A/N: I realize now how rushed my last chapter was. If i could, I would have completely changed it so that their relationship wasn't so sudden. Sorry guys!
Chapter 8: Oh Crap
"Oh, did you finish reading Playing with Time?" Harry inquired, walking hand-in-hand with Hermione to the Room of Requirement.
"I did, actually. Do you want me to explain it?"
He nodded. "Yes please."
"It talked about two different types of the same magic that can be applied to past/future time. The first type is the one that caused me to have that whole episode- it is a magical projection of your hippocampus, as I had explained to you previously. The reaction is caused by the subject's brain freaking out from the foreign imagery sent to the visual cortex- unsure of what to do so it decides to just try to reboot itself, and the glowing eyes are caused by the pictures being forced behind the person's retinas, so the eyes kind of go haywire."
"Wait- sorry to cut you off, but what is a visual cortex?"
"It's the part of the brain that interprets what the eyes are seeing. Anyway, the process is changed when it applies a time-altering conditions. While the person is projecting the memories they are also warping the strings of time so that they can push those images onto a subject existing in the past. Again, it is a very difficult process and is quite dangerous, which is why this is a not a commonly reoccurring event.
"The second type is the direct communication I experienced in my dreams- it is only able to be executed when the one being contacted is asleep. Whoever is preforming the magic is essentially pulling on a certain segment on the back of their timeline and pulling it towards themselves until the wanted section parallels their own time period. When it is paralleled, then then the person has to wait for the subject they are contacting to fall asleep. The magic automatically causes the subject to feel tired, but not to suddenly fall asleep, so sometimes the contactor has to wait hours. This version is also extremely painful (similar to the first version), as you are forcing the timeline to contort unnaturally. When someone tries to bend the timeline, it automatically causes unimaginable pain- like a sort of self-preservation tactic. That way, only someone who is truly in a dire need to contact others in this fashion can do so."
He paused for a moment, trying to absorb the information. "Wow. How do you fit all of that into your brain?"
She laughed. "I have two."
"Merlin's beard! No wonder you ace every test."
"You would too...if you studied." She smirked. "Just saying."
He smirked back. "Rude."
"Says you."
The pair stepped into the Room of Requirement, the bookshelves restored to its original position and the chairs resting in the same spot they had left them in yesterday.
Sitting down next to Harry, Hermione pulled out Everything About Horcruxes as he grabbed out a quidditch magazine from his book bag.
Quidditch...didn't he ask me to remind him about something pertaining to that?
"Oh! Harry, don't you have quidditch practice?"
"Crap! I completely forgot about that. Thanks for the reminder, Hermione. See you later!" He quickly shoved his magazine back into his satchel, scrambling out of the room and darting down the hallways to practice.
Hermione chuckled as she returned her attention to the book opened in her lap, tying her best to read through it as quick as possible without missing too many details.
She ran her hands over her face as she quickly connected the dots in her mind, putting the closed book down on the table. This feels unreal.
Her future self had said that horcruxes were the next step in saving Harry -
And she would obviously never want him to split his own soul so he could come back from the dead. She knew better than to fraternize with dark magic.
So it could only mean one thing...
Voldemort created horcruxes for himself.
They were going to have to find them. And destroy them.
But how would they destroy them?
She knew Voldemort was smart enough to use magic that couldn't be broken easily by a bunch of fifteen year-olds.
And how on earth would they even begin to search for them? It would be like finding a piece of yellow thread in a haystack that is stretched across the entirety of the world.
Why does this have to be so difficult? Why does Harry have to go through this? Why him?
This is so bloody unfair. She dug her hands into her hair, fingertips pressing harshly against her head as she tried to distract her mind from the beginnings of a pounding headache.
An instantaneous wave of exhaustion washed over her body, eyelids suddenly drooping.
Is my future-self trying to contact me?
Hermione hastily propped her elbow up on the table, accidentally banging it against the wood in the process. She rested her head against her palm as her heavy eyes quickly closed, slipping into a light slumber.
"Read the book?" Future-Hermione inquired as she turned her weak gaze to look at present-Hermione. She was in a different location, but her surroundings were still as dark as last time and she still looked as fragile as before.
"I skimmed through it."
"You understand?"
"Everything but the 'magical number' you told me about."
"Is number of horcruxes Voldemort has. Find...destroy."
"But what is a magical number?"
"Should've...figured out. Can't say...taboo." The woman's speech began to slow and her eyelids began to droop, body threatening to pass out from the pain.
