The Present via Future Past
The war was over, the bad guys taken care of, but no one could call it a victory. Hermione (the most wanted Muggle-born fugitive in Great Britain) and Fleur (a woman desperate to reunite with her husband) propose the solution: Time Travel. Insert an older Harry, Hermione, and Fleur into the timeline just before the Third Task. Let the war begin, and end. Plan, prepare, and execute. Get it Done. HP/HG. HP/NT? HP/FD?
[Present: Little Hangleton Graveyard – Late Night – June 24, 1995]
Harry's pain filled screams echoed throughout the graveyard. His scar throbbed and his nerves burned. The iron taste of blood filled his mouth from where he had inadvertently bitten his own tongue. His outlook on life was bleak, and getting bleaker. Kidnapped and tortured to death by Lord Voldemort, in a graveyard.
He was only thankful Cedric had inexplicably avoided the same fate. They had agreed to take the trophy together, and he thought Cedric was reaching out to touch it too … he must have made contact first. Cedric would never know how lucky he was.
"Crucio!" hissed the voice once again.
…more pain…
*The sound of angry barking in the distance*
Harry was only dimly aware of Lord Voldemort breaking off the Cruciatus Curse and stepping away.
The Dark Lord stared off in the distance… Then he used Pettigrew's Dark Mark to summon his loyal followers.
The Dark Lord monologued for a bit… Harry was barely coherent.
*The sharp cracks of apparation split the air in the distance*
…then silence… deep, unnatural silence…
Lord Voldemort listened for a moment, then mumbled something about fools and stormed off angrily.
…silence…
Wearily, Harry cracked open an eye. …nobody was in sight, not even Pettigrew… Where?
It didn't matter, he needed to get away! He began to frantically struggle with the ropes binding him.
…to no avail… The ropes were too tight. All he was doing was creating more rope burns on his arms. Painful rope burns that smarted something fierce as perspiration ran down his arms.
Temporarily defeated, Harry closed his eyes and rested his head back on the tombstone, conserving what little hope and energy he had left. There was always the slim chance Voldemort would untie him before he killed him.
…right…
*Silence*
He strained to hear something, anything…
*The meaty thumping sound of flesh striking flesh*
Like when Dudley was punching someone, then more silence…
What was going on?
Somehow, he doubted Voldemort was just going to leave him tied to the tombstone, he wasn't that lucky.
*Footsteps in the distance*
…sweat continued to trickle into the raw rope burns on his arms – he endured silently, straining to hear more…
*The rustling sound of footsteps drawing nearer*
Someone was approaching.
He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, mentally preparing for more torture.
He would endure.
*The footsteps came to a halt in front of him*
He refused to open his eyes.
He would endure.
A gentle hand on his shoulder…
"Diffindo."
The conjured ropes binding him to the cold, hard tombstone gave way, and he pitched forward.
Arms caught him, and he opened his surprised eyes to stare into matching green orbs.
~(Future Past – Grimmauld Place – June 10, 2000)~
~What Was, and May Never Be~
"Hermione, where's Ron? I can't believe he'd miss a chance at a second lunch."
Hermione, the most wanted fugitive in Great Britain, barely glanced up from the thick tomb on the table in front of her, her plate untouched. "He's in Chudley. He said something about with Jones retiring, he now thinks he has a chance at the Keeper position on the Cannons. A real 'golden opportunity'."
Harry shrugged his shoulders as he fixed his own sandwich. "With that team, he might actually be able to. Maybe even get a full-time starting position. I mean it's not like they'll ever seriously compete for the cup with their talent level. Their chasers are subpar, and their beaters are worse. We won't mention their blind seeker. Ron-The-Hero-Weasley would fit right in. And his fame would probably boost ticket sales, briefly, if nothing else for them."
"Harry don't say that!" reprimanded Hermione. "The prat is almost insufferable now as it is. Imagine what he would be like if he became a professional quidditch player. To hear him tell it, he almost single-handedly won the war."
Harry just laughed; a sad laugh that didn't quiet reach his tired eyes. At age 19, nearly 20, he had experienced too much in his short life, the war being the worst part.
They'd all been changed by the war, some more than others.
Everyone said the war was over… and it was, but at the same time it wasn't, not really. Even disregarding their nightmares and the fact that there hadn't been any physical battles since Hogwarts, people were still dying, and they couldn't truly claim victory. They hadn't won anything.
Hermione's status as a Muggle-born hadn't changed.
They thought they were so clever when they got together with Interim Minister Shacklebolt immediately after the last funeral and had all the new and existing Aurors swear magically binding oaths to follow the letter of the law, to not accept bribes or look the other way when offenses were being committed.
They were sooo clever. They cursed themselves in the foot.
They overlooked the fact that Voldemort and his loyal followers had ruled the Ministry for a time. And apparently they hadn't run roughshod over everyone and everything, or disregarded the legal system entirely. They had actually gone by the books when they introduced the new laws.
The Death Eaters and sympathizers in charge took the mandated time to run their proposed legislature through the proper Wizengamot channels.
They briefly discussed each bill (The Dark Lord said approve it, or else).
They voted on each decree (everyone with a matching tattoo, vote yes as the Dark Lord commands. Everyone without a Dark Mark, vote yes, or plan on hosting members of the tattoo club at your home residence soon).
They legally passed the bills into law (almost always unanimously – discontent was ruthlessly stamped out).
So those recently added regulations were the existing letter of the law.
Umbridge's freakin' Muggle-born Registration Commission was legit – a legal law that Department of Magical Law Enforcement Employees were magically bound to enforce.
Hermione was wanted for refusing to submit herself to the commission for an interview.
They thought they could overturn it. They had the bad guys in jail, they wouldn't be able to vote against it. It would be simple, right?
Not so.
The Wizengamot lost 70% of its active members during Voldemort's latest uprising (most of them in the Battle of Hogwarts). Seventy percent. That was 35 people out of the 50 who represented magical Britain in their governing body. Thirty-five votes lost.
The Wizengamot quorum required at least a three-fifths attendance to vote on anything. Three-fifths. They needed at least thirty members to show up to legally vote on anything.
With all those active members being detained in jail for various crimes (fourteen), with all the members who died without an of age Heir (seventeen), and with the others missing – they were nowhere close to getting the mandatory three-fifths attendance to overturn anything.
They couldn't legally vote on anything.
Which meant Dolores Umbridge was still officially in charge of the Muggle-born Registration until such time as she was convicted of a crime, or dead, – only then could she be replaced. Until then, Umbridge, and any Muggle-borns picked up, were detained in Ministry holding cells indefinitely.
