19th September, 2000

Hermione had glanced behind her shoulder so many times in the last hour that she was beginning to wonder if she hadn't developed a nervous tic. She hated being out in the open in the middle of the day, but she did not have a choice if she wanted her mission to be successful. It had taken her a week to catch up with her target after discovering that she had left the safehouse, and the signal coming from her tracking device had been constant for almost a day which made her believe that the target in question had stopped moving. The area was nice, and it would have made for an inviting walk if she hadn't been on the run. She had reduced her magical aura to the lowest level possible without making it harmful for her body, but she knew that the Death Eaters were still looking for her. Worse, they were getting better at finding her and, despite her precautions, they had almost gotten her two days ago.

Thank Merlin for automatic rifles and sticking charms, she thought bitterly, remembering how Harry had been against them at the beginning. Sweet, innocent Harry who, even after the Battle of Hogwarts, had clung to the idea that they could still win without too much blood being shed. He had quickly changed his mind when he had seen how far their enemy was ready to go, and he had been the one who had provided the Order members with their first guns.

It was an understatement to say that the Death Eaters had been surprised by the Muggle weapons. The British army had still been reluctant to help in the conflict – even if the entire world knew about witches and wizards – and it meant that they had never encountered a gun before. The first few times the Order had used them had led to a bloodshed, but the Death Eaters had soon understood how they worked and found spells that would stop the bullets. Even now, however, they were still hesitant to attack someone armed with a gun, and Hermione had Magic to help.

The device in her hands buzzed two times in a row, and Hermione turned to her left before stopping in front of one of the many identical houses that ran alongside the street. The signal had reached its peak, and Hermione was confident that her target was hiding there. She climbed the three steps that lead to a small patio and stopped in front of the door. For a minute, she wondered whether or not she should enter without giving her target any warning before changing her mind. Quickly, she ran a hand through her hair and straightened her clothes a bit before raising her arm and knocking at the door.

For years, Petunia had been a heavy sleeper. She was one of those people who could never hear their alarm and sleep peacefully through a hurricane, and it would take her mother and then Vernon a full minute to wake her every day. The only exception to that had been Dudley's newborn cries, but it had stopped gradually as he became old enough to sleep through the night.

The war had changed that. At the beginning, when the Order had taken them to the safehouse, she would have a hard time falling asleep because she couldn't stop herself from thinking of her nephew. Then, after the Revelation Day, she started waking up in panic in the middle of the night with the urge to check that her family was safe. Vernon's death a month later had been a turning point, and it had taken her a full year before she was once again able to sleep more than two hours in a row. However, when the members of the Order had stopped showing to her house, she had reverse into bad habits and become even more aware of her surroundings, waking up to the smallest sound. Therefore, when a firm knock on the front door echoed through the house, Petunia immediately jerked awake and reached under her pillow to take her gun.

She stayed still for a moment, wondering if it hadn't been just a dream before being startled by a second knock. Heartbeat picking up, Petunia pushed her blanket away and quickly got to her feet, wondering who it could be. One of the Others wouldn't have knocked, she knew, but it seemed strange that someone would know she was there. Maybe the Order had found her trace and come to check on her?

Careful not to make a sound, she went down the stairs and discreetly peered through the window, only to discover a frail looking girl anxiously waiting in front of the door. Not only had Petunia never seen her in her entire life, but it soon became clear that she was one of Them. She wore worn Muggle clothes and was carrying what looked like a rifle, but Petunia could clearly see a wand holster firmly secured on her left arm. A Muggleborn or a Halfblood, then. A Muggleborn would not harm her, but most of the Half-Bloods had joined the ranks of the Unnamed and Petunia knew she could not take the risk. Carefully, she went in front of the door and raised her gun to the place where she knew the girl's heart was. She was about to fire when the stranger knocked for the third time and spoke up.

"Mrs. Dursley? I'm Hermione Granger, one of Harry's friends. Could you please open the door? I need to talk to you."

Petunia froze just in time and swallowed nervously, keeping her gun pointed at her target. She knew that name, it had been in the letter her nephew had left her three years ago to explain what was happening in his world and why they had to be protected, and she clearly remembered the description he had made of the girl. A brilliant Muggleborn with a big heart and bushy hair, he had called her, a girl he loved like a sister and who had been at his side since the beginning. Well, the hairs were here alright, but that didn't mean anything. She moistened her lips nervously before talking.

"In which animal did you transform in your second year?" she asked, following the instructions she had been given.

The girl did not hesitate before answering, and Petunia suspected her nephew must have told her about the security questions he had listed for each person mentioned in the letter.

"A cat. Where did Harry sleep until he was eleven years old?"

"The cupboard under the stairs", Petunia said harshly, not happy to be reminded of that particular memory. "Come in, girl, it's not safe out there."

Despite the drastic change in her appearance, Hermione recognized Petunia Dursley immediately. Her huge, sapphire eyes had marked her in the memories that she had watched, and they were the first thing that she saw when the door opened. The woman facing her had a pistol pointed at her heart, and Hermione followed her inside after checking one last time that the street was still deserted.

"I'll put it down once you're unarmed," Mrs. Dursley said curtly, tilting her head in direction of Hermione's wand holster, and Hermione immediately removed it before putting it on the nearest table along with her rifle.

"That's better," the woman told her before lowering her own weapon. "Now, how did you find me, and what do you want with me? Your lot stopped checking on the safehouse months ago, I thought my family wasn't worth your time anymore."

Hermione tried not to wince at the accusatory tone in her voice. She could understand her reaction, but she did not seem to realize how lucky she had been to be protected as long as she had.

"That's because the people in charge of your protection died in the attack of our Headquarters."

