It was a cheerful July day. The temperature was just right, a pleasant breeze carried the sweet fragrances of flowers from the garden through the open window of the manor. A perfect day for a quick game of Quidditch between the group of boys, using the space between several unevenly spaced trees as rough estimates of the goal hoops. Though it was a two-on-three game, the sides were evenly matched, one player in particular more than making up for the lack of a third teammate. His dark, shaggy hair streaked wildly about his head as he dodged, ducked and dived around the other players with fluid grace. With a single, smooth motion, he sent the quaffle soaring past the Keeper.
"And that makes it seventy to thirty," he flashed a gloating smile to a boy from the other team, who shared his dark hair and arrogant air. "Doesn't seem like you inherited the flying gene."
"Doesn't seem like you inherited the humble gene," Cygnus Black shot back with a scowl. He lacked the natural flair on a broomstick that his brother seemed to possess in spades, and he knew it.
"That particular trait is foreign to the Black family line, dear brother."
"Well I'm done," called a blonde-haired boy as he descended to the ground. "We ought to make it four against one," he said with disgust.
"Stop being a sore loser, Malfoy," the second player on the winning team smirked as he, too, swooped down to land lightly on the grass.
"He's got a point, though. Alphard was the best quidditch player in centuries; how many records did you break, again?" The final member of their group addressed the older Black brother as he dismounted.
"Oh, not that many… only five," Alphard replied flippantly as his brother mouthed those exact words at the same time behind his back. "But perhaps Cyggy here will actually live up to the Black family legacy this year."
"Shut up, you prick. At least I'm not pathetically still caught up in my Hogwarts years. You do realize that you graduated already, right?"
"Yes, though I'm not sure you'll be able to say the same of yourself. I heard Professor Slughorn recommended remedial potions to you," Alphard shot back.
Cynus's face turned beet red. "Who told you that?" He reached for his wand with a jerky motion.
"Aw, come on, Cyg. He probably knew because Riddle tutored you every other day in the Common Room. Besides, I'm dreadful at potions, too." The tall, lanky brunette from Alphard's team stepped between the two brothers.
"Don't patronize me, Gregor." Cygnus snapped. "You too, Elliot".
Elliot Rosier held up his two hands in mock surrender, "Hey, I didn't say anything."
"Bloody hell, I thought you all wanted to come over for a Quidditch match, not a pity party," the fifth and final member of the group of boys was still on his broom, his toes brushing the top of the grass. "Maybe next time we should all bring our notes and start revising for our NEWTs a year in advance."
"Count me out, Lestrange, though the rest of you numbskulls probably need it," Alphard glanced over to his brother. As Cygnus opened his mouth to protest, Gregor Nott interrupted.
"You know what? I'm starving. Why don't we all get something to eat?" At the nods of approval around him, he clapped his hands once then said, "Right then, where to?"
They discussed the merits and shortcomings of several places before settling on their usual choice of The Snake's Tail, one of the more popular pubs bordering Knockturn Alley. The five boys trudged to the shed at the edge of the field, stowed away their equipment, and headed inside for the Floo.
"I need to use the Loo, just a moment. Can't go smelling like a wet Hippogriff - it'll scare away the ladies," Alphard flashed a grin and a wink as he went up the stairs to the second level. The grumblings of the others faded away with each step he climbed. Turning left, he hummed idly to himself as he walked down the corridor to the guest lavatory by Mr. Lestrange's study.
While he was splashing his face with water, he heard a crash from outside, like heavy furniture being knocked over. Quickly drying himself, he stepped into the hallway and looked it up and down, finding nothing. He was about to shrug it off when a soft moan came from inside the study. He drew his wand as he approached the door and asked, "Who's there?"
Another groan, louder this time, sounded from inside, accompanied by the sound of a chair sliding across the hardwood floor. Alphard flung open the door, wand leveled and ready to strike. "Holy shit."