And the Aurors were now magically bound to uphold the existing laws in place – all of them – which also included them requiring a sufficient quorum to vote.
They were stuck in legal limbo, they were screwed. The Muggle-borns already sentenced to Azkaban were the ones really getting the shaft.
Shacklebolt's administration was able to transfer the Muggle-born inmates all out of the Dementor heavy area's, or move the Dementors, but they couldn't free the prisoners. Unlike Sirius, Umbridge had taken sadistic pleasure in personally giving each Muggle-born a 'real' trial before harshly sentencing them to the island prison, with no chance of early parole. Not a one was sentenced to less than 50 years for stealing magic (those Muggle-borns that did get the minimum 50-year sentence were all extremely elderly, not expected to last more than a single decade, let alone five.).
Hermione was pissed, and bone weary from trying to find a legal way around the issue. So far she wasn't having any luck. At the present time, she dared not even enter Diagon Alley, any Auror spotting her there would be magically obligated to try to arrest her.
As a potential long-term solution, she had forced Harry to apply to take his place in the Wizengamot. Lord Potter-Black-Slytherin would begrudgingly be able to bring three Wizengamot votes to bear for their cause. Or he would when/if his lordships were approved by Gringotts.
Another axe to grind…
The goblins weren't happy with the trio, not happy at all. Heavy fines had been leveled on all three for breaking into, damaging, and robbing the bank.
Ron was officially broke. But as the redhead had never earned a knut in his life, and didn't even have a personal account, his family took the hit. Ron's immediate Weasley clan was officially broke, all their Gringotts assets seized. Ginny hadn't been happy. George, Molly, Charlie, and Arthur hadn't cared. Bill had foolishly entered the bank to plea or protest – no one was sure. What was clear was that he had been immediately seized as an indentured servant to work off the debt. None of the rest of the family had seen him since, and none had dared step foot in the bank since.
Fleur had been devastated.
The Weasleys were making do. Hard times were nothing new to them. Though Ron was somehow skating by on his war-hero status… The Daily Prophet was heaping praise upon praise on the Pureblood son of Arthur and Molly Weasley. Ron was really living it up. The least shy of the golden trio, he was more than willing to give interview after interview. Free food and drinks with tons of publicity made him very happy.
On the other end of the spectrum, Hermione was in the dump. She was not only wanted by the law, but was also officially broke. Her Gringotts vault (which hadn't had much in it) was confiscated, her muggle bank account had somehow been seized as well, and she had been owled the remaining balance that she owed – it was a lot, much more than she could ever hope to earn in several lifetimes. Should she step into a Gringotts branch, she would become an indentured servant to the goblins as well.
Harry was fined heavily, and every goblin created heirloom in his vaults taken. Harry hadn't cared. He had tried to pay for Ron and Hermione as well, but even he, with the Black fortune, couldn't afford it.
The goblins were also demanding the return of the Gryffindor sword. But it had vanished soon after the battle of Hogwarts. Harry didn't know where it was, and Neville said he didn't either. Harry had no reason to suspect the new Lord Longbottom of deception – he theorized that the sword had likely been recalled to the sorting hat by magic, again.
So here they were…
Hermione could make a living as a solicitor at this point, with all her knowledge of the law, she just couldn't be seen by an Auror. She had yet to find anything to help their current situation.
Stupid Umbridge. To beat Voldemort, only to fall under the heavy yoke of bureaucracy.
Was the pen actually mightier than the sword? It was looking that way.
[Present – Little Hangleton Graveyard – Late Night – June 24, 1995]
Matching green eyes met.
Fourth year Harry stared, it was like looking into a mirror, but not… He wasn't as muscular, nor quite as tall, his hair wasn't cut as short. He was in wizard robes, his counterpart was in muggle attire, jeans and a T-shirt, with rune engraved metal bracelets on both arms.
And he didn't think he had ever looked so serious, so sad and concerned.
Older Harry broke the silence. "I'm sorry."
Younger Harry: "F-for w-wha-t?"
"For not freeing you sooner, for letting you…" he swallowed, but looked his younger self in the eye. "I know what the torture curse feels like. I experienced that too. It… it makes your nerves feel like they are on fire, and it will take days for it to wear off. No potion will help, I know. You'll still be feeling this when you board the Hogwarts Express, and it's my fault. I could have intervened earlier, but we wanted all the Death Eaters captured too. So… so I let him torture you. I'm sorry, for your pain. But you should know that because of this, hopefully you'll be able to avoid a lot of future suffering."
"V-vold-m-mort?"
"We got him," reported older Harry with a sad smile. "We have almost all of him now, just a couple more pieces to collect and he'll be completely vanquished from this world."
"H-how?"
"Planning, preparation, and execution. Future knowledge sure doesn't hurt either."
"W-what?"
"I'm you from the future. …A future Hermione and Fleur say no longer exists… But about 5 years ago, for me, that was me tied to that tombstone in this graveyard…" His voice trailed off for a moment, before he visibly shook himself. "We knew what would happen, and we used that knowledge to our advantage, to change things, hopefully for the better."
Older Harry, still supporting his younger self, looked around, dark memories clouding his brain.
His younger self was trembling in the aftereffects of Crucitas exposure.
"Harry!" A new voice, a very familiar voice yelled from the distance. "We'll tell him more later. He's been through enough tonight as it is. Get him over here so we can send him back with the cup. Madam Pomfrey can check him there."
Harry, both younger and older, made their way slowly toward the voice, a dark shadow in the night.
"H-her-mI-neE?"
Older Harry nodded. "Yeah. Her and Fleur pretty much cooked this entire thing up. Hermione was pissed at the world, especially Umbridge, and Fleur was in the same boat. Together…" He shook his head. "You'll never meet a pair of smarter, more scary witches."
"Uh-Um-b-bridge?"
"Oh, that's right, you haven't met her. She is, or was, Fudge's Undersecretary. You don't have to worry about her. Fleur and Hermione introduced her to Aragog and his family earlier tonight."
Young Harry's eyes widened.
Older Harry gave him a sympathetic smile, "Yeah, scary right?"
"F-fleur?"
"Older Fleur, she came back with me and Hermione. Three is apparently a pretty powerful magical number, and we each held one of three magical items when we did the ritual."
"R-rit-ual?"
They came to a stop beside a group of women. One was clearly Fleur, she was dressed all in black, curve hugging black, and huddled up in a close conversation with a busty, red robed, monocled woman with steel gray hair, and Hermione, and others. Neither one of the first two acknowledged the Harrys.
