A/N: *Creeps in and nestle a tasty Easter egg of a chapter into your lunch-bags.*
*Blows you all kisses for leaving such sweet reviews*
*Scuttles away like a thief in the night*
xx-Kitten.
All I Remember
By Kittenshift17
CHAPTER TWO
Saturday, November 10th, 1979
The Hog's Head, Hogsmeade
Hermione hissed in annoyance at the feel of cold beer trickling under the collar of her shirt even as she stumbled off the lap of the wizard she'd startled.
"Sorry," she apologised in a slightly slurred voice, her head still spinning from the trip back.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, lassie? Landing on people? Who taught you to Apparate?" the man was grumbling as she tried to keep her balance and exit his presence as quickly as she could. She'd no clue who he was, not daring to look at him when she needed to get her bearings. She had no doubt she was still inside the Hog's Head pub and she wondered if she ought to be relieved or scandalised to notice that it looked almost exactly the same now as it had done twenty years into the future. Aberforth really needed to do something about the level of cleanliness in this place. How it passed any kind of Ministry inspection for health standards was beyond her.
She spotted the grumpy publican in question standing behind the bar and polishing a glass with a filthy rag. He was staring at her suspiciously thanks to the kafuffle she'd caused by appearing out of nowhere. The lie that she'd apparated in would have to do but Hermione could tell from the look on his face that the defiance of Apparation Etiquette – which demanded that one not apparate inside of a building without express permission to do so – was not winning her any points with the man.
Hermione shuffled up to the bar, still feeling dizzy. She fished a few Sickles from inside her pocket and put the money on the bar.
"Butterbeer, please?" she mumbled to Aberforth.
He eyed her in silence as he fished the bottle from beneath the bar.
"You look like you've seen a rough time," he commented when Hermione used her already-grimy hand to dust off the bottle and wipe the top for germs before drinking from it in deep gulps.
"You have no idea, Mr Dumbledore," Hermione muttered in return, feeling the effects of the Butterbeer warm her numb innards. She felt mildly revived as it worked through her system and Hermione found herself able to think a little more clearly.
"Just who are you that you know my name, missy?" Aberforth queried, not looking thrilled by the address. "Don't reckon I saw you up at the school when you would've been studying."
Hermione offered him a tight-lipped smile.
"I didn't get out much whilst at school," she lied smoothly. "Listen, you have rooms for rent here, right? I think I need one for the night."
"I reckon you need one for a week, the way you look," Aberforth told her rudely. "Don't reckon I've got enough hot water to get you clean again, either."
Hermione made a face when he nodded at the state of her clothing.
"I'll burn these clothes if I can have a warm bed and a hot shower," Hermione shrugged her shoulders at him.
Now that she was here, she needed a plan. Something beyond travelling back in time to where Remus, Sirius, James, and Lily would still be alive. She needed a means of finding them all, though she had a decent idea of where to look for James and Lily as Harry's birth drew closer. It would be preferable to locate them all before then, of course, but she would search Godric's Hollow first.
She needed a plan of attack. Her mind circled around the idea carefully. Half of her brain was screaming that the most logical thing to do would be to march right up to Hogwarts and demand an audience with Professor Dumbledore. The rest of her mind was pointing out all the reasons that the man had let them all down with his secrecy and his willingness to sacrifice it all for the Great Good.
No, Albus Dumbledore wasn't the answer. Hermione could just tell that it would take more than she was willing to share for him to believe she'd come from the future. She also didn't trust the crafty old bugger not to let things play out exactly as they had if the outcome would remain the same.
"Don't set my bloody pub on fire, or I'll skin you, girl," Aberforth informed her. "You want a single or double room?"
Hermione snorted at the question.
"Do I look in any state for company?" she asked in reply, raising one eyebrow curiously.
Aberforth had the decency to snort in amusement over the idea.
"Singles are four Galleons a night," he told her. "How many nights do you want?"
"One, for now," Hermione sighed, fishing the money out of her beaded bag. "I'll let you know if I need anything longer than one night."
He nodded at her.
"What's your name?" Aberforth asked. "Got to put it in the book before I can give you a key."
