Chapter 63: Sunday, February 8, 1981
"We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us."
-E.M. Forster
Hermione scrubbed her face in frustration, the exhaustion of the last twenty four hours settling in over her. She hadn't been to bed yet and the effects of being awake for well over thirty hours was taking its toll. But Hope had taken a turn for the worst Friday night, and Hermione was doing everything she could think to do to keep the woman out of pain. Unfortunately, her body simply did not want to cooperate and Hermione was limited on what she could do to help.
"I can make her comfortable," Hermione told Remus not even six hours ago. "But I'm not sure there's much else I can do."
And despite the tortured look on Remus' face, it was Hope who she had to cater to. And when Hermione stopped by with lunch and potions for her a week prior, Hope had begged to have a quick word in private. Had asked her to put up a silencing charm, and proceeded to ask Hermione to let her die.
She was tired of fighting. She was tired of laying in bed and not being able to move. "This isn't living, cariad, this is simply existing. It's time for me to go." Hope's words swam in the fuzziness of Hermione's sleep deprived mind as she stood in the corner of the room and watched as Remus held his mother's hand and talked to her.
Hermione wondered if she should feel guilty. Should she tell Remus that she only followed Hope's wishes? Tell him that Hope was ready to depart this earth and had stopped taking the potions to finally gain some peace? Would he even be able to understand that she had to do as his mother asked? She loved Hope, she didn't want to see her die! But the woman was miserable and exhausted and doesn't everyone deserve to choose when they've had enough?
An hour later, Hope Lupin née Howell took her last breath. A shuddering, raspy puff of air that she used to smile up at her son and husband, a weak "I love you" on her lips as she closed her eyes and succumbed to darkness. Hermione wiped a stray tear from her eye and quietly made her way from the room, heading to the kitchen to get a kettle on and to allow Remus and Lyall some time alone. As she filled the kettle and set it on the hob, flicking the knob to turn the heat on, she was startled by a pair of warm hands on her shoulders.
She spun around and saw Remus, a soft smile on his face, eyes rimmed in red. "Hi."
"Hi," she whispered. "I was just getting tea. Is your dad..?"
"Still in the room."
Hermione nodded, "Of course he is."
"She told me," Remus said, taking a slow breath and letting his eyes roam over her face. "She told me that she asked you to stop giving her the potions."
"Remus I-
He held a hand up to cut her off, "It's okay. I'm not upset with you, I get it. I just… Thank you. For helping her."
Hermione bit into her lip and gave a slow nod before winding her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his chest. He responded in kind, squeezing her back tightly and stooping slightly to bury his face in her hair, inhaling deeply and pressing kisses into her curls. They stood like that for a long time, Hermione flicking her wand at the kettle when it whistled to stop the sound. Remus clung to her like she was the last lifeline he had, a buoy to keep him above water in a tumultuous sea.
Tuesday, February 17, 1981
Not even a full day after returning from Wales, Remus was sent out on a mission. He didn't say much about it, which Hermione took to mean he would be getting involved with werewolves again and chances were, it was the domestic clans he would be going to. There had been a rise in attacks since the New Year, both magical and muggle in nature, and it would seem that werewolves were almost always connected in some way.
Thankfully, Hermione had heard back from Andromeda and in an effort to keep herself busy, had set up a meeting to talk with her again. Their meetings had become less frequent since Andromeda had created the first fractures in her mind. With the memories seemingly leaking out at every turn, Hermione didn't see the need to have Andromeda go digging through her head. While she was desperate for answers, for connections to be made, she also knew how dangerous it was to have someone digging around in her mind, gaining information about the future.
At half past ten in the morning, Hermione arrived at the Tonks' shop in Diagon Alley. Andromeda had assured Hermione that Ted would be taking Dora out for the day, and they would be able to meet in peace for an hour before she opened the shop after lunch.
The meeting was quicker than it usually was, Andromeda carding through Hermione's mind with expert precision now, hacking away at the walls that had been erected and creating cracks in the foundations of the barriers Draco had guarded precious memories in. Her head swam with a nauseating mix of moments from the last year and half spent here—in this time—and memories of old from her youth and her time after the Battle.