Hermione broke from the huddle to stand in front of them, a big black dog trotting meekly by her side.
The reason for the dog's obedience was soon clear: it was leashed and bandaged (across its head). Younger Harry stared with wide eyes, older Harry smirked.
Older Hermione was a very thin, aged, taller version of her 4th year self. Her hair was still wild, but her face really showed the toils of war. Her chocolate brown eyes were kind, but had bags under them. She was also wearing rune engraved metal bracelets like older Harry. It was she who answered younger Harry.
"The ritual isn't important now Harry, we can talk about it later. You need to take the Tri-wizard cup back with Auror Tonks here, she'll get you sorted out. Say hi to my younger self for me."
A young pink-haired witch had also broke from the witch huddle to join them. She grinned impishly at him, before her eyes trailed back over to his older self appraisingly. Younger Harry couldn't help but compare her look to that of Ginny Weasley.
Older Hermione was still talking: "…she'll stay with you. And if Fudge or Dumbledore try to cause any issues, just tell them that Madam Bones will be along shortly. That should pacify them for a bit."
"W-what… 'bout… y-you?"
Hermione looked down at her young best friend. He was so short. And young, still relatively unscathed from the horrors of war. A war she and her friends had just pretty much ended, before it could get started.
Hermione smiled softly. "You'll be seeing us soon too. And Harry, you don't need to worry about going back to your relatives this summer. Alternate accommodations are being arranged." The dog barked. "If padfoot can't take you in, one of us will, legal or not."
The dog barked again and ran a quick circle around both Harry's and Hermione, trying to tangle them up in the leash.
Hermione conjured a newspaper, her eyes narrowing on their target.
Padfoot whimpered and sank to the floor in instant submission, his paws covering the bandage on his head, his tail between his legs.
~(Future Past – Grimmauld Place – June 17, 2000)~
~What Was, and May Never Be~
"FILTHY HALF-BREED! FRENCH SWINE! YOU ARE UNWELCOME IN THE HOUSE OF BLACK! YOU -"
A silencing spell was dropped on the portrait of Mrs. Black, as Fleur marched through the house. A witch on a mission, she didn't have time for mudslinging.
"'Arry! 'Ermione!"
"In here." Came the answer from the kitchen.
Fleur stormed into the kitchen, "I have it!" she announced triumphantly.
"Have what?" questioned Harry absently from the table, where he was attempting to do the Quibbler animal search.
"The anzwer!"
"You see the Nargle?"
"What? No. The anzwer to the foolish British problems, the anzwer to everything!"
She was excited – which was rare. Fleur was in near the same boat as Hermione. Veela were deemed creatures by the current administration and forced to register with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Refusing to do that, and be assigned a 'proper handler' saw them thrown in Azkaban.
Fleeing back to France wouldn't work for Fleur either, as Great Britain and France still had extradition treaties in place. Fleur had been hiding with the Weasley's. With Bill gone, she was technically without a handler, a wild beast that anyone could legally capture to do with as they wanted. Fleur would burn the first foolish wizard who tried.
Hermione surfaced from the thick book she was reading. "Answer, what is the answer to everything?"
"Time travel, of course."
"Time turners don't go back far enough," stated Hermione flatly, her tone neutral. She knew Fleur was smarter than that. What had the French witch found?
"No time turnerz. A time-space continuum ritual."
"Rituals are banned in Great Britain, so is messing with time."
"So are Muggle-borns and Veela," retorted Fleur, a flash of fire in her eyes.
"Touché." Agreed Hermione calmly, more than willing to look over the stack of highly illegal books Fleur was pulling out of her bottomless purse.
[Present – Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch – Late Night – June 24, 1995]
With his usual grace when dealing with magical means of transportation, Harry appeared in the winner's circle with the Tri-wizard cup and one rainbow haired Auror – all flat on their back.
"Yo, Boy-wonder," groaned Tonks, her hair settling on a puke green shade for the moment. "What'd you do to that portkey?"
"I… t-touched… it." His speech still broken from the Crucitas curse exposure.
"Well don't touch it again." Ordered the red robed Auror, her sense of balance worse than usual as she unsteadily tried to regain her feet. "Like a windstorm on fire-whiskey," she muttered darkly under her breath, her eyes scanning their surroundings for any threats to herself or her young charge.
"HARRY!" A bushy maned brunette was fighting through the crowd, her pace near frantic.
Tonks smirked brightly. "Hey lover-boy, your girlfriend is here."
"N-not… girl… f-friend…"
Tonks smiled mischievously, watching the young witch approach. "We can take care of that right quick, you know. Just look at the worry in her eyes… kiss her and she might be yours." She coached teasingly.
Harry just grunted as he forced himself to his feet – only to unceremoniously tumble back to the ground immediately when the brunette headed missile impacted his chest, taking them both down.
"Harry, I was so worried! What happened? Where did you go? Is that blood? Oh Harry! You're hurt! Why are you shaking? Let me get Madam Pomfrey! How bad is it? Can you walk? Do you need – "
Young Hermione's endless slew of rapid-fire questions was cut off when Harry's lips met hers.
At first she froze, like a deer caught in the headlights, and Harry started to pull away, prepared for rejection.
With a firm grip on the back of his head, Hermione clamped down and didn't allow him to pull any further away. She began to respond earnestly, hungrily, meshing their lips together with over-eager, bruising force. As inexperienced as they were, and with Harry's body still shaking a bit, their teeth and noses bumped together more than once, unpleasantly at times, but that didn't deter either of them.
After a few long moments, a wolf whistle from the Auror above broke up the impromptu snog.
With a wide smile Tonks began, "Now, while I applaud the sentiment. And the execution," she winked at Harry, "this ain't the proper time or place."
Matching teenage blushes met her statement, and Tonks smile grew wider as the kids regained their feet (very gingerly, and with help in Harry's case).
"First, lover-boy here needs some healing, real healing. Only after that would I suggest a more private broom closet, away from prying eyes, you know. I'd personally recommend the broom cupboard on the 4th floor, opposite the painting of the yellow dragon blowing a smoke ring. Back in my time they said that was the roomiest closet in the whole school, might even be able to fit a small bed in there if you were so inclined… not that I'd know anything about that."
Two beet-red faces stared back at her. And with an evil cackle, Tonks locked arms with young Harry and started dragging him away from the approaching judges (Dumbledore included, but no Karkaroff in sight). She was taking them back toward the castle. "Come along young witch, it'll probably be best if young Casanova here gets a visit with Madam Pomfrey before you apply your own brand of 'healing' magic."