"Hermione Granger," Hermione offered quietly.
He scribbled the name down in a ledger behind the bar and handed her a rusted, olden-style key. Hermione took it gratefully.
"Can I take the Butterbeer upstairs?" she asked.
"Don't leave it up there when you leave," he shrugged in return. A kafuffle across the bar between two drunk patrons drew his attention before Hermione could ask any more questions and she sighed once more.
A plan. She needed a plan.
"Parchment," she muttered to herself. "Need to write everything down before I forget."
She hurried around the bar and up the stairs that she'd learned led to the rooms for rent. Her key had a tag on it claiming she was in room number three and Hermione let herself inside it when she reached it. It didn't look like much, nothing more than a narrow single bed, an ugly oil lamp that she lit with her wand, and a rickety looking desk.
Hermione hurried over to the desk immediately, for the time being ignoring the small water-closet off the main room, no matter how desperately she needed a shower. Her own comforts would have to wait. First, she had to make notes for herself of everything that she remembered from the future she'd left behind. She'd come with no plan in mind beyond ensuring that Remus Lupin would never lie dead upon the stone floors of Hogwarts.
That, she decided, would be her ultimate goal. If ensuring that he lived a long and happy life also meant saving the rest of the wizarding world, well, all the better. Hermione noted down the important dates she could remember. Halloween of 1981; the deaths of the McKinnon family. Snape's loyalty. Pettigrew's betrayal. Death Eater attacks she recalled hearing tell of or reading about from this time. All of it would come in handy.
When she'd noted down all that she could think of, she had half a notebook full of important names and dates. Only then did she slip the book back inside her beaded bag and allow herself to make use of the washroom. Her skin stung when she stood beneath the barely trickling faucet, letting it wash away the layers upon layers of grime, sweat and filth that had accumulated during the battle both up at the castle and deep within the Chambers of Secrets.
She uncovered bruises and scrapes as she bathed herself clean once more. Aberforth had been right, there wasn't enough hot water to get her completely clean, but Hermione was still so numb with the recent death of her loved ones and her friends that the stinging cold of the water seemed distant as she rinsed herself clean.
They were gone from her now. Hermione took a slow, shuddering breath when that particular fact flitted through her tired mind. In this time Remus might be alive, but Harry, Ron and Ginny were not yet real. Luna and Neville weren't alive yet. Mr and Mrs Weasley would have no idea who she was. The thoughts hit her hard, threatening to bring her to her knees, but the fact that somewhere, that very second, Remus Lupin was alive and well cancelled out the urge she had to give in to her despair.
Hermione laughed stupidly to herself. She'd never imagined herself the type of self-sacrificing martyr who would throw away her life for a man, but there she was, in a foreign time, doing just that. Shaking her head to herself, she dried off, dressed in the few remaining clothes she could find within her beaded bag, and crawled between the sheets.
It occurred to her as she closed her eyes that she ought to be hungry; that she ought to seek out something to eat before she could sleep. But as her mind began to drift, the last thing she wanted was food. She'd been living on so little in the months on the run with Harry that she'd simply learned to ignore the gnawing ache deep in her stomach for food. She'd lost enough weight that under the grime she'd bathed off, she looked skeletal and sickly, but she was beyond caring. As far as she was concerned right then, she was still getting enough sustenance to keep her cycle semi-regular and still had all her hair – even if some large, matted clumps had washed free when she'd finally had the time to condition it in the shower – so everything else could wait until morning.
~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
Sunday, 11th November, 1979
Diagon Alley, London
Diagon Alley looked nothing like the one she remembered. Or rather, it did, but the one she'd known from before the war. People still bustled about their business, though shady glances were thrown about as she strolled through the Leaky Cauldron and into the street. School was currently in session, so the only children in sight were those who happened to be too young for Hogwarts yet, accompanied by their parents.
Hermione shook her head to herself, her wand gripped tightly in her fist, concealed inside her pocket. She'd been up and gone before Aberforth could rouse himself that morning, leaving the room in the Hog's Head just a bit cleaner than she found it. She was on edge and hadn't particularly liked the idea of coming to Diagon Alley at all. There were too many people getting about. Worse, there were too many who seemed either oblivious or uncaring about the war raging around them.