Before him sat a girl in bloody, burnt and tattered robes, leaning heavily against the large desk. Though, sitting was a rather loose term as only her shoulders and head were actually upright. There was a generous stream of blood running down the side of her head, and her right arm was bent at an awkward angle. What remained of her left sleeve was completely drenched in blood. Despite this, she seemed to be fully alert. She locked eyes with Alphard, her expression fearful, confused and wary.
"What happened to you?" the words popped out of Alphard's mouth.
"I- What… Who are you?" She asked suspiciously as she struggled to lift herself up.
"Hey, easy there. You're hurt. Let me help you-" he rushed forward only to be stopped with a wand in his face.
"Who. Are. You?"
"Woah, relax," He took a step back, and raised both his arms, wand in hand. "I'm Alphard Black. And you are?"
The girl's face drained of all color. She blinked slowly and took several deep breaths before seeming to remember he had asked a question. "It doesn't matter. Forget me, forget this ever happened. If you'll just give me a moment, I'll be on my way." She reached for the top of the desk to heave herself up, and hissed when she put pressure on her broken arm.
"Please, let me help you. That arm looks nasty." Alphard knelt beside the mysterious girl and reached out for her arm. She jerked away from him, something like panic in her face.
"No! Don't touch me! It's already bad enough that you've seen me. Just-"
"Oi Alphy! What's taking so long?" Elliot Rosier's voice called from below.
Alphard cursed, then yelled over his shoulder, "Sorry, mate. Nature calls. Go on without me, I'll meet you there."
"You bloody well could have told us that before making us wait, Black!" Lestrange grumbled. Nevertheless, within a minute, all of them had called out the name of the pub and presumably left through the Floo. Alphard looked back to the girl, who, in her panic at hearing more voices, had found the strength to get to her feet, though she relied on the desk to hold her up.
"We're alone now. Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you, ok? I want to help." Alphard was talking with the same voice he would use to approach a wounded unicorn. Again he reached for her, slower, and was rewarded when she allowed him to gently hold her broken arm. "I'm going to reset this, then heal it, alright?" When she looked like she was about to protest, he met her eyes and said, "Please. It's the least I could do."
He carefully reset it, wincing as the bone snapped back together though she barely reacted. He went on healing the wounds that were visible, until he reached for her left arm, and she jerked it away violently. She cradled it against her body and refused to let him near it. But she allowed him to heal the rest of her visible wounds until she could stand without putting half her weight on the desk.
"Now, will you at least tell me what happened to you?"
"What's today's date?" She was staring at the floor, like she'd rather sink into it and never come out.
"12th July 1944."
No no no no no no, this can NOT be happeningHermione thought as she stared at the boy standing across from her. Alphard Black. He looked so much like Sirius, it hurt. Gods, what had happened? One minute she was being tortured and interrogated by Bellatrix, who happened to be Alphard's niece, and had been prepared to die. Instead, she had felt the familiar sensation of flying backwards through blurred colors and shapes, but more intense somehow. The force was enough to crush her arm as she slammed into the wall of the study and almost knocked her out.
When she came to, the first pain she'd felt was in her left arm. Hermione dreaded to see what Bellatrix had done to her arm, but forced herself to look anyway. She'd barely had enough time to get over the shock and pain to hide it from sight when a voice had sounded in the hallway. Friend or foe, having the wordmudbloodetched into her forearm would definitely lead to too many questions. She had enough time to quickly cast a numbing charm on it before the door banged open.
She'd thought it a bad sign when the man who barged into the Lestrange study was a complete stranger, but only now did she realize the full implications of what that meant: she had broken nearly every fundamental law of time travel and probably irreversibly altered the future.
Pull yourself together, Hermione. Think goddammit it. She supposed she could obliviate Alphard, but the effects would be hard to miss, especially if he never met up with his friends and had a big gaping hole where his memory should be. She knew that this was the uncle who had given Sirius money when he ran away, so he couldn't be that bad, right? He had been exceedingly patient and gentle with her, too. Deciding that the damage had already been done, and she could always resort to an erasing his memory as a last case scenario, Hermione took a deep breath and began to talk.
