LEAP
Summary: Hermione knew she was destined for something other than house-wifery and playing law. Instead, she was determined to fit the shattered pieces of her world back together even if it cost her everything she held dear. Time Travel AU.
2
2001
When the final delivery she had been patiently waiting on from the Department of Magical Births, Deaths, and Marriages finally came swooping into her IN tray at half-past six o'clock, Hermione was adding the final touches to a letter she had penned to Molly Weasley. In the three hours since her slightly extended lunch break after the meeting with the Wizengamot, she had penned out four letters: one to Harry and Ginny, one to Ron, one to Minerva, and, lastly, one to Molly. She signed her name with a quick whip of her quill before setting the final letter aside to dry with the others.
When she pulled the documents she had received from the DMBDM, she felt a wave of relief rush through her. Truly, receiving the approval from the Ministry for her expedition had made things that much easier; she truthfully didn't think she'd have been able to obtain these records without proper help, if she was honest with herself. Even the Brightest Witch of her Age didn't have the infinite resources needed to achieve all of the tasks that needed accomplished too ensure a flawless and smooth transition back to 1981.
One document was clearly headed in gold lettering with BRITISH MINISTRY OF MAGIC, and it brandished a slowly rotating head shot - charmed to change as she aged - in the left corner of the thick parchment. It bore her name, age, birth-date, and parent's names, as well as her birth status as a muggleborn. The second document, however, was labelled MINISTÈRE DES AFFAIRES MAGIQUES DE LA FRANCE. It bore an identical enchanted photo in the bottom portion of the parchment, but the details had been modified perfectly.
She had decided from the very beginning, when this has been but a fragmented idea, to simply discard her given name when she traveled to the past; instead, she would be known as Jean Marie.
It had been simple to come up with a backstory for it all when she, and her fellow coworkers, had sat down to discuss the finer details of her grand plan: Jean Marie had been her mother's name, and the parents listed on the fabricated certificate - Robert Granger and Marie Anne McCollough - had been her paternal grandparents, long deceased. A simple change she would easily remember in the coming months and years and decades. And, of course, as Jean Marie and Kenneth Robert Granger had no affiliation with the wizarding populace until her birth, it would be no difficult task to remain relatively anonymous to the general public. For the time being. Her initial plan involved bringing Dunbledore and the rest of the Order into her secret - lying to them for so long would be too hard to maintain - but worry nagged at her, invading her mind like one of Luna's imaginary wrackspurts. Would her cover be completely blown? It was a risk she had to take, for the sake of the mission (and her sanity). She just prayed that if, and more than likely when, it all came to a head, she had enough friends in her corner to avoid a one-way trip to Azkaban.
She tucked the modified French birth certificate into the ever-present beaded bag at her neck before folding the real one in half and tucking it, along with a simple brass Gringotts vault key and letter, into the envelope addressed to one Molly Weasley. Where, or more accurately when, she was going, she would need neither. She shuffled the other letters into their properly addressed envelopes and stacked them atop one another before stuffing them into her robe pockets.
With a wave of her wand, the stacks of parchment and books scattered and perched on her desktop reorganized themselves into their proper places. The torches on the wall dimmed before going out, her door shutting behind her as she stepped into the hallway, the sign reading IN flipping to read OUT. As she passed Presa's office, she stepped in, rapping her knuckles lightly on his door. He looked up from a heavy tome he was reading, his hair falling over his eyes.
"What?" he asked gruffly, as though put out by her interruption. At times, Hermione honestly wondered if the man ever left the Ministry or if he actually resided amongst the dust and endless ticking of a thousand clocks...
"I'm heading out," she announced. "I'm stopping by Madam Malkin's to pick up the robes I requested last week, and then -"
"-be off then, Miss Granger," he grumbled at her, turning his eyes back to his large volume. "And be mindful."
Used to the man's gruff nature and recognizing she would receive no more farewell than that, Hermione marched to the elevators, calling "Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement" while clutching the hanging straps that dangled above her from the ceiling. The cart clanged and rattled, jarring as it sped upwards, sideways, and then came to a sudden, startling halt that nearly knocked Hermione to the floor. The doors screeched open, and she stepped into the crowded, ever busy office space.
