Falling Leaves
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N¹: I messed up the year in the last chapter, it's 1976, not 1977. Oops! It's fixed now, just wanted to give you a heads-up :)
September 1996
Hermione had always thought she was more self-possessed than anyone in her circle of friends–that she was quite the collected, analytical individual and, ergo, able to act in a measured way at all times.
Not true. This belief was disproved by the way her lips insisted on curling up on their own accord this evening. Hermione would centre herself and relax her facial muscles, only to find them pulling upwards again like a misbehaving cat, intent on knocking over an item their owner had just put back into place. And since that approach to composing herself proved unsuccessful, she took to pressing her lips together into a pucker instead. No one could smile with a scrunched-up mouth.
And it worked. For a time.
The only issue with that tactic was that it didn't truly hold while she spoke and since she couldn't very well be silent, Hermione found herself unwittingly beaming on two separate occasions as she made her way to the Great Hall for supper.
In one such instance, she had crossed paths with Mr. Filch and what should have been a mere good evening greeting turned into a bright, cheerful, "Mrs. Norris' fur looks particularly fluffy today, don't you think?"
When the caretaker cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at her, Hermione cringed. She excused herself aloud and silently vouched to better control it next time.
Therefore, when met with a poorly hidden couple of fourth-years snogging in one of the corridors, Hermione adjusted her Prefect badge on her robes, forced a moue of displeasure onto her features and marched towards their hiding spot. "Honestly! There's an alcove on the seventh floor that's much farther away from sight than this one. You know, behind Lachlan the Lanky?"
She winced.
Awfully well done.
Hermione drew a deep breath in and slowly let it out. That was not what she had meant to say. Not only that, but she had smiled at them while doing so as though she was particularly keen to impart rule-breaking knowledge.
She was turning into Ronald.
Had she bothered to look, she would've noticed the befuddlement in the students' faces. But she hadn't bothered to look. She simply shook her head at herself, spun around, and resumed her way, footsteps light and, to her chagrin, rather bouncy until she reached Harry's side at the table and collapsed into her seat.
"Lovely night, isn't it?" She asked.
Oh, by Circe, Merlin, and Morgana! Might as well admit defeat and be delighted.
It wasn't that someone had managed to hit her with a cheery curse, although everyone would assume that was precisely the case. It was just… The feeling was genuine–it was just so rare, these days, that it seemed unseemly to allow herself that when everyone else was miserable.
All she had to do was look at Harry, and…
He shrugged. "I suppose."
But to suppress it entirely…it seemed dismissive. Perhaps she could dwell in it, just for the night?
Because it was wonderful, wasn't it?
It was perhaps the best thing she'd experienced, on par with getting a perfect score on an exam or watching her Patronus skip about, a visual manifestation of her happiest memory. And she now had another blissful one to call to mind if needed.
If she didn't loathe flying, she would have grabbed Harry's broom and raced it around the grounds, just so the rush she was feeling inside could be matched by the whooshing wind on her face.
It would have been a horrible idea to do so, but she could now understand the ridiculousness of Lavender and Parvati all these years.
The fluttering inside… it was more than pleasant. It was…giddy.
Bubbly.
Absolutely silly.
And to have your feelings reciprocated–it was… how could she put it?
Infectious in the best way possible, and so very warm, too.
She was smitten. Irreversibly so. If only everyone else could be it, too!
She huffed out a laugh.
"Wha's gotten into you?" Ron asked, and Hermione raised her head to face him. The clinking of tableware and the animated discussion of weekend plans at the Gryffindor table gained definition as she focused once again on her surroundings. Ron was still chewing something that looked like chicken, his mouth open. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the sight. "Managed to finagle extra homework or sumthin'?"
"Closed mouth while eating – we've had this conversation already, it's not that hard." Hermione passed him a napkin. "And not everything is schoolwork, Ronald."
Ron wheezed and choked, face growing steadily redder to match his hair before Ginny reached behind and thumped his back–with a little more force, perhaps, than required. Once the food was dislodged, he gulped half a glass of pumpkin juice. Yet his voice croaked when he spoke, "Not–Harry, did you hear that?"
