Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Fallout
At dawn, the quiet hush of Hogwarts enveloped the ancient corridors with a cool mist drifting off the Black Lake. Violet Potter—formerly Harry—and her mother, Dr. Jennifer Braun, awakened from fitful sleep in their guarded suite. The suite itself, tucked away in one of the castle's towers, was far from luxurious compared to the simulated comforts of Vault 112, but it served its purpose. Heavy stones in the walls held onto the night's chill, so that each morning was greeted with a nipping cold. Yet Violet found it strangely comforting, in a way: a tangible sign that this place was real, that they truly stood in the year 1994, centuries before the nuclear horrors of 2077.
She pulled on a sweater, thinking of her old life in a time far beyond these stone walls. Her mind raced with conflicting emotions—relief at having Jennifer's protection, but also fear of this unpredictable new environment. Last night's meeting with the Ministry and the headmasters still weighed on her; the specter of being coerced into the Triwizard Tournament felt suffocating. She wanted to trust that someone would find the saboteur who put her name in the Goblet. But a voice in the back of her mind whispered that sabotage could be easily hidden, especially in a place rife with secret passages and illusions.
Jennifer was already up, tinkering with the Pip-Boy that adorned her left arm. As Violet joined her in the sitting area, she noticed her mother's brow furrowed in concentration. A soft glow emanated from the device, various readings scrolling across the small screen.
"Morning, Mum," Violet said, voice still husky with sleep.
Jennifer offered a brief nod, her eyes fixed on the readouts. "Morning, darling. I've been analyzing what happened with the Goblet's summoning spell."
Immediately, Violet felt a surge of tension in her chest. "You mean how we got dragged here?"
"Yes." Jennifer tapped a few more buttons on the Pip-Boy. "I took some scans last night—readings of the magical residue around the Great Hall and near the Goblet's location. I cross-referenced them with the data I gathered in Vault 112 when you first arrived in 1988. The energies are remarkably similar, just... more robust. Like someone layered additional complexities on top of whatever phenomenon pulled you to me six years ago."
Violet swallowed, trying to steady her nerves. "So... it's not just cross-dimensional. What are you saying?"
Jennifer looked at her with a serious, almost pained expression. "I'm saying it's not cross-dimensional at all. It's temporal, Violet. We didn't jump from one universe to another. We traveled through time—backwards."
Silence. In that moment, the low crackle of the fireplace and the gentle drone of the castle's wards seemed unbearably loud. Violet let out a shaky breath. "So we're still in the same universe? Just... hundreds of years before the Great War?"
"That's exactly it," Jennifer replied, voice low but firm. "Or more accurately, we're about eighty-three years before the bombs dropped. My readings place us in 1994, and from the Vault's records, the Great War kicked off in late 2077. That means, give or take, around eighty-three years separate us from the cataclysm."
Violet's mind whirled. For so long, she'd believed her existence in Vault 112 was separate from the wizarding world's timeline—like she'd been taken to a parallel reality. But if they had merely jumped forward before and now backward, all of it was connected: the nuclear wasteland, the advanced science, the battered remains of civilization... it all had roots inthisera, in the petty squabbles and hidden magic of wizards who never dreamed the world would be annihilated by atomic fire.
She rubbed her arms, goosebumps forming. "That means... if we remain here, we're literally living in the past. So, every single person we knew in 2194 hasn't even been born yet. The Great War is decades away."
Jennifer nodded grimly. "Yes. And I suspect that the wizarding world's role in that war was far more significant than conventional Mundane—excuse me—mundanehistorians realized. Or, from what I've been piecing together, wizard historians probably never knew the full truth, either."
Violet thought back to the times Jennifer had shared glimpses of what the world looked like in the 22nd century: irradiated wastelands, mutated creatures, scattered pockets of survivors. She recalled reading scattered references about how, by the time the bombs fell, some aspects of wizarding secrecy had eroded, leading to panic and confusion. She also remembered vague historical notes about one Albus Dumbledore—a legendary figure, revered in old magical texts, often lauded as the greatest wizard of his age. That same Dumbledore was down the corridor, meddling with a competition. She shivered.
Jennifer's expression hardened. "If my calculations are correct, and if your memories of thoseDaily Prophetarticles have any basis, Dumbledore's arrogance may have set the stage for everything that followed. One small slip—just a single wizard who decided to expose magic, or use it to influence politics or war—and the entire world plunged into conflict. I need more data, but the puzzle pieces are coming together."
"But..." Violet cleared her throat, trying to remain calm, "do we know for certain that the wizarding worldcausedthe Great War? Couldn't it just have been Muggle powers—sorry, Mundane powers—clashing like the historical records said?"
"It's more nuanced than that," Jennifer admitted. "From what we gleaned, nuclear arsenals were indeed a Mundane creation. But if magical secrets got out in the worst possible way—if wizards tried to seize control or to mitigate or accelerate the arms race—well, the entire post-war era in our records pointed to some kind of catalyst. A revelation that changed humanity's trajectory. Now, I suspect Dumbledore had a hand in it."
Violet swallowed. Dumbledore, the kindly old man with twinkling eyes in wizarding lore, who had let her name slip into a lethal contest. The same wizard who had placed her with the Dursleys. The man who once bound her magic. She felt the sting of betrayal flare again.
Jennifer stood. "Let's confirm more details as soon as possible. But first... breakfast."
They slipped on warmer robes over their lab clothes—Hogwarts had provided simple, plain black robes for them, though Jennifer refused to abandon her practical attire entirely. They made their way downstairs, tension thick in the air. Already, the hush of rumors filled the hallways: as Violet and Jennifer passed, students fell silent or whispered behind cupped hands. It was obvious the entire castle buzzed with speculation about the new champion, the so-called "Muggle" mother, the talk of advanced weapons. Overnight, stories had surely spread like wildfire.