She'd come for two reasons. The first was that if she planned to do any good in this time – and she knew she had no choice now that she was here but to live out the rest of her days on this timeline – she needed to open a bank account. She had plenty of money with her, having emptied the college fund her parents had set up for her before she'd sent them to Australia. She'd had most of it converted into Galleons and had been lugging it all around inside her purple beaded bag. The Undetectable Extension charm meant that she could do so, and the protective charms meant none but her and Harry would ever be able to open it.
But she needed to settle into a life here. If she wanted to fit in and not seem like someone up to no good – and Hermione wasn't certain she could truthfully say she had the noblest of intentions – she needed to make it look like she belonged. Therefore, she needed three things. A bank vault; a job; and a place to live. Preferably in that order.
Skulking up the alley, Hermione kept her eyes peeled for any hint of trouble or Death Eater activity. The entrance to Knockturn Alley gaped like a hungry maw when she passed it, people steering clear of it so they wouldn't be construed as dabblers in the Darker Arts. Hermione clenched her wand tighter, on edge as she made her way toward Gringott's in the distance.
She jumped when a pair of young children – perhaps six or seven in age – burst from a nearby shop, waving sticks and pretending to duel one another. The flinch did not go unnoticed. Hermione's eyes slid across the form of someone she vaguely recognised as a young Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was sitting in a café across the street and he was watching her. Hermione's heart swelled at the sight of the Auror – so young and so handsome – but she didn't dare approach him. She let her eyes skim over him carefully and when he shifted position slightly, she caught the gleam of his MLE badge attached to his belt.
He was watching her and Hermione knew that she probably looked shifty. Morgana's Crows, she felt shifty. She knew she ought not to be there. Her sleep had been fitful and filled with the nightmares that had plagued her since the war had begun. She had dark circular bruises under her eyes and a cut on her lip, a scrape on her cheek, and a slight limp as she walked.
To anyone on the MLE, she probably looked the definition of a flighty victim, or alternatively, the type who was mixed up in things beyond her depth. She knew she had the look of a woman willing to do just about anything to achieve her ends. Kingsley's gaze felt heavy as she made her way toward the bank and when she picked up a tail, Hermione knew she was going to have to do something about the way she was drawing the attention of the Aurors.
She was also thinking that whoever was tailing her needed more practice at being a tail because she made him straight away. Dark haired, built, and handsome, Hermione did a double-take in the shop-front window of Flourish and Blotts. Sirius Black was tailing her. Hermione might've choked on her own tongue at the sight of him.
The tales she'd heard about his looks being ruined by Azkaban were true. A week into his twentieth year, Sirius Black was drop dead gorgeous. He was a lousy tail because of it. He drew too much attention. Especially from the witches in the alley. Hermione watched a gaggle of pretty witches giggling and trying to get his attention as he passed the dress shop, following her. To his credit, Sirius didn't spare them a glance.
It would be his undoing. He was focusing too hard on tailing her and on trying to keep her in his sights. Hermione smirked when he walked right into cabbage cart outside the Apothecary and she used it to her advantage to slip away into the crowd more fully before he could put himself to rights.
She didn't really want to stop, but she found herself slipping inside Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour. She bought herself a single cone of chocolate ice-cream, watching in the reflective surface of the display case as Sirius hurried up the street, obviously searching for her. She almost wanted to laugh, realising that he was obviously still a rookie Auror and that he'd likely be in trouble for losing his mark so easily. He'd be in trouble, but it would make him a better Auror in the long run and that could only be a good thing. With her ice-cream in hand, Hermione left the shop, hiding her amusement when Sirius spotted her once more.
His face lit up and a determined glint came into his grey eyes. It took more than she'd thought possible to keep from walking right up to him and saying 'hello'. As she devoured her ice-cream, Hermione realised she was starving and she thought seriously about stopping somewhere for something more substantial, but she didn't dare. She needed to get to the bank and open a vault. After that she could have breakfast before looking for somewhere to live.
