21

In Search of Lost Time

First

No good was left in Hermione's world. Only despair, hopelessness, and dark alleys were making up her lonely days. Since the end of the war, there had been no room for fluttering hearts or joyful encounters: all she did was hide and pray to see the light of the day once again. Not that it mattered if she lived or died anyway. She had no one to care for and was carried by the faintest hope that, one day, something might change. But six miserable years had gone by since the Battle of Hogwarts when both Ron and Harry exhaled their last breath, and with them, a part of her soul had died too. Voldemort's regime had left a trail of bodies that Hermione could no longer recall; pain blurred her memories and clouded her mind like mist.

She carelessly moved the strand of bushy hair that was blocking her view and carried herself onwards. Heavy rainfall was soaking her robes and the chatter of the crowd was muffled by the sound of large drops of water collapsing on the ground.

Years of hiding in the filthy corners of Knocturn Alley had taught her to always keep her head down and mingle with the crowd as much as possible. Wandering the area cramped by Death Eaters with only a worn ancient tome to keep her company, Hermione felt a brief but powerful sense of satisfaction. She had made it and almost couldn't believe it. She was able to sneak into Borgin and Burkes and leave unnoticed with the rare copy of Time Travels: Unraveling the Mysteries of Ancient Magic. It was ironic, she thought: the Mudblood embodying all the things they most despised was the only Trio member to have survived, and the only one still giving them trouble. Her delicate, chapped lips turned upwards in a mockery of a smile as she turned the corner and disappeared into the brick wall.

She hurried into the collapsed building with cracked walls and dusty floors that she so very much despised. She had been using it as a shelter for a couple of months now, and not a single day had passed without her getting a terrible night's sleep. Storming inside and dropping her shabby cloak on the floor, she grabbed her quill and furiously started scribbling as if her life depended on it. And, Hermione realized, it probably did.

As she compared her notes with a yellowed passage of the stolen tome, something awakened inside the brunette's head. She knew full well she was close to a discovery that might change the course of events. For the first time in six years, Hermione was euphoric. A full hour passed before she found the section she was looking for. One sublime paragraph caressed Hermione's mind like the most exquisite thought:

"Vim Extermina Tempore Spell: in rare cases, when a particularly powerful wizard possessing a Time Turner is met with difficult times, it is possible to erase time. This can be done by pouring Phoenix tears on the Time Turner and reciting the Extermina Tempore spell. The tears will be as many as the number of years one wishes to erase."

Hermione's lips parted in shock as she kept reading on. It was one of the most tedious and complex spells she'd seen, but it wasn't impossible. If she had to go barefoot climbing the Appalachian Mountains and bring down countless Forest trolls, she would. Erasing the last six years of misery was a price that she was willing to pay and she was ready for it. Hardly would the repercussions be worse than the hell that starved witches and wizards were living in. Hermione knew well she was being egotistical. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Months flew by in the blink of an eye. Hermione's days were littered with parchment and muttered spells, her research devoted to retrieving the only missing piece of the puzzle: Phoenix's tears. Phoenixes were told to be incredibly rare creatures, exclusively showing themselves to those deemed worthy. In modern Britain, there had been only one reported case of a Phoenix domesticated by a wizard: Fawkes, Dumbledore's loyal companion. But, after Hogwarts headmaster's death, no one knew what happened to the creature: it was said that the animal had returned to the wild, cutting its ties with the wizarding world. How would she be able to find it?

Hermione's trail of thoughts was interrupted by a loud clank coming from the entrance. Noises of rushed footsteps were drawing closer and closer, and Hermione barely had time to leap out of her seat and brace herself. Firmly gripping her wand, she made her way downstairs and found a group of Death Eaters waiting for her. Fenrir Greyback's raucous voice reverberated around the building's crumbling walls.

"We found the Mudblood!"