Hermione got unbelievably redder. She trailed them silently, her eyes downcast, but her lips locked in a goofy grin, and her hand pulsing in sync with Harry's, their fingers interlocked.
"I gotta say girl," commented Tonks over her shoulder, "You got good taste in boys. This one here," Tonks nodded wisely toward red-faced Harry, "You gotta good young man there – from all that I've seen and heard about. I'd latch on to him proper like if I were you. Maybe tie him up and tie him down, if you know what I mean."
Hermione's eyes locked on Tonks eyes briefly and widened comically.
Tonks laughed and continued relentlessly. "Brave, smart, and powerful from what I hear. Tri-wizard Champion with a golden personality to boot." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Let me tell you girl, those aren't easy to find, next to impossible really." Tonks shook her head. "Like I said, I'd lock him up and throw away the key if I were you. I'm considering doing it myself." Tonks leered excessively, "Just imagine what kind of man he will grow up to be."
The red-robed witch chuckled darkly.
Harry tried to pull away, he really tried, but he was still weak from his torture, and Tonks was a lot stronger than she looked. She kept his arm firmly locked with hers and marched on.
Hermione, Harry couldn't believe it, but she wasn't saying anything in his defense, lost in her thoughts, she just nodded along, as if she were agreeing with Tonks.
Harry was drug on toward the Hospital Wing by the crazy, now pink-haired witch. It felt like his ears were releasing steam and his hand pulsed with his heartbeat – in Hermione's grip.
He was still holding her hand! He wasn't planning on letting go anytime soon. Especially not with the crazy Auror around. He'd need to warn his older self.
~(Future Past – Grimmauld Place – June 22, 2000)~
~What Was, and May Never Be~
Harry stared at his once clean kitchen table dejectedly; he couldn't see the wood surface. With a slightly irritated huff, he ate his breakfast standing by the counter.
Hermione and Fleur were analyzing their hand drawn diagrams, the rune engraved bracelets, several books, and the master checklist one last time at the table.
They were talking about things he had no hope of understanding.
He did know that they had agreed on the ritual, the components, and the participates – they would all three be doing it, and they planned on doing it today.
Calibrated for five years, if it worked as planned, they'd arrive in the past a couple days before the third Task, the perfect time to set up an ambush on an unsuspecting Dark Lord and his followers.
[Altered Past – Grimmauld Place – June 22, 1995]
Padfoot was napping on the ratty old couch when he was startled awake by a sudden large *BOOM!* The entire house shaking in the aftershocks, and the scent of ozone permeating the air.
"Owww." The muffled sound of groaning bodies had the canine form of Sirius Black leaping from the couch and streaking toward the source of the disturbance – the basement door.
The large black dog paused at the top of the stairs to listen, his canine ear cocked…
"Hermione?"
"I'm alive. Oohhhh, my head."
"Fleur?"
""Ead Potion, please 'arry?"
"I don't have the potions, I thought you did."
"'Ermione?"
"A… moment." The sound of a zipper…
"'Arry, is that your godfathzer?"
Sky blue eyes framed by silver-blonde hair and the face of an angel were locked on the large black dog, eyeing it with interest.
"Uh, oh, yeah. That's …Sirius." Harry's voice broke at the end, and he turned away, blinking back tears.
A sharp questioning bark from the top of the stairs had all three people in the basement wincing in pain, clutching their heads.
Hermione reprimanded the mutt as she dug through her bag, "Quiet Sirius, our heads… Oh, here."
A vial of purple liquid triumphantly in hand, Hermione wasted no time in pulling the cork and downing it in one gulp.
"Hey!" protested Fleur, only to cut off the protest when Hermione summoned two more vials out of the bag, passing them out to the two other people in the basement, Sirius watching curiously from the top of the stairs.
Sirius transformed back to his human shape at the top of the stairs, his eyes locked questioningly on his Godson. A Godson who looked… bigger..?
The two witches made their way up the stairs, Sirius staring. Fleur was her usual beautiful self (Sirius had never met her before), but Hermione, Sirius was flabbergasted by the changes in the young brunette. He had met her during his Hogwarts escape, and again later in the Hogsmeade cave. While it had been dark, and crazy, he still thought he had a pretty good image of her – it was nothing like the young woman before him – it almost looked like she had done some time in Azkaban herself. And Harry –
His Godson locked him in a tight hug, squeezing all the air out of his lungs and refusing to let go for a soberingly long time. He patted Harry on the back awkwardly, he hadn't had much physical contact in the last thirteen years.
"Padfoot…"
"Yeah, Pronglet?" he wheezed.
A deep body inhale, an uncomfortable tightening of the hug, "It's good to see you." The voice was deeper than it should be, rough and emotional.
Sirius laughed, "It's good to see you too, but shouldn't you still be at Hogwarts? You've still got another tournament task to complete. Do you need help? Maybe," Sirius wiggled his eyebrows, "a ritual room for you and the ladies to 'prepare' in?"
Harry broke the hug and stepped back, his eyes suspiciously bright and moist. Sirius couldn't decide if he was holding back tears or hysterical laughter.
"Oh Sirius, you have no idea…"
~(Future Past – Grimmauld Place – June 21, 2000)~
~What Was, and May Never Be~
"So basically we do the ritual in Grimmauld Place's basement and appear there in the past, five years back?" reiterated Harry.
Hermione and Fleur gave matching, confident nods. That was reassuring.
"Then we start 'fixing' things?"
Hermione and Fleur gave matching, determined nods.
"What and how?"
He had been told the answers already, but they needed to all be on the same page. No miscues, they needed to get this done right.
Hermione led off, "Sirius needs to be legally freed. A simple inquiry at the Ministry will prove he never got a trial. Amelia Bones should be alive and in charge of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We will reach out to her, meet in person preferably. According to everything we know, she is the least corrupt person at the Ministry –"
"Which isn't really saying much." Interjected Harry. "She didn't offer any help at my trial."
"Right," replied Hermione. "But she had nothing to gain by helping you then, and she didn't know any better. This time we'll get her on our side. We know she's somewhat politically ambitious. Give her some political ammunition to use against Fudge, Dumbledore and the past administration, we believe she barely tolerates Fudge as it is, and we can spring her straight into the Minister's chair. She'll be happy, alive, Sirius will be freed, and we'll have a strong Ministry ally moving forward."
"That sounds good. And I know the lack of a trial is solid," granted Harry, "But you and I both know Fudge and Malfoy senior will do everything they can to cover it up. Lucius Malfoy is dead set on Draco becoming Lord Black. I don't know if Bones alone will be able to combat that. I don't think Dumbledore ever even tried before."