Still, the two arrived at the doors to the Great Hall, stepping inside. Four long tables dominated the space, each representing a Hogwarts House. At the far end, the staff table formed a dais where the headmaster and professors typically sat. The enchanted ceiling overhead reflected a brightening sky dotted with light clouds. Food appeared in glistening silver dishes, steam rising invitingly. A typical Hogwarts breakfast.
Students' heads turned. Quiet murmurs rippled across the hall. Violet felt the weight of hundreds of eyes on her. She braced herself.
Jennifer's jaw tightened with resolve. She gave Violet a brief nod, then strode down the center aisle between the long tables, her posture straight, footsteps echoing on the stone floor. At her side, Violet kept pace, slightly behind, heart hammering. They passed the Gryffindor table, catching a glimpse of Hermione's concerned expression, the Weasley siblings' confused stares, and an empty seat that once might have belonged to "Harry Potter." Dean and Seamus looked on, half-curious, half-intimidated.
At the staff table, Dumbledore rose slowly, as if anticipating a confrontation. Professor McGonagall, wearing her characteristic stern look, observed them from her seat. Snape lounged in his chair with a calculating sneer, though a flicker of interest glinted in his eyes. The foreign headmasters—Igor Karkaroff of Durmstrang and Olympe Maxime of Beauxbatons—watched, uncertain.
Without preamble, Jennifer walked to the space just in front of the staff table and turned to face the student body. A hush fell. Even the sound of forks scraping plates diminished. Dumbledore took a step forward as if to intervene, but Jennifer lifted a single finger, halting him with a pointed glare.
"I'm not here to cause a scene," she said, voice resonating clearly in the silence. "But there are things that must be said."
She gestured to Violet, who stood a pace behind. The entire hall collectively held its breath, or so it seemed. "Last night, I discovered something crucial about how my daughter and I arrived here. We weren't pulled across dimensions—no, we were pulledthrough time.This is still our world—my world, Violet's world—just nearly a century in the past from what we know. And that means every single person in this room is directly tied to a cataclysm that you can scarcely imagine: the Great War of 2077."
Confused mutterings rippled. Only Hermione Granger's face showed dawning horror, for she alone, or so it seemed, fully grasped what nuclear war entailed. Jennifer let the murmurs linger, then continued in a voice that carried to all corners of the hall.
"In my time," she said, "the planet is a wasteland of radiation, rubble, and desperation. Eighty percent of the global population died in a matter of hours when the bombs fell, and countless more perished in the ensuing chaos. The world is so broken that surviving groups hide in bunkers—Vaults—living on preserved resources, half-forgotten technologies, and constant fear of mutated horrors. Society collapsed. Much of it due to ignorance, arrogance, and a refusal to see beyond petty squabbles."
She cast a sweeping look over the four tables. "And from everything I've pieced together, the wizarding world—yourworld—played a major role in setting that collapse in motion. You see, you fancy yourselves above Mundanes, or Muggles, as you call them. You hide behind wands, illusions, and secrecy. You think your culture is the pinnacle of civilization simply because you can conjure a teacup out of thin air. But while you sat around proclaiming your superiority, Mundane societies learned to split the atom, harness fusion and fission, unlock the genome, and send rockets beyond Earth's atmosphere."
A flicker of tension spiked in the crowd. Some students bristled, particularly at the Slytherin and some Ravenclaw tables. Draco Malfoy's pale face twisted with indignation. Others, mostly the Muggle-born or half-blood students, looked on with apprehension and curiosity.
Jennifer pushed on. "We advanced medicine to cure diseases that once plagued humanity. We mapped every cell in the human body, developed vaccines and organ transplants. We built towering metropolises that dwarfed your magical enclaves. We crafted vehicles that broke the sound barrier, soared through the skies, even landed on the moon. Meanwhile, the wizarding world clung to brooms, used potions brewed in cauldrons, and recycled the same spells for centuries with almost no progress. You have the nerve to callus—people like me—'Muggles'? As though we're lesser beings?"
A faint ripple of protest from the Slytherin table: "But wizards—magic—" "We can do things you can't even imagine!" Yet these interruptions dissolved into uneasy silence under Jennifer's withering stare.
"I am Dr. Jennifer Braun, a scientist from the year 2194," she continued calmly. "I can replicate your illusions with technology that you would dismiss as unnatural or impossible. Butnothingcompares to the power that my society harnessed in its final days: nuclear arsenals. I once demonstrated a device in front of some of you—the Big Boy—that can reduce entire cities to ash in seconds. Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945 were only the beginning. By 2077, the stockpiles were beyond counting."
She let that sink in, scanning the hall for reactions. The hush was absolute. Hermione sat in tears, her face blanching. Several Muggle-borns had turned varying shades of white, evidently recalling terrifying glimpses of nuclear history from their childhood schooling.
"You think your magic can save you from that?" Jennifer's voice rang out. "Think again. Perhaps a few could Apparate away, or hide behind wards. But you couldn't stop the bombs. You couldn't stop radioactive fallout that poisons the land for centuries. Your illusions, your wards, your potions—they're feeble in the face of global thermonuclear war. And if you had onlycooperatedwith Mundane governments,respectedthe power of technology, andeducated yourselvesabout science, maybe you could have helped avert the disaster. Instead, your arrogance doomed you."
She paused, letting the silence grow taut. Many faces revealed shock; some students at the Gryffindor table wore expressions of dawning dread. Hufflepuffs looked horrified, torn between sympathy and fear. Slytherins, especially those of pureblood lineage, sported stubborn sneers—though cracks of doubt showed at the edges. At the staff table, McGonagall seemed frozen in place, eyes wide. Snape watched from beneath hooded lids, arms folded, expression inscrutable. Karkaroff fidgeted. Madam Maxime's face darkened with alarm.