When Andromeda finally pulled from her mind, panting and pressing a handkerchief to her brow, she turned a stern eye on Hermione, her lips pressed in a thin line.
"You know the risk of me picking through your mind," she began.
Hermione nodded, sipping some water and trying to get her vision to stop spinning. "Yes."
"Then you know I see things I probably shouldn't," it wasn't a question. "What have you done to ensure that the memory of you will not transfer as the years move forward without you? I've seen people in your mind, people we know, that have no idea who you are now. How is that?"
"I don't know," Hermione said, her fingers tapping the side of her glass absentmindedly as she tried to come up with a logical answer. "I've wondered…but...something must have happened…"
"That may be something you need to secure, during your time here." Andromeda said, "I'm not an expert on moving through time, I've never done it—it's stupid and dangerous," to this, she gave Hermione a pointed look. "But covering your tracks seems ideal."
Hermione nodded, adding that to the ever growing list of worries. But then…if she could figure out a way to break the vow, perhaps she wouldn't need to worry about being remembered in the first place? She pulled her brows together, her face pinched in thought, "Andie…is there a way to break an Unbreakable Vow?"
Andromeda gave an unceremonious snort and raised her eyebrows, "You've certainly been busy, haven't you?"
"Humor me."
The older witch sighed and settled into the chair opposite Hermione, "Death."
"There has to be another way. Can't I—can't I cancel it, or something?!"
Andromeda shook her head, "I'm afraid not, Hermione, it's unbreakable for a reason. Even if it was made in your own time, the vow must be fulfilled or one of the bonded must die to release the bond. Beyond that, I'm sorry but I don't know of a way."
"There must be a book..a text somewhere that gives a theory or a—"
"I'm sure there is," Andromeda said. "However, I don't know of such a volume. You could ask Albus, he may know of something I do not."
Hermione frowned. Dumbledore may have a solution, but involving anyone else in her delicate balance of half truths and fuzzy memories seemed like it could cause more damage than good. She had requested a meeting with Dumbledore and Snape anyway, perhaps she could convince Dumbledore to have this meeting at Hogwarts, and she could make her way into the Restricted Section to take a peek while she was there? She knew it was probably unlikely that Dumbledore would risk having an Order related meeting on school grounds, but then again it wouldn't be the most dangerous thing to have happened at Hogwarts, would it? Hermione could name several different things that she experienced in her first year that were more dangerous than a stranger looking around the library.
"It's terrible, isn't it?" Andromeda said, her low voice breaking the silence that had settled between them as Hermione lost herself in thought.
"What is?"
"The attacks that have been happening," she said. "So many people are being killed for reasons they don't even understand. Not to mention the magical folk being killed or used."
"What do you mean used?"
"Well half the Ministry's been put under Imperius haven't they? Not to mention the werewolves turning out of cycle."
Hermione looked up at that, her eyes snapping up from the rim of the glass in her hand to meet Andromeda's steely grey eyes. "The werewolves?"
"We haven't talked much about it in the meetings," she said. "I know there's been mention here and there, but it's all over the Prophet. There's been werewolf sightings outside of the lunar cycle for the last two months. An entire family was attacked recently, the youngest was kidnapped but the parents and two older siblings were slaughtered. They saw a pack of werewolves leaving the property, in broad daylight in the middle of the cycle. All these creatures cropping up and turning out of cycle… The Dark Lord is pulling the strings now."
"You think we'll be unsuccessful?"
"I'm not a seer, but it would seem that we are becoming greatly outnumbered. I fear for our futures, and your being here is nothing but a testament of truth to that fear."
Hermione sighed, setting her glass on the side table. She leaned forward, digging her elbows into her thighs and rubbing her forehead, her eyes heavy with the lack of sleep. "One day, it'll be over."
"You speak as if you haven't seen that day."
Hermione chewed on her lip, not confirming or denying. She wished she could say she had seen the day that the Wizarding World was not building up to or in the throes of war. But, her introduction to the magical community consisted of a teacher with a half-life Voldemort stuck on the back of his head. This war had been a part of her for more than half her life now and Merlin, she hoped that one day she could sleep in peace. But that day was not today.
