bishop ricocheting against her face. Her surroundings began disappear as the smoke grew thicker and she came to, sitting in a chair in Dumbledore's office. A weary looking Headmaster sitting across from her, looking deeply concerned.

"I'm taking that hasn't happened, has it?" Dumbledore asked, pulling out a small stack of chocolate bars, pushing them across the desk. "Do tell me the biggest battle of our time doesn't come to an end in a Chess match?"

"Ron could win a game of Chess," Hermione said, her voice labored as her fingers fidgeted with the wrapper. "He made sacrifices. In the Last Battle it was different—"

But how? They had all been pawns. The entire war they were pawns, moving from place to place, trying to destroy pieces of Voldemort. But they had been pawns. Pushed to their fate by an invisible hand. Hadn't everyone seen Harry as the King that was vital to the game? How many people had given up when Hagrid emerged from the forest with the fallen hero in his arms? She had heard them. The Swears under their breath. Friends trying to convince the others that perhaps it wasn't too late to seek safety. Maybe the Room of Requirement still opened to Aberforth? They didn't know the room was still consumed in smoke. All they knew was the king was dead and their time would be soon if they stayed.

And in the end, even the King had been just another pawn in Dumbledore's Game of Chess.

Her head was throbbing as the memories came back, the ones before she came to the chess board. She had let Ginny play with the Pigmypuff, who she had yet to name, before she made her way to Dumbledore's office. They had done a couple exercises in Occlumency where she had been successful in casting him out of her mind. They had gotten confident that she was making steady process, and had talked about calling it a night when Dumbledore had an idea. He said he wanted to try something different, to see if he could manipulate memories, to call on the subconscious and see if he could fabricate events through memories. Death Eaters did this sometimes in the first war, to manipulate people to showing their weaknesses—their leverage points. They haven't used this yet wide spread, but incase they ever did, you ought to be familiar—

She had eagerly agreed, just as she always had. It was for the cause. It was a way to learn how to defend herself from the Death Eaters finding her memories. But that was before the chess set. That was before Dumbledore let them get killed in her head. She was tired of being so bloody familiar with Death Eaters and their little games.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, do you still have nightmares?" the Headmaster asked, standing up and walking to one of the book cases that lined the walls. His fingers flickering thru the air as he tried to find a book.

"About what happened during the war?" It was usually images of Malfoy Manor that caused her to wake in the still of night. Or, more lately, it had been Ron walking out on them. She'd woken up to Bathilda Bagshot crumpling to the ground as Nagini sprung free. Or running down the streets of London with Death Eaters on their heels— "But rarely the end of the war."

Rarely now anyway, she thought to herself. After it had happened, in-between every funeral there was always a flashback. Always a nightmare. Always trying to figure out how she could have done things differently.

"Have you been thinking of it recently?" Dumbledore asked again, still looking through the book case, "It is interesting that your brain has developed such as concrete self-consciousness about the war thru the metaphor of the chess game."

"I suppose I've been thinking of it all," she answered. She thought of it again and it all added up. The pawns that were lost. But Fred's death—he hadn't died defending her. He had been dueling together with Percy. Why did you put him as the buffer between the two of you? He wouldn't have jumped between her and Bellatrix, he was smarter then that. He may have tried to help, but there was nothing that could have been done. "In full honesty there are slight abnormalities between what you saw and what happened."

"Part of the manipulation I'm afraid," he said, turning around with a small, thin, ordinary book. "But I'm guessing that most of the people in that metaphor have been weighing on your mind lately?"

"They're always on my mind, Professor, " she said curtly, ' I sat thru most of their funerals. I had to find empty words to comfort their family members. And now I see them walking up and down the corridor—" She could feel her pulse pounding in her head. The anger and frustration she was so often in check of coming to a head. "Professor, what's the point of all of this?" she asked heatedly, "What does any of this matter if they are all fixed points?"

He set the book down, looking at her sudden out burst with marked concern. "Miss Granger?"

"I knew what was going to happen to Katie Bell," she said briskly, " I knew the time, I knew the place, I knew where she was going to be cursed, hell, I could even tell you who had done the cursing— but I still wasn't able to stop her."

He crossed the room, sitting down in the seat across from her, "What happened last time?"

"Last time I was with Harry and Ron, we were just leaving Hogsmead when we saw Katie and Leanne arguing," she explained. The words playing out the scene as it had repeatedly over the past few weeks, "I've gone through the scene a thousand different times, I should have remembered."