Dumbledore, face pale beneath his flowing white beard, stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Dr. Braun, if I might—"
"No, you may not," Jennifer interrupted sharply. "I'm not done. Let me be perfectly clear: your so-called leader, Albus Dumbledore, plays a significant role in these future events. In my Vault's archives and from the wizarding newspapers we recovered, I saw the seeds of a catastrophic plan. Dumbledore, revered by so many of you, craved to unify the wizarding and mundane worlds onhisterms, revealing magic in a grand gesture—some twisted notion of the 'Greater Good.' Instead, it led to panic, governments turning on each other, an escalation of arms, and eventually the nuclear exchange that ravaged the planet."
The Great Hall erupted into murmurs. Dumbledore's eyes flickered with shock, and for a moment, his composure faltered. One hand closed into a trembling fist at his side. Yet he tried to maintain an air of calm authority, even as Jennifer's accusations weighed on him in front of the entire student body.
"Preposterous," Draco Malfoy muttered from the Slytherin table, though his voice shook. "Dumbledore's just a meddling old wizard, not some destructive force."
A few other pureblood students nodded, glaring at Jennifer with open hostility. She pressed on, undeterred. "Call it preposterous if you like, but the path that leads to 2077 is paved by small events—ones that might seem insignificant to you now.ThisTriwizard Tournament.ThisGoblet of Fire fiasco. A few more incidents, a dark wizard's return, a battle for control of magical Britain. And in the aftermath, Dumbledore tries to shape the world to his vision, bridging magic and technology without any respect for the destructive potential of either."
She turned on Dumbledore, locking eyes with him across the table's expanse. The hall quieted again as if collectively holding its breath. "You allowed the Goblet to be tampered with. Whether you personally did it or not, it happened on your watch, Headmaster. You should have sealed the artifact more carefully, knowing how lethal the Triwizard tasks can be—knowing that darker forces might exploit your complacency. Let's not forget, you also placed my daughter—once known as Harry Potter—into an abusive Muggle household for the first eight years of her life, ensuring she grew up traumatized. You bound her magic. Why? Possibly to control her so she would be grateful to you later. That's arrogance. That's callousness. And that's a glimpse of what you'll do on a far greater scale."
Dumbledore swallowed hard, the tension in his posture visible. "Dr. Braun, I never intended—"
"I'm sure you didn't," she cut in, voice dripping scorn. "But that's the point. Intentions mean nothing if the result is devastation. Your attempts at shaping fate end in an apocalypse that kills billions. You, your staff, your precious Hogwarts... all gone in the blink of a nuclear fireball. If you doubt me, ask yourselves: how many times has Dumbledore already manipulated events for his own narrative? The philosopher's stone fiasco—fooling a child into confronting a dark spirit. The basilisk incident—having no real plan to handle a lethal threat inside the school's walls. And now the Goblet fiasco, forcibly summoning my daughter across time."
Hearing the mention of the basilisk, some second- and third-year students looked stricken. Rumors of the Chamber of Secrets lingered. Some older students—who had lived through the petrifications—went pale, recalling the chaos that year. Jennifer's harsh condemnation stung, forcing them to recall how easily events had spiraled.
"Stop!" came a voice. Hermione Granger had stood up at the Gryffindor table, eyes red-rimmed from tears. "I—I believe you, Dr. Braun. I really do. But can't there be another way? Maybe we can still prevent it without blaming everyone here?"
Jennifer turned to the girl, expression softening for a moment. "Miss Granger, you're among the few who might grasp the scale of nuclear annihilation. But if there's going to be any chance of preventing it, we have to confront the arrogance that built this time bomb in the first place. Your heads of state—your magical leaders—don't comprehend how vulnerable they truly are. They hide behind secrecy and wands, thinking that's enough."
She swept a hand toward the staff table again. "As for the rest of you, you think non-magical humans are powerless? You're dead wrong. We harnessed forces that could incinerate continents. Yet ironically, it's that same technology that destroyed us. So do not mock what you don't understand. Wizards survived the apocalypse only in small pockets, but by then it was too late. The entire ecosystem was ruined, magical creatures mutated or died, and the planet spiraled into a centuries-long nuclear winter."
A heavy stillness followed. No one seemed to know how to respond or whether to protest. Even Draco Malfoy's usual jeers died on his lips. Over at the staff table, Snape's gaze flickered with a strange mixture of skepticism and recognition; he knew well the danger of ignoring warnings. Karkaroff's face betrayed deep discomfort. Madam Maxime looked uncertain, while McGonagall's expression was deeply troubled.
Jennifer drew a long breath, letting the hush persist. Finally, she stepped aside, allowing Violet to stand more fully in view.
"My daughter," she said, voice quieter but no less firm, "should never have been summoned here. She's already survived a future that none of you can imagine. She overcame abuse, near-starvation, the aftermath of a nuclear wasteland, and the trauma of learning how you all threw her away as a pawn. We are here now, not by choice. But I promise you this: if you threaten her, if you threaten us, we will not hesitate to defend ourselves with every means at our disposal. And that includes forces far more destructive than your curses."
A faint crackle echoed through the hall, as though the wards themselves shuddered in response. The mass of students and staff watched in tense, breathless silence. Dumbledore, his face ashen, finally spoke up in a wavering voice.
"You must understand, Dr. Braun, that no one here—at least, not I—desires the destruction of the world. We are not monsters."
Jennifer regarded him with an icy glare. "Yet your negligence and your ambition can birth monstrous outcomes. Remember that."
And with that final statement, she turned on her heel. Violet followed, chest tight, cheeks flushed. Together, they strode out of the Great Hall, the entire school left behind them in stunned stillness.
They marched through corridors that suddenly felt smaller, the thick walls trapping a swirl of emotions. Violet's mind reeled. She'd known Jennifer intended to speak out, but the sheer intensity of her mother's words and the public condemnation of Dumbledore had gone beyond anything she expected. Part of her admired Jennifer's courage. Another part worried about the repercussions.
They reached a side corridor near a set of winding stairs. Violet paused, breathing heavily. "Mum, that was... a lot."