"I've been involved in this war for far too long," Hermione admitted with a sigh. She realized now, how tired she must look. Bags under her eyes from not sleeping while Remus is away, up all night worrying herself silly, pacing the floors and pouring over her research. And for what? It wasn't changing anything. She'd been here more than a year now, and she hadn't—couldn't— change anything.
But, that had been the point, hadn't it? To keep everything the same in 1980 and change the future by ways of collecting information. But things weren't the same, were they? Or had she always been meant to come here, to do this, to feel so… useless?
"Time is a funny thing, isn't it?" Andromeda said, as if she could read Hermione's mind. And Hermione supposed that she in fact, could.
"What do you mean?"
"There's dozens of theories out there, more than that if you read muggle sciences. Cyclical, linear, muggles even have belief in something called a multi-verse; hundreds of different versions of us floating about doing different things. Turning left instead of right, staying in instead of going out, that sort of thing. But, the one thing that seems to always stay the same is that everything will always happen as it should. Events that must happen to ensure the progression of time, will always take place. No matter how much we want to stop them or change them, time rests for no man."
Hermione's eyes stayed trained on the floor, a spot she had been inspecting. There was a small patch in the rug that had become threadbare, trodden over so many times that it was nearly transparent. It seemed odd that someone from such a background would have something so shabby in a space they spent a fair amount of time. It looked as if it were second hand, even. A dusty shade of pink woven into swirling tan and green and red patterns. A thread of navy, a thread of white…
Her head pounded from the intrusion of Andromeda, not that she wasn't careful with her magic, but the magic itself wasn't meant to be comfortable. It felt like knives slicing through her mind and as she stared at the lifted threads of the rug she felt her eyes prickle and sting. She had become just as unraveled as this ruddy old rug, threads coming loose with every passing moment that she stayed. She wanted Remus, she craved Remus, but he had never been hers to have in the first place. And everything was a mess. She had promised him she'd stay, had promised she would try and work out a way to break the vow, but then…he had broken promises to her too, hadn't he? He had gone on missions after he promised he wouldn't.
She took in a slow breath, tit for tat never solved anything. And Andromeda was right—events that had to take place for the progression of time, would always find a way. She had always known that Remus would have to take part in these dangerous missions, no matter how badly she wished he'd stay behind. It was his duty; not just to the Order of the Phoenix, but to time itself.
"Everything happens for a reason," Hermione murmured, a puff of laughter on the end of the words. "My mum used to tell me that. She lived by it."
"It's not a bad phrase to live by," Andromeda said. "In fact, I think it's probably the truest of all statements. We may not always understand the reasoning that something is meant to happen, but there's always a reason. It all comes out in the wash, as they say."
"Another muggle phrase," Hermione pointed out.
"Well, my in-laws are muggles, so you could say I've become well-versed."
Hermione chuckled, her head bobbing slightly as she picked up the glass of water she had been sipping on and drained it. She stood and thanked Andromeda for her help, promising to stop by the shop to collect a few items soon, and used the Floo connection to get home. When she stepped over the hearth and dusted off her hair, she heard an incessant clicking coming from the kitchen. Rounding the corner, she saw an owl on the windowsill, pecking furiously at the window to be let in from the blustery February weather.
Hermione obliged, leaving the window open to let the owl take off. When it did not move, instead nipping at her hand, she opened the scroll to read:
Ms. Granger,
I received your letter, I apologize my response was not as prompt as it should have been. I realize it is short notice however, if it is convenient for you, I will be waiting for your company at the Three Broomsticks at precisely 3pm.
Warm Regards,
Albus Dumbledore
Hermione looked to the clock hanging on the wall. It was barely one o'clock, and she didn't actually have any other plans for the day besides running by Tom's shop to pick up a few ingredients he had ordered for her and probably her supper while she was there. She stepped over to the table and pulled the journal off the top, inside was shoved the parchment she had last been writing as well as her fountain pen. She grabbed the pen, the heavy weight comfortable in her hand, and scribbled her reply on the end of Dumbledore's letter.
