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.

3

1981

The sharp crack of a cane against her left temple brought Hermione back from the edge of unconsciousness even as it whipped her head back and she went sprawling along the ground. Blood filled her mouth and welled at her temple as stars lit like fireworks behind her eyes. Her shoulder bore the brunt of the impact from her sprawl, and the air whooshed from her chest. She lay there dazedly, arms limply coming up to encircle her now-pulsing head, eyes squeezed tight as she brought up her legs to curl into a fetal position. The smell of her sick filled the air, turning her stomach, and she winced when she heard the sharp clack of the cane striking the ground.

"You filthy street slag!" came an all-too familiar and angry voice. "You've vomited all over my shoes!"

Her eyes squeezed tighter in a combination of shock and horror as she took in the snarling voice and waited for another assault from his snake-headed silver cane. When it did not come, she opened her eyes almost imperceptibly, taking in the face of the dreaded Lucius Malfoy. This was not the bent and broken man of her time. Instead, towering over her was a man in his prime. Age lines did not yet mar his face, and his short hair was well kept instead of hanging in thick, ratty ropes. In her dizzied state, he almost looked like a vengeful angel.

'Oh, no,' she thought. 'I've been here all of thirty seconds and I've already managed to piss off a Malfoy!'

As he ripped the snake head of his cane from its place and vanished her sick from his shoes with the wand hidden in its head, she began to unfurl from her position on the ground, the world spinning around her, fumbling a bit as she tried to make a grab for her wand tucked into a holster on her thigh; this was a formidable man, she reminded herself, very much in his prime. The frail, old, and defeated Lucius Malfoy she knew existed in her time was definitely not the man standing before her. He muttered something under his breath that she presumed was a curse, his eyes like chips of cracked ice when they fixated on her once again. His jaw clenched, a sneer forming on his thin lips, chin lifting just so.

Just as she was clumsily staggering to her feet, Lucius advancing on her with his wand held outwards intimidatingly, she caught sight of another familiar face as he leaned against the wall just behind the blonde haired menace, an inquisitive look on his face.

"What do we have going on here?" came the silky purr of a very much alive Sirius Orion Black.

Relief flooded Hermione's body as Lucius's back went ramrod stiff, his neck nearly snapping with the speed his head spun to face the black haired, sultry-eyed, disgraced Black scion.

"Why," Lucius drawled as he tucked his wand back into place. He gave Hermione one last, disparaging look before he turned his back to her to face Sirius fully with a smug look on his face; her body slumped a bit as the adrenaline fled. "if it isn't Sirius Black. And where, pray tell, is your...ever faithful lapdog?"

A wry grin formed on Sirius's lips, not quite friendly but definitely amused, as he absentmindedly twirled his wand in his nimble fingers and shrugged. "Which lapdog are you referencing, Lucius? I have a few. I remember a certain wife quite...admiring...my lap on occasion."

Lucius's pale face went ruddy with rage, and he bared his teeth furiously as he lurched towards Sirius. "You filthy, blood traitorous -"

"- ah, ah, Lucius," Sirius sang as his wand tip dug roughly into the blonde's throat. "Careful now. We all know who the better duelist is here." His silver eyes twinkled with mirth as he held the slightly older man at bay.

Lucius blinked and schooled his face into a blank mask, the same one Hermione had witnessed Draco brandish over, and over, and over again throughout their later Hogwarts years and before his sudden death just some months prior. The man dropped his hands to his robe lapels, giving them a quick tug before smoothing his palms over his shirt to hide his embarrassment at being bested by his wife's younger cousin. As he went to shoulder past Sirius, his voice dropped to a low drawl. "You'd best watch your smart mouth, Black. You won't always have your sidekicks around to watch it for you."

Sirius flung his arms wide with a smirk. "I don't see them here, now, Lucius. And yet, you still can't hope to land a blow on me."

The older man gave a sly smile. "As much as I'd love to land that final blow to you and your traitorous ego, Black, I think I'll leave that dirty work to someone much more suitable. Maybe your cousin? I hear she's just been itching for the opportunity."

Sirius's hands dropped back to his side, the smile leaving his face as Lucius turned the corner, the fading clack clack clack-ing of his cane marking his departure. He turned to face Hermione, then, who was leaned, slumped, against the far wall. Her head was pounding by then, her stomach churning, skin pale. He tucked his wand into his back pocket and approached her slowly, hands out in a placating gesture, like one would a wild animal. In the back of her swirling mind, Hermione could almost hear Moody cursing him about blown up buttock's.

"Sorry about old Lucius, there," Sirius said jokingly as he inched closer with hands dangling at his side non-threateningly. She was gripping her wand loosely, barely holding it, as the world tilted fully on its side while Sirius moved slowly towards her. "He can be a bit of an arse."

"I know," she mumbled, words slurring. "S'okay." She stumbled a step, and Sirius lunged to catch her a her legs gave out from under her.

She collided face-first into his firm, broad chest, hands falling limply to either side. "Hey, hey, hey. Come on, doll." He bent to sweep her up into a bridal carry, his face concerned as he began striding purposefully down the alley in the general direction of Diagon Alley. "Where do you need to go? St Mungo's?"

Her head lolled up a bit, does unfocused, her fingers reaching up to caress his jawline briefly, delicately, as a ghost of a smile drifted across her face. Sirius looked confused and gave her a brief shake, causing her hand to drop back down again and her head to jostle. "Come on, doll. Talk to me, or else I'm taking you straight to Mungo's."

"Order."

His strides faltered and he choked out, "what?"

Her whiskey eyes zeroed in on him. "The Order, Sirius Black."

And then her eyes rolled back in her sockets and she was unconscious.

.

Faint voices in the background filtered into her mind and roused Hermione from her deep slumber. She didn't dare open her eyes yet.