Jennifer exhaled. "I had to do it. They needed a jolt. Otherwise, they'd remain complacent. And we're running out of time—literally. If my calculations are right, decades from now, nuclear bombs start falling. The magical world needs to stop burying its head in the sand."
Violet nodded slowly. "I get it. But... do you really believe Dumbledore singlehandedly caused the war?"
"I think it's more complicated," Jennifer allowed. "But he's a major catalyst. A figure revered by wizardkind, able to influence entire generations. If he stirs the pot the wrong way, if he tries bridging magic and Mundane power in some ill-conceived plan, he might set off a chain reaction that ends with bombs raining down on both worlds."
Violet chewed her lip, looking down at her boots. "Then... do we try to stop him? Or do we try to stop the war entirely? Isn't that messing with history?"
"It is," Jennifer said softly. "Time travel paradoxes are always messy. But we can't just let billions of people die. If we do nothing, we stand by and watch the apocalypse happen. If we act rashly, we might cause an even worse outcome." She placed a reassuring hand on Violet's shoulder. "We have to act carefully, gather more information, watch for ways to mitigate the factors that lead to 2077. I won't let them destroy you. Or anyone else if I can help it."
Violet's throat tightened. She leaned into her mother's touch, comforted by the warmth. "Then we should keep investigating. About Voldemort, about the Triwizard sabotage, about what Dumbledore's really up to."
Jennifer gave a grim nod. "Agreed."
They took a circuitous route back to their quarters, avoiding the many students who might gawk or harass them. Several times, they heard footsteps trailing behind them, only for the presence to vanish—a ghost or perhaps a curious onlooker who lost their nerve. Eventually, they slipped inside their suite. Jennifer locked and warded the door from the inside using both wizarding wards (learned from the library) and her own Vault-tech security device. A sense of uneasy calm settled around them.
The suite felt as claustrophobic as ever, the flickering fire casting shadows on the stone walls. Violet settled onto a small wooden chair, hugging her knees. Jennifer paced near the window, scanning the grounds.
"They're rattled," Jennifer mused, glancing down at the starlings flitting across the lawn. "Which is good. They need to be. But the real question is: how do we figure out Dumbledore's next steps? We know he's cunning enough to hide his deeper motivations."
"Maybe we can check the Headmaster's records?" Violet ventured quietly. "Or talk to the staff who've seen more than they let on... like Snape. He seems to be suspicious of everyone."
Jennifer nodded, turning away from the window. "Snape might be a valuable resource. His expression during that lecture was telling—like he recognized some truth in my words. Maybe he's had doubts about Dumbledore all along."
"Yeah," Violet said softly. "But we have to be careful. Snape could also be fiercely loyal, or he might be playing his own game. In every version of history I read, he was sort of... complicated."
They sat in silence for a moment. Then Violet asked, "Mum, what happens if we can't prove sabotage on the Goblet? I mean, the first task is in a few weeks. I don't want to face a dragon, or a swarm of Acromantulas, or whatever they plan to throw at me."
Jennifer's eyes narrowed. "I'll tear that tournament apart if I have to. But let's see. We might be able to argue that because you're from the future, and you have a completely different identity, the Goblet's contract is void. Or if I find the saboteur—who likely is the same person wanting to resurrect Voldemort—then we can present proof to the Ministry."
Violet felt a rush of anxiety. She didn't want to kill or harm anyone, even if they had tried to manipulate her into a lethal game. But the idea of letting them roam free, potentially orchestrating the apocalypse, was more terrifying.
They resolved to do some research. Jennifer pulled out her Pip-Boy and began cross-referencing spells from the library scans with timestamps relating to dimension or time manipulation. Violet jotted down notes, analyzing magical laws, searching for any clause that might free her from this Triwizard claim. Hours passed in quiet labor, the only sounds being the crackle of the fire and their hushed commentary.
As late afternoon shadows lengthened, a soft knock came at their door. Tensing, Jennifer gestured for Violet to stay back, then approached the door with caution. After verifying the wards, she opened it a crack to see Hermione Granger standing there, looking nervous.
"Hermione?" Jennifer greeted. "Is something wrong?"
Hermione shook her head, her voice wavering. "No, I... well, maybe. I just—would you let me come in for a moment? There's no one else with me. I promise."
Jennifer studied her face, then nodded. "All right." She deactivated a small portion of the wards, just enough to let Hermione enter, then resealed them. The young witch stepped inside, glancing around the austere suite with wide eyes.
Violet stood from the table. "Hermione, hey. Are you okay?"
Hermione let out a breath. "I don't know. Everything you—well, Dr. Braun—said in the Great Hall... it's terrifying. I've read about nuclear bombs in Muggle school, but never in such detail. The way everyone just sat there, some refusing to believe... it makes me so angry. Wizards can be so unbelievably arrogant."
Jennifer folded her arms. "That's why I said what I did. Better for them to be unsettled than to remain smug."
Hermione nodded, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her robe. "I just wanted to let you know... I believe you. And I want to help. I have a feeling the staff won't be straightforward if you ask too many questions about Dumbledore. But maybe I can research from inside. Students have some liberties. We can roam the library, talk to ghosts, gather rumors."
A flicker of gratitude rose in Violet's chest. "Hermione, that's... that's really generous. Are you sure you won't get in trouble?"
She shrugged, determined. "They already call me an insufferable know-it-all sometimes. I might as well put it to good use. Besides, I can't just stand by if there's even a chance you're telling the truth about a future war. And if there's a saboteur after you, that's urgent, too."
Jennifer gave a faint smile. "Thank you, Miss Granger. We appreciate the support." She paused, rummaging through a small bag. "Let me give you something that might help you store or share information discreetly."
She pulled out a small cylindrical device, reminiscent of a pen. "This is a micro-recorder from my vault. It can store up to 200 hours of audio or text data, accessible via voice command. You can also copy text from a page by scanning it with the sensor at the tip. Hide it in your robes or bag. If you find anything suspicious, record it and let us know."