She curled it up and tied it to the owls leg, giving him a broken piece of shortbread as a token of thanks and sending him on his way. Instead of letting sleep claim her like her overly exhausted mind begged, she took a blended potion of Pepper-Up and a mild pain relief and busied herself with a bit of research. Remus had an extensive collection of books that touched on the Dark Arts. His fascination with defensive duelling had led to a rather large array of interesting books and Hermione pulled a few of the thick spines from the sagging shelf.
Magical Oaths: A Comprehensive Guide by Adbaldar Mustrom
Arts Moste Devious by Radagast Rowle
Bonds, Oaths, and Vows (vol. 4) by Hecuba Casteneda
As expected, when she flicked through the pages, she found nothing about breaking an Unbreakable Vow outside of death or fulfillment. And in order to fulfill she would need to return to her own time on Halloween. But then…she could always return, couldn't she? She could go home, tell Draco she found nothing and come back to live out her remaining days with Remus...
Draco and Ginny would tell her she's insane, Ron would get angry and absolutely not let her leave again. But Harry… Harry would understand. Harry would want her to indulge her last days with someone she loved, with someone who loved her. Harry would look at her, emerald eyes bright with emotion and give that stiff head nod, rub the back of his neck and tell her he'd miss her. He would understand that she had found something she wasn't ready to throw away, she wasn't ready to give up.
Wouldn't he?
Hermione sighed, scrubbing her face with her hands. God that motion is becoming too familiar, and made her way into the kitchen to make some tea before her meeting with Dumbledore. As she crossed through the room, rounding the corner past the cabinets, she yelped as she saw something small and furry scuttle across the floor. From somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind Sirius' voice rang out, cold and maniacal, "Twelve years? Curiously long life for a common garden rat, isn't it?"
Hermione's mouth went dry and she swallowed hard, hand to her chest in an attempt to stop the pounding of her heart from the startle of the rodent scurrying across the linoleum. Hermione quickly stepped to the door, throwing it open and shooing the vermin out into the garden, pulling the door tightly shut. She turned her head, her face pinching up in thought as she stared off at nothing in particular, trying to place the ringing of Sirius Black's voice with a bit of information that would make sense.
She needed sleep. She needed to rest and let her mind bleed the new memories trying to work their way out, but she didn't have time for that. Cursing Dumbledore under her breath for his need to meet now, she checked the clock—quarter hour until three—and pulled her boots and cloak back on.
Walking into The Three Broomsticks was an almost surreal experience. She hadn't been inside the pub since her sixth year at Hogwarts and it looked every bit of how she remembered it, if perhaps, a bit cleaner. She crossed through the door and was greeted with the familiar sickly sweet smell of butterbeer on tap and house matured mead. She looked around, eyeing the room to find the most secluded spot, and settled at a table in the furthest corner back, right next to a fireplace.
"Something to eat, dear?"
Hermione looked up and saw a much younger, but still beautiful and curvy, Madam Rosmerta smiling down at her. She returned the smile to the pub owner, "I think I'm okay for now. Just a butterbeer, if you please?"
"A butterbeer it is!"
Hermione desperately wanted something stronger, the bite of firewhiskey would do her well right now, but the nostalgia of butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks was too much to resist. Within moments, the glass appeared in front of her and she sipped at the foamy liquid, pleasant memories of being fourteen and sneaking into the pub with Harry under his invisibility cloak filled her mind as she sipped and waited.
"I hope I didn't keep you long," Dumbledore's voice pulled her from her reverie.
Hermione stood to greet him, shaking his hand with a kind smile pasted to her face. "No sir, I arrived early."
"Albus!" Madam Rosmerta exclaimed, happily trotting over to the table and kissing the Headmaster's cheek. "I wasn't expecting you in, today."
"I have set a meeting Rosmerta, my dear. If I may ask that you keep it quiet on our side?"
"Of course, Professor. Of course. Mead?"
"If you would."
"Right away," she flashed a smile and took her leave, busying herself behind the bar.