While the frizzy-haired witch was not an uncommon sight in the DMLE, she immediately took notice that most of the aurors in the room followed her every move with scrutinous, curious, and more than one hostile set of gazes. Being used to being able to come and go as she pleased with little to-do, the feeling of eyes boring into her from all sides was more than a little disconcerting. Word had spread amongst the Auror department. There was the sound of murmuring as she strode to the (surprisingly) neat cubicle that read AUROR H. J. POTTER across the top, but was more than slightly disheartened to see that her best friend was not in at the moment.
Red robes swept into the room, and the Head Auror, Callum Stewart, snapped out "wha're ye lot just standin' around gawkin' at, ey? Never seen a pretty bird about, have ye? Get ba' to it, 'less ye wan' me to dock ye pay!" His dark eyes gleamed with cold fire as they settled on Hermione. "Granger, ge' in here. I assume ye tryin' to find Potter boy." His heavy Scottish brogue made it hard for Hermione to completely understand him, but she blinked wide-eyedly and bustled after him.
He shut the door behind her, leaving her to be suddenly enveloped in a hug by a mussy haired man with bright green eyes as the blinds in Callum's windowed office dropped to give the two best friends a bit of privacy in, what was likely to be, their last interaction. "I thought you'd be gone already, to be honest," Harry mused as he took his seat.
She shifted from one foot to the other, uneasy, scratching her left arm lightly. When had she become so uncomfortable around her best friend? "Ron out?" she wondered aloud, realizing she hadn't seen the redhead in the department.
The man - no, he was still a boy to her, even now - ran his hand through his hair, his nervous habit from their childhoods, and looked away from her. "He, uh...went home early today. Stomach ache."
She cast her eyes downward, partially relieved but afraid to admit it. "So he's with George, then." She settled herself in the chair beside Harry, both of which were set before the Head Auror's cluttered desk. He blinked at her, and she smiled softly, knowingly. "I dated that boy for two years, Harry James Potter. I know, just as well as you, that he and George have learned to lean on one another since..."
"...since Fred," Harry whispered. "Yeah. I know." He plucked a business card from his boss's desk and fiddled with it, tearing at the sides a bit; anything to keep his hands busy. She noticed his nails looked worn to the skin, as though he'd been chewing his nails. "So what can I do you for, 'Mione?" He interrupted her thoughts before she could muster the words of concern that had started to form in her mind.
Smiling sadly, she reached into the folds of her robes, pulling out the stack of envelopes she had painstakingly taken the time to put together, and placing them on the desk before him. H. J. Potter was penned in her neat scroll on the top envelope, and he turned it in his hand inquisitively. "I've taken the liberty...I mean...the time...to write a few letters. Should I fail -" she furrowed her brow.
"Hermione? Fail?" Harry scoffed, eyes twinkling with mirth. "That's about as likely as you marrying Ron!"
"Harry!" Hermione laughed, shoving at her friend's shoulder playfully. "I almost did, you prat!"
He laughed with her, head rolling back as the tension fled the room in a momentary respite. "You're right. That was probably a bad euphemism."
She choked further on her laughter. "Analogy, Harry."
"Same thing."
"Hardly! A euphemism is - you know what, it doesn't matter, you prat." They let the laughter fade to absolute silence before she lunged forward suddenly, catching him off-guard as she seized him in a bone-crushing embrace. "Oh, Harry. I'm going to miss this. Miss you."
When she pulled back, Harry was blinking back tears and gave several deep coughs to clear this throat of the emotion that had gathered there. "You know, 'Mione...you don't have to go. Just stay."
She rose then, tears threatening to spill over, and tucked a lose strand of hair behind her ear. "I can't. I have to do this. Harry...I will always hold you close. And I promise, I'll do better - for everyone." She leaned forward to skim his cheek with her lips in a quick, but friendly, farewell kiss as her hands cradled his face in her small palms, and then she slipped quickly towards the door, worried he may make one last attempt to stop her. She didn't know if she had any strength in her to fight him if he begged her to stay. Pausing briefly in the threshold she murmured, "Tell the Weasleys...Harry, if this is the last thing you ever hear from me, I'm so sorry I failed."