Bellatrix's twisted unnatural smile deepened as she met Hermione's eyes. Her crazed stare horrified her and brought her back to that dreadful day at Malfoy Manor, where her arm was branded to remind her forever of her inferior blood status, and the excruciating pain of torture had almost driven her insane.

There was no room for lingering thoughts and elaborated plans to make it out there alive. She was severely outnumbered, and Voldemort had made sure to have the most vicious and wicked wizards in his inner circle hunting her down. If she was to die, then she would bring as many Death Eaters down with her.

Countless spells started flying in the air; flashes of green and scarlet came clashing together and mingled, climaxing in a series of energy bursts. Hermione kept alternating shield charms with offensive spells in an attempt of keeping up with the six bloodthirsty Death Eaters in the room.

As Bellatrix's Cruciatus curse missed her by a few inches, she lunged forward and found shelter under the dusty desk that was now knocked over, tomes and parchments that had been piled up on it scattered all over the floor as the duel intensified.

In the past few years, wrath and despair had been Hermione's only companions; firing spells and shooting targets had been the pain-relief systems preventing those feelings from overcoming her. For this reason, the sight of bodies shriveling and crumpling under the light of her wand no longer disturbed her. And so, when Antonin Dolohov and Alecto Carrow collapsed on the floor and started writhing in pain before going limp, she didn't flinch in the slightest. The death of two of the highest-ranked Death Eaters in Voldemort's regime didn't seem to bother Bellatrix either; rather, she looked quite amused by the situation. Her lips eerily twisted upwards before bursting into frantic and fiendish laughter. For a few brief moments, her shrill and almost bestial voice was the only sound filling the room.

"Looks like the Mudblood's got claws. Lucius, why don't you make yourself useful and teach her a lesson?"

She heard slow and cadenced footsteps drawing closer, and before she could fire a green light aimed at Bellatrix's chest, a masked figure with long white hair came into her line of sight. Lucius Malfoy. God, she hated the spineless twat just as much as she hated his son.

There was something off about his movements: the grip on his wand was frail, and each step he took towards her seemed to be heavy and wavering, almost painful, like it drained him of all energy. Malfoy looked gaunt and consumed by years of torture. He seemed to have been stripped bare of any veil of arrogance and pretentiousness, and what was left was an empty shell of the man he'd once been. His suffering was conspicuous, but Hermione didn't feel any sympathy for him: the Malfoys had chosen their path a long time ago and had been determinants to Voldemort's victory. They deserved the most excruciating and agonizing fate.

He drew his wand and started muttering a spell she couldn't quite place, but Hermione was faster. She cast a Stupefy that sent him flying through the air and collapsing with the brick wall on the other side of the room. In front of her, three wizards still stood uninjured and biding their turn to bring down the Mudblood, while her limbs were starting to feel heavy and sore from the three back-to-back duels. She could not afford to further linger on her current conditions: tucking her matted curls behind her ear while the shielding charm was still in place, she reemerged from behind the shattered desk and started her next round of duels, casting as many curses and jinxes as her body allowed her to.

She felt a surge of rage building up and eroding her insides as her eyes darted to the remaining Death Eaters whose masks had now dropped to the floor. Bellatrix, Pettigrew, and Greyback's expressions weren't taut nor concerned: they looked like they were rather enjoying themselves and Hermione despised them for it. It was all a joke to them.

Blinded by renewed rage for the wizards who had contributed to making her life hell, she jolted forward and aimed her wand at the woman that had scarred her permanently. Bellatrix's jagged yellowed teeth stretched into an evil grin as she dodged Hermione's killing curse and countered with an Incarcerous spellthat reached the witch and suddenly slammed her against the wall. Hermione came down with a loud thud, and the impact on the cold stone floor was violent and unforgiving.

All she could see now was the blurred outline of the deep cracks in the wall that hours of dueling had inflicted on the dilapidated building. Just a few feet from her, cheers and laughs of mockery were filling the room, and Bellatrix's hysterical voice resonated above them.