Hurrying up the street once more, Hermione weaved in and out of the other patrons in the Alley. The bank was as foreboding as ever when she entered, but Hermione made a beeline for the desk where new vaults could be opened. She knew where it was, of course. She'd done it all before when she'd turned eleven and her parents had insisted on opening a vault for her in the time she'd left behind.
"I need to open a new vault, please," Hermione said to the goblin on the desk when he looked up at her.
"Name?" he asked.
"Hermione Granger."
He scanned the register of every vault they had recorded to make sure she didn't already have a vault to her name.
"This way, please," he said, getting of his chair and inviting her into the back offices away from the main room in the bank.
Hermione followed him quickly, knowing what she was in for within. To open a vault, she needed to provide a blood sample and needed to let the goblins scan her magical core. The process was simple, for all that it was invasive and uncomfortable, so it didn't take too long before vault 3427 was officially hers.
"I'd also like to make some deposits, while I'm here," Hermione told the goblin when the paperwork was in order and she'd been entrusted with her key.
The goblin grunted and called a colleague in to show her down to her vault. Hermione went with him eagerly, more than ready to be free of the many prized possessions she was carrying on her person. Most notably, things she'd forgotten to remove from her bag before travelling back in time. The portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black was among them. If she'd already caught the eye of the MLE, she imagined she'd soon be searched and she didn't want to be caught with so many things that couldn't be explained.
Moreover, she needed to get rid of the Time Turner around her neck. It was much too dangerous an artefact to carry on her person when she had no need of it. If she were struck with a stray hex and it broke, she would surely be in strife. The goblin showing her to her vault waited out the front when he'd unlocked it for her, eyeing her curiously as though the idea of her having anything valuable on her person was unlikely.
"Grapple?" Hermione asked of the goblin when she'd unpacked the portrait, the many – many – Galleons, the Time-Turner and most of her other prized possessions inside the vault, rapidly filling it up.
"Mistress Granger?" Grapple asked, turning and poking his head into the vault. His eyes widened in shock at the things she had inside of it.
"I also want to make a deposit to the vault of Remus Lupin," she told the goblin. "I don't know his vault number and I don't have a key. How do I make deposits like that?"
"There are forms in the main office," he said, eyeing her. "It's uncommon practice to do so. Most wizard-folk simply exchange funds themselves."
"I know," Hermione sighed. "But he refuses to take the coins I owe him, so I'll have to get them to him another way."
She stayed mum on the fact that Remus wouldn't take her money because he had no idea who she was, even if she knew him to be too proud to accept charity should she offer him money on the street.
"Very well. You will need to bring the amount you wish to pay him and submit it at the desk along with your forms," Grapple informed her.
"Thanks, Grapple." Hermione smiled at the little goblin kindly. "I think I have everything put away that needs to be, for now. We can return to the main atrium as soon as you're ready."
The goblin nodded as she exited her new vault, pulling the door closed behind her. She watched him use her vault key to lock it up once more. The wild ride back to the main office was something that once would've amused her but now simply sought to annoy her. Knowing what she knew of the dragons in the deep vaults and knowing that the goblins had many other mechanisms for ensuring against thievery that could be thwarted, Hermione found herself trusting the entire establishment a little less than she once had.
Transferring money into Remus's vault proved tricky, given that she didn't know his vault number. She had to wait almost a half hour while the goblins looked up the right account before they would accept the money she wanted deposited inside of it. They gave her a receipt and took it down to his vault for her before allowing her to leave. By the time she was allowed to go, she was starving and the gnawing ache of hunger drove her to the nearest café.
She picked up her tail again too, smirking to herself when Sirius followed her down the street once she exited the bank. He ordered himself a coffee when she sat at one of the tables in the café, but he didn't approach her. One of the serving girls brought over her food and her pot of tea along with a copy of the Daily Prophet. Hermione fished a quill from her bag and circled both the jobs she'd like to interview for and the flats she could afford.
She watched as Sirius grew impatient across the café too, obviously no good at the waiting game but still suspecting her of criminal activity. Eventually, she got tired of having him stare at her. Tucking the paper into her purse, Hermione polished off her breakfast – a small omelette filled with vegetables – and drank down her tea quickly. Sirius sat across the shop staring at her the entire time. Hermione stared back, a little smirk growing upon her face when he grew slightly uncomfortable under her direct gaze.