"But this time you had spent the afternoon with Mr Weasley, correct?" the Headmaster lead on. She tried not to pay any mind to the flicker of his eyes as he spoke of Fred.

"He said her name and I realized what I had forgotten," she muttered, angry at herself now, "I had thought of a dozen ways how I could stop it from happening before and I've thought of it more since. If something as singular as Katie Bell being cursed is a fixed point, whose to say the deaths in the war—"

"I'm sure there ware consequences bigger than it seems with Katie's accident," Dumbledore proposed, "Had you interrupted Katie's attack, a series of different results could have shattered us all. Maybe Katie's attack wasn't a fixed point, maybe it was? Maybe it was a moment in time that will allow you to control other events?"

"So?" her voice rang irately through the room, "At day's end, Katie Bell is in St. Mungos because I couldn't say no having a pint of Butterbeer with Fred Weasley."

Dumbledore tapped the book in front of him, "I've acquired this book recently from a muggle scientist named Dr. Brown, who reports to have been visited by a time traveler warning him of his death thirty years in the future." He paused, as though she was waiting to jump him at his words. "He says that knowing of his impending death gave him moments to prepare for his final end, but he ultimately took fate in his own hand and managed a way to survive."

'It's a good thing your not a muggleborn or you'd have the whole lexicon of Marty McFly to pull from—she had said as much to Fred when the got off the train last term. Surely he doesn't really mean—"So now you want me to tell everyone they're going to die so they can prepare for it?" she laughed harshly, "It'll just create a panic—"

But Dumbledore lifted the book again, the outline a clock tower on the front. "Brown's findings show us that knowing when we're going to die allows us to do extraordinary things in the name of survival. The power over the fates—"

"Doc Brown is a fictional character from a muggle film," Hermione finally, who had been singing at the window glaring at her sudden outburst. "We're not talking about some science fair project going on Professor. If we are, I'd have no problem telling you exactly how the last fight goes on."

"Miss Granger—"

"You know what happens next year?" she fumed, getting out of her seat and putting on the coat that had draped her chair. "You can test Brown's theory for yourself, after all you die in June."

The silence was stiller than she had expected, "You and Harry go to recover a Horcrux and when you come back,you're killed on the astronomy tower. For you, the war ends in June of 1997. But do you know you sent us into?"

"I had our plans made the week after your funeral. I had to wipe my own parent's memories of me as mum called me to tea. I had to repack our bags at three in the morning so Molly Weasley didn't find out what we were doing and for us to bring Remus with us. And once we were on the run—" she laughed harshly, the memories rushing back to her as the words flooded out of her, "We didn't know how to destroy the horcruxes. You sent us to look for them without even the faintest of how to destroy them. Once we found the locket it damn near destroyed us. Ron left," she could feel her throat closing in, "Sometimes I even wanted to leave. You sent 3 seventeen year olds into the forests of England to try and find what could have been seven pebbles at the bottom of a Loch for all we knew. Meanwhile Neville Longbottom is left to protect the students left from Death Eaters on staff and unforgivables—"

She turned to the door and her voice felt as hallow as the words she spoke, "You may not have to go through the future, but I do. And I can't do it the same" her voice caught with the last words, an uncharacteristic outburst of emotion threatening her eyes, "Not again. Not another time."

She seemed to fly down the staircase. She was sort of surprised that Dumbledore didn't come after her. She felt she should be mortified. That she should run up stairs and apologize. In her head, the proper Hermione, the Hermione that should be here, she was chastising her for everything she had just done. Verbally attacking Dumbledore. Telling him of his future. Of his death. She had just severely meddled with time. She had exposed so much that had been masked in her subconscious game of chess. And what more, she was still running away.

Because traveling in time had shown her well, there were some events only running could cure. After all, that's what she had done when she punched Malfoy in the face.

But suppose you had listened to him rather than jumping on his case, the put together Hermione mimicked in her head. Perhaps there was a Dr. Brown that didn't fit into an American movie franchise. Perhaps still, there as a Dr. Brown who had saved his own life after a traveler from the future warned him of events to come. The difference in this farfetched realm of Perhaps was the fact that Dr. Brown had obviously believed the traveler. She couldn't make the same guarantees on her end. She'd have a hard enough time trying to slip some foresight to saving them issues on the Horcrux Hunt—she couldn't imagine any of those doomed to die listening to her. Lavender might take it as more a threat than a prediction.