The first thing she realized was that she was quite comfortable, sans the absolute pounding in her temples that made her stomach churn and toss, despite the empty ache there. Then came the realization that someone was gently pressing a damp, cold compress to her forehead while humming a tune low in their throat. It was almost soothing, if it hadn't been so unexpected. Hermione didn't think any Death Eater would be offering her such comfort and there lacked the bitter smell of St. Mungo's infirmary, so she surmised that Sirius had done as she asked and taken her to the Order. Or somewhere else equally hospitable.

A groan escaped her, and delicate fingers touched her temples soothingly.

"Oh, oh, dear," came a soft, motherly voice. "Slowly now. I'm afraid you were quite ill over the last few days."

Hermione's eyes cracked open ever so slightly, and the familiar face of one Molly Weasley floated into her line of sight. She felt her heart lift to the heavens and emotion catch in her throat. "Molly," she breathed.

The red haired woman looked confused, her brow furrowing. "Do I know you, dear?" At Hermione's sad shake of her head that made her stomach churn once more, she turned from her patient to address three young red-headed boys playing quietly in the far corner of the room. "Bill, would you mind terribly fetching your uncle, darling?"

With a sudden jolt, Hermione's eyes zeroed in on the unmarred face of little Bill Weasley as he said, "Yes, mum," and left his two younger brothers playing with their stuffed dolls. One, a broadly built boy she assumed was Charlie, brought his threadbare dragon plush down hard on the cluster of farm animal figurines, roaring softly to an even younger Percy, who quickly set the little figures to rights again with a frown.

Molly smiled at her two children and helped Hermione to sit up gently, her hands warm and friendly. When she was propped up against the headboard, she turned back the handmade quilt - she recognized it as the one that had always lain draped across the back of Arthur's plush armchair - and patted her hand soothingly.

"What is your name, dear?"

"Erm, Jean," Hermione smiled, remembering at the last second that she was not in 2001 anymore. "Jean Marie. I'm awfully sorry for putting you out like this. I hope I wasn't too -"

"-oh, hush, dear," Molly chastised with a wave of her small hand. "I've dealt with much, much worse than a simple head wound and belly ache, I assure you." She dropped the compress back into the bowl at her side and, with a wave of her wand, vanished it. Hermione hadn't known Molly was adept at wandless magic. The elder witch wiped her hands on the apron around her rounded belly. "Now, tell me how you came to be such a wreck. Were you ill? Sirius told me all about your run in with Lucius."

Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably, her eyes trailing from Molly's to the window. "I...I apologize, Miss Weasley, but...I'd rather address all of this with the Order." Her fingers twisted at a loose strand of thread absentmindedly as she looked anywhere but at Molly, who stared at her with nothing but compassion.

"That's not going to happen."

A sudden and gruff voice brought Hermione's eyes up to a broad-shouldered man standing in the doorway. His hair was a deep auburn, so dark it was almost brown, tied back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck - not unlike the style Bill Weasley wore - and it was the first person Hermione had seen that she did not recognize.

"I beg your -"

"- I said, that's not going to happen," the man reiterated sternly, interrupting Hermione. She could tell this was a man used to authority. He was sure and firm in his speech with a confident stance.

Bill, surely sensing the brewing storm, had taken Percy by the hand and he and his two brother's left the room quickly and quietly, the man's eyes trailing after them before he shut the door with a soft thud.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked.

The man leaned back against the door, his green eyes dull with exhaustion as he eyed Hermione closely. "Fabian Prewett. Auror." He pushed aside his long black robes briefly and the familiar flash of a silver badge caught her eye.

Molly stood then, placing her fists at her hips. This was a stance Hermione was all too familiar with, remembering the many times she had taken the stance as she chastised one of her many children. "I swear to Merlin, Fabian. Stop terrifying the girl. I'll owl Dumbledore; I'm sure he'd love to speak to her."

Fabian scowled at his sister as she strode past him to the door, blocking her path. "Molly," he hissed. "how do we know she isn't a Death Eater or one of Vol-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers?"

Molly rolled her eyes, shooing her brother aside. "Merlin. She doesn't have the Mark - I checked. And Sirius told me, in no uncertain terms, that she accosted Lucius in the alleyway at Knockturn."

"Vomiting all over his hundred galleon shoes is not quite the same as 'accosting', Molly," Fabian huffed as he grimaced at his elder sister. He cut his eyes back to Hermione critically. "And besides, what even was she doing in Knockturn Alley in the first place?"

The witch in question sat up straighter, eyeing the red-haired man with a blank expression while she fisted the quilt nervously in her hands. "I have no issue with explaining it all to you - when Professor Dumbledore arrives."

Fabian growled and waved a hand frustratingly. "Dumbledore isn't going to just drop everything to come here. He has a school year to prepare for. Busy man, he is. So just go ahead and start talking, witch."

"Fabian..." Molly warned.

"No, Molly," he snapped. "Dumbledore doesn't need to come running at every new development. We need to be able to handle ourselves accordingly." With a sigh, he added, "it's getting worse out there, Molls. We need to be careful. I wasn't comfortable with Sirius even bringing her here, what with you being so pregnant...and the kids...Bill is only eleven, and Ron's only one."

Huffing, more than slightly insulted at the implication that she would be one of the 'bad guys' (although, Hermione knew logically it was wisest to take precaution), Hermione muttered, "He will come. I have critical information for him regarding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

The red head rolled his eyes at her, crossing his arms across his fit chest. "Oh, do tell, Miss Jean Marie. What key information could you possibly be harboring that we don't already know?"

With a deep breath, Hermione announced. "Tell him his worst fear has been realized; and I know where they are."

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A/N: I hope you enjoy. The ball is officially rolling, and we're starting out launch into the actual story.

Em.