"The last Order member has fallen! The Dark Lord will be pleased to see her dead body. But first, I want to show the Mudblood what happens when you spend years plotting against our Lord."

As she felt a firm grip tightening around her neck and starting to squeeze, Hermione clenched her eyes shut and hoped she'd be quick. The pain intensified and soon became insufferable, and the witch locked herself into her thoughts in a desperate attempt of escaping the excruciating torture.

It was over this time, and there was nothing else she could do. The sudden realization hit her like a bucket of ice-cold water, and she felt raw disappointment swelling in her chest and mingling with grief. It was a pity, she thought. She had been so close to disrupting the world she lived in and have a second chance. But she'd learned a long time ago not to expect anything decent out of this life.

She braced herself for the inevitable while Bellatrix's hand strangled life out of her. Eyes burning and tight fists convulsively trembling, she wished for a final squeeze that would, at last, welcome her into the blissful arms of death.

But the final straw never came. She felt the grip around her neck loosen and, just a few moments later, Bellatrix's hands had left her just as quickly as they'd come. The pain had muffled her senses and she couldn't distinguish voices from the sudden thudding noises that were threatening to damage her ears. Obscure bursts of heat abruptly flared up in the room and a bright flash of light was now engulfing her body and forcing her to keep her eyes shut.

Having her hearing no longer subdued by agony and coming back to her was like rising from the surface after a long time underwater; the intensity of what was happening came crashing down on her as she absorbed the sound of flames eroding the building and rushed footsteps fading away in the distance.

Just when Hermione thought she was going to die incinerated by the fire, the flames skidded to a halt right before her feet and abruptly evaporated, leaving the witch in a state of utter confusion. Her eyes widened and her jaw almost hit the floor when she lifted her head and found a set of coal black eyes staring back at her. The eyes of a beautiful creature.

Its shiny, scarlet plumage was tinged with the faintest shade of gold, and a long and bright feathered tail adorned the bird's figure and gave it royal elegance. As the stunning Phoenix hovered in the air, it radiated energy and an odd but pleasant sense of joy.

When the magical creature started its descent, drawing near until it came resting on Hermione's shoulder, it opened its short beak and settled a small piece of parchment inside her hand.

Fawkes is ready to help you accomplish your mission. You are bright and talented, and I am sure you will know when the time was right. If anyone is to restore harmony and peace to the wizarding world once more, it is you.

A. D.

You will know when the time was right. Albus Dumbledore's scribbled words echoed in Hermione's head as she compulsively tapped her fingers on the hardwood desk that she'd just fixed with a swift Repairing charm. She knew exactly what those words meant.

The use of the past tense was a clear message from the wizard: if she had to erase time to prevent Voldemort's regime from rising to power, she would have to determine what period of time she had to travel back to change the course of events. Which occurrences had once and for all sealed the fate of the war?

She wished she could just go back to the Battle of Hogwarts and strip Voldemort's heart out of his chest with bare hands. But it wasn't that simple: the tome clearly indicated that it was not possible to travel back to a specific day. The Vim Extermina Tempore spell didn't work this way: It didn't allow her to do so simply because she would not be a time traveler in the first place. Hermione's current timeline would be washed out and replaced by a new one. Hopefully, a better one.

She would only be able to choose the numbers to years to erase. In other words, by reciting the spell now, in the month of October, she would restart life in a new timeline from the October of the year she'd wished for.

With lips curled and brows creased into a pensive expression, Hermione let her brilliant mind wander endless possibilities while her bruised fingers kept regurgitating words on paper. In a moment of intuition, her gaze darted to the authentic copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard that Dumbledore had given her all those years back. The Trio had never figured out why the wise Headmaster had wanted them to read the ancient tale; they had devoted their time and efforts to finding and destroying Horcruxes, even though Harry had been quite fixated on that story for all those months.