"It doesn't really matter how long it takes to legally free Sirius," stated Hermione resolutely, "The important thing is we get the ball rolling, and that Amelia Bones is in the know, and willing to show up by our side on the night of the Third Task. We get her, and a select group of people we know we can trust to the graveyard. We kill or capture Voldemort and his followers. Even if we don't succeed entirely there, we'll have Bones in our corner. And we do what we must to prevent any draconian laws from being legally pushed through the Wizengamot. That would be a win."
The three nodded in sync, everything revolved around the graveyard, it was the perfect nexus, the one moment where everything could be altered.
[Altered Past – Ministry – June 23, 1995]
"So Black allegedly never got a trial, that doesn't prove he didn't commit the crimes." Stated Bones bluntly, her steely gaze trailing over the two witches who had dared interrupt her lunch. She should have eaten in her office; the Ministry cafeteria was too open.
"No," stated the wild haired brunette calmly, a witch who looked like she could use a few good meals. "But it's not hard to prove Black didn't commit murder when the wizard he 'killed' was seen a year ago on Hogwarts soil, very much alive."
"And you reported this? I never received any notice of this allegation." Snapped Bones, her patience running thin.
She didn't care if the witches were supposedly representing Lord Black. As far as she knew there wasn't a current Lord Black, and these two were blowing hot air.
"Minister Fudge himself, his Auror escort, and Chief Warlock Dumbledore were all present when Peter Pettigrew was reported as being spotted on the school grounds."
Bones ground her teeth. "You can prove this?" Her tone made it very clear that if her time was wasted, they would probably be wasting their time in a Ministry holding cell.
Older Hermione nodded firmly.
Older Fleur just stood quietly beside her, her allure easily distracting all the weak-willed Ministry employees surrounding them, even the balding redhead eating from a beat-up lunch box in the corner.
Fleur closed her eyes and swallowed. Her Bill was alive and free. "Soon my love," she whispered under her breath. "Soon."
~(Future Past – Grimmauld Place – June 21, 2000)~
~What Was, and May Never Be~
"Gringotts is going to be a problem, a big problem." Harry's comment didn't surprise either of his two coconspirators, it was an issue. The horcrux in Bellatrix LeStrange's vault had been very difficult to acquire last time, this time they needed a better way. They had yet to agree upon an approach.
"Lord Black?" Suggested Fleur.
"Nope," answered Hermione, "she's a LeStrange now. It's in the LeStrange vault."
"The Ministry?" questioned Harry.
"Can't. They're bound by the latest goblin treaty." Lectured Hermione. "Gringotts is goblin territory, and all treasury falls under the dominion of the bank. The Ministry can order vaults turned over or confiscated, but all they'd be doing is wasting the parchment and ink the order was written with – the goblins would likely just ignore the order."
"Rob it again..?" Fleur's tone was laced with weary humor, but her suggestion was serious. Images and thoughts of her beloved racing through her mind.
Nobody had seen Bill since he stepped foot in the bank, nobody had dared follow him – lest they share his fate. She felt like a coward, but she knew, logically, that going to the bank wouldn't help him. Still, she missed him so much!
[Altered Past – Gringotts – June 23, 1995]
"'Ello."
"H-hi." Bill's eyes couldn't leave the image of feminine perfection standing before him, talking to him.
"Do you work 'ere?" inquired the blonde beauty, her attention unwavering, invigorating.
"Yeah," He coughed, straightening up to his full height. "I'm Bill Weasley. I'm a Curse-Breaker with Gringotts." He introduced himself, aiming to impress. "Not here though, I'm currently stationed in Egypt, just in for a few days."
"I'm Fleur." She graced him with a hand shake, and unbelievably continued to give him her undivided attention. "You are 'ere on vacation? But you are English?"
"Yeah, visiting family." He clarified. "You?"
She delicately arched one impeccably manicured eyebrow, her perfect forehead producing one, cute little wrinkle as a result. "Pardon? What about me?"
"Are you, uh, are you here for vacation too? You sound French." He offered lamely, cursing himself internally.
"Oi, I am French." That was said with no small amount of pride. "I am just visiting too. I needed to exchange some money, and I was conzidering applying for a job here."
"Here?" Smooth, real smooth.
"Oi. I am between choosing enchanting or curse-breaking. Zee bank surely needs both?"
"Uh, I'm not sure. I mean I know they use curse-breakers, I am one, but enchanting… I'm not so sure…"
Bill Weasley thought hard, his body tightening at the thought of the blonde goddess walking away. No! He needed to keep her here, he needed to talk to her some more, get a chance to know her. Maybe… He glanced between her and the goblin tellers on duty. Maybe… She flashed him a smile and it was decided, to hell with any repercussions.
"Say, if you have some time, maybe I can show you around the facility? If you are interested in working here, you'd need to know what you're in for." He leaned forward conspiratorially, "I might even be able to get you in to see some of the higher-end security measures in place." He flicked his dragon fang earring meaningfully.
Her eyes widened, oh yeah, she'd like to see a dragon. He'd make it happen. The morning shift manager owed him a favor, he'd cash it in and more to get a private tour with this woman.
He smiled winningly, "So, after you exchange your money, do you have any plans?"
Her appraising look was all the answer he needed to classify this as a great day.
Bill Weasley's plans for the rest of the afternoon cleared as if by magic. And his plans for the morning (showing Fleur around the bank) were solidifying as he plotted ways to spend more time with her.
[Altered past – Morning Briefing – Ministry – June 24, 1995]
Junior Auror Tonks stood beside Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hestia Jones, and five other people in crimson robes. Each stared back at their boss, blinking owlishly at the news.
Amelia Bones had just informed them that Lord Black had sent representatives to pay the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement a personal visit, in relation to the Sirius Black manhunt. As a result, Sirius Black was no longer believed to be guilty beyond a shred of doubt. The Kiss on Sight order was officially revoked, and Black was merely wanted for questioning.
New information implying Blacks innocence had apparently surfaced, and been confirmed, …over a decade later. Nothing suspicious there at all. Especially considering it must be truly compelling evidence for Bones to straight up bypass Fudge and his Toady to have the Kiss order officially withdrew immediately.
Tonks was confused. Her mom had educated her thoroughly on her side of the family (mainly who and what to avoid). She was sure there was no current Lord Black, at least not as far as her mother knew. Draco Malfoy, being the only male of close relation, was next in line to assume the position. His father, Lucius Malfoy, was even now voting in proxy for House Black in the Wizengamot, in place of his son. A son that had not reached his majority, and therefore couldn't have obtained his Lordship yet...