"Yeah, that's mildly concerning, Hermione," The corners of Harry's mouth twitched. Perhaps she was not that bad a friend if Harry could be a little bit cheered by it, even at her expense. "Are you sure you're all right?"
She huffed again, in mock exasperation this time. "Everything's fine – I'm just happy."
Ronald snorted and exchanged a glance with Harry. "Yeah, that's likely."
October 1996
He never did it.
Not once did Remus look at the contents of the small leather journal Hermione had dedicated to her time-changing efforts, Hermione noticed. She wondered if, had she been in his place, she would have. Out of a morbid sort of curiosity, perhaps? Like a passerby staring at a traffic smash-up, only with the victims among the bent metal being the people you loved the most. It sounded wretched. But not knowing—It was an impossible situation, how could a person choose between the anxiety of being in the dark and the anguish of knowing for sure? She honestly couldn't tell. Under virtually any other circumstance, Hermione would be the first one to claim ignorance didn't equal bliss, only stupidity, but perhaps, in this case, it equalled sanity?
She didn't have the right answer and it scared her a little. So she didn't push Remus either way, leaving the decision in his hands for the time being.
As Hermione researched and made several notes on the journal, some with as many as three footnotes of observations, she tried to include any extra material she could find, even, in most cases, memories. Not all of them were direct ones, of course. It would draw too much attention to go about collecting first-hand accounts of Death Eaters attacks while on the brink of a war. So, apart from any she had lived herself, none of the others had been actual recollections of events. No, Hermione had instead taken to closing the hangings around her bed and placing a few silencing spells on the cloth before just…talking to herself.
She sounded mad, detailing deaths and dates, plotting courses of action for the ones she had any notion on how to prevent – and if the girls in her dorm already thought her strange, she hadn't gained any points by appearing downright paranoid at times. She collected them afterwards, the memories of her monologues. She was careful, however, to make them mere recounts of facts and theoretical studies on how to deal with the situation if presented with it, never uttering a word on time travel.
Unlike the journal, the vials had no protection spells on them – like potions, they had proven rather finicky and could disappear when spelled. Although she doubted Professor Dumbledore would be careless to leave them lying around, Hermione decided it was for the best to enchant the pouch as a precaution. As her parents always reminded her, preventative care was always preferable to urgent one. The maxim didn't apply only to dentistry.
If it weren't for the countless hours spent learning everything she possibly could about the first war against Voldemort, Hermione would have said time had slipped away from her.
It would be All Hallows' Eve tomorrow.
She had descended all seven floors of staircases mindful of their moving and of Peeves – after all her work, it wouldn't do for her to drop the contents of her rucksack anywhere or have them mucked around by a poltergeist.
Outside the castle, the hissing chill wind was redolent of sodden leaves, now too drenched to be carried in its spirals. When she arrived at the garden, the closed door dampened the angry sound. Remus was already waiting for her. Hermione carefully laid down her things on the floor and flung herself at him.
He caught her.
"Hello," Remus greeted.
"Hi," Hermione replied, her voice muffled by his robes, basking in his embrace like a cat before a fireplace. Among the scents of the different herbs and flowers, his was her favourite–pinewood and chocolate, woodsy and sweet. Their hug probably lasted longer than what was socially acceptable, but she was reluctant to let him go and Remus didn't complain. Besides, they were dating – it wasn't that odd, was it?
At some point though, Remus let out a chuckle. "We'll see each other again, Hermione."
"I know… It's just that—well, strange things have been happening."
Remus drew away from her, but not so much that his hands had to leave the small of her back. It had, in fact, been just enough so he could see her face instead of the top of her head. "Such as…?"
Hermione bit her lip.
"You know… worrisome ones." Her voice fell to a whisper, lips curling with a sorrowful twist, "Katie–A student at Hogwarts was attacked."
"The castle isn't safe—?"
"It wasn't inside the castle, we were at Hogsmeade. But that's just it, isn't it? Nowhere is safe. Not anymore. I have a bad feeling – and I'm not usually one to rely on such things, but—I don't think the war is coming. I think the war is here."