"What?"
She gave a soft, mournful smile. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow tell them."
"Hermione, I -" and then she was gone, the door shutting behind her with an audible click, as he stared after her in utter confusion and dismay.
She was waiting at the elevator when she heard the footsteps behind her. Inhaling deeply and mentally steeling herself to tell Harry off, she was surprised to hear a soft, "Miss Granger?" and turned to see a curly haired brunette Auror about her age clutching something tightly to her chest.
"Yes?"
"Listen, I know you're busy, but I..." the woman pushed a small photo into her hands. "If you don't mind."
Brows furrowing, Hermione looked down at the small photo, taking note of its slightly rumpled, love-worn edges. A woman with deep red hair was laughing in the photo, eyes a brilliant shade of green; she looked to be about twenty, and she clutched an infant in her arms. "I..."
The woman shook her head, a look of knowing determination settling as a grudging smile on her face. "I know you have so much going on in your life, but...my sister was killed in a raid on Hogsmeade on October 26th...just before the end of the war. It - it was her birthday." She was blinking back tears the , and Hermione felt the overwhelming urge to comfort the young woman. "If you happen to be in the area...if you could just tell her..."
Hermione touched the girl's hand lightly as the elevator chimed behind them to announce its arrival. "I'll do whatever I can. I can't make any promises, of course."
The young Auror smiled a watery smile then before straightening her spine and spinning on her heel with a simple, "good day, Miss Granger."
When the elevator let Hermione off at the entry level, she took a long second for herself to simply take in her surroundings. People bustled about, paying no mind to her, and she smiled to herself grimly with the heavy knowledge that she could be the change of so many lives. It wasn't a smug sense of pride that filled her, but one of self sacrifice; of knowing that she, Hermione Jean Granger, was about to be a catalyst for so much good. Will I be a martyr, a failure, or a hero? she wondered to herself. Failure was not an option in her mind.
She trailed her fingers across the smooth marble of the fountain's edge as she passed, staring up at the huge marble and gold fixture set in its middle. When was the next time she would see this fountain, she wondered idly as she ambled slowly towards the system of floo networks. Her hands went to her neck where a silver necklace lay tucked secretly into her blouse. She threw down a handful of green powder and, suddenly, she was standing in Madam Malkin's fireplace.
It didn't take long for her to collect her new robes, fashioned (much to the seamstress's despair) to much better fit the fashion of the early 1980's. She changed into a set of her new robes, tucked the remaining purchases into her beaded bag, and made her way slowly towards the storefront of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She just wanted one more glimpse.
The sight of the subtle movement of the apostrophe in Weasley's made her heart clench tightly, but not near so much as when she saw a familiar face staring straight at her through the smudged window pane. She raised a hand to wave, but Ron had already turned from her, disappearing into the throngs of people within the store.
Saddened, she ambled slowly towards the back alley with the crooked sign that read Knockturn Alley, and she tucked into a small nook where she wouldn't be seen.
With trembling fingers, she pulled the necklace hidden in her blouse and examined it. The intricate runic symbols curled around the outside square, and she ran the pad of her thumb along its edge, watching as the sand within the hourglass at the center began to shift and rise, as if sensing the impending magic.
Hermione turned the device's individual shapes - the square and the triangle - in an intricate pattern before taking a deep, steadying breath and setting the circle to spin freely with a quick flick of her thumb.
Around her, a passerby slowed to a stop before beginning to move backwards. More and more rapidly, shaped blurred to nothingness, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught of movement. It was like being trapped on a roundabout, the world tilting around her as she stood perfectly still.
Her stomach churned, and when she opened her eyes what felt it must have been an hour later, she was slumped in a heap of robes against the ground, shivering and pale. The world around her swayed, lurched, and she caught sight of a poster positioned right before her eyes reading 1981.
- and then she promptly vomited over a pair of very nice black dragon leather shoes as the world darkened around her.
.
.
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A/N: And we are off! Feel free to ask questions if you need to.
Em.