He seemed able to pick up on the difference between the other women in the café staring at him for his looks, and the way Hermione stared at him uncannily. Indeed, he shifted slightly in his seat and looked away, obviously growing uncomfortable. Hermione laughed to herself about it. She shouldn't taunt him when he had no idea who she was, but he needed to work on being less conspicuous if he ever wanted to tail actual criminals.
When she was almost finished her meal, Hermione caught the arm of her waitress.
"Can you send another coffee to Auror Black, please?" Hermione asked her. "On me."
She gave the girl the money for another coffee.
"You know every girl in here wants to send him coffee, right?" the waitress asked, looking mildly miffed by the idea of doing so.
"Of course, they do," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Look at him, he practically begs to lavished with attention. But I don't want to dote and I've no interest in winning his affection. I want you to write on the cup that he needs to work on his stealth. Don't tell him it's from me, yeah?"
"You know him or something?" the waitress asked.
"You might say that."
"Alright, but don't expect a date out of it. He probably won't even drink it. He's been caught out too many times with people trying to slip him love potions."
Hermione laughed at the very idea.
"I don't care if he drinks, I just want him to read the message on the cup," Hermione assured the girl.
The waitress shrugged, eyeing her as though she must be deranged before walking off to do as she'd been asked. Hermione finished her tea and fished a pot of healing salve from her bag, smearing it on the cuts upon her face and watching them heal up in the reflection on her spoon. She planned to make her way to a job interview when she was finished, so she wanted to make a decent impression. She'd dressed that morning in the last change of clothes she had with her – a pair of jeans that had been too tight when she'd stuffed them into the bag but now hung a little loose thanks to her malnutrition, and a casual suit-jacket over a tank top – and so she wasn't holding out high hopes that she'd land any sort of decent job.
She also didn't technically need to work; she had plenty of money with her for everything she could possible need - unless she suddenly needed to buy something outrageously extravagant like Buckingham Palace – and so she was looking for a job that would be more of a causal type position within Diagon Alley where she could hear gossip to tip her off on goings on within this time and potentially save people. She also made sure that all the ones she was thinking of trying out for were the types she imagined Remus might apply for.
She remembered a conversation with him from before Voldemort's resurrection. She'd asked him what he'd done for work when she'd heard him lamenting losing another position. He'd told her that after finishing Hogwarts he'd mostly been supported by James and Sirius – who'd both refused to listen to his protests against charity or pity – and the rest he'd earned at whichever job he could hold for any decent amount of time before his condition was discovered.
She was thinking that if there was ever going to be any way to run into him and to keep an eye on him or work her way into his life, it would be to attend the same types of job interviews and the Ministry Employment office for job seekers. She'd been awake half the night thinking about how she was going to insinuate herself into his life and this was the most feasible option. Hermione was ashamed to admit that she'd also entertained notions of seeking him out and informing him that she was his karmic reward for being so wonderful in a world that was so wretched to him; and of simply seducing him using less than scrupulous means.
Indeed, she'd entertained herself for almost a half hour playing out scenarios of seduction she might use on him. She'd checked the lunar cycle, however, and discovered that it had been a full moon over Sirius's birthday – the three days falling on and directly after Sirius's birthday. As such she knew that with the last quarter moon of the cycle he would likely be still recovering from the full moon and feeling under the weather, rather than having the stirrings of an approaching moon tricking him into thinking animalistic displays including sex were the answer to his excess energy and testosterone.
Grinning to herself again at the thought she'd had of finding Remus and shoving him up against a bookshelf before snogging him senseless, Hermione left the café. Sirius followed her, called after by the waitress when he tried to leave without the coffee Hermione had sent him. Tucking the day's paper under her arm, Hermione strolled down the street with her eye fixed on an apothecary. They were looking for two new staffers – one to handle brewing and one to work the shop and sell products.