She knew she was missing a piece of the puzzle: everything Dumbledore did had a hidden meaning, and she was sure this was no exception. But if the man had been so resourceful to have a contingency plan, anticipating Hermione's moves and giving her the tools to erase time and have a second chance, then why hadn't he given her a clear explanation about his parting gifts?

If only she'd had more time to talk to him, the outcome of the war might have been different. The realization hit her and, all of a sudden, she knew what she had to do. Avoiding Dumbledore's death in the Astronomy tower was the only way to buy her more time with the wizard and figure out what to do differently this time. This meant that she would have to go back to her 6th year and prevent Snape from killing him and Death Eaters from infiltrating the castle.

When Draco Malfoy's name popped into her head like an unwelcome guest, Hermione almost physically recoiled with disgust. Her cowardly Hogwarts classmate had been the reason why Voldemort's men had seized power over the entire school and had tortured, slaughtered, and brutally wounded people she had once considered as family. People whose lives were abruptly cut short as a result of Malfoy's choices and actions. She felt bile rising in her throat as the thought crossed her mind, and unwanted flashbacks kept flooding and overwhelming her like a raging river. Memories of Tonks, Remus, the Weasleys, and all those souls who were forever lost in the war. Memories of Harry and Ron, her two best friends, which loss had carved a hole in her heart and had made her existence nothing but dull and miserable. No, this time she wouldn't allow Malfoy's plan to go through. She would stop the ferret even if it meant cursing him to death that dreadful day on the Astronomy Tower.

Her pensive hazel eyes flicked to the gorgeous creature nestled on top of her beloved pile of books. As she crouched down to run her fingers through the Phoenix's soft scarlet plumage, Hermione felt firm and determined, as she hadn't been in a long time. It was almost like the heat of Fawkes' blazing flames had sparked renewed decision and strength in her, flowing in her veins and inflaming her spirit once more. She was burning with rage but yet she felt eerily lucid, ready for her next move.

The bright golden shades illuminating the metal sways of Hermione's Time Turner shone and reflected the dim light of that night's full moon as she placed with trembling hands the object on a circular table at the center of the room. Although she'd dreamed and craved this moment for months, she couldn't help but feel a little fidgety. After all, very few recorded cases of wizards executing the Vim Extermina Tempore Spell were told to be successful, and all of them had erased no more than a year or two. Time-traveling magic was intricate and particularly complex; erasing these many years in a timeline would require incredible effort, skills, and power.

In case she wasn't successful in her attempt, Hermione's only hope to restore peace in the world she knew and loved would shatter into a million pieces. She wasn't scared that her own magic could consume her body or even kill her. No, death no longer frightened her. What she feared most was disappointing those that, in the last six years, had been sharing a life of hardships and torment with her.

With delicate movements, she patted Fawkes' back, signaling the creature that it was time for him to help. As the Phoenix stretched its long imposing wings and lowered its head a few inches from the turner, seven stunning glistening tears came falling down and reached her long-time traveling companion. As soon as the watery gems hit the object and Hermione started reciting the spell, sudden gusts of wind whirled around the witch, ruffling and scattering her chestnut curls and engulfing her in a blustery circle. The whirls of wind grew louder and stronger, progressively shrinking until they were at last englobed by the Time Turner.

It was then that Hermione witnessed otherworldly, mystical magic that sent chills up her spine. The object started changing, transforming into something new and astounding. Something that enclosed her deepest dreams and desires.

Her mouth parted and was left hanging open as long, thin silver chains grew and garnished the sides of the object, which had turned to the most intense barn red. One golden feather came adorning the edge of the turner, linking the intriguing transformation to the essence of Phoenixes, and seven bright pearls were now elegantly surrounding the sandglass. The grains were cadenced with a rhythmic and incessant movement. Looking more closely, Hermione realized the sand was flowing upwards. Before the witch could take a deep breath and cry out of joy, a glaring midnight blue light came dazzling to her, engulfing the brunette and distorting the entire room around her. All of a sudden, everything went black.