Hermione accepted it gingerly, eyes wide. "Wow. It's like... advanced magical technology, but not magical?"
Jennifer smirked. "Precisely. Mundane tech from the 22nd century. They'd call it a silly Muggle device. But it's powerful in its own right."
Hermione tucked it carefully into her robe pocket. "Thank you. I'll use it wisely. Now, about investigating: is there anything specific you want me to look for?"
Violet exchanged a glance with Jennifer. "We suspect someone tampered with the Goblet—someone who might be involved with Voldemort's resurrection. In the original timeline—my timeline—there was an incident with a Death Eater in disguise at Hogwarts. He orchestrated the entire thing to bring me to a graveyard for a ritual. Now, obviously, events have changed because I'm not the same Harry, but we suspect a similar infiltration. Could you watch the staff, especially Moody? Or anyone who seems out of place?"
Hermione nodded seriously. "Yes. I've noticed Moody's strange behavior. He's jumpy, more than just paranoid. I'll keep an eye on him." She hesitated, then added quietly, "If I find anything, I'll record it. But, Violet, be careful. Moody's known to be a skilled Auror—if he'snotMoody, I can't imagine how dangerous he really is."
"We will be," Violet said, forcing a small smile. "Thank you, Hermione."
They said their goodbyes, and Hermione slipped out, leaving the mother-daughter pair in heavy silence. Violet felt an odd sense of relief: they weren't entirely alone in this time, after all. Hermione might be a single ally, but that was better than none.
Night soon fell outside the tower windows. Dim torchlight flickered in the corridors. Jennifer and Violet prepared a quick meal from the hamper Hogwarts had left them—bread, cheese, cold meats, and pumpkin juice. It tasted foreign compared to the more refined, even if simulated, cuisine of Vault 112, but they ate in thoughtful silence.
As the hours stretched on, Violet immersed herself in reading advanced texts about wizarding history and prophecy. She found references to Dumbledore's youthful rise, his notorious duel with Grindelwald, and how he assumed the role of Supreme Mugwump. Many details rang of heroism, but hints of overreach lingered between the lines—like how he enjoyed accolades and shaped wizarding society in subtle ways.
Jennifer, meanwhile, pored over old maps of the wizarding enclaves, cross-referencing them with known nuclear strike zones from her timeline. Every so often, she'd grunt or make a small noise of frustration, presumably upon discovering how certain wizarding strongholds overlapped suspiciously with major Mundane cities that were targeted in 2077.
Close to midnight, they finally allowed themselves to pause. The flicker of the lantern cast shadows across the piles of parchment they'd gathered. Jennifer stood by the window, staring out at the starlit grounds. Violet joined her, following her gaze over the moonlit lawns, the shimmering lake, and the outline of the Forbidden Forest's canopy.
"It's lovely, isn't it?" Violet murmured. "So peaceful. Hard to believe this place could be the cradle of an apocalypse."
Jennifer exhaled softly, slipping an arm around her daughter's shoulders. "That's exactly it, sweet girl. People can stare at something so serene and never see the storm brewing underneath. But storms do come."
They watched in silence for a long moment. The windowpane felt cold against Violet's fingertips. She looked up at her mother, took in the determined set of Jennifer's jaw.
"Mum... do you think we can really stop it? The war, I mean. We're just two people."
Jennifer's voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know. Time paradoxes are notoriously treacherous. Maybe we can shift events enough to prevent the worst outcome. Or maybe we can savesomepeople. But I'll be damned if I let them destroyyou, Violet. Whatever it takes, I'll make sure you survive."
The raw intensity in her mother's words made Violet's eyes sting with tears. She leaned into Jennifer's side. "We're in this together."
"Yes," Jennifer said, pressing a kiss to Violet's temple. "Together."
They remained there, two figures silhouetted against the star-strewn sky, haunted by a future that might still be undone. The castle around them loomed, ancient and full of secrets, while the Forbidden Forest beyond rustled with unseen creatures. If the illusions of wizard supremacy led to an unimaginable global collapse, it was in these quiet moments that a different destiny might form.
As midnight ticked past, they parted from the window. The day's revelations weighed on them like a thundercloud. Violet retreated to her bed, mind swirling with thoughts of sabotage, nuclear bombs, time paradoxes, and the Triwizard tasks. She thought of how she'd once been a malnourished child, locked in a cupboard. She remembered the sense of wonder in Vault 112, painting with her mother, learning advanced mathematics, forging a new identity.
Now, fate had cast her back into the wizarding world that had long since been reduced to ashes in her own timeline. She wondered if she could—if sheshould—warn them all or try to protect them from themselves. Yet she also felt an undercurrent of anger: they had summoned her without consent, compelled her to face a lethal tournament. Could she truly save a society so callous?
Unable to sleep, she rose after an hour of restless tossing. The fireplace had died down to embers, the suite cloaked in darkness except for the faint luminescence of the moon through the window. She approached the desk where scattered notes lay. One slip caught her eye: "Horcruxes?" scrawled next to "Voldemort" with a question mark. She recalled references in the old Daily Prophets that suggested some rumored technique for immortality, something that might tie Voldemort's life force to multiple anchors.
She stared at the note, heart pounding. In the original timeline, destroying those Horcruxes had been crucial to defeating Voldemort. But if that same chain of events led eventually to the apocalypse, was dethroning Voldemort truly enough to avert war? Or might Dumbledore's subsequent actions be even more dangerous if Voldemort was gone too soon?
A chill seeped into her veins. She clenched her fists around the parchment.We can't let Dumbledore shape the future, but if we don't stop Voldemort, millions might die in wizarding conflicts. Yet if we do stop him, perhaps Dumbledore takes that as a green light to unify the world... leading to a nuclear exchange anyway.The complexity was paralyzing.