"Why is the number taboo?"
"No...info...spread. Use sword...on horcrux." She choked out, breaths labored.
Her future self suddenly cried out in agony, a scream so full of pain and burden that it practically ripped her heart apart.
Footsteps thundered outside, accompanied by a looming sense of dread hanging heavily in the air as the dream was cut off abruptly.
No! No, this couldn't be happening.
Did the death eaters kill her?
Hermione pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to restrain the amount of tears that poured down her face.
Oh, this is all my fault. If I hadn't kept pressing for answers, maybe she would have cut off the dream earlier and she would've been able to hide...
A hand gently brushed her cheek. Turning her head, she realized it was Harry; she hadn't even heard him come in. "What happened, Hermione? Are you okay?"
Relief washed over her body, feeling safer now that he was there. She threw her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder as she spoke. "It's all my fault. She's dead, or-or captured and there is nothing I can do about it! She contacted me again, told me we have to find and destroy the horcruxes. I kept on asking her questions, as she was so weak, and she just couldn't take the pain anymore. She-she cried out and the Death Eaters heard her. Oh, if i just kept my mouth shut then she could've ended the communication earlier and she would've survived!"
"Hermione, it's not your fault. She contacted you, so there was nothing you could've done to help her, ok?"
She wanted to believe him, but she just couldn't.
"Look at me." She tore her eyes from the floor, staring up at Harry through her blurry tears. "It is not your fault. I know it is easy to blame yourself- but doing so doesn't help you."
"But-"
"Do you blame me for Voldemort killing my parents?"
"What? No of course not-"
"Then don't blame yourself for the Death Eaters killing your future-self. Remember that she's still you. We are going to change the future and fix their mistakes; and when we do her time period will change too."
"Okay." She replied quietly, a few tears still slipping occasionally from her eyes.
"What's next?" Harry asked, trying to distract Hermione from her pooling thoughts.
"She told me that we have to find and destroy the horcruxes.""
"Sounds easy. So what are horcruxes?"
"Not easy. Horcruxes are created when someone splits their soul and inserts part of it into an object, which they use to resurrect themselves if they die. It's the worst type of dark magic."
"Ugh." He shuddered slightly. "That sounds vile."
"I agree. And Voldemort apparently made multiple of them."
"What? How many?"
"Whatever the magical number is."
"Oh yeah. We still gotta figure that out."
"Yep." She sighed heavily, resting her head against his chest.
"It's going to be okay. I love you, Hermione." Harry whispered, tucking another stray curl behind her ear. He gently grabbed her chin, lifting her face up to his and kissing her softly.
"I love you too, Harry." She placed her hands on the sides of his face, slowly bringing his head back down to hers and crashing her lips onto his. His right hand plunged into her brunette curls, opposite hand snaking around her waist and pulling her closer.
Hermione walked quietly through the bookshelves, desperately searching for anything that could hint at a magical number.
"You find anything?" Harry inquired groggily, steping up next to Hermione.
"No," she sighed. "Did you?"
"Nothing. There's gotta be an easier way to look for this- like a searching spell or something,"
"I know, right? But I dont think I've read about any searching spells. I'm surprised the room hasn't changed to show us the book."
"Yeah. Isn't it supposed to change to give us what we need?"
"Yes-"
Hermione was cut off by a sudden shift in the room, feeling almost like a small earthquake. Startled, she quickly grabbed onto Harry's arm.
The bookshelves seemed to sink through the wood floor, planks stretching to cover the spots left open. The room slowly shrunk to close off the empty space, floorboards folding over themselves rhythmically and gently shifting to move the pair to the center of the room. The stone walls pushed twards them, stopping a few yards away from the table with a satisfying click.
A small bookshelf rose behind the table in jerky movements, almost as if the room was fighting against itself to produce it. No books appeared to fill it, but a sort of dark atmosphere danced around it.
Harry hesitantly approached it as Hermione trailed close behind him, both unsure if the room was going to shift again.
As they reached the bookcase, a swirl of black ink materialized above a sanded wood shelf, twisting and spinning until it formed a singular thick black book that landed against the material with a jarring thud. The book also seemed to have a sort of depressed air around it, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up and goosebumps to creep across her skin.
She stepped up in front of Harry, right hand still grasping his arm as she tentatively reached out to grab the book.
A precipitous pull shot through her hand when it came into contact with the leather cover, the air around them twisting and pulling them twards the book violently as every fiber in her body screamed at her to get away.
Oh crap.