Remus paled, his hold on her growing firmer. "But you'll stay at Hogwarts–Dumbledore will–"
"Protect all 280 students inside the castle? Not very likely, don't you think? It's only conjecture at this point, but Harry believes one of the Slytherins has already joined Voldemort."
Remus shook his head twice in quick succession then cupped her cheek, his normally warm hand gone cold to the touch, "No. You aren't of age, Hermione. You can't fight a war."
Hermione almost told him she had been fighting it for a long time, but held the words back. It wouldn't achieve anything other than scare him further, and she could see how scared he was—for her. It was a feeling she understood too well. "Neither are you, but it's coming for you, too."
"Then don't fight it. Leave." He urged her, his voice brittle. "I'll wait and find you in your time. I'll take you away, we'll escape together."
Hermione could feel her features soften. "It's very kind of you to offer, but you don't mean it, Remus. Well, you do, but not really. I have no doubt you would do it to protect me, but you'd never be able to live with yourself if you left. Besides, our best friends are at the very centre of it all – we'd sooner die than leave them."
Remus said nothing at that – that was the thing about absolute truths, they left no room for argument. But the expression on his face… brows pulled down, imploring green eyes - flecked with gold, whites threaded with red - watched her underneath a sheen of tears. She could hardly bear it, but lowering her gaze only made her catch the twisted set of his parted lips, the lines of his scar thrown askew by it.
That sight would leave an indelible mark in her mind, haunting.
She threw herself into his arms once more, and Remus just held her, grip gentle yet unyielding. She paid no mind to the time, and Remus dared not speak. Hermione heaved a sigh, trying to steel herself. "I think it's time."
She felt rather than saw him swallow. "You've finished it?"
"Yes. It's keyed to our magical signatures." She said, reaching for her rucksack on the ground. She pulled out the journal. "You can look, you know. I don't wish to keep it from you."
He let out a heartfelt chuckle. "Never been one to read the end of a book ahead of time, you know."
The joke fell flat, her smile likely more of a grimace.
"With any hope, it'll just be a dark tale. A dystopian future, even." Hermione looked down. "Though I see what you mean. Which doesn't mean I don't think you should, eventually. Read it, that is. But you still have a couple of years during which you won't have to. It can wait. Not forever, but–"
"Yeah."
"That's why you need to take this to Professor Dumbledore. Just–make sure no one else knows of its existence, there are spells on it, but it's still risky."
"So you trust him?" Remus asked.
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. Did she? He wasn't the most reliable, ignoring Harry, giving Professor Snape the task of teaching Harry Occlumency… "Completely? No. He's not infallible, I don't think. But he did help me save Si–" She stopped short. "Helped me save someone before and he's the best strategist on our side. And some of these deaths can only be prevented with his help, so the point is moot I suppose. Besides, I think he already knew. Why else give me a cryptic message about the garden door? If you give it to him tomorrow and things work as they're supposed to, all of these decisions will have been made by tomorrow in my time.
"I know it's a lot to bear, this knowledge. I wouldn't place this weight on your shoulders if I could avoid it, you know that, right?"
Remus gave her a solemn nod.
"Anyway, I have these, too," Hermione opened the dark leather pouch holding clear vials, a foggy white substance inside. "They're memories–Professor Dumbledore has a Pensive, he'll be able to experience them secondhand. There aren't many, most are just of myself as I researched things.
"And, finally," Hermione reached inside the bag, pulling out a stack of parchment, "This is for your eyes only. I thought–Well, I don't want you to feel alone. I won't be there, so I–I wrote to you. It's not much, not even close to enough as a matter of fact–"
Remus took the letter, holding it carefully, and, after a slow blink, his green eyes met hers. "Thank you."
When Remus requested a meeting with the Headmaster, it was to a churning in his stomach. He had been to Professor Dumbledore's office before, had found the items inside fascinating, but once he'd entered it this time, the only thing he could focus on was the surface of the desk before him.
He felt… empty. Drained.
"Not that I don't enjoy your company, Mr. Lupin – even silent – but I assume you had something to discuss?"
