Chapter 6: Thursday, October 18, 2001
"Often the difference between a successful person and a failure is not that one has better abilities of ideas, but the courage that one has to bet on one's ideas... and to act."
-Andre Malraux
It took over a week to get the meeting set up. Having the headquarters for the Order in the Forbidden Forest under the protection of Hogwarts wards was already an extensive risk to the school. The Order took steps to ensure the safety of the students at all costs, but very rarely were they allowed on school grounds. It was for this reason, Hermione found herself entering the castle under Harry's Invisibility Cloak at four in the morning.
After the fall of Voldemort at the battle in 1998, the castle was closed as restorations were made to repair it for the upcoming term. The remaining Order members as well as Ministry, older students and their parents, and several foreign agencies rallied together to help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts. Bill Weasley had personally created a few nearly impenetrable wards to place over the grounds for protection and a treaty had been made with the Centaurs that resided in the forest to offer additional protection to the Order and the school.
Thankfully, Hogwarts remained untouched ever since.
Hermione whispered the password to the Gargoyle statue posted just outside of the Head Mistresses office. Her heart was thudding against her chest as a prickle of excitement grew. It had been well over a year from the last time she had seen Minerva McGonagall and she was anxious to speak with her. They had exchanged a few letters, mostly a sentence or two at most warning the Headmistress of Hogwarts of impending battles or ambushes that would be happening nearby. They rarely contained anything personal from either party.
When Hermione stood outside of the office door, she finally removed the Invisibility Cloak and lightly rapped her knuckles against the heavy wood. It was only a few breaths before the door slowly creaked open and the thin, aged face of her once favorite professor stood before her.
"Good morning, Professor." Hermione said, her voice hoarse from the early hour's lack of use.
"Hermione, I should hope that we are past the point of professor and student," Minerva said, a small smile playing on her lips. "You know you can call me Minerva."
"Let's call it a momentary lapse in my nostalgia," Hermione smiled.
Minerva stepped away from the door and Hermione followed behind, closing the heavy wooden door behind her. She took a seat at the front of the large desk, smoothing her trousers over her thighs as she regarded the woman before her. Hermione's eyes glossed over the older woman's face. She noticed a few scars, most likely from the battle, and more age lines than she remembered. Her hair, pulled back in the tight bun she always wore at the nape of her neck, was almost completely grey now.
"Tea?" Minerva said, motioning to the tray that was resting on the right side of the desk.
"Yes, please."
They exchanged a few pleasantries while they sipped their tea and Hermione felt her nerves ease. Minerva McGonagall held an air of absolute authority to most. She was impregnable in every sense of the word but Hermione always felt a strange kinship with the witch. While fierce and dedicated to her duty to Hogwarts, she was fair and just. Throughout her own time at the school, Hermione had come to realize that while Miverva's reputation suggested she had a fractious view on mischief, that was simply not true. In fact, it had been proven more than once that Minerva McGonagall was surprisingly light-hearted when it came to jokesters and pranks.
"Your letters seemed quite cryptic, Hermione. I'm afraid to admit that I have yet to figure out the reason you requested this meeting."
Hermione set her small teacup upon the porcelain saucer on the edge of the desk and pulled her side bag into her lap. "I have a request to make of you, it will not cause harm to the school and it could save a lot of people if you agree to help me."
Minerva's gaze narrowed as she pursed her lips, her hands clasped before her and resting on the desk. "I am a tolerant woman, Hermione, not a patient one."
Hermione withdrew the journals she had brought with her, the spell book she and Draco had found regarding the use of curses and potions as 'open air warfare', as they had donned it. She opened the slim black journal to the back three pages and offered it to Minerva.
"You were informed of a curse that hit Harry in July that had left him comatose for three months. What you were not informed of, was the nature of this curse. Minerva, Dolohov is using the Dementor's Curse again."
The Headmistress's eyes stilled on the page she was reading and Hermione could see the breath catch in her chest. She watched as Minerva swallowed and slowly closed the journal, setting it on the desk as a harrowed look pinched her features. "I received a letter saying Harry was awake just before I got your request for a meeting," she confirmed.