Fred would listen, the voice whispered. She tried to think of it. She tried to think of a scenario where she and Fred would be enjoying each others company only to have her ruin the moment as she told him his death. In no scenario could that end well. How did you sit next to someone, enjoy a laugh and then go about discussing the details of their impending doom? She felt as though her accident had doomed her to share the fate of Cassandra—to know the future but have no one believe her. Whats worse, she thought, knowing something but not being able to change it or sharing that knowledge and watching them ignore it?

She could remember their faces as they fell in the chess match. How most of them looked betrayed. As though they truly could not believe that they had come this far only to meet this end; they couldn't believe that this was it. But she could remember Fred's face. He knew what was happening. He was aware as he had chosen that fate. Because he had chosen, like he had with the package earlier that day, to save her.

Now the only question was whether or not she would choose to save him.

((*))

Fred looked at the little Time Turner in his hand and carefully set it down on the desk.

It wasn't quite as he had expected. He had to make it small, if it was any bigger it would have caught latch with the trace. Time Magic was easily detected, but he was sure he had the curtailed it. He was hopeful that he had pulled it off, that he had created the first of what would be the "Last Minute Line." If a person had forgotten about homework they didn't complete, they could go as far as a half hour to get at least a glimpse of their work done. He had hoped for more time, but a half hour was as long as he could go without picking up restrictions from the Ministry.

The Ministry—That was proving to be a headache enough. Apparently, when they had gone to the Department of Mysteries, Hermione, Harry, Ron and the others had—or rather, the Death Eaters—destroyed all the Time Turners in Ministry possession. From what he had learned digging around Time Turner Lore and maintenance, there was a small loan of them expected to come over from the United States but red tape in the former of the return of the Dark Lord was baring their arrival in Britain.

If they knew a jokeshop was about to start selling these—he didn't want to think about it. They had done so much business with the Ministry lately, with the shielding cloaks and hats. He was hoping that would be grounds enough for casting a blind eye on this product, but he had his doubts. What he had been able to get out of his snooping and asking questions was there had been trials with Time Turners in the past. That it was part of their upkeep to put them through maintenance every decade or so. For the most part, it went flawlessly, but it also had come with consequences. There was one Unspeakable about a hundred years prior who had been putting her time turner through the trails and had been catapulted back four hundred or so years. She was missing for three days before she was able to return and when she did, it was a skeleton that came back—and twenty or so persons disappeared because their lines had been so significantly altered in the past.

But this will be flawless, he thought with more confidence as he looked at the little charm. She probably wouldn't think to use it as a Time Turner anyway. A half hour back in time wouldn't be near as impressive compared to going back three, four hours at a time to do her classes. But after the Bad Day Boxes, Fred was realizing it truly was the thought that counted with Hermione.

She had loved the Box. In fact, she had written to him the night she got it telling him he needed to make it a product at the shop. A Grab Bag to Fight the Sad, she had said, something to keep people's spirits up when everything was turning dark. George had liked the line and they were starting to advertise it more in their mail orders. There had been a few purchases made for them already, nothing paramount, but enough to make them continue the process. If it could make Hermione Granger smile, he thought well of it.

He could hear footsteps coming and he took the time turner and placed it in a metal tin, pulling out another workbook as George came into the work room. He was planning on telling his brother about the idea soon enough, but he wanted it to be his secret, her surprise first.

"That glorious sister of ours," George started, triumphantly walking to his cupboard and pulling out the ledger book, "Fleur ordered the entire Teen Witch line for her little Gabrielle," he smiled, scribbling the numbers at the bottom of the ledger.

"I missed Fleur?" he asked, turning around to face the curtain that separated the shop from the work room.

"No, her owl just came in as we were closing," George waved , "I would have called you out if she had. She likes you best."

"Hardly, she can't tell us apart and you know it," he laughed, leaning back into his chair. "You gave her the Not-Ron Family discount?"

George smiled from beyond the ledger book, "The day he finds out we have such a thing will be the day he throws the biggest fit to mummy since the teddy bear."

Fred waved it off laughing, "At this point we can call it fines on his stupidity." But even now, Fred knew he ought to be grateful for that stupidity. It had been so useful growing up, getting he and George of out trouble but now—he wasn't so sure.

While he knew Ron had made his choice, he wasn't quite sure if Hermione had. Hermione had a choice made for her. She was living with the consequences of Ron and Lavender. Was it possible that she still was pinning for him? Was she going to bring a date to the Slugclub Party to make him jealous?