Who the hell was Lord Black?
It didn't matter.
Her now presumed innocent cousin had broken out of Azkaban, and the only crime he had technically committed, according to Bones and her mysterious informant, was squatting on Ministry property (Azkaban) without a permit (never mind that Aurors deliberately held him imprisoned there) and eating Ministry food (inmate fare) for nearly a dozen years without soliciting the rights to do so (he could be accused of stealing prison food).
Tonks scowled darkly; her mom was going to be pissed.
Her boss droned on and on, unaware of the force of nature known as Andromeda Tonks that was going to be descending upon the Ministry offices in righteous fury soon. Andromeda might go by the last name Tonks now, but she had been born a Black. And everyone knew the Blacks reputation – it was well earned. You never crossed a Black twice.
A now it was being acknowledged that some idiots had locked up Sirius Black, the pureblood Heir to House Black, in Azkaban, for no reason.
Auror Tonks almost felt sorry for her boss, almost. Amelia Bones was a grown woman, she'd be able to handle it. At least Bones was unlikely a part of the coverup, or initial injustice.
There was no nonsense from Bones, ever.
"…you will present yourselves to me, here, at 1600 hours this evening. Do not be late, do not mention this to anyone. You will be given further details for your assignments then. Until then, you have the morning off. I'd suggest a small sleeping potion and a nap, I need you all sharp for later. Plan on a late night, full combat dress."
Tonks slowly meandered toward a bunk in the Auror barracks. She decided that she would follow her boss's advice and chugged a three hour sleeping potion on the way. There was no need to inform her mother of Sirius Blacks supposed situation, at least not yet, there'd be no sleep when that came out.
[Altered Past – Midday – Forbidden Forest – June 24, 1995]
Fleur and Hermione stared coldly at the Ministry toady who had made their future lives miserable.
Umbridge fumed, wailed, and whined, struggling the entire time. The thick webs holding her squat frame secure did not give, they just sent vibrations through the strands, notifying their creators that prey was caught.
Rustling, clicking noises could be heard from the surrounding forest, as large creatures moved closer to the disturbance.
One discrete note, written by Hermione had the Minister's Undersecretary up in arms, and looking for any excuse to punish the cretin who dared imply her Cornelius was a dirty politician. Without hesitation Dolores agreed to meet the little Trollip at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, she'd get the dirt, then she'd make the problem disappear, like many others had before.
The forest would be a terrible place for a witch to get lost, without her wand – it was a thought shared by both parties.
It was the future fugitive Hermione who was openly waiting by the edge of the forest to 'talk'.
Umbridge opened communication with a stunner to the back from under an invisibility cloak.
Hermione fell face first to the ground.
Umbridge tutted as she emerged from under her invisibility cloak. The Ministry Undersecretary never saw Fleur drop her disillusionment charm behind her, and subsequently drop her with a stunner as well.
Hermione was revived, and Umbridge was relieved of her wand.
It was Hermione (via Harry) who knew exactly where the acromantula colony webs were located.
It was Older Hermione and Older Fleur who wandered back out of the forest sometime later, cold, vindictive smiles adoring their faces.
The day just kept getting better and better.
Fleur in particular was in fine spirit. First she had spent the morning with Bill at the bank (he hadn't been free to meet his mother at Hogwarts for the family meeting with younger Harry before the third Task – he'd been with her. So he hadn't met her younger self, which was good – she didn't, wouldn't share. She was closer to his age than her younger self anyway. She'd try to steer her younger self toward Harry – either one – they would be a good match for her).
On her tour of the bank with Bill, they just so happened to visit an old dragon… An Imperius curse was briefly used. A specific vault guarded by the dragon was opened, nothing was stolen, but a few drops of basilisk venom were added to the inventory of the vault. Added in such a manner that they fell upon a certain golden chalice bearing Hufflepuffs crest. The cup was… slightly reconfigured (melted by venom).
A shrieking Voldemort shade, an obliviate later, and Bill was none the wiser. His smile just as charming as ever, as she walked around with her love all over again. She dared hope his feelings would be mutual in the near future.
She really would be applying for a job in the Gringotts Branch, just not the London one. She was leaning toward either the Paris or Cairo Branch.
Name: Fleur Delacour.
Age: 22.
Criminal record: No charged crimes at the present time.
Facts Gringotts should be aware of: I'm a time-traveling Veela. Two others and myself have saw fit to skip back in time to ruin the Dark Lord Voldemort's resurrection and prevent a British Civil War. We have and are actively preventing a British Totalitarian Dictatorship ran by Tom Riddle – a government that would further negate creature rights, and completely gut the British economy. I have saved the Bank a lot of money and suffering. It would be in your best interest to hire me.
[Altered Past – Little Hangleton – June 23, 1995]
The rundown shack with the snakeskin nailed to the door looked vacant – it wasn't.
The dust on the floor showed no signs of footprints – but that made sense, as the house didn't have any living occupants.
Harry and Sirius carefully skated through and around the wards, using parselmouth to bypass them one by one. Seriously, Harry hissing some combination of: 'Open', 'Slytherin', 'Heir Slytherin', or 'Lord Voldemort' got them through each ward. Tom Riddle really did believe himself the last parselmouth in Great Britain – how arrogant of him.
Arrogance had nothing to do with the Inferi – they had no emotion, just orders from their creator. When Harry and Sirius entered the shack, they attacked.
It was unfortunate that they were so spaced out, one appearing from each corner of the room, a backward flip of Harry's fire whip caught the moldy curtains on fire as he dealt with the last Inferi.
Sirius, ever the prankster that he was, transformed into Padfoot to hike a back leg and pee on the flaming curtains.
His ploy at humor didn't work, and the attempt backfired on him when a crumbling, flaming curtain rod fell, striking him hard on the head.
With a yelp of pain, the big black dog leaped away.
Harry laughed, and conjured a bandage for his loyal canine companion.
[Present – Hogwarts Hospital Wing – Late Night – June 24, 1995]
Young Hermione was attempting to read a textbook, by candlelight, beside Harry's bed when she heard the Hospital Wing door open… the muffled sound of voices… then footsteps headed her way…
A single cloaked and hooded figure made their way up the aisle toward Harry's bed.
Hermione, still unsure what mess Harry had gotten himself in this time, watched the approaching figure wearily.