"Harry is okay," Hermione said. "Weak, but his strength is returning."
"Did you find the countercurse?"
"No," Hermione took a deep breath through her nose and shook her head. "Draco and I extracted the curse and I absorbed it. After researching the Malfoy family library, we have deduced the transformation will only happen if there is a magical anomaly present."
Minerva's face fell as she nodded in understanding, "So Harry lives, but you will turn."
"That's why I'm here," Hermione explained. "Judging by the look on your face, you knew this curse was used during the first war."
Minerva settled back into her chair and adjusted her glasses on her nose, a nervous tick she seemed to share with Harry. "We believed the creatures being produced were of Dolohov's creation, yes. When Voldemort fell the first time, the recording of new Dementors dropped off. Albus then assumed it was Voldemort who was creating them, that we were wrong about Dolohov."
"And when he rose again? Did no one think of it? Did no one believe it pertinent information to pass along to the new generation of The Order?" Hermione said, her tone accusing.
Minerva's silence confirmed what Hermione had theorized. It had been discussed amongst Order members of the first war, but they had decided against revealing the information to the new generation of Order members.
"We didn't have information that could save lives, we could-
"You could have what, exactly?" Minerva said, standing from her chair and beginning to pace the room. "We had no counter curse for it. We saw it first hand the first time around! There was no protection from that curse! We lost some of our best, watching them disappear to be slowly shifted into these horrible creatures used for Voldemort's ideals. We had no way of stopping it."
"I believe there was a theory," Hermione said, her voice calm and even. "The information in the journals we found suggested there was an antidotal potion. Upon further reflection, I've come to the conclusion that there were a group of younger Order members during the first war that may have known this as well. I believe they were working on gathering the missing elements."
Minerva stopped pacing and turned to look at Hermione, who had risen from her own seat. "Who?"
"I think you know exactly the group I am referring to, Minerva."
Minerva walked back to her chair, nearly falling into it. She removed her glasses from her face and pinched at the bridge of her nose with a sigh. Slowly, she returned the spectacles to their proper place on her nose and she looked at Hermione. "What do you need?"
"I've acquired a Time Stone amulet. I'm going to use it to go back and help them find the final ingredient. I am on a time frame now, and if I turn I think we all know what that will mean for the status of this war."
"Witches should not meddle with time, Hermione. I would expect that you know that better than most."
"Perhaps," Hermione agreed. "However, I recall a time when you gave a fourteen year old student a time turner simply so she could take a few extra classes."
Anger flared across Minerva's face. "That is not the same! That was a few hours at a time! You're talking about going back decades! Taking extra classes was not life or death!"
"Wasn't it?" Hermione said, returning to her own seat and setting a fierce gaze to the witch before her. "With all do respect, Minerva, I think we both know what I was capable of doing with a few extra hours that year!"
"You didn't change things that had already happened! Going back decades with the information you have about the present time could be catastrophic! You must know this!" Minerva said, her voice heavy with desperation.
"I do," Hermione said. "Which is why I'm going to have my memory altered before I leave. I will have only the information that is pertinent to this mission available to me. I know it's not a perfect plan, but it's the only one we have. I need the information that the Order had. I need to know what James, Lily, Sirius and Remus knew. I need to get the final theories of the brew from Severus Snape and since his bloody portrait refuses to speak to anyone, this is the best course of action."
"Surely with a mind like yours, with the resources you have available to you-
"I can assure you, there is not a better way. We can not bring them back from the dead, but I can return to them to gather information."
Minerva leaned forward, her eyes moving over Hermione's face as she worked through the information. Finally, after several long minutes, she sighed. "What do you need me to do for you?"
"A letter," Hermione said, immediately. "A letter to Dumbledore. Explaining everything I just told you. You'll give him my name, the background I've created for myself, and my mission. I need to be accepted into the Order without question, so it needs to come directly from him. You'll need to add something that only the two of you would have known in that timeframe, something personal, so the authenticity of the letter is not questioned. He has to know it comes from you."
"What year will you be returning to?"
"1979. October 31st." Hermione answered, "I have two years before I will transform, if my calculations are correct."
"Your calculations are always correct, Hermione."