"I don't suppose you'll just let me leave and forget about this whole incident?" she asked rather hopefully.
"Highly unlikely." Alphard had risen from his position kneeling beside her and was now facing her with his arms crossed against his chest.
"I'm not really sure where to start."
"Whoever hurt you, are they still after you? Are you in immediate danger?" His face was creased in worry and sympathy. Hermione didn't want to lie to him, but how could she tell the truth?
"That's a complicated answer."
"Where did you come from?"
"That's even more complicated."
"Is there anything that isn't?"
"Not really." Hermione hesitated before adding, "I don't think you'd believe me anyway."
"Try me," Alphard flashed her a grin, "It's not everyday a pretty girl crashes into my life."
Hermione scowled at him, though it was rather tame compared to the ones she usually shot at Ron or Harry. "You might want to sit down, then. It's a rather hard pill to swallow."
"Pill?"
"Nevermind. But I do mean what I said about sitting down." Hermione conjured a chair wandlessly and motioned for Alphard to sit while she took the chair behind the desk. He raised his eyebrows at this, but didn't comment. He lowered himself into it while he studied her. She had regained most of her color, and seemed to be largely ignoring the rest of her injuries. Strange, most girls he knew would be in fits of panic and tears. Instead, her eyes were filled with a fiery determination and strength of will. Alphard inclined his head, indicating he was ready to listen.
After a moment's hesitation, Hermione said, "I am from the future. I was in the middle of a duel, and I should have died, but instead I was somehow thrown further back than is possible to go. Now, I need to find a way to return, as quickly as possible." She took care to say only the bare minimum, hoping to minimize the damage she had already caused. His reaction was more or less to be expected.
"You're from the future, and you were supposed to have died?" He seemed skeptical, yet what else could explain this? There were old wards on the house, it would be nearly impossible to break in, especially in her current state. At her affirmative nod, he continued, "Bloody hell! What year are you from?" His eyebrows practically flew off his forehead.
"I can't say, but enough time that my actions could affect the possibility of my own birth if I'm not careful."
"Where are you from?"
"I'm a local."
"Who were you duelling? Why did they want to kill you?"
"It doesn't matter now," Hermione said uneasily, not wanting to go down that path.
"Sweet, merciful Merlin help me. Actually, it's you he should be helping. Oh gods, what am I even saying?"
"I know it's a lot to take in, and I really appreciate all your help, but as you can see, I really shouldn't even be talking to you at all. It was a mistake to even tell you this much. I'm so sorry to intrude like this. You should go back to your friends, and I'll be out of your way." Hermione stood up as she said this, meaning to leave. Her arm was throbbing along with her head. The numbing charm could only do so much.
"Wait, you can't just leave like this." Alphard stood up with her and met her eyes. He tried to convey as much sincerity and warmth as possible. "You're still injured, and you don't have anywhere to go. I'll tell my friends that something came up. Please, it's the least that I could do."
"I don't-"
"I won't tell a soul. I promise. I'll help get you a place to stay until you can figure out a way to get back to your time. How's that?"
"I don't have any money, and I refuse to live off of charity."
"It's not charity. I'll ask Reggie at the Leaky Cauldron if he could use an extra pair of hands in exchange for a room. I can't just leave you like this." Alphard's earnestness shone through his words. He really did want to help her.
No wonder he was Sirius' favorite uncle, she thought, though that only made her sad. It hadn't yet been a full year since his death, and here in 1944 he hadn't even been born yet. Hermione didn't want to accept help from him, but he had been nothing but kind and understanding. And she did need a place to stay…
"Very well. Thank you, Alphard."
"I feel disadvantaged; you still haven't told me your name."
Hermione opened her mouth to respond automatically, but paused. Should she reveal her given name? Fifty or so years in the future, would her young face alone be recognizable to anyone? It was better not to risk it. "My name is… Imogen Cauldwell."
Alphard raised an eyebrow, then grinned again, sending an unwelcome wave of tightness through her stomach at his resemblance to his future nephew. "Welcome to the past, Imogen Cauldwell."