A soft rustle came from across the room. Jennifer stirred, noticing Violet's silhouette by the desk. "Violet? It's late," she murmured, concern in her tone.
"I know," Violet whispered back, letting the parchment slip from her fingers. "Just... thinking."
Jennifer rose, lighting a small lamp. Her hair was tousled, a tired look in her eyes. "Come here." She patted the sofa near the fireplace. Violet joined her, curling up at her side, comforted by the warmth of Jennifer's presence.
"Mother," Violet said, voice trembling slightly, "I'm scared. We could fix one problem only to create another."
Jennifer closed her eyes, pulling Violet closer. "I'm scared too. But we'll figure it out. Step by step. Right now, our immediate threats are the Triwizard sabotage and the possibility that Voldemort's supporters are lurking. We handle that first, gather intelligence, and keep you safe. Then, we see if there's a path to altering the grand chain of events. We can't do everything at once."
Violet nodded, letting out a shaky breath. She remembered her once near-silent stutter, the crippling fear instilled by the Dursleys. She remembered how Jennifer had nurtured her, taught her to be strong and cunning. Maybe that was enough to keep her going now.
They drifted into a drowsy, half-conscious state, leaning against each other as the lamp's flame danced on the walls. Outside, the moon set, leaving Hogwarts in deeper shadows. A new day would soon break, bringing fresh challenges, fresh questions, and the watchful eyes of teachers and students who either doubted or despised them.
Still, in that hush, mother and daughter found a pocket of calm. The future loomed uncertain, but their determination was unwavering. Together, they would face whatever storms the wizarding world unleashed—whether it be cursed tournaments, resurrected Dark Lords, or the seeds of an apocalypse. And in the quiet flame of that lamp, one could almost sense that Fate itself was watching, the tapestry of time shifting with every breath they took.
The next morning arrived slowly, gray light seeping through cloud cover. Rain drummed softly against the castle's high windows, the sky burdened with heavy clouds that hid the sun. Through half-lidded eyes, Violet realized she had dozed off on the sofa. Jennifer was still beside her, stirring. Her mother's hair, usually neat in a practical bun or ponytail, was mussed from sleep.
They exchanged sleepy greetings, a faint smile passing between them, a silent acknowledgment of the awkward sleeping arrangement. Jennifer stood and stretched, her spine popping with a muffled crack. She pulled out the Pip-Boy, scanning for any messages or signals. As expected, Hogwarts' wards seemed to block advanced communications. No contact with Vault 112 or the rest of their future technology.
Before they could plan their morning, a knock rattled their door. Both tensed. Jennifer silently motioned for Violet to stay back, equipping a small sidearm from her inventory with practiced stealth. She pressed the intercom button she'd rigged next to the door.
"Who is it?" she called tersely.
"It's Amelia Bones," came a crisp, no-nonsense voice. "I'd like to speak with you about last night's... talk in the Great Hall."
Jennifer hesitated, then exchanged a glance with Violet. The mother lifted the wards partially, opening the door a crack. Outside stood Madam Bones in her usual DMLE regalia, flanked by a single Auror. The Auror's posture was guarded but not openly hostile.
"All right," Jennifer said, stepping aside. "Come in."
Madam Bones entered, taking in the spartan suite at a glance. "Apologies for the intrusion. I thought it best to discuss certain matters privately."
Jennifer closed the door, re-engaging the locks. "Fine. Speak."
Bones cleared her throat. "I must confess, Dr. Braun, that your speech last night caused quite a stir at the Ministry. We have half our officials claiming it's all nonsense, half deeply alarmed. Fudge, of course, is panicking over public relations. But I—well, I've always believed in thorough investigation. Your warnings... I'm not prepared to dismiss them."
"Good," Jennifer responded flatly. "Because ignoring reality is how civilizations fall."
Bones managed a tight nod. "Indeed. Albus Dumbledore denies that he has any intention of bridging Mundanes and wizards in some grand gesture, but... let's say I know him well enough to suspect he's not always forthcoming with his ultimate goals."
Violet spoke up softly, stepping forward. "Madam Bones, do you believe there's a link between Dumbledore's ambitions and the sabotage of the Goblet? Or do you think it's purely a Death Eater plot?"
Bones studied Violet's face. She seemed torn, as though reevaluating her impressions of this child who once was Harry Potter. "I'm not certain yet. We've uncovered evidence of a Confundus Charm. That points to a cunning infiltrator. Dumbledore might be arrogant, but he wouldn't be so foolish as to sabotage the Goblet in full view. He gains nothing by forcibly including you. On the contrary, it's a liability."
Jennifer's lips pursed. "Unless he's orchestrating a scenario to have her tested, or to bring about a confrontation with Voldemort."
"Possibly," Bones allowed. "I don't trust half our Ministry either, but for now, I'll continue the investigation. I came here to request your cooperation. Let me do my job—if you discover anything, I urge you to share it. The sooner we identify the culprit, the safer Miss Potter will be."
Jennifer regarded her for a moment. "We'll share if it doesn't compromise our own security. As for you, keep in mind: if your Ministry tries to back us into a corner, we'll respond. We're not helpless."
Bones dipped her head. "Understood. One more thing: Dumbledore's called a staff and Triwizard committee meeting this afternoon. He wants you both to attend, presumably to further discuss whether you're officially bound by the Goblet's contract. I suggest you come—show good faith."
Violet and Jennifer exchanged wary glances. "We'll be there," Violet said quietly.
Bones offered a curt nod, then turned to leave, her Auror following. The door closed behind them. For a long moment, mother and daughter listened to the echo of footsteps fading down the corridor.
"Seems we can't avoid the Ministry's scrutiny," Violet said at last.
Jennifer sighed. "No. But maybe it's for the best. The more they scramble, the more likely they'll slip up—and we can gather clues."
They spent the morning quietly preparing. Violet skimmed through arcane legal texts, searching for loopholes to the Goblet's binding magic. She found references to ancient pacts, obscure rites, and a handful of contradictory precedents. She took meticulous notes, hoping to wave them under the committee's nose if needed.