Hermione felt a strange validation tug in her chest and her cheeks warmed. It didn't matter that she was twenty-two years old, praise from the witch in front of her would always make her feel good about her actions.
"I appreciate that," she said. "I'll need the letter soon. I plan to leave on the thirty first of this month. The Time Stone requires me to depart under a waxing gibbous and arrive under the same."
"I understand the theory," Minerva responded. "As you know, time travel is something of an interest of mine."
"I'm aware."
"Then you must understand why I am hesitant to turn a blind eye to the dangers a travel like this possesses. You understand that the most minute change to the timeline in 1979 can cause absolute chaos for the world as we know it now. The smallest change of course could cause havoc that we have not yet seen."
"It could save hundreds of lives. It could end this completely, you must know that!" Hermione argued, "Please professor, I need you to write this letter. You were always Dumbledore's confidant, he trusted you. Without your influence, I will fail."
Minerva leaned across the desk, wrapping a thin hand around Hermione's. Minerva's skin was cool against her own, and she found the comfort in the small gesture to be almost overwhelming. She would write the letter, the small squeeze of her hand was confirmation of that. Hermione knew that coming here, Minerva would not be easily persuaded. But she was understanding and intelligent, Hermione was confident she understood what would happen if Hermione failed on this mission.
Antonin Dolohov would usurp the Order and his reign would become far more deadly than Voldemort's had ever been.
Hermione sat at a small desk in the library, a tan leather bound journal open to its seventh page as she continued to write important notes from her own personal history into its pages. She hummed along to the soft music playing from the record player as she picked through her brain, trying to decide what she would need to know in the past to help her in the future. She listed important names and her relationships to them. She wrote her own information, a condensed timeline of her life from birth until now.
"You're listening to The Beatles," Harry's voice came quiet from the doorway.
"They were my dad's favorite," she responded, setting down the heavy fountain pen and getting up from her spot at the desk. She stepped toward Harry, a soft smile on her face, "How are you feeling today?"
Harry shrugged, "About the same. Tired, weak. I tried to go for a run this morning and nearly passed out four minutes in."
Hermione frowned, taking his hand and leading him over to the sofa. She lightly pressed on his shoulders, forcing him to sit as she crossed the room and entered one of the small private rooms on the back of the library. Thankfully, there had been no ambushes or missions in the last few months. Things were eerily calm in terms of the war, which left everyone feeling antsy and uncomfortable. She was thankful for this strange limbo they hung in, however. It offered time for Harry to heal and recover. Time seemed to be the only thing she could focus on these days.
She pulled a trunk out from under one of the beds and dug through her supply of healing potions. Hermione located the small light blue phial she was looking for and shoved the trunk back in its place. She stepped back into the library and sat next to Harry on the sofa, handing him the phial.
"It will help strengthen your muscle fibers. Draco created it when Blaise's spine was severed. One phial a week until your strength returns, don't take more than one."
Harry nodded, pocketing the phial. "Thanks," he said.
She hummed in response and leaned against him, sighing as he wrapped his arms around her. "I'm glad you're okay." She said, "I was terrified you weren't going to pull out of it. Once we discovered what the curse was… Harry, why would you dive in front of a curse? You know-
"Hermione," Harry laughed. "You should know me well enough by now. The Order can afford to take the hit if I die-
"Why would you say that?" She said, shifting to look at him, "Why would you..?"
"It's true, and you know it. I hardly do anything anymore as it is. I help oversee plans and strategies, I fight on the field. But if I died today, you all would continue. You would still have battle strategies and plans. You would have the same information with or without me. But if you died? If something happened to you?" Harry sighed, his arms tightening around her. "Hermione, you know as well as I do that the Order would crumble without your mind, without your research. Half of us would be dead right now if it wasn't for you."
"That isn't true," Hermione argued. "I'm not the only one who researches. I'm not the only Healer we have."
"If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have Malfoy, no one would have trusted him enough to let him join. We would be out an amazing potioneer with a strong knack for healing. Without your convincing, we would be out Pansy, a tactical genius and fierce dueler. We wouldn't have Theo, who has saved our lives more than once with his insane ability to create defensive spells. We wouldn't have… I wouldn't have Blaise... " Harry trailed off, resting his head on the top of hers. "Every bit of our success thus far is owed to you, Hermione. It's always been that way."