Remus looked up. The older wizard's demeanour was patient, truly as if the greatest wizard of the age had nothing else he'd rather do than keep a pitiful student company as he'd tried to remember how to form words. When Remus found he couldn't do more than place the items on the desk and push them in the Headmaster's direction, Professor Dumbledore offered him a kind, closed-lipped smile before looking over the items, the slightest frown on his face as he spotted the open pouch filled with memory vials. When the Professor moved on to the journal, it was opened with nary a thought–and slammed shut a second later.
"Leave!" The Headmaster barked. "And utter no word of what has transpired here today."
Remus flinched–the Headmaster's tone a shock to his system. Of all the reactions, that was a startling one. But the orders were clear and he stood.
A gesture from the Professor stayed him. "Not you, my boy."
Remus glanced around, searching for someone he might have missed upon entering but found no one. They were alone. Or rather, so he'd thought. Professor Dumbledore's meaning became clear a second later, when all the portraits took their leave, abandoning their frames behind.
And while Remus couldn't identify a single tremor or hint of agitation on his body, the Headmaster's usual twinkling blue eyes resembled more the grey sky of a storm. "Who gave you this?"
"A time traveller, sir. Her name's Hermione."
Two cups of tea and a tin of lemon biscuits later–that he could barely digest but his idle hands had reached for in a need for action–almost every single detail of his meetings with Hermione had spilt past his lips. It all sounded like a rather imaginative delusion spoken out loud: an unheard-of stretch of time travel, with a castle door as the means; war-changing knowledge; and, lastly, a barking plan derived from limited previous experience and the most meticulous and detailed research the likes of which Remus had never seen.
Despite that, Professor Dumbledore listened to each and every single word, a thoughtful expression throughout.
Once finished with his tale, Remus waited on tenterhooks for a reaction.
"Very well."
He sagged against the chair, only then able to breathe. This was the man who had made it possible for Remus to enrol in Hogwarts. If there was anyone at all who had the prowess and power to avert the dark things coming, that wizard was Albus Dumbledore.
A/N²: Okay, remember when I said I'd write and update one chapter a month?
April's Fool! In September lol
Kidding! It just seems that I have no chill whatsoever and thought "hmm, might be a good idea to start writing right after posting chapter 13, I'll have an easier time of it". Aaand then I entered into an obsessive trance and turned the really rough 1700 words I had already written into a 6k behemoth. I decided to split it because my brain is incapable of focusing on long chapters, and editing becomes a nightmare when you keep tweaking the beginning of the chapter every time you read it from the top and can never get to the rest.
I need to rest my eyes for a bit before going over the next chapter, but the good news is that it'll definitely be up this month! I'll try for next Friday :)
I maintain what I said about posting once a month after that, but I'll amend it by saying that if a chapter is ready ahead of time, I'll publish it.
With that convoluted explanation out of the way, there are a couple more things I wanted to add:
First, a quick shout-out to the ladies over at the Alphabet and Resources group on Facebook! My non-native brain got snagged on an expression I'd heard but couldn't figure out how it was written and they were super helpful (it ended up being in the next chapter), so lots of love!
Also, this story just so happens to have an ever-growing soundtrack and I thought it'd be nice to share it with you! That way you can make the vibes last a little longer if you want or get to know some cool tunes :)
For this chapter, we have:
Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk - I used it to get around writing Hermione changing the future for Remus
Songs from the last chapter:
Falling Slowly by Glen Hasard, Markéta Irglová (young Remus about Hermione - "eyes that know me", having a choice to make, warring with himself)
Heart to Heart by James Blunt (whenever Remus and Hermione are in the garden together, really - in earlier chapters I used it to picture him fearing never seeing her again)
Jelly Bellies to everyone who added the story to their favorites and those of you following it, and special thanks to TheKingintheNW for the review!
Oh, and I'm (very) slowly trying to reply to everyone who left a review during the time I was away, but in case I miss any I just wanted to say THANK YOU!
You guys are the best!
I hope you enjoyed the chapter and, if you can, please let me know what you think! :)