The woman blinked several times, as if processing the information, before speaking.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said a bit stiffly. "Some of them seemed nice people. Are you here on your own, then?" she asked.

Why isn't my nephew with you? Hermione heard instead, and she felt her throat tighten.

"I am," she confirmed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Harry and I were the only survivors from the attack on our Headquarters, but then…"

The woman cut her off before she could finish her sentence.

"But then something happened and he died," she said flatly, looking unmoved by the news. "No need to beat around the bush, Miss. Granger, I knew this would happen sooner or later. Tell me, though. Did he… did he suffer?"

The question took Hermione by surprise, and she shook her head before answering truthfully.

"No, I made sure of that."

And she had, religiously giving Harry his pain potions every time he needed them, watching him days and night for weeks to monitor the progression of the curse and adjusting his treatment in consequence. And then, one night, he had stopped trying and asked for her help, one last time.

And she had said yes.

"Good," the woman replied. "Good. So, I have no family left and your allies have been wiped out. Tell me, girl, what is it that you want from me?"

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Come on," the woman said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not an idiot. My nephew must have told you about his…" she grimaced slightly before continuing, "about his childhood, and I'm pretty sure you hate me as much as he hated us back in the days. You just admitted that you were the last of your kind, or at least the ones that were actively fighting the Unnamed, and you came looking for me while you could easily have left for France or another country. You need me, or else you wouldn't have bothered at all."

Hermione stared at her for a second before shrugging. "Harry discovered a way to send us back in time," she confessed, and she saw Mrs. Dursley's eyes widen in shock. "When we realized that we were the last survivors from the Order, we decided that the situation was desperate enough to try it, and we brew a potion mentioned in a book he had found a few months ago."

"What went wrong, then?" the woman asked, eying her curiously.

"Nothing," Hermione replied tersely, feeling a bit miffed at the accusation. "The potion turned out perfectly, but I'm missing the ingredient that will activate it. A drop of your blood," she added finally, when it was clear that the woman would not ask her what it was.

"A drop of my blood?" her companion echoed dubiously. "Why don't you use yours, then?"

"Cursed blood," Hermione explained, absently touching the invisible scar on her arms. "We were supposed to use Harry's, but we discovered that his had been cursed as well when… Well, let's just say that you are my last option."

"Why me, though? Don't you need the blood to be… magical?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I need your blood because I want to go back far enough to stop the First War, and being in your family is the only way to do it."

"Say I accept," the woman said after a minute, "how would this work? You'd show up in the past, kill the Unnamed and then what, go back to the present?"

"No," Hermione answered with an amused grin. "It doesn't work like that. Once I've taken the potion, this reality will disappear and a new one will be created from the moment of my rebirth. The only difference is that I won't be Hermione Granger anymore but one of your sisters. As for You-Know-Who well… It's a bit more complicated than 'just kill him'," she added with a grimace.

"And if my… if my nephew was still there, would he be able to take that potion and go back with you?"

Hermione nodded, hoping that Mrs. Dursley's curiosity was a good sign. The blood had to be given willingly, after all. "Yes. Anyone can go back as long as they drink the potion."

"Is that so?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with something Hermione wasn't sure she liked. "Then I want in, and that's non-negotiable."

"No. Let me explain," Hermione said, raising her hand to stop the woman from replying. "Things will inevitably change with my presence in your family. Maybe your parents divorced after I was born, or maybe they decided to move to France when you were a teenager, or maybe they'll decide that neither Lily nor I will go to Hogwarts. None of that will be an issue for me, as I am perfectly able to carry on my plans on my own. You, however… Whatever change happens will impact you as well, and this means that you may very well never meet your husband or, if you do, never have your son. Your past – and future – will be lost forever," Hermione said, emphasizing the last word to make sure that Petunia understood what she wanted to say, "and there's nothing that you'll be able to do about it."

"Your concern is touching, but I'm not coming back for them," the woman dismissed with a wave of her hand, "not really, at least. I loved them and I will never stop loving them, but there were only one Vernon and one Dudley, and meeting them a second time in the past is the last thing I want. No, I'm coming back for revenge," she spat, and Hermione was stunned by the venom in her voice. "I may not be a witch, but it doesn't mean that I'm helpless against the Others. I can help. No, I want to help so, whatever arguments to have against me coming back with you, I don't give a damn."

A familiar look of determination was on her face, and Hermione was suddenly reminded that this woman, despite all their differences, was still related to Lily Potter and Harry, and that she shared more than just blood with the two of them.

"Alright, then," Hermione said before she could stop herself. "Alright. But make no mistake: one misstep from your part and you won't remember any of this. And don't think for a minute that I've forgotten what you did to Harry. I'm giving you a chance to prove that you can do some good, don't waste it."

"I understand," the woman said, pursing her lips in annoyance.

"Excellent. Could you please roll up one of your sleeves, then? The sooner I get your blood, the better."

Mrs. Dursley's did not answer but did as she asked, and Hermione summoned a silver knife before taking the wrist her companion was offering in her left hand. Summoning the potion from her bag, she uncorked the vial and, after casting a sterilisation Charm on the unmarked flesh, cut it in one smooth gesture. Carefully holding the vial against the cut, she guided the trail of blood that had formed into it. Instantly, the liquid turned pearly white and Hermione smiled, satisfied. This was exactly what was supposed to happen.

"That's it?" her companion asked, visibly disappointed. "I thought it would be more…"

"Mysterious?" Hermione proposed, and the woman nodded. "Sorry, and the rest is just as exciting: you need to drink the potion and you'll be gone before your body has time to touch the ground."

She conjured two silver goblets and poured the contents of the vial in it before offering one to Mrs. Dursley. The woman watched the contents of her glass sceptically before shrugging and raising it to her mouth.

"Cheers, then."