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, tears stinging her eyes as she listened to Harry speak. Her best friend in the world, her brother in all senses of the word except blood. This incredible man who has been there for her through so much, who had the weight of the world placed on his shoulders from a very young age and never let it cripple him completely. The fact that he felt she was irreplaceable meant everything to her.
She had to make sure she was successful. She had to find the answers in the past. They depended on her. Harry depended on her.
"Harry, I... " Hermione closed her eyes, trying to find the right words to say. "I don't know what to say."
"Are you telling me that I have rendered Hermione Granger speechless?" Harry laughed, pressing his lips into her hair.
Hermione snuggled into his side and chuckled. "Shut up," she said. "I love you, Harry."
"I love you, Hermione. So you should know that diving in front of a curse to save you, it wasn't even a thought. It was instinct. I'd do it again, a thousand times over."
"I know you would," Hermione admitted.
"When you go back," Harry said. "Can you do me a favor?"
Hermione furrowed her brows. "Harry, you know I can't change anything."
"I know. I'm not asking you to. Just… Will you enjoy your time there? However long it may be… Will you enjoy it? Bring back stories of my parents, of Sirius and Remus. Tell me things about them no one else would know. Tell me their favorite colors and their favorite songs. The bad things too, I want to know them. All parts of them."
The tears that had been burning behind her lashes, threatening to spill had finally found their release and began to leak from her eyes, streaking her cheeks with salt water. Hermione nodded. "I'll learn as much about them as I can for you," she promised.
Tuesday, October 30, 2001
It was just before breakfast that Hermione received the letter from McGonagall. With the letter was a phial of a silvery wisp, a small note attached to it that read "Give this to Dumbledore upon your arrival. For use in his Pensieve." Hermione smiled to herself, looking at the phial. McGonagall had sent undeniable proof that Hermione was telling the truth, that her intentions were not to infiltrate to use information against them, but to gain information for the help of the future generation.
At half past eleven, Draco pulled her away from her journal and handed her a goblet.
"Polyjuice?" she asked, staring into the goblet and giving it a sniff. "Why are you giving me Polyjuice?"
He held up his own goblet and smiled, "You can't go to the past without a proper wardrobe and a place to live, can you?"
"I thought I'd figure it out when I got there," Hermione admitted.
"With what Galleons?" Draco asked, "Because I'm fairly certain you won't be able to access your vault and we both know there isn't enough in there to live on your own for very long."
"That's rather rude," Hermione grumbled.
Draco shrugged, "Drink up Granger. I found a vintage shop in Muggle London where we can get you some clothes."
Draco downed his own goblet in one swallow, his face grimacing with the taste. She watched as he shrank several inches, his hair growing shaggier and much darker than his signature platinum color. His skin became lightly tanned and his eyes a deep brown.
"This bloke is a little on the thin side, but I thought he looked normal enough."
Hermione shook her head and took her own potion, pleasantly surprised by the taste. It wasn't good per se, but it certainly wasn't as terrible as she had experienced in the past. She twisted her face in pain as she felt herself grow a few inches in height, her hair straightening out shrinking up close to her scalp in a jet black pixie cut. She crossed the room to regard her reflection in the window. The woman she turned into had sharp, angular features and piercing blue eyes. Her body was much curvier than Hermione's own, but it suited the woman well.
"Muggles?" Hermione asked.
"Of course," Draco answered. "Let's go."
Together, Hermione and Draco walked to Hogsmeade, using the Floo at the Three Broomsticks to get to The Leaky Cauldron. From there, they walked the short distance into Muggle London. Draco hailed a cab, something that seemed so bizarre for Hermione to witness, and he gave the driver the address of the shop.
Two hours later, Hermione had several pieces of clothes that would be appropriate to wear in 1979 and a headache caused by Draco's incessant need to fill the air with the sound of his voice. They decided to stop at a small cafe for lunch and got a table in the back, away from any other patron.
"I have something for you," Draco said. "To help while you're there."