The cloaked figure came to a stop directly across Harry's bed from her, their hood still masking their features. Ever so slowly two arms rose, the robes sleeves rolling back to expose two pale, feminine hands, wrists adored by heavy metal bracelets… The hands gripped the hood, pulling it back.
Hermione gasped in shock.
The figure sighed, looking between young Hermione and her best friend. "We had to do it you know, make the trip back in time. Things were just too broken to be fixed… We knew Voldemort would summon his followers, we had to wait… We couldn't interrupt, we couldn't stop Harry getting tortured, it breaks my heart, but it had to be done. We were at hand to rescue him should it not go to plan, but we had a plan, and we had to stick to it. We, older Harry, Fleur, and myself, were on site. Padfoot and Aurors were there too… I had to leash Sirius to keep him from interfering… Listening to Harry scream, I'll have nightmares about that for the rest of my life, but we had to stick to the plan. Harry was adamant about it. Both younger and older Harry agreed it was necessary. I hope you can understand."
Young Hermione just stared dumbly for a moment, before her brain rebooted and she began her long list of ever-growing questions. She eagerly listened as her older doppelganger told her of her future past that would never be.
Questions were asked and answered both ways.
Smiles and tears were shared.
Midway through the interrogation they were interrupted by the clicking noise of nails on stone. Padfoot ran into the infirmary, eagerly took in those present, then leapt gently up onto the foot of Harry's bed. The large dog curled up there, careful not to disturb his injured, slumbering Godson. Older Hermione absently reached out and scratched his furry head, careful to avoid the bandage still adoring it.
Changes were being made, terrific, terrifying changes.
Hermione Granger would never be the same, she wasn't the only one having their future altered.
Older Hermione was delighted that Younger Harry had kissed her younger self. As the details emerged, Older Hermione was firm: they were totally crediting Tonks for that, Harry would have never acted without her prompting. Older Hermione was determined to introduce the shapeshifting Auror to Remus Lupin immediately as compensation.
Padfoot had whined at this – Older Hermione had just laughed softly and continued scratching his head. She had told him that he had to have his innocence publicized far and wide in the Daily Prophet before he was allowed to find a lady friend, at least a lady friend who wouldn't suck out his soul. He also needed a number of solid meals (greens too!), a bath, and a haircut to if he desired a decent lady.
Younger Hermione observed her older self clinically throughout the meeting, noting her interactions with the transformed Sirius Black, the way she talked about Harry...
Younger Hermione was fully behind introducing Auror Tonks to Remus Lupin – the pink haired woman had made one too many comments about tying Harry up to allow younger Hermione to feel fully comfortable with the witch around her best friend, even if it wasn't the same boyfriend whose hand she was currently holding.
[Altered Past – Little Hangleton Graveyard – June 24, 1995]
The boy's scream cut through the night air, ripping at her heart – but she held firm, she didn't act. They had strict orders, orders from the boss lady herself. Orders Director Bones and freakin' Harry Potter himself were there to enforce.
Older, war veteran, time-travelling Harry Potter that is, not the fourth year Gryffindor student currently tied to a tombstone.
Older Harry with his muscular physique, dark raven locks, and dreamy green eyes. So serious, his world weary demeanor that should never grace the face of one so young. The guy could use some laughs. …and a night out on the town. Maybe some drinking and dancing…
Her thoughts on the dishy young man (whom she judged to be near her own age, with no wedding ring) were interrupted by another toe-curling scream of pain from captive Harry.
Tonks teeth ground together, her hair – already black – became impossibly darker, her knuckles were now bone white, clenched tight around her wand.
She wanted to go in wand-ablazing, to rescue the helpless boy – it was her job, her instinct.
It was also her instinct to seek out a hole to hide in. You-Know-Who himself was stalking that graveyard!
Tonks was old enough to remember the terror that wizard produced in her parents and their generation. The things he was reputed to have done… An involuntary shiver went up her spine.
"Easy there Tonks," a steady, soothing hand on her shoulder, a calm, low voice whispering huskily in her ear.
"Take a deep breath." Coached the subject of her thoughts, the older version of the young teen baring the pain for tonight's mission. "We have a plan. We have to stick to the plan. A little suffering now will save a lot of lives later." He paused, as if convincing himself of the words he was speaking. "He will be okay. Sure, it'll hurt, a lot, but he'll be fine. Much better in the long run. I know, I survived this and worse. We have to stick to the plan. It's almost over now."
Tonks attempted to follow his instructions and took a deep breath, inflating her chest much more than necessary, a reflex means of lightening the heavy atmosphere, a distraction. But the man beside her didn't even notice her ballooned double D cups straining the front of her robes, his intense emerald gaze was locked in the distance, on his younger self and the evil wizard reveling in the torture.
Older Harry's jaw was locked tight as well, his lips thin.
He might say not to interfere, that everything was fine, but he knew it wasn't. Tonks could see it, he wanted to step in as well. But Tonks also knew that logically he was right, they couldn't, not yet. They needed to stick to the plan.
She reached out and drug older Harry into a comforting hug, like she wanted to hug younger Harry. Older Harry would have to do. Slightly altering her body, she gained a few extra inches and pulled him to her, molding their bodies together, pressing her curves teasingly into him as a distraction from the torture and impending fight.
He didn't seem the least bit comforted.
Like a lion eyeing the cage door, he endured the embrace for but a moment before breaking it, stepping to the side, rolling his shoulders and pacing, scanning their surroundings once more.
Harry Potter was a man of action. Tonks found herself, without question, attracted to him. His dark muggle clothes showing off his fit form. It was a welcome distraction for her.
Seconds seemed like minutes, minutes like hours, as they waited for the worst Dark Lord of the last half century to quit toying with young Harry Potter and summon his loyal henchmen.
*Growling*
Sparing a glance to the side, Tonks could see the bushy haired witch wrestling with the big dog they had, for some unexplained reason, brought along.
Now was not the time for this. If the dog ruined their trap Bones would skin the poor animal alive.
*Barking*
The brunette witch was trying to pin the dog, but he was nearly as big as she was, and she wasn't having much luck.
…You-Know-Who turned toward them in the distance… He shouldn't be able to magically detect them, or see them, but the barking…
Crap! They should have laid down noise cancelling wards!
Tonks and Older Harry both moved to help the brunette witch, Herm- something or other. (Tonks had never been good with names...)
A blonde witch, a Veela, she didn't remember her name either, stepped in before either could get there and flared her aura once. The dog and surrounding male Aurors stilled – caught up in the Veela charm.
The bushy haired witch wasted no time in conjuring and attaching a leash and collar on the drooling canine.