Dumbledore smiled kindly at Hermione, his eyes ever twinkling. He sat in the chair across from her, his smile broadening slightly when a goblet of mead appeared in front of him. They made small talk, exchanging pleasantries as they sipped their beverages. After a few moments of lull in conversation, Dumbledore smiled again and spoke.
"While I enjoy pleasant conversation with friends, I do believe there was an agenda for the request to meet?"
Hermione nodded, "Yes. Sir, I know that I have not shown a lot of kindness toward you since my arrival here. I apologize for that, but I beg that you show me a kindness in allowing my knowledge of the future to guide me to do the right thing."
"You have been perfectly cordial," Dumbledore said. "What do you believe the right thing to do is?"
Hermione dug into the pocket of her cloak and withdrew the thin black journal. She had gone through it so many times, pouring over the pages for hours and hours, that the leather was worn from her hands and the spine frayed and cracking. She set the journal in front of her and looked at him.
"In this diary, there are the initials S.S. marking a series of complicated potions meant to be used as weapons or antidotes to curses that have been killing our ranks. I believe the Potion's Master that concocted these brews is Severus Snape, and I would like to speak personally with him. I would like to work with him, one on one to explore the foundations of these curses."
"The foundations?"
Hermione nodded, "If Snape was able to isolate the effects of the curses enough to create an ingested antidote, then he knows how these curses were created. He knows exactly who they are aimed for and how to deconstruct them. I have been working to break them down on my own, but they are complicated formulas. Having Snape, someone who very well looks to be a co-creator of these potions and curses… It would help my research tremendously."
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, considering her words in silence as his eyes lingered on her. She had never noticed before, or perhaps she simply had never been in the situation to have noticed it, that Dumbledore's often twinkling and amused gaze was actually scrutinizing and weighted. Finally, he took a sip of his mead and a smile graced his wrinkled face.
"I believed an alliance with Severus Snape would be most beneficial to the Order long before this moment and I think you are confirming that. When you arrived, it was under the pretenses of reconnaissance, am I correct?"
"In a sense, yes."
"You have done that admirably, I admit. If compliance from Severus Snape is required, I will ensure that he understands his place in our ranks."
"Thank you, Professor."
"Expect an owl."
.
.
Hey everyone! Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts on this chapter?
I also would like to say a little something that I've been noticing more of, not just on my own work, but friends of mine as well...
Reviewing is important to us as writers. It doesn't only serve as instant gratification (which honestly, we all need a bit more of as it is) but it helps us figure out what people are liking and what could be better or changed. I, myself, pre-write-which just means I am written several chapters ahead of the chapter I update... However, not every writer does this and reviews are a really good way for us to see if the story is headed in a good direction for the reader's experience.
With that being said:
If you review under a guest account and your aim is to give concrit or straight up be rude- and I mean this in the nicest way I can possibly mean this- get wrecked.
As writers, we understand that not every fic is to every person's taste. Not everything we write is amazing, not everything we publish is 100% flawless. Most of us are not professionals, and we write as a hobby. But to offer unsolicited "advice" or just give a shitty opinion for the sake of it is rude af to begin with... but to do it under a guest review-where we are UNABLE TO CONTACT YOU BACK, is fucking cowardly.
I see this as an issue pretty exclusive to ffn, and I know a lot of really amazing writers have either quit posting here or have pulled their works completely because of it. So, I want to make something very clear...
If you come on my stories and write rude reviews under a guest account, I do not want you as a reader. I don't want your fucking opinion. If you have something constructive to add, please PM me, or use a signed in account so I may contact you and we can talk about. Otherwise, eat shit. It's not about being butthurt over bad reviews (believe me, I've had my fair share) its about how you're reviewing- behind a mask without the balls to say it and allow me or others to either answer your questions or tell you to fuck off.
so, this is me officially saying that if you feel the need to do this to me or any other writer: we don't want you as a reader. If you have something constructive to say, do it in a PM. Otherwise, keep your shitty thoughts to yourself and click out.
To everyone who guest reviews (or honestly, just reviews in general) and doesn't leave nasty things on people's work... Just know that we see you and we love you and we appreciate that you come to us respectfully.
okay, I'm done ranting. If you read all that-thank you. I love you all
xo
mimi