Meanwhile, Jennifer rummaged through her inventory, ensuring that if the meeting became hostile, she had sufficient defensive gear. She double-checked the Big Boy's readiness but decided not to carry it openly unless threatened. Instead, she strapped a smaller sidearm to her belt, disguised beneath her wizard robe.
The hours ticked by with maddening slowness. Outside, the rain intensified, drumming on the castle's rooftops. A sullen gloom settled over the corridors, as though the ancient stones themselves brooded over the revelations from last night.
When midday arrived, they headed for the designated chamber, located near the second-floor antechamber that branched off from the main staircase. Violet recalled walking these same halls in Chapter 4—just a handful of days ago, yet it felt like a lifetime. The tension in the air crackled with the same intensity as pre-storm electricity.
They reached a polished wooden door guarded by two Aurors. Inside, a long table awaited, with seats arranged around it. On one side sat Cornelius Fudge, Ludo Bagman, and a sallow-faced wizard Violet recognized as Barty Crouch Sr. Next to them, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Igor Karkaroff, and Olympe Maxime. On the other side, a seat stood for Amelia Bones, while two empty chairs were presumably for Jennifer and Violet. At the far end, a single robed figure with a heavily scarred face—Alastor Moody, supposedly—watched with piercing eyes.
Jennifer inclined her head to Bones, then took a seat next to the senior witch, motioning for Violet to sit on her other side. Dumbledore cleared his throat, calling the meeting to order in a subdued tone.
"Thank you all for coming," he began. "We face an unprecedented situation. Miss Violet Potter stands called by the Goblet of Fire, yet under circumstances that remain suspect. Questions have arisen as to whether the binding nature of the Goblet's magic truly applies to her, especially given... extraordinary revelations."
Fudge nodded stiffly. "Quite. And the Ministry is keen to resolve this with minimal upheaval. The Triwizard Tournament is supposed to be a symbol of unity. We can't afford this chaos overshadowing it."
Jennifer fixed him with a cool stare. "Minister, your unity is built on shaky foundations. But let's proceed."
Dumbledore lifted a sheet of parchment. "We have assembled documents referencing the original Triwizard charter, dating back centuries. It states that 'any wizard or witch whose name is accepted by the Goblet shall be bound to compete.' Miss Potter, though, asserts she is from the future, and that her present identity is separate from the boy known historically as Harry Potter."
Karkaroff scoffed. "Surely that's mere wordplay. The Goblet recognized her as Harry Potter. She can't simply walk away."
Maxime nodded. "I must agree. Ze situation is bizarre, but we cannot dismiss the Goblet's choice. It would make a mockery of the entire system."
Amelia Bones tapped the table. "We also have strong evidence of sabotage—the Confundus Charm. If the Goblet was manipulated, any contract it initiates might be invalid. The question is whether Miss Potter even qualifies under its original terms."
Jennifer leaned forward, voice unwavering. "If the Goblet sees her as 'Harry Potter' due to some tampered timeline, that's hardly a legitimate basis for enslaving a teenager. She's also under the age limit. That alone should nullify the selection."
Barty Crouch Sr. spoke up, his voice shaky from illness or stress. "Age restrictions are enforced by a ring of magic around the Goblet, yes, but a Confundus Charm could override it. The question is whether that override is recognized by the archaic contract's deeper magic."
McGonagall frowned. "In simpler terms, if the Goblet believes she is of age due to tampering, does that remain binding? Or is it automatically rendered void when we identify the deception?"
Dumbledore stroked his beard. "We are uncertain. This is ancient magic, older than any living wizard."
Silence gripped the room. Everyone seemed to weigh the magnitude of the moment. Violet's heart thudded in her chest. She felt an odd mixture of anger and resignation. Was she truly forced to fight in a tournament because of medieval wizarding law?
Snape's voice broke the hush, low and edged with sardonic skepticism. "Perhaps the simpler route is to find who cast the Confundus Charm. If that person forced the Goblet to accept 'Harry Potter,' we can argue that any contract is fraudulent. Then all of this is moot."
Jennifer gave a short nod. "Yes. But so far, none of you have produced any leads on the culprit. Are your security measures so feeble?"
Moody—or Barty Crouch Jr.—clenched his jaw, scowling. "We have top Aurors searching day and night. Hogwarts is large, infiltration can be subtle. Whoever it is, they're cunning."
Amelia Bones frowned at him, suspicion flickering in her gaze. "Indeed. But they can't hide forever. We'll intensify our efforts. In the meantime, perhaps the best we can do is place Miss Potter under official protective status. She doesn't have to compete until we finalize the contract's legitimacy."
Fudge made an exasperated sound. "Then what of the tournament's schedule? The other champions are training, expecting the first task soon."
Jennifer's lips curved in a cold smile. "Your precious game can wait, or proceed with just three champions. If you care more about spectacle than truth, that says plenty about your Ministry."
A flush crept up Fudge's neck. He bristled, but Dumbledore lifted a calming hand. "Easy, Cornelius. Let's keep our priorities in order. The Triwizard tradition is important, yes, but not at the cost of a child's life."
Reluctantly, Fudge sank back in his seat, grumbling under his breath. Ludo Bagman tried to lighten the mood by offering a forced smile. "We want everyone safe, of course. Let's remember this is meant to foster cooperation between schools."
Karkaroff sneered. "Yes, cooperation. That's going splendidly, isn't it? We've had nothing but scandal since arriving."
Maxime pursed her lips, clearly unsettled. The tension in the room pressed on all sides. Violet shifted uneasily. Her eyes flicked from Snape's guarded expression to McGonagall's worried frown, then over to Moody's intense stare. She wondered if he was already plotting to corner her, to drag her away for that vile resurrection ritual. A chill crept along her spine.