Odd that… Tonks didn't know animals could be affected by Veela magic.
Older Harry, who for some weird reason hadn't gone starry eyed at the Veela voodoo (Tonks would briefly contemplate this later, before dismissing it after seeing young Harry snog a concerned female classmate), dropped to a knee by the dog. He shook it briefly, then whispered urgently in its shaggy ear.
The tension was pliable, You-Know-Who was looking toward them from the distance, his evil red eyes glowing in the night – that wasn't natural.
Another cold shiver went down Tonks back.
You-Know-Who stared toward them for far too long, before finally turning back to Pettigrew and pressing his wand to the Dark Mark, to summon his followers.
Tonks and the other Aurors immediately, eagerly breathed a sigh of relief as they prepared themselves – bubblehead charms all the way around – even on the large dog.
The sleeping potions were strategically poured out, and each auror had an emergency vial in hand, just in case.
Tense seconds… minutes maybe…
Then finally, people in dark cloaks and skull masks began apparating in, each magically drawn into the apparation zones previously set-up and warded. Each blinking into the surrounding darkness, unable to see the trap they'd fallen into. Each breathing.
One breath… two breaths…
Their eyes began drooping, their steps and movements slowed.
One by one the Death Eaters wilted to the ground, asleep before their heads hit the turf.
The Aurors sported victorious smiles, the heavy grade sleeping draughts doing their job.
Tonks and her co-workers began levitating their sleeping prisoners out of the warded zones, into areas where they could cuff them, unmask them, and drop DMLE portkeys on them.
Bones looked like Christmas had come early when Lucius Malfoy was unmasked. Tonks had never seen her boss look so happy – it was kind of scary.
*A low, tense warning bark*
Glowing red eyes, framed by a pale face were striding closer.
Shit!
~(Future Past – Hogwarts Courtyard – May 2, 1998)~
~What Was, and May Never Be~
Harry looked across the Hogwarts courtyard at the most feared wizard around, the reason for his orphan status, the sole reason for the war, the reason so many people were dead, and he felt …nothing.
He was exhausted.
He was tired of the running, tired of fighting, and tired of living on food scraps. He was tired of hunting for soul trophies, and tired of being the figurehead of a bunch of weak-willed wizards who hadn't put forth any effort to help themselves.
He was tired of it all.
How many killing curses did he have to take for the dude to go down, and stay down?
How much crap needed to be piled up before the average witch or wizard would grow a backbone? It was disconcerting how much pain and suffering they would willingly endure to remain anonymous, to not have to do anything. If they wanted freedom from tyranny, they should fight for it.
Harry clutched Draco's wand.
How he wished he had his trusty Holly and Phoenix wand to go against Voldemort.
Harry tightened his grip on the wand, ready.
He would do this, one last time, for his friends, but if the wanker had another horcrux stashed somewhere it was on someone else to step up and be the Wizarding Worlds Hero/whipping boy, he was done with it.
[Altered Past – Outskirts of Little Hangleton Graveyard – June 24, 1995]
Lord Voldemort flared the slits where his nose should be as he angrily stomped toward the outskirts of the graveyard.
His dumb pureblood minions were apparating in there (he could feel it through their marks) but for some reason not coming on in.
A little Cruciatus exposure would teach them the error in their ways. Making him wait was unacceptable, making him come to them – they would suffer.
Lord Voldemort paused suddenly, as he crossed a ward line that shouldn't be there. His glowing red eyes widened dramatically at the charge in the magically saturated air, the potion fumes hanging heavy, and his body seemed to slow …then his world exploded, quite literally.
A solid oak bench was the most identifiable culprit. The bench, as long and heavy as a hippogriff, could seat three adults comfortably. Before obtaining weapon (and flying) status, it had been largely seen as decorative, something to mow and weed eat around, something the occasional old person deemed necessary to sit on, despite the bird droppings almost always present on it. Now the graveyard grounds keepers would never have to worry about the bench again, it was in bloody splinters, with bits of brain and other body matter splattered on it.
That is what happens when you drop a very heavy wooden bench on an unsuspecting guys head, then explode it. It was messy.
Older Harry didn't care, it got the job done for his younger self. And he didn't plan on doing it ever again. No need to be a hero. No need for excessive, foolish wand waving, no need for glamorous posturing or witty banter.
He saw Voldemort. He dropped a bench on Voldemort with his trusty holly phoenix wand.
He ended Voldemort's current form much like Ron ended the Troll on Halloween during their first year. One silent Wingardium Leviosa. Simple point casting that most N.E.W.T. students could do. So easy.
People rarely look up during a fight.
The Aurors gathered around looked at him like he had grown a second head, no doubt stunned by how simple it had been to take down the wizard who's name they dared not say.
If they were disappointed that he didn't give Voldemort a chance to defend himself, that was too bad. This was war, you couldn't afford to be naïve, righteous, or merciful – it was much better to be alive. He had lived through a war; he would do what was necessary to avoid dragging it out this time.
The two people who had come back in time with him felt the same way. He wasn't sure what spells Hermione and Fleur had thrown, but he knew his flying bench shouldn't have exploded like that upon impact. And Voldemort had seemed unnaturally discombobulated when he crossed the ward line, almost like someone had hit him with an arresto momentum or confundo…
No need to dwell upon it. The job was done. Mark the prophecy and Voldemort's current body off their future past checklist.
Harry didn't stick around, he took one long look at the body, visually verified that it was dead, then headed on back the way Voldemort had come from.
His younger counterpart was still tied up in the distance.
His younger counterpart was the main reason Harry had done this.
Older Harry just so happened to meet Peter Pettigrew on the way to free his younger self. The whimpering, bleeding, one-handed man wasn't given a chance to plead for mercy. One satisfying punch later, and the rat-man was laid out, totally oblivious to the world around him.
A stunner and ropes for good measure, and Harry barely broke stride.
Absently rubbing his aching hand as he made his way toward his younger self. He might have broken a finger…
It was totally worth it. The meaty thud of his fist hitting the face of his parent's betrayer was a Patronus worthy memory. And the sight of Pettigrew's body wilting to the ground – immensely satisfying. He'd have to show his younger self the memory, maybe as a Christmas or birthday present…
~The End, for now. I might come back and throw a new future segment in at a later point.
Disclaimer: This story is a product of my time and effort. If you don't like it, that's fine. I wish you a good day.
I do not own Harry Potter. No copyright infringement is intended. I thank J.K. Rowling for kindly not shutting down our Harry Potter fanfiction stories.
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