And then the question, deep under layers of subconscious reckoning, was the him she was making jealous Ron or Fred?

He could feels his brother's eyes on him now. Looking at him while he thought. "If you think any harder you're hair is going to go all bushy like Granger," George said with a smirk. "Come on, let's have a night out. You, me, we can get Lee and go to Muggle London. Be two eighteen year olds for once, eh?"

"We still haven't hashed out what we're going to do for the little sluggies at the Party next week," Fred started. It was odd, him being the responsible one. That was more like George. But it was weird being out in a muggle setting. He knew she was up at the school, but any bushy hair girl could be her.

George rolled his eyes, "Nothing to plan. We show up, make some explosions, do Filtch in, give Peeves a Christmas Present and prank Ron on our way out." His brother paused for a minute, "I suppose we could prank Ginny's boyfriend. Which one is she with now? Still Dean?"

"His name's Dean? I thought he was Sam?" Fred quipped. He'd been so wrapped in Ron's recent developments he hadn't thought much of Ginny's romantic endeavors. "I bet you a sickle she's with Harry by the end of next term."

George raised his eyebrow as he stashed the book away. "Sickle says he breaks it off to be noble," his brother countered, 'We'll hash out or bets and the slug plans tomorrow, but come on, let's go."

He thought for a minute. It was December in 1996, they didn't have long until something would happen that would take away these fleeting moments of actual freedom. He didn't know the future, but if the snippets they were getting out of the order and off the Apollo Radio broadcasts in were any indication, they weren't near as prepared as they ought to be. He put the workbooks back on the shelf and moved the tin to his drawer. He would need to add in the sand to the Time Turner. That was all that was left and then he could give it to Hermione.

He didn't know the future when it came to her either, but perhaps it was the freedom and optimism that came from leaving the shop and sneaking out the alley to the busy roads of Leicester Square Road, but he couldn't shape up a future that didn't have her joining him for an adventure amidst the street vendors and Christmas window displays.

They were waiting in a pub around the corner for Lee to join them. It was nippy out and the room was starting to get crowded. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw her—he nearly jumped out of skin—but then he realized it was another girl with brown curls, hunched over a chess board with a friend, who had just taken the girls bishop with her Queen…

"Oi, Lee's here, And he brought Ange!" George called over the noise. Fred his head around and forgot the game as quickly as he had noticed it. There was some muggle sport on and people were starting to sing the songs. Fred took his arms and drapped them across his brother and his friend, "Here's to a night of mugglery."

((*))

Author's Note:

So this is going to be a tad longer than usual. And slightly personal. Which if your anything like me, skip to the bottom, leave a review and wait for the next email in your box telling you I've updated.

The past few weeks have been difficult. For the past two years, I've worked for an online retailer and we've been gearing up for our busy season. Last year's busy season was hell. I developed some anxiety issues and my boss was very negative and pessimistic about our performance and the people on our team. While I have a better manager this time around, many of the feelings I've buried over the past year have resurfaced and it's been a downward spiral since Columbus Day. To make matters worse, we've recently restructured our team, my fellow assistant manager being transferred to a more isolated task. I like the new one, but one of the applicants who didn't get the position has made it her personal goal to find a way to take my position. I don't mean to sound ten years younger than I am, but she's the living embodiment of Regina George.

Initially, I thought I'd stand my ground and hold it. But after two years, working nights and weekends, I am so ready to end this chapter of my life.

I am an academic working in a warehouse. Its suffocating. It's like being cemented to the floor as sand falls through the windows. It's not bad at first. The sand is warm, you tell yourself you're on the beach. And then it takes hold little more. And More. And before you know it, you're standing with sand up to your shoulders and your fighting to keep your head above and not breath in the suffocating sand. When I graduated university, I had such great plans and allusions of grandeur and instead I haven't had a Friday night off in months, dating has been DOA, and I'm no closer to applying to graduates school as was when I started.

So, the reason I haven't written, other than my filling out job applications, is that I haven't really been in a happy place to write. Its really only due to my stellar friends you're getting this now. In full honesty I don't feel like this is my best chapter, but I had fun writing in some easter eggs and doing the lovely foreshadowing bit.

Next chapter: Slugs Party. And the Weasley's are going to rock it. Remember those dress robes Hermione had bought forever ago? Yup. They're coming out now.

Until next time,

Kait Hobbit