Hermione was thinking of trying for the shop-job, not willing to risk standing out too well in the world when she needed to blend in and operate from the shadows. Part of her wanted to run to the Order and tell them all about everything that would happen if they didn't fix them and take precautions. The rest of her knew better than to meddle with time that way.
Allowing anyone more than herself the knowledge of what the future could hold would be dangerous. Some, like Dumbledore, would look at the idea of what was coming and weigh the losses sustained against a guaranteed victory in the end and refuse to change anything. Others would try to change everything to prevent those losses and cause more harm than good. Hermione herself had been meditating long and hard on how things might play out differently if she interfered.
For example, if she protected James and Lily, Harry would grow up with parents in a loving home where he would be adored, rather than in a house where he was abused by his relatives. He would never become a horcrux for Voldemort, but he would also never uncover the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets as he would never be able to speak Parsletongue. If she exposed Pettigrew for a traitor, he would never rat out his friends and try to pin it on Sirius, thus leaving Remus alone in the world.
On the flip-side, however, if James and Lily lived, everything she knew of the future would change and not necessarily for the better. She knew the risks of the Butterfly Effect and she could potentially do more harm than good if she meddled. Of course, she still had the Time-Turner, so unless her meddling got her killed, she could simply go back again and make sure those same mistakes didn't occur but the danger of it was high. Worse was the fact that despite all she knew of Time Travel, there were some things that were simply set in stone.
It was argued that while all the variables could be manipulated to avoid a certain event – such as the death of a loved one – there were often times when that person would simply succumb to death another way if it was ordained that they must die. The theory was indeed proved by Sirius. He'd escaped death at the hands of the Dementor's when she and Harry had saved him, but he'd subsequently died on one of his next excursions outside the safety of Grimmauld Place. Indeed, he'd been in danger of drinking himself to death inside it.
It might very well be that she could save James and Lily from Voldemort next Halloween, but they might instead – perhaps days or years later – die in a much more tragic way. The trouble was, the only way to tell was to meddle. Sometimes deaths occurred when they didn't have to. Indeed, James hadn't had to die. He'd died because he'd been attacked whilst unarmed, trying to defend his family. Lily hadn't had to die either. She could have stood aside and let Voldemort try to kill Harry, just the same. Well, maybe she couldn't in an emotional sense, but in the most literal sense it had been an option to her.
One she'd chosen to ignore. Instead she had died and protected Harry. That they'd both had the choice made Hermione think that their deaths were not set in stone. Sirius had been doomed because he'd had no means to avoid his certain death but for their intervention with time. Hermione nibbled her lip as she approached the Apothecary, glancing down at herself once more and knowing she didn't look magical enough or respectable enough for any kind of position.
Morgana's Crows, if it were her business, she wouldn't hire herself right then. She knew she looked like a tweaker. She was too skinny; her eyes too haunted; her hands too shaky. Her clothes hung loosely on her frame, making her look even less professional. Indeed, she looked like she'd pinched the clothes from elsewhere.
Frowning at herself for a moment, Hermione pulled on the lapels of her jacket, muttering charms to shrink the size to better fit her scrawny frame. She couldn't do much for her hair or the fact that she looked like she'd barely slept in a year. She couldn't do much for the way her hands shook either. It was partially nerves over attending a job interview and mostly a terrible feeling that she was going to be attacked at any moment. Something not at all helped by the feel of Sirius Black's gaze boring holes in her back as he tailed her down the alley.
Still trying to get her jacket to fit a bit more snugly so that she'd look more like she was simply waifish rather than a thieving meth-head, Hermione ceased paying quiet so much attention to her surroundings. Which probably explained why she walked right into someone on the street. Someone firm and tall. Someone who smelled of chocolate, and parchment, and petrichor. Someone whose large, warm hands lifted to catch her by the arms before she could bounce right off him and land on her arse.
Her head snapped up in surprise as her nostrils flared to draw that oh-so-deliciously-familiar scent deep inside her chest where she could keep it forever. Her wand had automatically twitched in her grip to aim at him instinctually when he grabbed her. Her eyes widened as she realised, and his brow furrowed slightly when he caught the way her reflexes demanded she aim it threateningly while her brain told her to relax because it was him.
It was Remus.