"You've done plenty Draco, and to be honest I'm not sure I'm prepared to be any further in your debt."
"I owe you much of my life, Granger. This is nothing," he said, handing her a small pouch.
She accepted the pouch and opened it, peering inside, "Draco… What is this for?"
"It's charmed, obviously, so there's more in there than what's on top. There's twenty thousand Galleons in that bag, so I'd suggest-
Hermione interrupted him by choking on her water, sputtering as she tried to clear her lungs of the liquid. "W-what?!"
"Do you think that won't be enough? I can add more if you think-
"No!" Hermione said, almost throwing the pouch back at him, "No! Merlin Draco! I can not accept this. A pen is one thing, even muggle shopping. But twenty thousand galleons? I can't."
"You can and you will. You're going to need to purchase a flat which is going to be hard to do if you don't have any money or work. The bag is charmed to only open for you and it'll be impossible to steal as long as you set a charm sealing it to wherever your flat is. You'll be able to remove galleons from it, but you won't be able to take the bag itself."
"It's too much, Draco."
"It's not, Hermione."
The use of her first name jarred her into silence. Draco hardly ever called her Hermione. Only when he really needed to drive his point home. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and took a sip of her water. Finally, she grabbed the bag and tucked it into her own.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Draco nodded and continued with his lunch as if he hadn't just handed her an exorbitant amount of money.
As the late afternoon faded to nightfall and the chill of the autumn air swept through the Shrieking Shack, Hermione sat in front of the fire in the Library, looking over her journal one last time. She tucked it in her bag along with a blank one to record her findings while she was in the past.
The more she thought about it, the more insane this plan felt. She was essentially going off a gut feeling, something she very rarely did. Harry was intuitive, quick on his feet and followed his gut more often than not. Hermione was calculated. She liked being well informed and researched her decisions before making them. The recklessness of a Gryffindor was not a trait she typically identified with. Even in her years at Hogwarts, when she had found herself in trouble more often than not, her decisions had been weighed.
There was one weight in this decision that outweighed all others. The lives of muggleborns were at risk with this curse being used again. Her life was at risk. Hermione had made her peace long ago with the fact that she would more than likely die in battle, and that was still okay with her. Dying in battle was noble. Fighting for what was right, for a better world where wizards like Voldemort and Dolohov could no longer hurt anyone was a dignified way to die.
Living her life as a terrifying creature, forced to haunt those who could not defend against her and feed from the will of their souls? That wasn't a life. That wasn't what she had fought so hard for.
Hermione pulled the necklace containing the Time Stone amulet from her bag and stared down at it. The stone shimmered in the flickering light of the fire and she could feel the magic practically radiating from it. She was unsure if she had ever held something so powerful in her hands before, something with the ability to completely change everything. She had ridden the back of a dragon, destroyed horcruxes, fought a troll, battled Death Eaters more times than she could count… And this moment, this decision felt larger than any she had made so far.
The amulet required a sacrifice of blood and soul every thirty days for the duration of use. In the small amount of lore she was able to find on the stone, it was said it required a sacrifice because time travel was inherently light. In order for someone to accept the paradoxical nature, the motives needed to be selfless. Blood Magic was inherently self serving, as was most Dark magic. By combining the two, it ensured the motives stayed clear. There had to be purpose for the travel that aligned with the users soul.
She had been apprehensive about blood magic before extracting the curse from Harry, but now? What was a bit of blood magic if it saved everyone? She had certainly spilled her fair share of blood for this war. Doing it willingly to do something that could help seemed easy. Hermione stared at the inside of her left forearm, the glamour charm shifting a bit as she studied it. Pressing her wand to her skin, Hermione muttered "Finite," and stared at the scar on her arm.
The word mudblood etched into her skin, forever reminding her that she was out of place. A curse meant to turn those with the anomaly of mud in their veins eating away at her every second of the day. She hoped that everything she was risking by going back would be enough. Because for once, Hermione could not see if the risk outweighed the reward.
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a/n: Thank you for reading! Please remember to leave a review!
This fic is pre-written and updates every Tu/Th/Sa
Mega love to my alpha Mayghaen17, thank you.