After more back-and-forth bickering about the logistics, the meeting ended without a definitive conclusion—only an agreement to delay the question of Violet's participation and intensify the search for the saboteur. As they filed out, Jennifer gripped Violet's shoulder gently, guiding her away from the cluster of staff and Ministry officials. They retreated to a quiet alcove near a suit of armor, out of earshot.
"Still no resolution," Jennifer said softly. "But at least they're stalling. That buys us time."
Violet nodded, still on edge. "We should keep investigating, Mum. I want to find who did this—who dragged me here. If we can prove it's all fraud, maybe we can leave Hogwarts behind before Dumbledore or anyone else tries to rope us into bigger schemes."
Jennifer's face hardened. "Yes. And while we're at it, we gather any intel on how wizarding arrogance triggers the future war. A two-pronged mission: sabotage and apocalypse."
Violet tried to smile at the dark humor in her mother's voice. The pair walked toward the main staircase, ignoring the stares from passing students. They had a plan, albeit a precarious one, and in the swirling uncertainties, that plan was their lifeline.
The remainder of the day was spent in cautious reconnaissance. Hermione discreetly slipped them tidbits of rumor: Moody had left his office at odd hours; Karkaroff had hushed arguments with Snape; Barty Crouch Sr. seldom left his quarters. Jennifer took note of each piece, cross-referencing times and locations, building a mental web of possible suspects. Violet tried to keep calm, though her nerves frayed every time a corridor corner loomed or a class changed, flooding halls with chattering students.
By evening, they found themselves outside again, near the edge of the Black Lake. The rain had stopped, leaving the air damp and smelling of wet grass. The lake's surface reflected a slate-gray sky. They stood there, side by side, letting the open space soothe their tension. In the distance, the Forbidden Forest rustled softly, its secrets hidden in dark thickets.
Violet wrapped her arms around herself. "I feel so... heavy with all this knowledge. Sometimes I wish we could just go back to Vault 112, keep doing chemistry experiments together. That was simpler."
Jennifer slid an arm around her shoulder. "I know. But if we bury our heads in the sand, billions still die in 2077. We can't run from that. Perhaps we were sent here—pulled here—so we could rewrite the end. It's not fair that it fell on our shoulders. But we won't face it alone."
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the castle's windows gold. A sense of hush descended as dusk approached. Violet inhaled the cool air, her heart calming under Jennifer's touch. She remembered the battered, irradiated wastes of the future, remembered how she'd gleaned scraps of knowledge about wizardry from half-preserved data archives. That half-remembered dreamlike awareness had now become reality, tangible and brimming with peril.
They returned to their quarters after nightfall. Candles and torches lit the corridors in dancing patterns. Upon locking themselves in, they sat by the modest fire, finishing a meager dinner. Jennifer poured over her notes, Violet jotted another day's reflections in the battered journal she'd brought from Vault 112. She wrote of the confrontation with Dumbledore, the incomplete resolution of the Triwizard fiasco, the swirling tensions.
Much later, as the embers glowed faintly in the hearth, they found themselves again at the window, gazing at the silhouette of Hogwarts under the moon. Stars pricked through the retreating clouds, and the Forbidden Forest looked like a dark sea rolling to the horizon.
Violet set aside her quill and turned to her mother. "Mum... do you think we can truly make a difference?"
Jennifer's gaze remained on the moonlit grounds. "I don't know. But if we fail to try, we guarantee disaster. I'd rather carry the burden of trying."
They fell quiet, the weight of centuries pressing on them. Two souls from a broken future, striving to mend the past. The castle seemed to breathe around them, old stone walls holding secrets of magic and fate. The world's doom hovered in the distance—nuclear flames, spells gone awry, the arrogance of people who believed themselves invincible.
But in that stillness, mother and daughter found a slender thread of hope. Perhaps knowledge, unity, and love could reshape destiny. At least, in the hush of the night, that thought sustained them. Violet leaned against Jennifer, and Jennifer placed an arm around her, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Violet's head.
"Together," Violet whispered, echoing the words from the previous evening.
"Always," Jennifer replied, her voice resonating with quiet fierceness.
The hours slipped away, and eventually they retreated to their beds, hearts heavy but bound by determination. The final glow of the fire outlined their silhouettes, mother and daughter preparing for a struggle far larger than any Triwizard Tournament. Outside, the wind brushed the castle walls, carrying with it the distant hush of a forest and the promise of challenges yet unseen.
In the darkness, time seemed to bend, as though acknowledging that these two interlopers had stepped from a future too dark to contemplate. Even the stars, shining above in silent testimony, might have trembled if they could. For in the tapestry of destiny, a new thread had been woven—one that might unravel the apocalypse itself, or else tie it more securely to the fated path.
And so ended another day in the year 1994, with the invisible clock of 2077 ticking its countdown in the background. The mother and daughter from Vault 112 lay in uneasy rest, uncertain whether their knowledge would save this world or doom it further. But with each breath, they resolved anew that ignorance and arrogance would not stand unchallenged, not as long as they were alive.
Far beyond the castle's silent walls, in the hush of midnight, the stage was set for the next chapter of conflict. Manipulations brewed in hidden chambers; saboteurs plotted in the shadows; Dumbledore wrestled with his pride. Yet beneath it all, a faint tremor hinted that nothing would be the same. The bombs that once fell could be halted, or triggered earlier, or changed in ways no one could predict.
In that fragile uncertainty lay the future of both the mundane and magical worlds, balanced on the edge of will and ambition. And in the center of it stood Violet and Jennifer, a testament to how love, science, and courage might reshape fate—even in the face of utter devastation.
They closed their eyes at last. The single lamp guttered out, leaving the chamber in thick darkness. The softly beating heart of Hogwarts enclosed them, an ancient fortress of spells and history, blind to the cataclysm that loomed beyond the horizon of time. But for now, mother and daughter slept, holding onto the promise that they would do everything in their power to keep that cataclysm from ever coming to pass.
AN:
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